There are a lot of questions you have to repeatedly ask yourself in life. Are you happy? Are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat? Some smartarses like to ask “How hot is said heat?”, even though it’s, you know, a fucking metaphor. And they know it’s a metaphor, too. If they didn’t, then they’d be dumbarses taking a metaphor literally. Like those idiots who take that section of that holy book which you think is metaphorical literally. Morons. Anyway, most peoples’ answers to these questions are yes, yes, and yes, even though the real answers are usually yes/yes/no. Some might answer no to the first two even though the answers are yes. People with bad lives, by contrast, will often answer no to the first two because it’s the correct answer. Of course, this all assumes someone’s going around asking a bunch of people those three questions, which would be weird. What meaningful data would they collect? You know, I hate it when people treat “data” like a singular noun. So nothing’s going on, but the first half of Jingle Bell Rock, looping after “one-horse sleigh”, was playing from the ceiling.

“Octavia?” Lyra said, lying up on the television-facing couch, holding Octavia with one leg and petting her with the other.

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

“I don’t know whether the television has picture-in-picture and, if so, how to activate it.”

“It’s not about that. I was just thinking about a line from the song.”

“What?”

“I keep thinking about ‘one-horse sleigh’, because... well... what’s a horse?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You should ask Twilight.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because you’re part of the mane six.”

“Fair enough. I’ll ask her after the chapter.”

“That reminds me,” Rainbow said on Twilight’s television-facing couch, “AJ never got back to me about the Big Mac virgin thing!”

“Kritt,” Spike bit a tortilla chip.

“I bet somepony’s going to use that as evidence for Spikedash,” Lyra said.

“Somepony will try to use that as evidence for Spikedash.”

“Did you say something vaguely humourous?”

“I... suppose I did, why?”

“But you hate fun.”

“I ‘hate fun’?”

“Well, that’s why I like you. You’re so serious without acting all Filthy Richy or abrasive. I know it’s an insult the way I phrase it, but it’s a good way to describe it.”

“What about ‘serious without being snooty or abrasive’?”

“That’s not brief.”

“You’re not insulting your girlfriend that way.”

“...It’s not brief.”

“It’s not impractically long or awkward. You could use it.”

“I know, I’m just trying to win the argument.”

Lyra stopped petting Octavia from her leg getting tired.

“Arguments aren’t supposed to be about winning.”

“They are, though.”

Octavia didn’t say anything.

“What?”

“It’s just that I don’t know what to say to that.”

“That’s when you use ‘lol’.”

“Can you imagine me saying that?”

“No.”

“So see?”

“I guess you’re right. Hey, is that the show?”

It was indeed the show, causing Lyra to unmute the television.

“Total Recall will return shortly.” Total Recall was, incidentally, a documentary about the 2005 Equestrian peanut butter salmonella outbreak.

“Sad emoticon,” Lyra said. “What do we talk about now?”

“I don’t know.”

Lyra hugged Octavia and pulled her closer, which was quite close seeing as she could already hug her.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Octavia said.

“I love you.”

Octavia hugged Lyra. Or as you’d say in an OVS language, a less fucked-up language to learn need I. “I love you too.”

“You’re the best pony in the world and I’ll love you for the rest of time.”

“That’s what you thought—”

“Why do you always have to bring up Bon Bon?”

“Well, it’s a legitimate point. You don’t know we’ll be together forever.”

“This is different, though, because I didn’t settle for you. I didn’t think, you know, ‘I want love, I’ll take you’, I thought ‘I want you, I’ll... take... love’... um, I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Okay.”

Since Lyra and Octavia stopped saying stuff, Applejack and whoever she talked with got some screen time.

“You’re watchin’ hoofellipsoid?” Applejack said to Big Mac, who was lying on a television-facing couch watching hoofellipsoid. He was watching it, not the couch.

“So?”

“So bah watchin’ hoofellipsoid, you’re perpetuatin’ male stereotypes.”

“I disagree.”

“Ah disagree.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

“No, Ah disagree with you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You can’t just not care when somepony disagrees with ya!”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause then they maht stay wrong!”

“How many ponies have you convinced to be right?”

“About... none.”

Big Mac didn’t respond.

“Ah’m a morahn.”

“No, you’re not.”

“But... okay, even if Ah’m smart, then Ah at least need somepony to soppily tell me it’s okay.”

“Come here.”

Applejack came there and they hugged. It made her feel calmed down even though she was already calm.

“You feel better?” Big Mac said.

“Yeah. And so you know, Ah have every intention ah turnin’ this into sex.”

“Right here?”

“Yeah.”

“When there’s a sport going on?”

“It’s just hoofellipsoid.”

“Well...” the 44–3 score wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world. “Okay.”

Applejack planted a kiss on Big Mac’s mouth. Over ninety years, it grew to be tall enough that it blended in with the rest of the kisses in the forest. It took ninety years, but it was worth it for people to eventually not notice it and say “hey, that’s a pretty short kiss”. After ninety hard years, constantly photosynthesising as hard as it could, it didn’t have to perpetually feel ridiculed, and it could finally be what it always wanted to be and not just “that short one”. Then it got deforested for a soybean farm.

Apple Bloom came down. “Hey, AJ, Ah need ta—” she saw they were snogging. “Whah does this need ta be a thing...?”

Next Chapter: Chapter 157: Bon Bon is in a Bad Mood Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 34 Minutes