“So, let me get this straight,” said a miffed Twilight Sparkle, massaging her temple with a hoof. “You ate the script?”

“…Baaaah,” replied the white lamb drowsily, licking his chops.

“Perfect. Just perfect!” shouted Twilight, turning around and storming across the stage. “The show is in three hours! The princesses tasked me with organizing the annual “Scotty Bourbon: A Documentary” play, and Nipsy never even bothered to learn his lines!” They were currently in a large theatre lined with rows of chairs surrounding a platform of which there were a myriad of different ponies, each with their own jobs on the set.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Twilight,” Applejack said from the exit, stepping out of the way for a pony carrying a comically-large chair to leave the stage and through the exit. “He’s had a rough few weeks.”

“Oh, that’s how it always goes with big shot Ponywood actors,” Twilight groaned. “’Oh, you don’t know how hard it is to be me!’ YeI, must be hard having everything in life handed to you on a silver platter.”

“…Actually, it’s iron,” Applejack corrected, raising an eyebrow. “And Nipsy ain’t no fancy actor neither. I don’t know why you seem t’ think our lamb is somethin’ he ain’t.”

“We’ve been over this, Applejosh,” said Twilight exasperatedly. “Nipsy as you call him is clearly Viktor Cardwell, the famous actor from Stalliongrad. I mean look at him!” She pointed to the lamb, who idly munched on the remainder of his script. “See? That’s genius!”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “I think th’ stress of runnin’ this here show is startin’ t’ get to ya, sugarcube.”

“DON’T YOU BACKSASS ME, APPLEJOSH!” Twilight suddenly shouted, her eyes bugging out. The redness around the edge of her eyes clearly showed that she hadn’t slept in days.

“…Applejack,” corrected Applejack.

Twilight squinted hard at her, taking a step closer. “Sure you are,” she said with venom, before turning back towards the bustling ponies. “Hey, where’s my cactus phallus?! We need that cactus phallus for Act Seventeen!”

Up in the top row of seats, concealed by the dark, there sat two older stallions –one a light grey, and the other a light brown- in lavish attire, consisting of hats, bowties, and fancy black tuxedoes that only covered the top half of their bodies. They both observed the purple unicorn as she went into her fit of sleep-deprived anger as though it were a play of its own.

“Tell me, Mortimer,” said the brown stallion in a richly-deep voice, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a gold monocle, “what do you think of the play so far?” He brought the monocle up to his face, and with a skill only achieved through many years of repeatedly donning monocles, placed the eyeglass upon his right eye.

“It’s… interesting, I’ll admit,” said Mortimer in a scratchy-yet-eloquent voice, who brought his hooves up to his bowtie and –with the skill that only decades of adjusting bowties can bring– adjusted his green bowtie ever so slightly. “It’s clear that the poor mare has endured great hardships in order to bring about this play. Though there is one thing that confuses me, Mordecai.”

“Oh? And what might that be, Mortimer?” Mordecai questioned, reaching into his pocket once more and retrieving a pair of white hoof gloves. And with the ability that only copious amounts of practice can achieve, he donned the pair of gloves.

“Who the devil is Scotty Bourbon?” Mortimer questioned, placing his hooves atop his bolo hat, and with the grace that only several decades of adjusting one’s hat can bring, adjusted his hat. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that name before, Mordecai.”

“Perhaps we will learn it as the play goes on, Mortimer,” said Mordecai. “Perhaps we will learn…”

“Okay girls,” said Applejack, “I think Twilight’s gone a lil’, uh… crazy.” She received several nods and murmurs of affirmative. The five friends all huddled around in a circle in the broom closet; so that they wouldn’t be discovered by Twilight as they spoke.

“It’s this play,” Rainbow Dash said, scratching her head. “It’s doing things to her head. And who’s to say it won’t happen to any of us next?”

“Oh… I don’t think… that’ll happen,” said an incredibly drowsy Pinkie Pie. “She just, like… needs a break.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just invite her to one of our circles,” said Rarity, before taking a deep drag on the hastily-rolled blunt.

