Putting Flash Sentry into a Woodchipper
Admiral Biscuit

You can say, without any exaggeration, that you may be one of the most dedicated bronies in the entire United States—perhaps the whole world. You had fallen in love with the show the moment that the first episode aired, even before being exposed to it on Reddit.

Your little sister had had it on, that's how you got hooked. You grimaced at the opening music—it was still as annoying as it had been back in the eighties; seriously, were they ever going to update that? Even Berke Breathed made fun of it in a Bloom County comic back in the day.

But once you started watching the main part of the episode . . . you were hooked.

Fast forward a few years. You had all the IDW comics, custom plushies, and even some coloring books. You snacked on MLP-shaped fruit snacks. You'd been to conventions, meet-ups, and you were a very active member on the /mlp/ forums. You'd even dabbled in fanfiction, although it turned out you weren't a very good writer and nobody wanted to read your stuff.

Then you turned to writing shipfics, and the viewcount started ticking up.

Then you took the plunge into clopfics, and . . . well, just look at your follower count now.

That wasn't enough. You'd gone slightly mad with power. You wanted to actually be in Equestria. You wanted to meet Twilight Sparkle, woo her, and . . . well, your stories tell what happens next.

It would be goddamn magical.

The $64,000 question is, how the hell do you get into magical cartoon land?

You thought about that. You thought about that a lot. Probably more than was really healthy, to be honest. There was a period of months where you hardly came out of the basement at all, shunning the open air like a vampire hiding from the sun—but then the solution hit you, like that one Greek dude in his bath who ran through the streets naked shouting “Eureka!”

You didn’t do that, of course.

The trick with magic is that you have to specify what you want, and if you really, really believe it, you'll get it. You read a story like that once, where three brothers were building a flying ship. The first two gave the leprechaun sarcastic answers, and got what they asked for; the third said he was building a flying ship, and damned if he didn't have one waiting for him the next day. You can still hear the leprechaun’s replies to the first two brothers: If it’s barrel staves you want, it’s barrel staves you’ll have.

It's never wise to lie to a leprechaun.

You don’t want barrel staves; you want Equestria. And Twilight.

So you start wishing on all the things you can wish upon. You wish upon your birthday cake. Every time the clock hits 11:11, you make a wish. You go outside of the basement and look up into the sky with the sole thought of finding shooting stars to wish upon, as well as the first one that you see each time you brave the outdoors. With billions of billions of stars, one of them has to be the right one. And then one day, much to your surprise, you actually get your wish.

Sort of.

You don't wake up in Equestria, but you only miss it by a nose.

You kick your sheets off and scratch yourself, groaning at the thought of spending another miserable day in your miserable life. The sunlight streaming through the window is really too much to take, and you can’t understand why you'd never thought to put up curtains—and then you remember that you sleep in your parents’ basement, where the light cannot reach. Your eyes fly open and just for a second you think you might be in Equestria. Wishful thinking—but when you look down at your body, it’s more . . . cartoony. Your skin is still a peach color, but its an even tone, with no variations. All your body hair is gone, and you now only have three digits on each appendage.

Something happened, you think. Maybe I can't get to their world without becoming more like them.

Your room has been similarly transformed. The bedsheets are a single color, with no embarrassing stains and no oversized wrinkles. Your dresser looks like it has been drawn on an Etch-A-Sketch, and the dirty clothes on the floor look suspiciously uniform.

In that moment, you’re sure you just won the cosmic lottery. The last act you were aware of was wishing that you were in Equestria, and you are now flash animated. You make a short checklist.

1. Find Twilight Sparkle.
2. ???
3. Have fantastic sex.

You take a shower and prepare for the coming day, liberally splashing your Dad's aftershave all over yourself, making sure to dab some down in the party zone. That is actually a bad idea; it turns out it burns. A lot.

When you get to the front door, you take a deep breath, grab the handle, and yank the door open, fully prepared to find yourself in Ponyville. All you will have to do is find the Golden Oaks library, or the Magical Crystal Castle-in-a-box, and you'll be set.

