We were going to hit the joint on a Monday. I argued for Tuesday, Wednesday even, and God forbid Thursday, but no, it had to be a Monday. That was the day the armored trucks refreshed the cash deposit in the vault. The biggest possible score.

There were several reasons I didn’t want a Monday to be the day we robbed one of the biggest hits of our lifetime. For one thing, it’s just bad luck. You never hear about anything going right on a Monday. Secondly, my suit wouldn’t be back from the dry-cleaners until at least Friday, and I never go on a heist without it. That sepia-brown suit was my signature look, but no, it just had to get covered in blood after the last heist, and now I get stuck with the tacky black suit and tie instead. Just my luck.

Anyway, not like I had much say in it anyhow, seeing how this was Bain’s gambit we were taking. Guy had said he’s been staking out the joint for a couple weeks and saw the perfect opportunity to swoop in and make a payday like no other.

High security local, too, from what he’s described it as. Big-swig joint where fat cats and pimp-busters, along with the corrupted dope smoking cop or two, deposited their blood covered funds to spend on cheap booze and even cheaper hookers on. Sure, it looked glitzy and glamorous on the outside, what with the fancy Roman architecture and floors so clean you can fuck ‘em without the risk of a disease, but it was just filled with the most rotten, filthy excuse for spendable dough on the planet. You’d find more reputable money shoved in a stripper’s g-string than this fuckhole.

But still, the cash was too good to pass up, so I just shoved a rabbit’s foot in my pocket and got ready to get jiggy with it.

We were all seated in the back of the van, the driver taking us to our destination. Good thing about those hippies always driving up here to protest at the White House or some other bureaucrat shithole, or else a bright blue van out in the middle of the Washington DC area might have looked conspicuous.

“Man, what the hell is Bain thinking?” Wolf asked, shoving shotgun shells into his gun while his other finger tapped on the trigger, itchy to pull. I always told him to mask his voice somehow because of his obvious Swedish accent, but he said some idiot American would just call it a Danish accent instead. At least he took my advice for the wig, though I don’t know how popular long, goldilocks-style hair went with a rough and tumble beard. “We already robbed First World Bank about a dozen times now. I’m telling you, it’s bad luck to swing by this place on too many occasions.”

“Maybe that’s because they stepped up security ever since you racked up that impressive body count,” Hoxton, my younger brother, suggested. He shot a smug grin covered in stubble at Wolf, who just rolled his eyes at him.

“Maybe you should watch your fucking mouth,” Wolf said, pumping his shotgun.

“Goddamn, can’t both of you assholes go five minutes without bitching to each other?” Chains asked, the much larger black man too focused on his weapon to cast an eye to either of them. “Dallas, tell your lil’ bro to simmer down.” Chains was already loading his rifle; over a decade of hard military training making him the kind of guy who always double-checked his weapon.

“He’s old enough to act like an asshole if he wants,” I replied, staring over Chains’ shoulder to the driver’s window. Looks like another couple of blocks of DC metropolitan area to drive through before the we reached the target location.

“You know what? Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you!” Hoxton said, pointing to every single one of us. “I do my job better than all your assholes combined, but of course, since you’re all assholes, all I get is shit!”

“Maybe if you kept your fat fucking trap shut sometimes, you wouldn’t get shit so often,” Wolf muttered, checking himself in the rearview mirror of the van to make sure he wig stuck on right.

“Same could be said about you too, Wolf,” Chains muttered, stowing extra ammo to his belt.

“You know what, Chains,” Wolf said, getting up from his seat, just as the van took a hard right turn, causing him to nearly fall onto Hoxton.

I reached out and grabbed Wolf by his shirt collar and threw him back in his seat. “Why don’t all of you shut up?” I demanded, holding onto the side of the van as we made another turn. “Come on, we’re never this edgy before a payday. Anger leads to fucking up which leads to you dying, or landing your ass in prison, just like the last Hoxton!”

“At least the last Hoxton was more bearable,” Wolf muttered.

