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Crazy Pastel Pony World (Oh Snap I Banged a Pony)

by DontWannaKnow

Chapter 1: Crazy Pastel Pony World

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Crazy Pastel Pony World

This seems like a good place to start

The liquor store, checkout counter.

     The girl - young, attractive - scans the bottle again. Clearly a socially precocious individual, she reads me and determines exactly how much like herself she can act in this particular situation. Apparently she feels comfortable around me. Not surprising, I’m not threatening and we’re roughly the same age.

     “I’m sorry this thing is just totally fucking up right now,” she tells me with an air of mock exasperation. What if I were an old lady or something. I doubt she’d talk like that. Context. It interests me

     “It’s trying to tell me you’re buying a three hundred and fifty dollar bottle of wine.”

     “I am” I point to the price tag.

     “Oh my god I didn’t even see that. Wow, high rollin’ dawg”

     The mind and context, it astounds me. Depending on who you are, the simple experience of buying champagne can be totally different than everyone else’s.

     “And it’s champagne just for the record.” I say, feigning condescension.

     “Oooooh well of course sir” – a little pretend revelation – “What’s the occasion?”

     “It’s my last night on Earth!” I twirl around and look to the sky, as if aliens were coming to take me away. Mock insanity. She laughs and as I walk out the door of the store we wave at each other.

What a fucking drag

     I just had to put on a little performance for some girl I didn’t even know. I could’ve declined but that would result in awkwardness, and awkwardness is just extra pain so I’m willing to dish out some false levity to avoid it. Still, interacting with people taxes the hell out of me. I’m tired of it. All of it.

     So now maybe you can start to imagine the reason I just spent my last week’s pay on a bottle of champagne. My last toast to myself. Tonight I would die.

     It all sounds so melodramatic and cliché because it is. Despite looking like a twenty-five year old man I’m a high school drama queen at heart. I’d even written an unofficial will to go with my suicide note. Oh the poignancy of it all!

    When I got back to my apartment I went to the kitchen and pulled out the nice goblet my parents had given to me for Christmas, popped the cork – with which I managed to bullseye an empty soda can on the counter – and then poured myself a glass of really really expensive booze. I looked at the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner and winked at myself. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” I said to myself with an air of false humor. False. Even for myself I had to perform. But hey, the champagne was purely for show and maybe a few more poignancy points if one viewed it from a certain angle. The real stuff would come later.

     As much as I loved liquor I was getting sick of the daily grind of drinking myself awake, drinking all day, and then drinking myself back to sleep. Unfortunately I knew no other way of living. The first job I ever landed was a position on the bottling line at a small brewery with a very lenient boss. I was a fully-fledged alcoholic before there were even close to twenty-one candles on my birthday cake.

     I loved cocaine almost as much as booze, but it was constantly getting me in bad financial situations so I was sick of that too. As for the last of my trifecta of hell, I had a good friend who sold me dope at half price and even sometimes tossed me a bit if I was starting to detox. The rest of the time I stayed loaded on oxy which was actually prescribed to me for the chronic pain in my left leg. Wanna know why I left that job at the brewery? Because the forklift driver was more wasted than I was and shattered my femur. I have to walk with a cane if going any long distance, for instance the half mile between my place and the liquor store, but on the upside I can still stand on two feet and make my way around the apartment just fine. When I do have to truck it somewhere I try to imagine myself a gothic Doctor House. Still, I’m sick of doing that.

     This wasn’t an abrupt suicide attempt like my previous “cries for help” as pop psychology calls them. Everything was arranged so that I would go out comfortably with no pain (physical or emotional) and no regrets. Hence the ridiculously expensive champagne. I didn’t want to die without having tasted the best. After I finished the champagne I chucked the bottle into the trash and opened my fridge. I pulled out bottle of my favorite barleywine, popped the cap off on the counter – which always hurts but for some reason I do it to impress myself - putting on another show purely for my own benefit. Tiresome.

     So just so it’s clear I was sick of everything in my life and, being an extremely selfish person I decided to off myself. Fuck what my family thought. I wouldn’t have to be there for any of that shit. That was part of the allure of death: no worry or anxiety ever again.

     Besides my computer and the usual flotsam and jetsam on my desk there were some important items: two bottles of scotch, a Cuban cigar, some really good weed, a sheet of acid, an eight ball of coke, some black tar, and a whole bunch of pills.

     These were drugs that, if I took them individually over a reasonable period of time, I’d be fine with, but if ingested all at once would certainly result in death. To start I wadded up the sheet of acid and chewed it like gum as I lit up the cigar. I’m not a rich man; getting all this together took three months. That only strengthened my resolve. Finishing the barleywine I smashed the bottle on my desk and reached for the scotch.

