A Farewell to the Arms, a Welcome to the Hooves

Chapter Four

A Pony Walks into the Bar...

***

All right, here's a joke for you. I'm generous, you know?

A horse - let it be a pony - walks into a bar. Yes, I know they aren't usually allowed in bars, but I can name at least one pub on the outskirts of London where they would serve a five-year old moose, should it have enough quid. So, this horse - pony - somehow gets past the security (it's a high-grade bar) and enters the bar. It comes up to the barman with a clear intention of taking a shot or two of the good stuff and asks (see? That's why it's a pony, and not a horse: ponies can talk), "A glass of Scotch, please." As we can clearly see from this example, ponies are very polite when it comes down to booze requests. So, this one barman - a Jewish labourist who also studies biochemistry, no doubt - wonders, instead of serving the drink as he should, "Hey, why the long face, pal?" We can assume that the barman isn't familiar with equine anatomy at all, since, well, you know, their muzzles are long. And, well, the pony replies, "Because I just lost a blackjack game and now I have no money to pay rent."

The moral of the story? Sometimes you have to keep your questions to yourself. I've learned this moral well and, not to boast, have always tried to follow it. So, when Zecora (ohmygoshshe'sreallyREAL!) returned (I was so glad I came round in advance), a certain lavender unicorn by her side (ohmyfuckingwalrusesruttingbeaverssheisREALTOO!), I resolved to act calmly and buried another fangasm into the pillow.

Pillows. Ever so convenient. Reminds me to buy a few more when I get home. ...If I ever get home, that is. But hey, this strange neverending dream (coma? nirvana? carma loop? hallucination?) comes with free ponies! And, well, zebras.

I watched Twilight approach the bed out of the corner of my eye, afraid that, shall she touch me, I would die of fangasming, thus establishing the first known case.

Fortunately, she only eyed me at first and turned towards Zecora.

"So, Zecora, this is your brother?" she asked, giving an example of a terrible habit when one re-asks something that they have been just told. Like, when you introduce your special someone to your family and say, "Mother, Father, this is Madeline and she is my girlfriend", one of your parents (if not both) will almost certainly ask, "Oh, so she is your girlfriend?' and maybe add, "is she?"

How shall one reply? "No, guys. She's a goddamn beaver in disguise and I've just brought her home to tell you about my attraction to beavers"?

"This is my brother, yes, indeed,

And he is now in time of need."

Wait, what? I blinked in surprise, rubbing my eyes (though I should have been rubbing my ears instead). Didn't she tell me, like, an hour ago, that she didn't speak in rhyme?

Okay, so, maybe, this was occasional rhyming. Shit happens, you know? It's a proven fact.

"All right. As I recall, he is in a state of partial amnesia. Is that right, mister Jenuar?" she asked, turning towards me, looking at me with concern in her eyes.

As I crucified another fangasm (and burned it on a cross afterwards), I came up with the only reply that was suitable for the moment.

"Can I touch your horn, please?"

All right, maybe that was dumb. But seriously, who wouldn't have wanted to touch a real horn of a real unicorn, not to mention best pony? Well, yeah, maybe some wouldn't. Stupid Earth Pony and Pegasi chauvenists. I bet they vote Labour, or (God forbid!) Lib-Dem.

"I guess his thinking abilities have been degraded as well?" Twilight addressed Zecora, not missing a beat.

The zebra simply shook her head.

"I don't believe that you are right.

My brother never has been bright."

Okaaaay. Now this was for certain. She did speak in rhyme. And damn it, she even messed with grammar for it! I mean, never goes after has! Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a grammar nazi. I'm more of a grammar commie. I believe in equal rights for all people, the main one being the right to FUCKING USE GRAMMAR CORRECTLY. Equally.

Oh, and now this zebra was calling me stupid! Me, a goddamn biochemistry professor! Something had to be done. Drastic steps, people. They were screaming to be taken.

"Forgive my interrupting, but I presume that your description of my wit is highly underrated, not to mention rather degrading," I said with dignity in my voice. Or, better, tried to say. What I really said, was something like, "I'm... not... stooopid!"

Confound those concussions and everything they stand for! I've always known they were a Labour invention to degrade the sensitive masses.

"But of course you aren't!" Twilight cooed, ss if she were talking to a foal, and leaned over me, eyeing my head and inspecting something - probably, the bruises which I couldn't see, but could very well feel. "Now, let me perform a simple inspection." She paused for a second. "An in-spec-tion is an-"

"I know," I interrupted her explanation. "I'm not stupid." And here I pronounced it as 'stoopid' again. Hooray for me!

"Of course." She nodded and her horn lit (magic! Magic is real!) with lavender light and, in a second, a look of concern and disapproval made its way to her face.

"He's hit the head really hard." She shook her head sadly. "I"m afraid he'll have to stay in bed for a while."

I sighed in content. Finally, I could afford to give in to sheer laziness. No students. No stupid people around me. No people, as in, humans, around me, whatsoever. The only thing to make this complete was...

"Say, Twilight, where can I buy a tin of tobacco?"

The lavender mare looked at me in lack of understanding. I think it was the first time Twilight had ever not understood something. Well, there is a first time for everything, I guess?

Before Twilight could degrade herself by admitting her lack of knowledge (the horror!), I explained, "You know, tobacco? This one weed that contains nicotine?"

Both the pony and the zebra's eyes widened in fear.

"Nicotine?" Twilight asked, instnatly reminding me of that awful habit of restatingthe obviosness. "Why would you need such a deadly poison?"

A... poison? Oh, but of course. A drop of nicotine can kill a horse, so, of course, it would kill a pony. For the first time, I praised myself for turning into a zebra, and not a pony. Zebras are not technically ponies, or horses... right?

"I tend to have a terrible habit of consuming it on a daily basis," I said nonchalantly. Great, now I could form clear thoughts. I was no longer 'stoopid'! Hooray for me, and FUCK YOU!

Twilight was in the edge of fainting, while Zecora just began shaking back and forth, much like a thin tree caught in a snowstorm.

"What are you talking about?!" Zecora finally let out.

I threw my hoof in the air triumphantly. "Aha! I knew you were just pretending to be talking in rhyme! Case closed, Watson, we can smoke a pipe now." I nodded to myself and closed my eyes.

"Nicotine is illegal. And she was never speaking in rhyme," Twilight said, a dumbfounded expression reigning over her face.

"Has never been. You meant, has never been. Grammar, Twilight!" My grammar commie senses were kicking in brutaly.

"Whatever..."

I sighed. If nicotine was illegal... Well, I just had to break the law.

That's simple... right?

No. It is not.