Hoxton got up, but I quickly pushed him back down with a steady hand. “Hey, hey! No starting fights in the van! I don’t need to pay for anymore bullet holes on this thing than there already are whenever we finish up with a joint!” Sitting back down, I brushed a hand through my short-crop hair and sighed. Well, at least attempted to. My old smoking habits made exhaling and inhaling air a bit troublesome, so I breathed deeply through my nose for several seconds as tensions in the van petered out.

 Finally, it was Chains who was the first to say, “You know, I think I know why we’re all high-strung. It’s the job.”

“What, we’ve hit World Bank plenty of times,” Hoxton reminded him, slyly smiling. “We withdraw from there more than all their legit customers put together.”

“I think he was referring to the fact that Bain didn’t tell us squat about this assignment,” Wolf said, his hands unsteady as he fidgeted with the shotgun in his grasp. “No security mentions, no intel on any guard patrols, and basically shit on anything else other than that fact a couple hundred G’s were stashed in the place.”

“Why the hell are we accepting this assignment in the first place?” Chains asked, pointing his unloaded pistol at me. “Dallas, you want us to walk into a suicide mission or what? Because the way I see it, we’re running into a fucking slaughter house with bullseyes tattooed on our asses.”

        “Walk, run, does it make any difference how we get the job done?” I asked, slipping on my gloves as I noticed this was the final street before the turn to the bank. “Listen, Bain has treated us fairly in the past. We’ve gotten our equal cut, he’s supplied us with everything we need to get each job done, so I’d cut the guy some slack a little.”

“Maybe it’s not slack. Maybe you’re just too scared,” Chains said. Wolf and Hoxton stopped preparing, all eyes in the van focused solely on me.

I shift my gaze to each of my teammates, their eyes wary, even the usually stoic Chains. Scratching at the scruff of my beard on my cheek, I coughed under my breath. “Guys, you know neither me nor Bain would double-cross the other.”

“How are you so sure Bain won’t fuck us over?” Hoxton asked, crossing his arms with his assault rifle standing up in his lap. “He controls the city, Crime Net, and probably most of the criminals in the immediate five-mile area. If he wanted to he could have us all floating down a river in less than five minutes with just one word.” Hoxton shook her head, shoulders drooping. “For all we know, this could be a way for him to tie up a loose end.”

“How the fuck did we become a loose end?” Wolf asked. “We never fucked up a job, always completed any assignment we were given. We should have gotten fucking gold stars for doing a job well done instead of this shit!”

“Well, that’s crime for ya. Unpredictable and occasionally fucking you over,” Chains said, staring dismally at his gun for a moment before looking up with a wide grin and perfect white teeth. “Which is why I love it.”

“Listen, we’ll talk about Bain and fuck overs later,” I said, getting up from my seat. I could feel the sharp pinch of my ballistic vest beneath my suit as it hugged my body, the best protection I had from any bullet with my name on it. “We’re at the drop zone.”

The van pulled up in front of the bank, several passerby entering and exiting the building in a nonchalant manner. First World Bank was basically one of the easiest stops we’ve ever made. Hell, there’s practically a red carpet leading right up to the vault. Along with so many security cameras that the NSA gets a stiffy just thinking about it.

“Okay, guys, you know the drill,” I said, setting my assault rifle to fully automatic. “Get in, make it smooth, keep civilian deaths to a minimum, you see a cop you shoot the fucker between the eyes, and most of all, you grab the dough before we all die. You know where the vault was last time, doesn’t take too long to break it open. Easy enough to do?”

“Yeah, sure, except for the mask part, big brother.” Hoxton pulled out a container from under his seat, opening it up and pulling out four straws from within. “Okay, gentlemen, pick your poison.”

I rolled my eyes, the last one to pick out a straw. We did this routine each time we got a new package from masks from Bain. He said it was to make us less conspicuous on repeated missions, but really, I knew it was because the guys—myself included—loved donning a new mask just for the hell of it. There’s nothing like robbing a joint wearing the face of a psychotic clown or an alien. In the end, it was really about accessorizing.

To make things fair, we usually chose the new batch of maks using straws so that no one complained too loudly about what mask they received. And in the end, like many other times, I got the short straw. Oh joy…

Opening the container wide, we all gathered together to see what potential robbing gear we were going out in style for today.