     After the cigar, a massive heroin injection, and some great blow, I felt quite comfortable and ready to die. I felt fantastic, but being a veteran binger, I knew I still had a chance of living through this, and what tomorrow held in store if I should – bleeding mouth, bleeding nose, no idea if I slept or not, headaches, cravings, all around pain. I hate pain, that’s why I’ve latched on to crutches (literally and figuratively) to help me ‘live’ life, if you can call it that. To ensure my fate I took my entire months’ worth of Xanax and Oxy.

     After swallowing all the pills I re-lit my cigar and cracked a fifth of scotch. I’m very particular about scotch. Single malt, small glass, one ice cube. That way I get to experience a smorgasbord of different tastes as the ice melts and cuts the whiskey. It’s lovely. Normally with a scotch like this I’d savor every sip, but since I had so much I could afford a few big gulps. To an alcoholic a deep drink is just as quenching as a bottle of water is to an athlete.

     I can’t give a certain account of that night. I did all the drugs, I know that, there are new marks on my skin and a bitter taste in my mouth, but as to what I actually did, no clue. It was true insanity. Blackout. Completely unaware of my own existence – I suppose that’s the closest a nihilist such as myself can get to God?

-----

     Violent spasms awoke me. Delirium Tremens. I couldn’t see, everything was a blur, but I detected motion around me.

     “Drink!” I cried out. Someone put a full glass in my hand, which I spilt in my next throes. It didn’t matter, it was just water.

     “No, alcohol. Please, alcohol.” I heard some rummaging and clanking and the same someone put a bottle in my hand. I tore off the cap and began gulping it down. As the fire of the liquor spread through me I noted that it tasted like apples. After finishing every drop the bottle rolled out of my hand and I fell into sweet, unconscious oblivion.

-----

     I woke up screaming. I had no idea how long I’d been out but it was long enough that the opiate levels in my body were depleted and the all too familiar agony of withdrawal was setting in. I began thrashing like a madman and yelling for drugs. Suddenly I was being held down and there was a needle in my arm. I felt consumed by fire, and then once again merciful oblivion.

-----

     I awoke a third time, in pain but seemingly stable. I reached up to rub my eyes only to have my left arm tugged back by an IV. Goddammit. I’d failed, and now I was in a hospital. Next would come a sober house, probation, and a whole bunch of shit I didn’t want to deal with. I should’ve just shot myself. I fell asleep again, hoping it was all a bad dream.

-----

     Someone was shining a light in my eyes. I opened them and looked around. Everything was still blurry. The light burned and I felt a massive headache coming on.

     “Sir, can you hear me? Can you see me?” The doctor asked.

     “Yeah I can hear you, get that thing outta my face,” I replied pushing the light away.

     “What about your vision?” He inquired.

     “It’s…blurry.”

     “That should pass,” he told me.

     “Good to know,” I said, attempting nonchalance.

     “Do you know where you are?” The Doc continued.

     “A fucking hospital?” My head was throbbing and I was getting pretty goddamn irritated.

     “Yes,” he replied, “but…”

     “Doctor, not now,” a female voice chimed in, “he’s barely conscious. He won’t be able to process it.”

     “Yes,” the Doctor said with a strange urgency, “but we have to know how he…”

     “I told you, I’m working on that,” The woman sounded exasperated. “I’ve been analyzing the samples but it’s going to take time. This clearly wasn’t just some wild magic, it was a full-on trans-dimensional catastrophe. In all likelihood he has no idea how it happened.” I certainly had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but from the sound of it I had really fucked myself up this time. Was I paralyzed? Did I give myself some bizarre disease? Were my organs failing? I didn’t want to know. The doctor and the woman – I figured her for a lab technician – exchanged a few more curt mumblings I couldn’t hear, and then I heard her leave.

     At this point I was trying to get my eyes to work again, rubbing them and squinting to see if I could make anything out. As things slowly came into focus I took stock of my surroundings: my bed, a little table next to it, complete with small vase and flowers, some medical equipment, chairs for visitors, unicorn in a doctor’s outfit, a large window with drapes drawn, a…wait what the fuck? My eyes went wide as I looked back at the doctor. He had four legs, a mane, a tail, and a horn on his head. I was freaked, but not too much – I had to remember the context. I had just destroyed myself with a massive drug overdose, one component of which was an entire sheet of acid. Of course I’d see crazy things. Still, I’ve been on more than my fair share of acid trips and no hallucination had ever seemed so real or persistent. I just shut my eyes, turned away, and went to sleep.

