Day #2

Entry #1

Fucking ponies. Let's start with the basics. My name is Nicholas Tucker and I am a human. I was born October 21, 1990 in Thousand Oaks, California. On February 21, 2012; I awoke in an alley in Manehattan. There is no such city as Manehattan; there is no such country as Equestria, and ponies are not Technicolor and they most certainly do not talk. One good thing about my unique form of arrival is that it was silent and unwitnessed. As far as everyone, not everypony, but everyone is aware, nothing out of the usual happened that day. Here is a quick rundown...

I awoke on the hard asphalt of an alley. This was odd, as I had just gone to bed, at my home in Raleigh, NC. At this point, I believed it to be a dream, and was waiting for the customary horror story to unfold. This was not to be the case (so far). The first thing I do in any dream is look at myself. This is not narcissism, this is common sense; I can usually tell what sort of dream I am having by what I look like. I was rather startled, not shocked, startled by my appeaence. A light tan unicorn with a peculiar cutie mark; that of the shilouette of a Panzer V. Why, exactly, I had a tank; let alone a Panther straight out of the Eastern Front, was (and is) a mystery. I have never been inside a tank; I have never even been near an actual tank. Maybe it has something to do with my passion for history? My tail is brown, and, as I was to later find out, my mane is brown with a dark green stripe. Judging by the ponies I could see from the alley, I was rather tall; perhaps the size of Blueblood or Big Mac.

Having figured out where I was, I now needed paticulars. I walked up and down the alley, getting used to four legs and hooves. Then, I strode out of the alley and into the sunlight. Manehattan is not paticularly inspiring; downtown Greensboro has larger buildings and more people. If this was their "New York", then they were pretty pathetic, all told. I walked along and attempted to find some sort of landmark or sign to tell me where I was. I lucked out, and found myself at the entrence to "Manehattan Central Park." I had a location; now I needed the most important thing in this, or any, world: money. So, I walked into the park, found a bench, and sat down. Then, I played some music. Turns out, a basic understanding of physics gives you a leg up on most unicorns. I decided to keep it safe, and played some classical music. By sundown, I had gathered a small pile of bits and was feeling hungry. Keeping an eye out for anybody who might stop me, I walked into the woods. I found a clearing some ways in, and bent down to take a bite of grass. My suspicions were confirmed; even with my new tastebuds, grass still tastes bad. To me, at least, grass tastes like actually eating the outer leaves on an artichoke. However, I kept at it until I was full; afterwards I lay down and tried to get some sleep.

I awoke to ponies talking; there was a path nearby, and I needed to pop a squat. After finding the restrooms, with western style toilets, no less; (I expected Japanese style squat toilets; much easier for ponies to use.) I went to a bench and played more music. I gathered more bits, and wrapped them all up in a discarded sandwich wrapper. Then, I set off to find a stationary store. There, I purchased a journal and some pencils. (Feather pens can go fuck themselves.) Then I purchased a sandwich from a street vendor, walked back to my clearing and wrote this.

From what I've overheard, the Summer Sun Celebration is in three months. That means I've got time to get to Poniville and integrate myself into the community. I have no idea why I'm here, but I'm betting it's to prevent some sort of disaster. When it comes to disaster, all roads lead to Poniville. I'm going to need to do a lot more busking.

Busking

Day #4

Entry #2

Busking is boring, but profitable. I mixed it up with some music from the 30's and the ponies seem to like that better. I just modify the lyrics a bit, and they pony up quite nicely. I'm saving up to buy some saddlebags and a few more pencils, as well as a sharpener. The thing I'm most glad for is, not only do the ponies speak english, they also write it. I won't have to learn a new alphabet or language, although that would be interesting. I've been listening to the ponies gossip, and so far I haven't seen any signs that I'm in a world run by a tyrannical Celestia. That doesn't mean I'm not going to do all the research I can at the Manehattan Library. I need to find a hotel or an apartement or something; I can't keep sleeping outside, and I'll need a bath soon.

I should probably check what sort of literature these ponies have. I could probably make some money with Kafka or Lovecraft, if they don't already have them. Sci-fi might work, but I don't think Heinlen or Asimov will appeal to them; dystopias don't work in a seeming utopia, so no 1984 or Brave New World. These ponies are so fucking boring; it's like being stuck in a world full of the whitest people imaginable. I'm never going to reveal my humanity; we don't need their fucking pity. When they've gone through the conditions and problems we evolved with, then they can complain.

I'll update when something interesting happens.

OOC: Most entries will probably be this long until Poniville, and even then they wont be story length. The fact I'm able to write anything at all with my disabilities is still amazing.