“Because she’ll just narc on us!” said Rainbow Dash, extending her hoof. “She’ll rat us out to the feds, and then they’ll make us eat prison food, which we all know is filled with tiny little tracking devices that they use to track our every movement.”

“Also, she gets really, like… weird when she’s high,” Pinkie Pie added. “You remember last time?”

“Oh that’s right,” Rarity said. “The Great Orgy of Eighty Eight. So many lives were lost that day…”

“Um, Rarity?” said a quiet Fluttershy. “I’m sorry, but could you please… shut the fuck up? You’re killing my buzz.”

“YeI, let’s stick to th’ topic,” Applejack said. “What’re we gonna do about Twilight?” She received several shrugs, and Applejack groaned. “Why do we even have these break sessions if’n they ain’t helpin’ us with ideas?”

Sitting inside an unusually-large box in the broom closet, there sat two older stallions named Mordecai and Mortimer. The two sat comfortably side by side on their flanks, listening to the conversation.

“…Well, Mortimer,” said Mordecai, who retrieved another monocle from his pocket and –with great skill and efficiency– placed it atop his other eye, so that we wore two monocles at once, “If I may be so blunt, I do believe that this scene was completely unnecessary.”

“I, patience, dear Mordecai,” said Mortimer. He reached a hoof up, taking his hat off and running a hand over his mane with the skill that only decades of research can give you. “This is merely filler; without this, the play would be far too short, and it would hardly keep us entertained.”

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right, Mortimer.” Mordecai reached into his pocket, and retrieved yet another pair of white hoof gloves. With the dexterity that can only be bestowed upon a pony that had been wearing gloves his entire life, he slipped on the gloves above his existing pair. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have brought with you that brilliant Oxycontin, would you?”

With his hat still in his hoof, Mortimer reached into it and retrieved a small clear bag filled with white pills. “But of course, dear Mordecai!”

“Places, everypony!” cried Twilight, who observed the many ponies on stage adjusting the props and making last-minute changes to the set. “We’re on in three minutes!”

“Baaaah,” said Nibsy from behind her. Twilight cringed.

“…You did WHAT?!” cried Twilight, flipping around to see the uninterested lamb munching on a sheet of paper; a page from the script. “Are you KIDDING ME?! AGAIN?! Now what are we supposed to do?!”

“Hey Twilight!” called the familiarly-bubbly voice of Pinkie Pie from behind her. Twilight quickly flipped back around to scowl at her, when the pink pony shoved her hoof into Twilight’s mouth. Twilight reeled back with wide eyes –surprised by the sudden sexual advance– when she felt something slide down her throat. She quickly pulled her mouth off of Pinkie’s hoof, gagging and coughing violently.

“Pinkie, what did you just feed me?” she inquired through coughing fits.

“Something wonderful!” Pinkie said with a cheery grin, before hopping off into another plane of existence. Twilight shook her head wildly, shutting her eyes as her body was suddenly filled with a very warm sensation, starting with her hooves and moving up to her horn.

“Wow that’s a pleasant feeling,” she said out loud, her eyes drooping and a dumb grin stretching across her face. “I haven’t felt like this since…” Her eyes widened. “The Great Orgy of Eighty Eight! Pinkie, what have you done?!”

“We’re on in ten!” shouted somepony behind her, and Twilight growled back at him.

“CANCEL THE SHOW OR MILLIONS WILL DIE!” cried Twilight.

“Oh, do not be worrying about it too much,” said Nipsy in a thick Stalliongrad accent, who stepped in front of Twilight. “The show must go on, right?”

Twilight gulped. “Oh boy.”

“So tell me Mortimer,” began Mordecai as he hoofed a piece of popcorn into his mouth with the beauty and style only gained through a lifetime of hoofing pieces of popcorn into one’s mouth, “what do you think will come of our poor and plagued protagonist and her perilous predicament?”