-----

     “What the fuck you’re still a horse!” I screamed when the doctor re-entered my room. I had woken up that morning feeling more or less detoxed and was sure the drugs had run their course. Now I was really flipping my lid.

     “Don’t worry I’m not a ‘horse’ I’m a unicorn pony,” He said proudly.

     “Is that supposed to make me feel better?!” I shouted. “How are you even allowed to practice medicine?!”

     “Well,” he began indignantly, “I’ll have you know I graduated at the top of my…”

     “You’re a human and we’re ponies. You’ve been displaced from your world and we don’t know how you got here.” I recognized this voice, it was the ‘woman’ who had been in my room the other day talking to the doctor. She was standing in the doorway, and I could now see that she wasn’t a woman at all, but a small purple unicorn.

     “You hear that crazy shit?” I yelled at the doctor-pony, “that makes more sense than anything you’ve said!”

     “Please, sir I know this is a lot to take in but your body is already stressed, please calm down,” the purple unicorn begged of me. Her horn glowed slightly and I felt a soothing energy flow through my body. I unstuck myself from the defensive position I’d assumed in the far corner of the room and sat down on the bed.

     “Have I gone mad?” I asked them.

     “No,” replied the female pony, “You’re reacting as anypony…or, um, whatever you are…would in a situation like this. Please just stay calm and all your questions will be answered in time.” It was the sanest thing I’d heard or seen for quite a while, so I put my faith in those words. She walked around to my side of the bed and looked up at me with radiant lavender-colored eyes. She was about the size of a small Labrador. “You will be fine, I promise. I just need more time to figure out what happened and how we can reverse it.”

     “Ok…ok,” I said shakily, “thank you miss pony.”

     “Call me Twilight.”

     “Okay Twilight,” I said, “Where the hell are my clothes? I need to get out of this place.”

     “Oh,” she blushed, “I’m so sorry, they’ve been…borrowed. Give me ten minutes,” she said, darting out of the room. By this point I wasn’t sure if I was crazy, lucky or what. I mean hell, a few nights ago I was ready kill myself over the monotony of my life, and this was anything but monotonous. It seemed I really had only two options: I could either accept this turn of events as it unfolded, or go completely mad. Realizing I had nothing to lose, I decided to explore this bizarre turn of events.

     “Hey Doc.”

     “Yes?”

     “So two ponies walk into a bar…”

-----

     The doctor did not appreciate my sense of humor, so I was relieved when Miss Twilight returned, followed by another unicorn. I caught myself just before she noticed my gawking. She was beautiful – I mean for a pony of course. She had a pearly white coat, dark purple mane and tail, and diamond-cutting blue eyes that regarded me with the greatest of interest. Right…just beautiful for a pony…aesthetically pleasing! That’s the phrase! Before I could even introduce myself she began apologizing.

     “Oh dear me, I’m so sorry about borrowing your clothes and making you wait, but when I saw them, I was so taken by your style. It’s dark and gothic but truly refined. You’ve inspired a whole new line of clothing for my boutique! I think I’ll call it midnight roma…”

     “Rarity, cut it out, he still barely has his wits about him,” Twilight snapped, then, realizing what she had said, she apologized, “no offense.”

     “Don’t worry, I’m too confused to be offended by anything,” I told them, “Well except maybe him,” I indicated the doctor, “he doesn’t like my jokes.” A few awkward laughs.

     Rarity, who apparently had been studying my attire – I put on my gothic best for my last night on earth – returned my garments and I ducked into the bathroom to change. There was one small problem – my pants, shirt, socks, and coat had been ironed and everything in them removed. I threw on my clothes and burst back into the main room.

     “Where the hell are my cigarettes?!” I demanded. Like I said, under the circumstances I could either try to go with the flow, or go completely batshit insane. If my cigarettes were gone I feared I would opt for the latter.

     “Oh I almost forgot,” said Rarity, “here is everything that was in your pockets the night you appeared.” She used a bit of unicorn magic to levitate a brown paper bag over to me. Inside was my phone, my wallet, my knife, a small flask of whiskey, a lighter, and two soft packs of Camel Filters. I always, always carry two packs. Better safe than sorry. I took a smoke out of the pack that was already open and lit it. Immediately the ponies backed away.

     “That’s not healthy!” Twilight exclaimed.

     “So shoot me,” I said. There was a part of me hoped she would oblige. I opened the flask and poured the whiskey down my throat, the burn igniting an energy inside me.

     “Alcohol is hardly what someone in your current state needs,” the doctor admonished.