Unfortunately, your wish landed you slightly off target. You aren't in Equestria; you’re in Equestria Girls. Your desire to remain unponified has forced the hand of fate, it seems.

Not a total loss. You know from watching the movie just where the mirror portal is, and you will just have to wait thirty moons to go through it. Not too big a price to pay—the fact you’re here at all means that everything else is real, too.

Besides, you can work your mojo on Applejack, the sexiest Equestria Girl. You know that Twilight won't be here—not unless you happened to have arrived during the events of the movie, anyway. Once you get to real Equestria . . . well, there's no need to mention what happened here.

It's a fool-proof plan.

One black eye and assorted other bruises later, you re-calibrate your plan. Applejack has a mean right hook, and is less of a pushover than you'd imagined. Also, the approach of dropping trou and and asking if she wanted to ride the bishop might not have been your best pickup line. Especially since evasive moves were well nigh impossible with pants and underwear hobbling your legs. At least no-one else was there to witness your . . . setback. And she was kind enough to give you a bag of frozen peas for your bruises, although her method of delivery could use some work. A nurse would never get away with throwing a frozen bag of peas at a patient’s head.

Party Girl Pinkie Pie is your next best choice. Once you've healed up, you'll give her a try.

You grind your teeth and seethe a little bit as you notice Flash Sentry, aka Brad, chatting up Sunset Shimmer. He flashes her a smile, and you can almost see the gleam off his perfect white teeth. You'd almost consider—

No.

Hell no.

Just a moment of weakness brought on by possible brain trauma, rather than Flash's perfectly sculpted body with its rock-hard abs, guitar-strumming fingers, and Pomaide-ed blue hair. And a cartoon Camaro, with racing stripes, seriously, can he get any more All-American? He probably plays baseball and helps old ladies cross the street and eats apple pie every night.

Which is an intriguing image. Maybe that’s why Applejack rejected your advances.

And just like that, you have a brilliant idea. The seduction of Pinkie Pie will have to wait for another day.

It takes you a few days to wear down Granny Smith. She's a suspicious sort, and you have to gin up a fake report on Emerald Arborvitae Borers, but you've finally convinced her that the landscaping around her house has to go, and as soon as possible. As a bonus, once she's convinced, her stubbornness sets in, and she won't let any of her grandchildren un-convince her. Especially since you make extra sure to avoid Applejack. Just in case she wants a rematch.

You head down to the local rental store and procure all the supplies you'll need for your work. Once it's all in place, you need to convince Flash to help—but that's easy enough. He's so Eagle Scout, as soon as you mention the words 'civic duty,' he's practically eating out of your hand.

The only downside to your fantastic plan is that you actually have to work at it. Still, it's worth it. Flash has taken off his shirt, and his sculpted muscles are only highlighted by the sheen of sweat on his body. You're still wearing your hoodie. In case of a sudden cold spell.

It could happen. . . .

You have to yell to make yourself heard above the roaring of the rental machine. “I think a branch got stuck,” you scream.

“Really?” Flash asks, and leans over the feed to the woodchipper. That's all the opportunity you need. You give him a hard shove from behind, and he falls over the feed chute, and then the merciless maw of the machine has his hand.

You run around to the output side, and dance gleefully around in the crimson mist. Thousands of angry bronies have dreamed of this; you actually did it. Sooner than you'd imagined, it tapers off, leaving only the angry growl of the machine behind, so you scamper back to the feed side and begin adding more branches in, to cover up any evidence of your crime.

When you've finally finished protecting Granny Smith's house from the dreaded Emerald Arborvitae Borer, you take Flash's cartoon Camaro home, because why not? It’s not like there are consequences in Cartoon Land.

In a few days or weeks, the portal at the base of the statue will re-open. And you'll be there.

With a woodchipper.

Because there's a pony Flash Sentry, too.

Author's Notes:

A One-Shot-Ober fic.
Also, because why not?