“I’m not entirely certain, Mordecai,” replied Mortimer, swinging his hindlegs idly with the brilliance that is only achieved through several decades of study at the highest of universities on the topic of swinging one’s hindlegs. The two were sitting on a narrow catwalk about thirty feet above the stage. “That was quite the exquisite alliteration, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mortimer,” said an appreciative Mordecai. He reached into his pocket then, and with the skill of a hundred years of practice, placed yet another monocle on his right eye, making two on his right eye and one on his left. “I’ve studied the art of alliteration for several decades at the Canterlot Academy of Alliteration.”

“Really? So have I!” said a jovial Mortimer, clapping his hooves with the absolute wonder and amazement that can only be garnered by one who has clapped his hooves for every second of his life. “Observe; the Princess peed periwinkle piss onto a pair of pomegranates.”

“Excellent as usual, Mortimer,” said Mordecai, before the two heard copious clapping from beyond the curtain. “I, it appears that the show is about to begin.”

“Indeed it is, dear Mordecai,” said Mortimer solemnly as he stared down at the twitching purple unicorn. “Indeed it is…”

“I hope this works,” said Applejack, who sat in the front row alongside her now-sober friends. The theatre was absolutely packed that night; thousands of ponies filled the massive area, leaving nary a seat left. The way the five were seated was with Applejack in the front row, with Rarity and Fluttershy on either side. Behind them, Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash sat in the row behind.

“Don’t worry!” Pinkie said cheerily. “It’s not the same as last time; I added more beaver tranquilizer this time!”

“Oh, then everything should go perfect!” Applejack replied, a contented smile on her face. Just then, a small purple dragon stepped out from beyond the curtain, dressed in a toga and a party hat. The crowd went deathly silent, waiting for what he had to say.

“…WHAT’S GOOD, BITCHES?!” shouted Spike, holding a hand out to a ferociously-cheering crowd.

“I, pure poetry,” said a swooning and heavy-eyed Rarity.

“Y’all ready to bust a nut?!” Spike asked the crowd, to which the crowd cheered even harder. Spike was doing an excellent job of hyping the crowd; Though Applejack didn’t quite understand why a play needed a hype man. “…SCOTTY BOURBON, BITCHES!”

The crowd went wild, screaming their cheers at the now-bowing dragon. Several roses were thrown on stage; outnumbered entirely, however, by the number of panties that were flung as well. There was at best a three-to-one ratio of panties to roses, and there were several dozen roses.

Spike sifted through the thick layer of flowers and undergarments on stage, before picking up a single rose –and a handful of panties– and stepped back into the curtain. The crowd was silent once more as the curtain was pulled back, revealing a sunny desert backdrop, with masterfully-painted dunes in the background. At the center, there stood a single white lamb, wearing a black fedora and smoking a cigarette.

He looked out at the crowd lazily, before spitting out the cigarette and opening his mouth.

“…Baaaah…”

A mare in the audience moaned.

“So far so good,” whispered Applejack to Rainbow Dash, who shushed her. Applejack gave her a surprised stare. “I didn’t know you liked theatre.”

“I don’t,” she whispered back harshly. “Your lamb is just so fucking hot, I wanna keep this mental image imprinted in my mind for later.”

Rarity sighed in relief. “Good, so it’s not just me who thinks so.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “You too Rarity?”

“Same here,” Pinkie whispered from the row above them. “They raise ‘em nice on your farm, Applejack.”

“Y’all are terrible,” Applejack scolded. “Nipsy’s only five months old.”

“Applejack is right,” said Fluttershy, who was next to Pinkie on the second row. She raised a hoof up to point at Nipsy. “You shouldn’t pursue other animals as mates.”

“Thanks, Fluttershy,” APplejack said appreciatively, scowling at her other friends.

“Especially that one,” Fluttershy then added. “That’s my piece of ass right there.”

“Baaaaah… Bah.”

Somewhere, several mares moaned at once.