     “I need to get the fuck out of here, is what I need…excuse my language,” I said. “Thanks for all the help doc, I’ll see you around.”

     “But, you’re not…ugh forget it,” he gave up. I left the room and headed toward the exit.

     “Son of a whore!” I hollered as the light hit me, searing my flesh and violating my eyes.

     “You shouldn’t be going out right now,” Twilight reprimanded me, “you have no idea what you’ve done to yourself.”

     “Just keep your eyes closed and we will guide you,” Rarity told me gently. I limped along, following their hoofsteps. As we walked I heard many a gasp and a “my word!” or “by Celestia’s mane!” I guess nobody in crazy pastel pony land or wherever the fuck I was had ever seen a human.

     “I…I’m just curious, in my first round of DT’s, someone gave me a bottle…what was that stuff?” I asked the ponies, still trying to regain my composure.

     “You mean when I found you thrashing and yelling on the floor of my boutique?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

     “Um, yeah, sorry about that…so wait is that where I first…um…appeared?”

     “That’s where you ended up,” Twilight corrected me, “You may have jumped multiple times.”

     “Jumped?”

     “I’ll explain later,” she said somewhat ominously.

     “Anyway, what was that stuff?”

     “Big Mac’s apple cider. I don’t drink it often but I keep it for guests…”

     “Or alcoholics that appear out of thin air,” Twilight added.

     “I need more,” I said bluntly.

-----

     The walk to “Sweet Apple Acres,” as our destination was apparently called, was surprisingly pleasant. I didn’t have a cane so it was a slow walk, but still a pleasant one. It was just the beginning of Autumn so all the trees still had their leaves and mercifully blocked out the sun to the point where I could see. As soon as I’d started talking about booze Twilight had become disapproving and excused herself to return to her “work,” whatever that might be. Rarity, however, having an almost childlike curiosity about me and my world, especially the fashion aspect (not that I knew much about it beyond my own admittedly odd preferences), was happy to accompany me. She even tried puffing a cigarette. I laughed as she coughed and winced, spinning around dizzily.

     “Ugh, my word,” she said faintly, “how do you keep smoking those?”

     “You get used to them,” I picked up the dropped cigarette and put it in my mouth.

     “What are you doing?” she asked as if I had done something completely mad, “that was on the ground, it’s all…dirty,”

     “I’ll live,” I laughed.

     “Not long if you keep inhaling that ghastly smoke,” she chided.

     I just shrugged.

     “So,” I decided to change the direction of the conversation, “Why exactly did you steal my clothes?”

     “I only meant to borrow them…”

     “It’s cool, I’m just curious, and hey, at least you let me keep my skivvies.”

     She laughed and blushed. If only I could be this relaxed and jocular around human women I might have a shot at a girlfriend.

     “They were just so…fabulous! So dark, with all the spikes and netting, I wanted to create a line of clothes similar that captured their aesthetic. Why with Nightmare Night coming up, they’d fly off the rack!”

     “I don’t usually dress this goth,” I said, looking down at my outfit, “I was just in a particular situation that, er, warranted one’s best clothes.” I hoped she wouldn’t inquire about that situation. Thankfully her mind was more concerned with fashion terminology.

     “So that’s what that style is called then, goth? As in gothic? It has a nice ring to it I suppose…maybe I’ll incorporate it into the name of my clothes…oh, look at that we’re here!”

     We’d chattered ourselves all the way to Sweet Apple Acres. Damn there were a lot of apple trees, and a lot of apples; much too early to pick but still an impressive sight…

-----

     “Well how do ya do Sir?” Asked th pony named Applejack, giving me a handshake (or hoofshake rather) so vigorous my arm started to hurt. It was no joke, she was one strong pony.

     “I’m fine, glad to meet you.”

     “So what can I do ya for?”

     “Well,” said Rarity, sounding so delicate in contrast to her country counterpart, “we were wondering if there was any of Big Macintosh’s cider left over…”

     “Mmm, ‘fraid not,” the blonde pony said apologetically. “Why, you lookin’ to do some drunken barn dancin’?”

     “Something like that…”

     “Well, I s’pose I got one thing you might try…” Applejack said thoughtfully leading us to a large shed behind her barn. “See, last applebuck season me an’ Big Mac thought we’d try our hooves at makin’ some apple whiskey. In short, it was a complete disaster. We let it ferment way too long. It tastes like battery acid and burns like a branding iron, but you’re welcome to try it at your own risk…” Inside the shed there were a few large barrels, one of which had a tap in it. Apple Jack picked up a dusty steel tankard off of a side table and filled it with apple whiskey. Rarity immediately recoiled.

