It started out like most catastrophes: quietly, unnoticed, like a jungle cat stalking its prey in the tall grass. Today, that prey was a young purple unicorn named Twilight Sparkle. The jungle cat was a pimple. The tall grass was Twilight Sparkle’s ass.

Spike was the first to notice. Twilight was in the middle of a boring lecture about some wizard who died a long time ago (Which really narrows it down), when Spike suddenly asked, “Twilight? You’ve got a pimple on your ass.”

Twilight turned around and there it was: small, barely pink, but there. “Aw, sheeeeeeeeyit,” she cursed. “I wonder if we have any spells on removing a pimple.” She went through her magic book. Spike groaned. Twilight was so disorganized she probably wouldn’t know where to begin looking. It didn’t help that she was looking at a cookbook.

To save her time, Spike went to the magic section. Drawing his claw over each spine of every book, he came across Magical Removal of Embarrassing Bullshit. Spike flipped through it, looking for anything about pimples. “Blemishes, genital warts, second and third noses, in-laws, voices in your head, the clap… Ah, here it is, pimples.” Spike handed the book to Twilight.

Except this action failed, as Twilight had no hands. Instead she had telekinesis, which actually works better, especially for those itches you get in hard-to-reach places—and don’t even get me started on how much more interesting masturbation gets.

Anyway, Twilight looked at this section of the book. She smirked. “Yep,” she said closing the book, “This is one of THOSE kind of fan fictions.”

“What kind?” asked Spike.

“The kind where something really fucking stupid happens only to get even more fucking and stupid.” Twilight thought over the implications. “Let’s just hope there’s more of the former than there is of the latter. I haven't gotten any in a while.”

“And what I do to you every Wednesday night doesn't count!” Spike grinned like an idiot.

Twilight recited the magic words. “Bibble-babble-mickey-mass-get this pimple off my ass!”

And the pimple disappeared! Problem solved. To celebrate the thwarting of an embarrassing elevation of the skin, Twilight decided to throw a Mexican barbecue right then and there. And I mean she actually rounded up a bunch of Mexicans, shoved them into a grill, and threw them off her lawn. Not only had she solved her pimple problem, Twilight Sparkle had also solved America’s immigration problem.

Except that never happened. Twilight doesn’t even fucking live in America. America should solve its own goddamn problems instead of relying on fictional characters to do it for them. Superman needs his downtime too, America! Stop being selfish!

Spike looked at Twilight Sparkle’s ass to see that it was now pimple free. “I hereby declare this ass pimple-less,” Spike declared hereby. “Only now we have a much bigger issue at hand.”

“What is it, Spike?” Twilight looked behind her only to see her ass staring right back at her. She had accidentally cast a “Second-Face spell” on her own ass. She did it because she is a stupid, stupid pony.

“Hey pal,” said Twilight’s ass, “Thanks f’r takin’ care o’ that pimple problem there. It was gettin’ mighty itchy now, dontcha know!”

Twilight groaned. Yup, it was indeed one of THOSE fics.