Shamrocks and Shalalies.

If it just so happens, like totally hypothetically, you know you hear about it on the playground or in a bar and not that I would really have knowledge of any of this mythological kind of thing, but if say a friend finds a, well let's call it a rainbow and gets slightly perturbed at a cobwebbed filled kettle, cause honestly screw those weird ass Skittles, well let him know it's best to wrap it in foil before you toil. You know cover the stump before you hump. And not flop a green clad shorty over a tree's gravemarker before he ensues to show his love of the Irish. Besides being notorious drunks, troublemakers and gold hoarding dicks those little crotch disease packing bastards have been known unicorn rapists for centuries. Granted they do have to put each other up to it every time. Let's just say a fine fitted helmet on the soldier will save you, ow, from, aieee, several days of, ouch, weird and, ohhhh, life altering pain.
Admitting nothing I can only add that I am now one hundred percent sure of the real reason why a unicorns horn drops off and it sure isn't for dressy demons or trade on the ivory market.
That is of course if I believed in, ouch, any of that stuff. Especially the Skittles being eaten part.