Pinkie Pie darted out of bed.

For a moment, she felt a bit silly. Standing in the middle of a dark bedroom, waiting. At first, she considered simply going back to sleep; until it happened again.
Ear flop, double eye jerk, knee tingle, tail twitch left, ear flop.
“Wheeee!” Pinkie began bouncing around excitedly. “Mail time!”

Darting noisily through Sugarcube Corner and waking several inhabitants, Pinkie Pie stood patiently by the mailbox.
Only for a wisp of green flame to flicker overhead, dropping a rolled scroll into her outstretched hooves.

Barely able to contain her excitement, Pinkie ran back inside for light to read her letter. Grabbing a slice of fudge cake from the refrigerator and unrolling the letter cheerfully with one hoof, Pinkie took a bite and started to read.

Dearest – actually, no. Pink Menace.
JUST Pink Menace.
I fucking despise you. Eat a bag of dicks and die.

Slowly – very, very slowly, Pinkie Pie stopped chewing, sat down and began to read the letter again.

You revolting, putrid sack of insanity. You make me want to vomit.
Actually, that could just be the booze talking.
… Yes, I’m serious, Spike! Keep that bucket close by, I don’t feel so good.

Where was I? Oh, right.
Dearest Pink Menace,
I regret ever letting you have your mouth back, you dumb bitch. And even if you didn’t talk all the time, you’d still be completely fucking unbearable. You want to know why?

Because you’re boring.
Yeah. Yeah, bitch. I said it.

You. Are fucking. BORING.
I cannot stand your company – if I can even call it that – because your constant droning about bullshit like cotton candy and parties is just that. Constant, motherfucking droning. No, Spike. You shut the fuck up, I’m talking to Pinkie. I mean, I’m talking to a letter. I mean, I’m talking to you, who’s writing the letter, who’s talking to Pinkie.

What I mean is, I’m talking to you, who is Spike, and in turn, you are writing a letter dictated by me, to Pinkie – I mean, the Pink Menace, who… fuck me, am I wasted.
Hey. Hey, Spike. You… you know what goes great with peanuts?
Hammers.

Get it? Because… because peanuts often come with alcohol, because they’re really salty. And… and I’m hammered. Get… get it?
… Shut the fuck up, Spike.

Start over.

Dearest Pinkie Pie,
Shit. Start over.

Dearest Pink Menace,
You disgusting, vile piece of shit.

Does Mrs. Cake have any idea what’s been going on? Because everypony else in town sure as hell does. Even if you deny it, we all still know that you’ve been railing that ugly fuck Carrot for room and board. Or is his wife in on it, too?
You filthy whore. Yeah, you 'know' everypony, all right.

I can’t BELIEVE you – you, of all ponies! The outrageous, horrifying GALL it takes, to not even bother inviting me!
No, Spike, you’re not allowed at the orgies anyway. Shut the fuck up.

Hang on, Spike? Start over.
No, no, not the writing… thing. I mean, read it for me from the top. I can’t remember what I was talking about.
… Shit, what? No, you weren’t supposed to write that! What are you, retarded?
Do we need you delivering our MAIL now, Spike-tard?

… Oh, stop the goddamn blubbering!
You know what? Fuck it. Gimme that, I’ll write it myself!

Pinkie quietly tilted her head to the side, desperately trying to read the remainder of the letter. From the looks of it, somepony had desperately attempted to scribble on it while using their hooves.

Never mind, just take the goddamn thing back.

Start over.
YES, again! How many times do we have to go over this?

Dearest Pink Menace,
Really. Will you PLEASE try to remember to take your fucking Ritalin? I am not afraid to hold you down and INJECT you with it, if I have to. I’ve gone and made special room in my basement, just for you.
Well, that too, but that doesn’t have to go in the letter, Spike.
YES, I’m sure! God, just stop sniveling!

Where was I?
Oh, right.

Pinkie Pie – I mean, Pink Menace!
Fuck!
You see? Do you see what you do to me? Even when you’re not here! Shut the fuck up!
At the very least, pull the stick out of your plot long enough to realize that nopony fucking likes you!

I mean it, Pinkie!
I mean, Pink Menace!

Nopony likes you. Maybe we would, if you could lay off the cocaine for, like, ten minutes. Coupling debilitating drugs with your attention deficit disorder isn’t helping. As in, at all. And it makes your voice even more annoying.
God, every time you talk, I just want to jam forks in my eardrums!

It was funny for about thirty minutes, but now I just want to mangle you!

Shit, I’m doing it again.
Spike? Start over.

Dearest… Pinkie Pie.
Get in my basement.

Bring some whisky, some Tramadol, and some latex gloves. Oh, and some Band-Aids.
Seriously, bitch. We gon’ get freaky.
Like… like Vikings.

Vikings are plenty freaky, I didn’t ask for your opinion, Spike!

And that's another thing! Nopony cares about your bullshit opinions, Pinkie! That thing with the parasprites was a fluke, plain and simple.
And for fuck's sake, just stop with the 'cupcakes' thing. If I hear you say one - more - word. One! One word about cupcakes, and I swear to god, I will SHIV you.

If anyone else had noticed, Pinkie seemed to have undergone a drastic transformation.
Her eyes had narrowed to dangerous slits, and as she carefully weighed the cleaver in one hoof, Pinkie’s mane slowly began to deflate into a plain, flat state…

And then Pinkie Pie dropped her fudge.

Author's Notes:

Cupcakes, so sweet and tasty...