“Ah, Presidential,” Wolf said, smiling wide. Reaching inside, he withdrew a tight-lipped Bill Clinton mask with a wide-brimmed nose and putting it on. “Clinty, old boy, we’re gonna get along just fine. A man of my own heart, some might say. He knew how to appreciate the finer things of life.”

“Yeah, like his secretary’s fine ass,” Hoxton laughed, donning his mask of a slightly frowning and hawk-nosed George Bush. “Well, how-day y’all,” Hoxton said in his best attempt at a Southern accent. “Ain’t we gonna have a fine tootin’ time robbin’ dis here bank?”

“Shit, of course I get the Obama,” Chains muttered, scowling at the choice his straw got him. An out of proportion, widely grinning Barack Obama mask with huge white teeth that covered most of the face, which he put on reluctantly. “I didn’t even vote for the guy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a criminal, of course you don’t vote,” Wolf said, winking to Chains from behind his mask.

Chains lifted up a finger, stopped, stood still for several minute, then solemnly shook his head and double-checked his equipment, muttering, “Sly son of a bitch…”

“Okay, everyone, knock it off with the jokes, we’re on a tight schedule here,” I said.

Wolf nudged Hoxton with his elbow and said, “Almost as tight as my secretary’s—”

“That’s enough!” I ordered, Wolf and Hoxton laughing like immature pricks.

Chains was at least somewhat professional during this time, taking care to move to the back of the van with his shoulder against the wall, legs bent forward. Wolf joined him on the other side, shotgun in one hand with a duffel bag in the other. Hoxton was right behind, crouching down low as all looked to me for the signal.

Now it was my turn. Reaching into the box, I withdrew… a Nixon mask. Ugh, not that guy. Anything but that guy. Pointy, beaky nose, pudgy cheeks, and a balding hairstyle that had gone out of fashion way before the sixties. Even with empty eyeholes, I can feel the weasley, shrewd look staring right back at me. Creepy as hell.

“Goddamnit…” I muttered, fitting the mask over my face. The uncomfortable musk of the facewear came almost instantly, like breathing fumes from a plastic toy factory in China, which might very well be the place the mask was from. Bain never cared to mention where he got the things anyway. He mostly includes them in the package for any heist to keep us anonymous, and to have a bit of ‘flare’ with robbery. Accessorize to robberize, as the others call it. Me, I just used it so my face didn’t get plastered in every police station from here to the West Coast.

“Okay, Tricky Dicky, we ready?” Wolf asked.

My vision was somewhat blocked by the mask, but not so bad I was walking blind. Raising my rifle up, I said, “Gentlemen, time to cash out.”

With a holler of pure joy and what could only be described as sticky-fingers for some green, Wolf opened the van and jumped out while howling his namesake. Chains was close behind, with Hoxton bringing up the rear. The Payday crew, about to bust another heist, fuck another bank, collect payment for Bain, and spit in the rotten husk of human decency called law enforcement just to make a few cheap bucks. And where did I lie amid this ruin of old moral standards and the new age of crime that had so politely screwed over society because of its own materialistic wealth? Well, I was in the back of the van, a voice talking slowly into my earpiece.

Dallas, it’s me, Bain, he said, voice, as always, with a tinge of a robotic sound.

“Um, Bain, I’d love to chat, but I’m kinda busy here,” I said, itching to join my crew as they were probably assaulting the front desk as we spoke.

I know. The heist. Your last one. Shame you won’t even be participating in it.

One foot was outside the van, my hand on the door, just about to jump off. Holding my finger to my earpiece, I asked, “Say what?”

Dallas, Dallas, Dallas. You always were the best. Which means it’s only fair you’re first. Wait up for the others when you get there, won’t you?

“Bain, what the hell are you talking about?” I shouted. My head was beginning to feel like it was drowning in a pool of liquor, all fuzzy and slow. I tried to support myself on the handle of the van’s back door, the light from outside dimming as my eyesight blurred. “Where is there? Are you screwing us over?”

Just remember one thing, Dallas. Keep your feet tucked in.

And with that, my body seized up, and I fell out of the back of the van. This was a less then three foot drop, but at the current speed I was going, it felt like I was free falling out of the side of a plane. Thousands of feet of free fall, to be exact.