“How sickening, Mortimer,” said Mordecai. The two were presently sitting up only a few rows behind the five friends themselves. Mordecai then retrieved yet another monocle from his pocket, and with the dexterity and awe-inspiring grace that only a thousand years of manipulating monocles can bestow upon any one pony, he placed the monocle on his left eye; two monocles per eye, and he could see everything with great magnification now.

“Indubitably, Mordecai,” said the bolo-hat-wearing Mortimer, who was now wearing a top hat on top of his bolo hat; doing so with the balance and skill that one simply must be born with. “So many have gathered here, and yet all merely wish to ogle the poor lamb. Not a single citizen in this entire room cares one bit about the life of Scotty Bourbon.”

“Indeed… But Mortimer, I thought that we didn’t care either. We can’t, after all, since not one of us even recognizes the alias.” Mordecai then –with natural ability that not a soul in existence could replicate– removed only one of his hoof gloves, proceeding to slide it onto his left hindleg.

“I, but is that not why we are here, good Mordecai?” countered Mortimer, who now balanced atop his head a fedora on top of the pre existing stack of hats. “To learn about the famous –or infamous– Scotty Bourbon?”

“I, I suppose you’re right, Mortimer.” Mordecai nodded, before adorning himself with yet another monocle, placing it on his right eye with the determination that was not shared by any living creature in the known universe. “…So tell me, Mortimer; are you enjoying the play so far?”

“Indeed I am, Mordecai,” replied Mortimer, who now wore a regular black tie along with his green bowtie; a feat never performed before in all of recorded history. “Viktor Cardwell is a magnificent actor, is he not?”

“Indeed, Mortimer,” replied Mordecai. “One might even say he is quite the… card?”

Mortimer chuckled. “I’m going to burn your house down,” he said jovially.

Mordecai nodded. “I deserve no less, good Mortimer; that pun was absolutely atrocious.”

“Indeed it was, Mordecai,” said Mortimer nonchalantly. “I would advise you to remove your valuables as soon as you are able to. Upon your completion, we shall douse the floors and walls with gasoline, and then share a bottle of champagne as we watch your childhood home burn to the ground. And then afterwards, we shall make passionate love in the ashes.”

“I would have it no other way, Mortimer,” Mordecai replied, smiling. “It sounds like a wonderful conclusion for our second date.”

“Indeed it does, Mordecai.”

“Scotty, no!” Celestia –played by the dashing Shining Armor– shouted, raising a hoof dramatically to point at Scotty Bourbon –played by the brilliant Nipsy– who stood in the frame of a doorway that had no wall. “Please! You make me feel in a way that no one else does! Please don’t leave me!”

Scotty turned his head back to look at Celestia. “…Baah.”

There was silence for only a moment, before a stallion in the back yelled, “I CAME!”

Celestia sighed. “I understand. But, couldn’t we make love, just one last time?” She stared at him with pleading eyes, her lower lip quivering.

Slowly, Scotty turned around, and began walking towards Celestia. From the orchestra that played off to the side of the theatre, someone plucked a funky bassline.

Up in the VIP area of the theatre, the real Celestia wiped a tear away from her eye. “This scene always makes me tear up; this is a beautiful performance.”

Down on the stage, Shining shouted. “Wait, is that cactus shaped like a cock-A-DOODLE DO~?!” he cried, jumping up several octaves in a falsetto. The lamb made several grunting noises, and Shining continued to scream in agony.

“The captain of thine guard plays his role well,” Luna commented from beside her sister. “Observe how he is pleasured by the cactus phallus, much as you were.”

“I NEVER SIGNED UP FOR THIS!” cried Shining Armor from below. “THIS IS NOT PLEASURING ME IN ANY WAY AT ALL!”

“He’s doing a magnificent job indeed,” Celestia began, “though I must ask; if this is the first time this one-hundred-percent true story has ever been told, how would you know?”