     “Oh! It smells awful.”

     “’Swhat I toldya sister.”

     I took the drink and smelled it. Rotten apples and ethanol. I took a sip…then my alcoholism kicked in and before I knew it the tankard was empty. I held it out to Apple Jack. “More.”

     I had two more tankards before I was comfortably wasted. The two ponies simply stared at me, I couldn’t tell if they were awed or bewildered.

     “That swill’s gotta be a hundred proof at least!” Apple Jack exclaimed, “How’re you still standing?!”

     “I’m used to it,” I laughed, lighting a cigarette. Suddenly I remembered something. I pulled my wallet out and reached inside one pocket, producing a small plastic bag and some rolling papers. “You guys wanna have some real fun?”

-----

   I couldn’t imagine a more glorious place to get stoned. We sat under one of the largest apple trees, watching the sun trickle through the leaves. It had taken some convincing, but I’d gotten the two ponies to smoke with me. Rarity was sitting on her haunches staring straight upward, mouth agape, watching branches dancing in the gentle breeze. Applejack seemed rooted in place, her jaw hanging open as well.

     “It’s so…purdy,” was all she could manage to say.

     “I feel like I’m floating…am I floating?” Rarity asked.

     “Nope, you’re still earthbound,” I laughed.

     Suddenly I could hear the sound of flapping wings, followed by hooves as a new pony landed and came trotting up to us. A Pegasus? Man things were just getting weirder by the second.

     “Sorry A.J., I was going to get the rain going for your trees but then I found this really nice cloud and I ended up taking a nap.”

     “Uh-huh,” Applejack mumbled.

     “What, that’s it? I thought you’d be angry…” The Pegasus was eyeing her friend quizzically now as the normally lively mare stood unmoving, her expression completely blank.

     “Uh-huh.”

     “Um, hey, A.J., you in there?” she sounded concerned. She waved a hoof in front of the earth pony’s face, but this elicited no response.

     “I’m fine Dashiekins,” she replied after a moment, “Ah just feel real gooood.” The pegasus turned a bright shade of red upon hearing the pet name.

     “Hah, Applejack, don’t go using those silly names Pinkie calls me, heh, you…you know how it annoys me…”

     “That ain’t what ya told me the other night…” She replied, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

     “Hah, um, heh, she doesn’t know what…”

     “Aww look at you gettin’ all hot an’ bothered,” A.J. laughed, finally looking at the Pegasus, a dopey grin plastered on her rugged features. “C’mere lil’ Dashiekins.” She jumped on top of the the rainbow-maned pony and pinned her to the ground. By now the conversation had caught Rarity’s attention. Her eyes were wide but she was smiling.

     “I think we ought to leave the two of them alone,” I suggested

     “Quite,” she agreed, and we excused ourselves as courteously as we could.

     “Hey! Hey guys it’s cool, no need to leave, we’re just wrestling! Totally platonic wrestling match here!”

-----

     The pot didn’t seem to have hit Rarity quite as hard and so we were able to keep up a conversation as we walked back toward downtown Ponyville.

    “What was that all about?”

     Rarity laughed in earnest, “What? Apple Jack and Rainbow Dash? You’d have to be pretty thick not to see what’s going on there…although I must admit, ‘Dashiekins’ is a new one on me.”

     “So I take it that it’s one of those ‘secrets’ that everybody knows?” I chuckled.

     “I wouldn’t even call it a secret,” replied the pony, “more like a truth unspoken.”

     “A truth unspoken,” I mused, “that’s very eloquent.”

     “Yes…that ‘magic herb’ as you called it makes me think differently.”

     “That’s the beauty of it!” Maybe I was just stoned, but at that moment things started making more sense. Maybe catapulting me into this new, beautiful world with these wonderful ponies was god’s way of telling me that life is worth living. Then again maybe it was a one in a million accident. Either way, disoriented, drunk, and blitzed though I was, I felt a kind of peace conversing with Rarity that I had never known. I didn’t have to put up a front or feign any emotions…we just talked.

     “I thought I had quite a decent lunch, but I feel peckish,” she said. I laughed hysterically. Her refined manner of speech juxtaposed against our stoned stumbling and meandering was priceless.

     “That’s the ‘magic herb’ talking,” I told her.

     “You mean it induces hunger?” her eyes widened.

     “Yeah.”

     “Oh my, I’m trying to stay fit! But the only thing I can think of right now is a donut! A donut topped with chocolate and sprinkles!”

     “I’m right there with you!”

     “I believe this warrants a trip to Sugarcube Corner!” She announced with delight. I had no idea what the fuck that meant but it sounded awesome.

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