There I was, rattling homeward in my automobile after another day’s meaningless toil, when it occurred to me with the force of biblical revelation what had become of all those Nevada unicorns everyone pretends don’t exist. You see, what the good people at the Nevada Department of Transportation don’t want you to know is that those ubiquitous orange cones that line our highways and byways are no mere plastic safety devices designed to confound motorists and cause sudden lane changes that would test the reflexes of a cat burglar.

No, my friends, those cones are, in fact, the very horns harvested from the magnificent Nevada unicorn, a creature as rare as an honest politician and nearly as elusive. I can already hear the doubters among you, those who would dismiss this revelation as the ramblings of a man who has spent too much time inhaling exhaust fumes on the I-80.

But ask yourselves this: have you ever actually seen a Nevada unicorn? Of course not, and the reason is simple. Someone has been systematically collecting their horns and using them to direct traffic around whatever pointless construction project they’ve concocted this week.

The Nevada Department of Transportation, along with every regional and local road-building organization in this great state, has established what can only be described as a horn-harvesting operation that would make General Custer look like a conservationist. The most diabolical part of this whole horn-swaggle is how these cone-wielding highwaymen have managed to convince an entire population that these unicorn remnants are, in fact, the official state tree of Nevada.

The irony is thicker than a politician’s promise: the orange Nevada Cone Tree, a plant that exists only in the imagination of bureaucrats and somewhere between exits 21 and 33 on US-50. I suppose it was easier than admitting their construction projects have caused the local extinction of a creature more magical than tax refunds.

So the next time you’re navigating through that maze of orange pylons, take a moment to appreciate the sacrifice of those Nevada unicorns whose horns now guide you safely to your destination, or more likely, into the lane of oncoming traffic.