Yep, this Monday was definitely going swimmingly.

---

“Luna! Luna, come out now!” Celestia demanded, knocking repeatedly on the door to Luna’s bedroom. “Sister, request you to exit your room at once!”

A bang, followed by muttered curses and shuffling could be heard on the other side of the door. Finally, Luna slammed the doors open, dark bags hanging under her eyes and her mane frizzled and tangled into knots.

“What, dear sister, could you possibly need me for?” Luna asked through gritted teeth, bloodshot eyes glaring at Celestia’s perky demeanor.

“It is time to raise the moon, Luna. I came here to make you’d get up on time, since the last several attempts resulted in the sunset’s lateness,” Celestia said, smiling wide.

Grimacing, Luna rubbed a hoof against her temple. “Tia… daylight saving time just started three days ago, remember? I’m a thousand years out of the loop and even I knew about that.”

“Huh…” Celestia tapped her chin, staring down at the floor. “Guess I should reset the clocks then.”

“Great,” Luna said, shutting the door inches from Celestia’s nose. “Call me when it’s the proper time for me to raise the moon, okay?”

“Okay, Luna, so sorry for the mistake!” Celestia called to her sister, her white cheeks now tinged red. Turning around, Celestia took a few steps forward, then stopped in her tracks as a loud noise sounded directly behind her.

Checking over her shoulder, Celestia immediately noticed a large hole having replaced much of the ceiling, which was followed by the floor as well. Dust rained from the roof as a voice crying out in a shriek echoed as floor after floor broke away beneath its non-stop path of descent to the very bottom of the castle, where it halted with a resounding bang that shook the very foundations the castle was situated on.

“What in blazes…” Celestia hurried to the hole in the floor, staring down below at the numerous other identical holes all leading to the bottom floor. There, amid rubble and dust from the crash, she could barely make out a figure, who was attempting to get up. “Where did that thing come from?”

That thing finally got back to its feet after a few minutes with a shout she couldn’t make out, dozens of flights of floors and a fall from who knows how high up not even hindering its movements a bit. Vaguely, Celestia could make out the sight of it staring back up at her. What it looked like, she couldn’t be certain, but one thing made itself clear right away.

It was currently traveling up each floor, each leap and grapple lifting it up several feet in the air as it quickly scaled the castle in the finest example of strength or agility Celestia had ever seen. Also, for some strange reason, the creature was making a strange noise, sounding like an, “Aroo!”

Yep, it was going to be another one of those Mondays again.

I… was fucked up. That was the best word for it, at least without using more creative curses. My head was swimming, my body was beaten, and I was too exhausted to move a muscle. Also, apparently I was stuck in a pile of rubble. Just great.

I didn’t know what happened after I stepped out of that van, but it felt like I just skydived into Hell itself. All I knew was that I wanted to strangle Bain right now. Sly, cocky weasel thought he could fuck me over like a two dollar hooker? When I get my hands on that damn hippie’s throat, I’ll make sure to twist it so tight not even a war-ravaged communist would be able to sneak in.

Wait… what the hell? Hippies, communists, and now… Republican ideals? War on drugs, smaller government, kill all communists, price control, reform welfare, kill all communists, punch a hippie in their dirty damn throat, and kill all communists!

The power of a thousand suns exploded in my chest as I jumped to my feet. Yes, I could feel it now. My body, my flabby, pasty-skinned, and riddled with phlebitis body, was whole once more. A good Republican body. A body that couldn’t be beat.

A shimmering light covered my suit, hard to make out but growing in illumination by the second. Touching my face, I could feel my cheeks, my sunken in eyes, and even my arching nose, all too real to just be a mask. Yes, it was real. I was actually Richard M. Nixon! Richard Motherfucking Nixon. Well, actually, the “M” stood for Milhous, but that didn’t matter. What only mattered now was that I was back, stronger and better than ever.

“Nixon is back!” I shouted with raised fists in victory, power coursing through my veins. The power to end—but mostly prolong—wars. The power to go to the moon and back. The power to brutalize those peace-loving, dope-smoking, free love endearing hippies into the dirty curb where they belong. The power of capitalism, of freedom, of apple pies and bald eagles and even football on Sunday mornings. It was the power of America. And by God, it was good to have it back.