Luna pointed to stage right, where a green pony –only her upper body was visible, as her flank was obscured by the red curtain– with a paper tiara that resembled Luna’s and a disturbing expression –she was biting her lower lip and her eyes were opened wide– stared at the ungodly act at center stage, holding a tube of toothpaste upright in one hoof, and furiously stroking and squeezing it with the other, causing strands of minty-blue toothpaste to shoot straight up into the air and land on the floor in front of her.

“I, that makes sense,” Celestia said nonchalantly. “Tell me; did you enjoy yourself?”

“After observing such a beautiful act,” Luna began, “it was impossible for us to revert to our usual pornography.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that, dear sister,” Celestia consoled. “Well, if you would like, I could turn my back so that you might be able to-“

Luna had already retrieved a tube of toothpaste, and donning the same expression as the mare on the stage, she began swiping and squeezing the tube violently, blowing the load of toothpaste several feet forward and down onto the voyeurs below. Celestia chuckled warmly.

“Tell me, Mortimer,” said Mordecai, who sat directly behind the princess of the night herself, “am I the only one who thought that the fondling of the toothpaste tube was a metaphor for her masturbating? And in turn, the ejection of the toothpaste being a metaphor for ejaculating great amounts of genetic material?”

“Of course not, Mordecai,” replied Mortimer, who sat behind Celestia. “Luna is a female, and therefore would not have the proper anatomy to even produce –let alone eject– such copious amounts of genetic material.”

Mordecai –wearing his five monocles– peered around Luna’s flank to examine the area between her thighs. “Hmph. It appears that you are correct, Mortimer; she has no such anatomy present.”

“I, but it appears that someone else does,” said Mortimer, who was performing a similar examination of the apparently-oblivious princess of the sun.

“Of course Celestia would have that anatomy,” Mordecai stated. “Why else would they cast a male to play as a female character?”

Mortimer put a hoof under his chin, rubbing it. “...I never really thought about that, Mordecai,” he said to the other stallion, the two sitting back upright behind the princesses. “But then when in the play does that male anatomy come into play?”

“HELP!” cried Shining Armor. “MY URETHRA IS BEING MOLESTED BY A CACTUS PHALLUS!”

Mordecai grinned. “Question asked, question answered, dear Mortimer.”

The curtains had drawn back together -a brief intermission to clean the copious amount of blood on-stage- and Applejack scratched the back of her head with her hoof, blushing madly. The others fared no better, each wearing red faces.

“I want his cactus phallus inside of me,” Rainbow Dash said, borderline panting.

“...Say, isn’t Twilight’s part up next?” Rarity inquired, holding a towel over her thighs.

“Eeyup,” replied Applejack. “Let’s hope that all goes well. So how are y’all likin’ the performance so far?”

“It’s alright, I guess,” Rainbow Dash said. “Like I said, I only came here to take in the hot stuff in the fedora.”

“Wait, didn’t Nipsy eat his script?” asked Fluttershy. “How is he performing so flawlessly if he couldn’t learn his lines?”

Applejack raised an eyebrow. “That’s a good point. Do y’ think that boost Pinkie gave Twilight got her t’ go over his lines fer each act?”

“It’s most certainly a possibility,” Rarity replied, quickly peaking under the towel for a brief moment, before laying it back down and pressing down on it.

Suddenly, Rainbow Dash squealed. “OH MY GOSH IT’S NIPSY!”

Her shouting caused the entire crowd of ponies to begin screaming praise and cheers -and throwing even more underwear- and Applejack’s attention was quickly directed to the right, where Rainbow Dash frantically pointed at the lamb that walked towards their seats. Applejack raised an eyebrow. “Nipsy? What’re you doin’ out here? Don’t ya know ya got lines t’ learn with Twilight?”

Nipsy raised his eyebrow, before shifting his direction to Rainbow Dash. “...Bah.”

Rainbow Dash let out a fan-girl-ish squeal, before her eyes went wide. She looked down at Rarity. “Uh… I need to borrow that towel.”

Rarity gave her an unimpressed stare. “Really? Are you certain that it is this towel that you would like to use?” she then lifted the towel up, twisted it into a knot, and wrung the towel out so that it spilled liquid all over the floor.

“...That’s nasty,” Fluttershy said with a disgusted look on her face.

“Don’t blame me,” Rarity countered. “Blame biology.”

“Okay, this is beginin’ t’ sound like an Epiduo commercial,” Applejack said, becoming slightly agitated. “Go on now, Nipsy; go do yer job.”

Then -to the surprise of the entire group- Nipsy began laughing.

“Wait, what?” Pinkie Pie said, still staring at Nipsy with awe.

“Oh, you girls are so funny!” Nipsy said, in a voice that they all immediately recognized.

“TWILIGHT?!” they all cried in unison.

Nipsy giggled. “In the flesh! Or rather, in the flesh of Applejack’s lamb. It’s really warm in here!”

Applejack stared at the lamb in horror. “What did y’all do t’ Nipsy?!” she questioned, placing a hoof over her mouth.

“I improvised!” Twilight said cheerily. “Isn’t it brilliant? Since Nipsy wouldn’t learn any of her lines, I took over her body so that I could play them instead!”

Applejack gulped. “So uh, is Nipsy alright?”

“Nope! She’s dead,” replied Twilight nonchalantly. “But that’s not what’s important; what is important is that now, the show can go on as planned! Isn’t that great?”

“Wait a second,” Rarity finally spoke up. “Then if you’re Twilight, in Nipsy’s body-”

“PLEASE FUCK ME,” Rainbow dash interjected. “PLEASE.”

“Sure!” Twilight replied happily. “That works out really well actually, because I need someone who can play my part in the play!”

“Deal!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed, flying over her friends and hugging the goat.

“...This is so fucked up,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“I could not have said it better myself, Fluttershy,” said Mordecai, who currently sat in a bathroom stall. He had been sitting there for the last ten minutes, as Mortimer sat in the stall adjacent.

Mortimer then peeped through the hole that someone had hastily cut into the stall wall to look at him. “Who are you talking to, Mordecai?” he inquired.

“Oh, no one in particular,” Mordecai replied, adorning his face with a sixth monocle; that made three for each eye at this point. “I’m merely continuing off of where the break had separated us.”

“I. Carry on then, Mordecai,” Mortimer said dismissively, moving his face away from the hole. Over the top of the stall, Mordecai could see the massive stack of hats that Mortimer now adorned; hats of every variety, from terrific top hats to somber sombreros.

“Very well then, Mortimer,” said Mordecai. Then, after a moment, he asked, “Say Mortimer; when do you suppose this play will be over?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Mordecai,” he replied honestly. “It doesn’t look like much more.”

“That’s good, Mortimer,” said Mordecai, “because quite frankly, this is devolving into nothing coherent.”

“I, but is that such a bad thing, Mordecai?” Mortimer countered. “If you’re enjoying yourself, then does the time really matter?”

“...Yes,” Mordecai said flatly.

“Indeed it does,” replied Mortimer.

“But don’t you understand?” said Julia Roberts -played by the somewhat-poor actor Rainbow Dash- to Scotty Bourbon -played the the always-amazing Nipsy, played by the always-disturbing Twilight. The two stood in front of the same desert backdrop from the first scene; actually, every scene had the exact same backdrop. “I’m a, hooman, and, you are, a stallion?” She added an upwards inflection, making the sentence sound like a question. She would constantly check her hoof, which had all of her lines written on it.

Scotty Bourbon rolled his eyes, before stomping a hoof down on the ground. “BI!” The entire crowd reeled back in surprise and fear, as though Scotty had thrown a burning bowling ball into the seats.

Julia Roberts huffed, before saying flatly, “I think, that this would only cause… stress in, our relation…” She went to check her hoof once more. “...ship.”