Instinctively, I felt that familiar presence again. The cruel, dark, icy shroud of iron that covered the goodness of the world—democracy—in its totalarism shadow and subjected its people to a socialistic nightmare of tyranny and strange foreign customs alien to the American people. That evil that has blighted the Earth that I could sniff out with my large schnoz was none other than communism! Also, cake, for some strange reason. Communistic cake, while delicious, is just a blight of corruption on both the stomach and human soul.

I shouted my battle cry, “Aroo!” and jumped up to meet this red-skinned bastard head on with all my might. Floor after floor I jumped, hands and feet working in perfect symmetry to allow myself enough power to keep ascending to the top, where I had probably fallen from earlier on. Dear God, I hadn’t felt this good since that landslide victory re-election victory in 1972. McGovern’s tears were an excellent treat at my re-election party.

Before I knew it, only one more floor separated me and the commie threat to the nation. So with a final hurdled leap, I reached the top floor, both gloved fists raised for proper fisticuff brawling as I sized up my opponent.

Needless to say, I was baffled, and by the vaguely humanoid facial features the creature possessed I could tell it was as well. The first thing I noticed was that thing was a… horse. An actual, white-as-bread, horse, with wings and a horn to boot. Like some physical manifestation of a six-year old’s imagination, complete with the multihued, flowing mane and even pretty, flashy eyelashes. I didn’t know whether to sneer, hold back vomit, or spit in the abomination’s face.

Instead, I stood erect and said with unwavering resolution, “My name is Richard Nixon. I came here to spread democracy and introduce capitalism in a free world market.” I cracked my knuckles and frowned. “And I’m all out of free world markets.”

The creature continued to balk at the mere sight of me, probably so highly impressed by my freedom-forged body and take-no-prisoners American attitude that I had taken its breath away. However, after several seconds, it shook its head and asked, “I’m sorry… who are you again? And how in the name of Tartarus did you survive that fall? That’s more than a dozen flights of floors you just went through.”

“The power of patriotism coursing through my veins kept me invulnerable to any damage,” I said, pounding on my chest. Once again again that mysterious light from before shined over my suit, shimmering in its mysterious energies.

“Patriotism? Is that some sort of magic?” the creature, clearly female from the uncertainty in her voice and girlish nativity, asked.

“What? No, patriotism is the most powerful force in the God fearing nation of America. Whenever you see a bald eagle soar across the sky, that’s patriotism. Whenever a hippie is beaten up in the streets, that’s patriotism. Whenever a newborn child suckles on the sweet teat of liberty, that’s patriotism. Whenever a red-hearted, yellow-bellied communist is defeated before the might of democracy, now that’s patriotism.” I swelled up my flabby chest and shook my jowls. “American patriotism is the lifeblood of the United States, and by God does it feel good coursing through my veins and pancreas.”

The creature’s jaw hung open and loose, a word on the edge of her lip that was unable to be pronounced. Finally, she covered her face with a hoof and sighed deeply. “Okay… okay, certainly not the strangest situation I’ve been involved with.” Coughing lightly under her breath, the creature reached out with a hoof and said, “Mr. Nixon, my name is Celestia, Princess of Equestria. It’s a… pleasure to meet you… even under such inconvenient circumstances.”

I slapped her hoof out of the way. “First off, Missy, that’s Mr. President. Secondly, where in Washington’s name is Equestria? Is it one of those African countries that I keep on overthrowing the governments of to impose an American sponsored leader?”

“Not exactly. Equestria is a land populated by ponies, of which I am one,” she said, pointing to her jewel embroidered chest and then to her crown. “I rule over my little ponies as their princess.”

I tapped my finger against my chin—both of them—and summed Celestia up with a quick scan of my eyes. White, obsessed with jewelry, and had enough of a backbone to not cower at my mere presence. Turn her human and that would’ve been the working class woman that I so intensely despised for staying out of the kitchen where she belonged.

“So, you’re saying you’re a princess?” I asked. “Such as one that wasn’t democratically elected through the electoral college based on voter turnout from each district or state of the country?”

“Uh… not exactly. I’ve been ruling over the nation of Equestria for over a thousand years now,” Celestia said, her earlier misgivings overshadowed by her confidence and pride. “A thousand years of peace and utopia, if I may be so bold to add. My ponies have lived in relative harmony for so long now, unrest or violence is a rare event.”

My nostrils flared and a vein bulged on my temple. That creeping feeling from before ran up my backside, like when a hippie applies for welfare. You know it’s a dirty plot right from the get-go.

“So, you’re a communist?” I said, stating the socialist in the room.

“I’m not exactly sure what that is,” Celestia said. “If you mean rule as a monarch, then I suppose you can classify me as one.”

I felt a festering storm of conservative fury build up in my stomach, and I was left at a standstill what to choose next. Discreetly discuss the mysterious terms of my sudden, mysterious appearance in this leader’s country and reach a diplomatic decision of what course of action to take next? Or, I could do battle with this terrifying tyrant of treachery and revolutionize this downtrodden nation in the proper, American way of life with freedom and capitalism for all.

My fist, whose sole purpose was to break the chiseled jaw of communism, made up the choice for me. In one swift motion I punched the pony right smack-dab in her face, the feel of teeth loosening beneath my knuckles a satisfying experience as I knocked the damn white commie bastard off her feet… erm, hooves.

The socialist fell with a satisfying thud against the floor, sliding several feet away due to the force of impact. Smiling, I lifted up my gloved hand and opened and closed my fist several times, the awesome power from before still supplying energy to even my smallest muscle movements far beyond their normal potentials.

Before I knew it, however, I too was knocked off my feet due to a heavy force striking me square in the chest. With the wind knocked out of me I flew through the air, only stopping when my backside collided with the wall, cracking the stone and creating a dent several inches thick.

Falling to my knees to suck in some breath, I looked up to see Celestia already charging at me in a furious trot, her eyes glowing a brilliant golden along with her horn which was aimed right at my heart. I smiled, adrenaline and patriotism coursing through my veins.

“Oh, so you think you can knock ol’ Nixon down while he’s out?” I asked, jumping off the wall and to my feet. Taking a running start, I yelled, “Well, this Dick has a few tricks up his sleeve, hippie scumbag!”

And with that I met Celestia in a headway impact of two highly powerful opposing forces. But I was victorious in the end, the superior power of patriotism easily overcoming whatever strength she drew from. Also, because I kicked her right in the jugular at just the right moment. “Nixon-kick!” I shouted, the following action resulting in a flying communist striking the wall at the opposite end of the hallway—along with breaking it, I might add—creating a sizable hole where the wall once stood as Celestia was showered by falling debris.

Celestia pulled herself out of the rubble, shaking bits of stone and dust off her coat while flapping her wings. Breathing at a rapid rate now, she asked, “How… how is it possible you just did that? No magic in all of Equestria could possibly do what you just did.”

“Bah, magic is just a myth. Just like equal opportunity workplaces for women,” I said, walking at a leisurely pace to my target. “Both of which I shall stamp into the ground as mere fibs.”

“But how do you suppose you got here? How do you think you can survive and do what you just did? No normal pony or… whatever you are, is capable of pulling off those feats,” Celestia said, horn once again shining in that strange, golden light. “Plus, you’re glowing.”

I stopped in my tracks, looking at my arms, which were indeed illuminated in a strange field of light. Feeling something wiggle in my pocket, I withdrew my rabbit’s foot from before that I always brought on heists for good luck. It was actually… moving. Kicking and jumping, almost as if it was alive. Dropping it at my feet, I turned my beady-eyed gaze to Celestia and said, “In the name of Stonewall Jackson’s right testicle, what is that?”

The door between us opened up, another one of those ponies stepping out with a very disgruntled look on her face. “Dear sister, could you please keep it quiet for five minutes longer? Equestria isn’t going to care if the moon is late for another five minutes!”

It took the newcomer about ten seconds to realize there was a hole at one end of the hallway where her sister was located, while at the other end I stood erect, with a proud upthrust bosom.