“Rainbow Dash is a terrible actor,” Rarity whispered.

“I know,” Applejack replied, “but she’s our friend, so we gotta support her.”

“Say, why is it that when Twilight is gone, you’re the voice of reason for the group?” Pinkie Pie inquired.

“Y’know I don’t have t’ be th’ only one,” Applejack rebutted. “Y’all can join in at any time ya want.”

“...You’re doing fine,” Fluttershy told her after a moment of silence.

“Wait, what’s happening to Twilight?” Rarity interjected, pointing a hoof up on stage. Scotty Bourbon had begun to swell; his body blowing up and expanding rapidly. Julia Roberts stared in awe as Scotty expanded to three times… four times… five times his size, and still swelling.

“Oh no!” cried Scotty. “What’s happening to me?!”

“Twilight?” Julia Roberts donned a worried look. “Are you alright?”

“...Pinkie, what was in that pill ya gave her?” Applejack asked slowly.

“Only LSD-laced beaver tranquilizer,” Pinkie said, before adding, “...and Trinitrotoluene.”

“You WHAT?!” cried the entire group once more in unison.

“But wait, doesn’t it require something to ignite it?” Rarity questioned.

“Also, wouldn’t it just blow up instead of swellin’ her like that girl from WIlly Wonka?” added Applejack.

“This is the world of cartoon horses!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed. “Do you really wanna be those people that like to pick apart every inconsistency?”

“That’s a good point,” Rarity ceded. “Very well then; how much Trinitrotoluene was added to the drug?”

“Oh, not that much,” Pinkie assured her. “Only enough to destroy Puerto Rico.”

“...How did you fit that much Trinitrotoluene into one pill?” Fluttershy asked.

“An’ also, why are you comparin’ the amount to the size of a country that don’t even exist here?”

“Okay, seriously?” Pinkie sighed heavily. “Again? We’re all gonna die, and the last thing you want to do is point out all of the plot holes?”

Rarity snickered into her hoof. “...She said plot hole.”

And then Twilight exploded in a great fiery explosion.

“...And there were no survivors,” Mordecai said aloud, reading the newspaper as he sat on the bench on the sidewalk. Mortimer sat next to him, and his stack of hats stretched into infinity. “The entire city of Canterlot apparently crumbled to the ground.”

“It’s a good thing we had left early,” Mortimer said beside him. “So Mordecai, how were the play reviews?”

“They were overall positive,” Mordecai replied. “Though apparently, it’s the general public’s opinion that the character of Julia Roberts fell quite flat.”

“It’s to be expected,” Mortimer said. “She’s a difficult character to master.”

“Indubitably, Mortimer,” said Mordecai, lowering the newspaper and staring at Mortimer with his thirty-eight monocles. “Say, do you have the time?”

“Indeed I do, Mordecai,” said Mortimer, raising his hoof and checking the time. “...It’s four-twenty.”

“Ah,” said Mordecai. “Thank you, Mortimer.”

“Not a problem, Mordecai.”

There was a long silence, broken after a few minutes when Mordecai said, “Say… You don’t think anyone suspects anything, do you?”

“Of course not, Mordecai,” said Mortimer. “The attention of the play was never on us for when we swapped the LSD pill with a magic expanding bean. No one could have possibly known.”

“Ah, that is good… though, doesn’t it essentially insult the playgoer by piecing together a shoddy ending that wraps everything up?”

“Mordecai,” Mortimer said seriously, staring at Mordecai. “This entire play itself is shoddy; the ending fits the play perfectly.”

Mordecai smiled. “That makes good sense, Mortimer. Say, can you pass the chardonnay?”

Mortimer nodded, passing over the half-empty bottle of alcohol. Mordecai took a quick sip, before directing his attention back to the burning house in front of them. “...Now what time is it, Mordecai?”

“It’s four twenty-two.”

“Excellent.”

Author's Notes:

This cleared my writer's block right up. And now, to throw myself in front of a bus to punish myself for uploading this.