She blinked several times, rubbed her eyes with a hoof and shifted her gaze repeatedly from the left to the right. “Am… I still dreaming?”

“No, but you’re about to be!” I said, running to her with my fist raised.

“Luna, look out!” Celestia shouted, running to her sister at a breakneck speed.

“I don’t usually hit women without drinking enough liquor, but I’ll kindly make an exception for you!” I said, jumping as I dropped the hammer of freedom that was my fist onto Luna. “Nixon-smash!”

---

“I have to say, Twilight, you were right. Tonight seems like a delightful time for a picnic under the stars,” Rarity said, unfurling a blanket on the grass.

“Especially if that shooting stars show you mentioned is gonna appear tonight,” Rainbow Dash said, zipping overhead. She performed multiple loopty-loops before landing on the grass, an excited smile on her face. “This is gonna be totally awesome!”

Applejack set down a bushel of apples on the blanket, already taking a seat with a content sigh. Staring over at Twilight, she tilted her head and asked, “Something the matter, sugarcube? You’ve been starin’ in the distance since we got here.”

Twilight shrugged, peering closer to the mountain that Canterlot was situated upon. “Oh, nothing, it just seems that something strange is happening in the castle.”

“Strange how?” Fluttershy asked, joining Twilight’s side to gaze at the mountain.

“Well, odd lights and smoke appearing in the air, for one thing,” Twilight said.

“Ooh, so they’re having a party?” Pinkie asked, hopping in place next to Twilight.

An explosion could be seen in one of the distant towers of the castle, debris flying out in a shower beneath the light of the setting sun.

Twilight gulped. “I don’t think so. Whatever it is, I think the princesses might be in trouble.”

I stepped over the rubble scattered across the floor, waving my hand in the air to clear away the dust. “Well, well, isn’t this a treat. You’re still alive.”

A shimmering golden field of some sort surrounded the pair of ponies from the fury of my fist, blocking my blow. It didn’t, however, stop the resulting explosion, which had devastated much of the hallway and had reduced the walls to barely wreckage.

The golden force field disappeared, leaving a dust covered Celestia standing in front of the other pony. Luna, I believe I heard Celestia mention. Not that it mattered, since the only engraving her or her sister were going to receive on their graves would read ‘Here rests another dirty, communist scumbag.’

“Are you mad?” Celestia asked, her voice carrying more power and strength than before. “You come into my castle, hit me, and then attack my sister? What type of maniac are you?”

“A Republican,” I answered, cracking my knuckles one by one in my clenched fists. “Also, the Fourth Amendment doesn’t apply to dirty foreigners. And neither do any of the others, so I can do pretty much whatever I want.” I assumed attack position, fists raised at either side as I hopped from one foot to the other. “Constitution be damned!”

“What are you even talking about, you psychopath?!” Luna demanded, moving away from under the protective wing of her sister. Although smaller than her sibling, I noticed she still had some backbone on her. Shame that’ll be the first to break. “I don’t know who you are or where you’re from, but you’re going to regret ever stepping foot here! Equestria is under our protection, and harming it or us means you’ll meet the fury of our wrath!”

I yawned. Rubbing the gloved nails of my hand against my coat, I sauntered to the nearby wall, not even glancing at the pony princess duo. “Is that all?”

“How dare you ignore me!” Luna shouted. She took a step forward, Celestia resting a hoof on her shoulder to hold her back. “You have no right to enter my domain and treat me like trash!”

“Careful, sister, this one is trouble. And from what I’ve seen, extremely powerful,” Celestia whispered in Luna’s ear. “We can’t go charging headstrong into this one.”

“Actually, I have every right to enter your ‘domain,’ as you call it,” I said. “The spread of communism must stop. And if that means invading a foreign nation and overthrowing its despot government, well…” a small smile appeared on my flabby-cheeked face, “I’m more than glad to do it myself.”

Luna gritted her teeth, throwing Celestia’s hoof off and walking towards me, a determined expression in her eyes and conviction in each step. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

I slammed the flat of my fist against the deteriorating wall, chunks of it already falling off and the ceiling crumbling away. “And you’re the bigger fool for thinking you can play with the big kids.”

Already the foundations of the hallway were falling apart, pieces and bits from the roof showering like hail as dust fell like a rainstorm. Narrowly dodging to the left to avoid being hit from a particularly large chunk of roofage, Luna growled at me as her horn and eyes glowed a bright bluish color, much like her sister’s golden. And before I knew it, I was flying through the air, the wind knocked out of my lungs in less than a second.

The wall behind me, which had already had ample damage from my backside previously, couldn’t contend with me a second time. Empty air met my back once the wall had crumbled to bits upon contact, and with nothing else to hold me back I just kept on falling and falling. Déjà vu.

However, unlike the last time, I was fully prepared for this encounter with that harsh mistress known as gravity. Turning around midair, I met the distant ground headon, like I was eager to embrace death with open arms. Luckily for me, I had already punched Death right in the kisser a number of years earlier, and the fink knew not to act funny around me ever again.

I landed firstly on my fist, having punched the ground with the force of a Presidential Punch Package that turned the earth into dust and crumble rock into pebbles beneath me. Wind tore through the air due to the powerful impact of my landing, and when I withdrew back to my feet a light shower of bits of rock and dust fell here and there near my vicinity. I appeared to have landed somewhere far below the tower. The top had crumbled with hopefully those princesses inside of it. Right now I was in a garden of some sort: what used to be grass and a cobblestone path leading to a scenic walk of a few beautiful flowers reduced to ripped up earth, a ruined pathway, disintegrated flowers, and a statue of a pony leaning on its side before eventually falling over and shattering into individual pieces.

Wiping off some dust from my shoulder, I walked forward while whistling the merry tune of ‘America the Beautiful.’ I had created a good sized crater from my landing, and sought to leave it to keep my shoes clean. Good leather stained easy, and heaven knows it’ll need a good spit-shining and wax to restore it to its proper look.

I side-stepped to the right, ducking to the side as I rolled on my shoulders to hastily avoid a blast of energy that zapped the area I was previously standing in to hot cinders. Back on my feet now, I look up and smiled at the spectacle.

“Well, looks like you gals are still kicking and screaming!” I laughed. Celestia and Luna were hovering high above, the smoke dissipating from Luna’s horn making her the obvious attacker. “Nothing like putting down a communist that’s up to struggle! Just makes the effort all the more rewarding!”

“Your alien accusations have no meaning here, you cold-hearted monster!” Luna proclaimed, slowly descending along with her sister.

I snickered. “Cold-hearted monster? My children have called my crueler insults than that! What, are you out of work hippies so wacked out on dope you can’t even come up with a proper jab at me?”

“Name calling is of no concern to us, Nixon, and neither should it be to you,” Celestia stated, landing directly before me in front of the setting sun. Luna was soon joined behind. “You arrive here out of the blue and threaten my sister and I, along with living up to those threats in a nature most violent and troublesome. You have no need to hate us, and neither do we to you, yet you throw off all concerns for proper, intelligent discussions and get right to snapping at us like a feral dog.” Celestia bent forward, assuming whatever attack position these ponies prefered. “And for that, your transgressions against both my sister and I and the nation of Equestria shall not be so easily forgiven. Surrender now, while you still have a chance.”

Checking over my shoulder, I saw Luna taking the position as well, both sisters positively radiating with this so called ‘magic’ they possessed. Bunch of hippie cockamamie mumbo-jumbo nonsense.

Smirking, I slowly began sliding out my hand from one of my gloves. “You honestly think I’ll surrender? Hell, I’d rather rot in prison than ever apologize to one of you commie monsters. But, I will give you this. The kid gloves,” I said, removing the first glove and holding it high overhead before dropping it, “are off.”

“Funny, I can almost say the same thing for us,” Luna said.

“Then this will at least be more entertaining than the usual hippie drivel that kick at my doorstep,” I said, removing the other glove. My boney, liver spot covered hands were glowing now, light shining more brightly than both Celestia and Luna combined. Turning my palms into fist, this light grew tenfold, power like no other filling my very soul with a might that could topple nations and lead entire countries. “And with these hands, I shall build your graves, and then erect a new government for this nation to stand on! Under Nixon, of course! Muhahahahahahahaha!”