//------------------------------//
// His pony 
// Story: Burning Man Brony: Fear and Loathing of Equestria 
// by Bad Horse 
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A sudden storm of dust blew towards me and coalesced into Discord's face. I could see the blood-red dust-eclipsed sun shining through him as he hovered above me, grinning gleefully. That's right, he said. You hate her. You hate all of them. Not because they're beautiful and scorn you, or privileged intellectual snobs, or idiotic party animals, or narcissistic fools, or stupid idealistic do-gooders, or small-minded rednecks. Not that those aren't good reasons. But that's not why, is it?

I struggled to my feet and shook my fist at him. "You're worse than any of them!" I shouted, then broke into a coughing fit from the dust.

Oh, I don't mind if you hate me. But you don't.

It was true. I could shake my fists at him, but I didn't know how to hate him. Hate needs something more than a reason. I fell to my hands and knees. The sand still burned, but I was too tired to stand. I closed my eyes, willing the vision to disappear. But I could still feel his thoughts boring into my brain.

Because I'm just like you. I hate them too. They're so damnably happy. Not a false, painted-on happy. Not a shallow, glittery happy like the sparkle ponies. A deep-down, full-body, self-assured happy. You'll never know happiness like that. You'll never have friends like that. He raised the insides of both eyebrows and pouted. And it isn't fair, is it?

I opened my eyes and looked up, straight at Discord, willing myself to see reality, focusing on him in a way that I knew would force him to vanish.

He didn't.

He raised one impossibly-long eyebrow impossibly high. Poor little brony. You thought you could be like them, just by watching their show? Thought you could become likeable? Thought a bunch of phony names on websites could be your friends? Thought you could become good? After what you've done? That's so pathetically stupid, I think I feel tears coming to my eyes. Any moment now. Oh, wait; dragons can't cry. Thank goodness; that would have been embarrassing.

But look at me, going on and on when you still have one more pony to see. You've saved the worst for last!

Dammit.

Oh yes. Toodaloo! But don't worry. I've got a feeling we'll meet again. He faded back into the everpresent blowing dust.

Why do I hate Pinkie Pie so much?

Think back to your first years of college. At night, at the bars, there's always a group of girls, 18, 19, maybe early 20s, staying together in a bunch, dancing, shouting, smiling at each other, cutting down any boys who approach them, not out of meanness, just for fun. Picture one of them now, slamming back a $12 sex on the beach bought for her by some nerd she'll never speak to again. If she wants male company, she lets her eyes roam around the room, and picks one out (not you), and sometime after midnight she'll touch his chest and smile at him and let him know he's the lucky one tonight. If she doesn't want that tonight, there's always tomorrow night. She giggles and raves about shoes and screams and whines if the DJ doesn't play her very bad bubblegum-pop loud enough that she doesn't have to hear herself think. She never thinks about anything, because she never has to. There will always be another party, she'll always be invited, and there will always be a hand reaching out to fill her glass.

That's the real-world Pinkie Pie.

So I looked at the dust swirling in front of me, again, and—

"SURPRISE!" A pink face jumped up from—out of frame? I don't even know. I screamed and stumbled back.

"Well I guess it's not really much of a surprise since you knew I was coming, but we can try again if you come to Ponyville and we throw you a surprise party!"

I stood and stared open-mouthed at the pony grinning back at me from two feet away, very real except for being a Burning-Man-bright pink. This trip had gotten way out of hand.

"Out of hand? Oh, I get it! Like out of hoof! That's funny! See, you're not just a boring McBoring pants. You can be fun if you try! But you just walked by about a gazillion different really good parties to come out here and be by yourself in the desert and you don't even like it here and that's just silly!"

I backed off another step. "Pinkie," I said, "I hate parties. I hate parties more than I hate standing alone in the desert."

Pinkie stopped hopping up and down and peered at me. "Are we in bizarro world? Do you hate ice cream and sunsets and love paper-cuts and the sound of a hoof scraping on a chalkboard?"

"No, Pinkie. I just hate parties. They're fun for you because you're fun. A party is just a competition to see who's the most fun according to the universal funness and coolness standards set by a panel of cheerleaders, frat boys, and stoned high-school students. And, guess what, I always lose, so I don't want to play anymore."

Pinkie frowned and cocked her head to one side, trying to take this in. She smiled again almost immediately. "I'll throw you a practice party! It won't be a competition, because it's just a practice!"

"Pinkie," I said, "I don't sing, I don't dance, and I don't party. Just leave me alone. You wouldn't like me."

She leaned forward with a challenging glare. "Bet I would!"

"Pinkie, I don't like you."

She drew her head back sharply and froze. Her mane went a little bit flatter, and so did her eyes. Then her mane bounced back, and she smiled yet again. "Ohh! So that's your problem!"

"What do you mean, my problem?"

"I'm sorry you don't like me. But if you'll come to Ponyville with me, I'm sure we'll find somepony you like! Maybe even two or three! That will make everything different. It always does!"

I was about to object that I couldn't possibly go to Ponyville, when I saw something behind her—a little bubble of Equestria, with a refracted view of fields and forests and shingled chalets, shimmering in the desert before me like a snow-globe.

Equestria.

Pinkie turned and galloped toward it, and the bubble wrapped around her somehow and I could see her just inside, her outline wavering a little, like I was looking down into clear waters being stirred by the wind. I followed her, slowly, and reached out to touch the border in the air before me.

Pinkie hopped up and down between her front and back hooves, and her voice came through, a little warbly but still clear. "Fluttershy will introduce you to her animals and Twilight will find a book to help you and Rainbow Dash will fly circles around you and I'll throw you a party and it'll be like the first book and the first flight and the first party ever because you've never ever been there before!"

I tore off the goggles, felt a cool, moist wind blow on my face, fell to my knees, reached out, and touched grass.

"Come on!" Pinkie said, her voice turning more urgent. "Hurry!"

I drew my hand back. "I can't," I said. I tried to wipe the tears from my eye with the least-dusty part of my handkerchief, but the desert had dried me past being able to cry, and my face was dry. "I can't do it, Pinkie. I'm not fun. They won't like me."

Pinkie shouted something at me, but I couldn't hear it over the wind, and as the scene faded and the bubble shrank I saw she was crying, and I wondered, for a moment, whether maybe she had really meant everything she said after all.

I put the goggles back on and licked my lips. I felt Discord's presence returning. I was sure I was going to die. I just wanted to be away from that face when it happened. I turned away and started walking, but it was too late. I tried to stand, but collapsed back to my knees. I turned and saw Discord's face close behind me, leering. It was a terrible face, just skin and scales stretched taut over seething hatred. I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than have to look at that face.

He placed one claw under his chin and looked up at the sky thoughtfully. Given the circumstances, that could easily be arranged.... But you're not dying yet, my little pony. You failed all my tests with flying colors. I have plans for you.

There was a roaring in my ears, and an enormous black shape loomed up suddenly through the dark spinning dust cloud in front of me, charging at me like a buffalo, like a train. It came to a stop inches from me, and I fell over backward. Only when I started laughing did I realize I was wearing the same mad grin as Discord.

Because you're my pony now.

"Hey, man," somebody called out very far away. "You better get on board."

I don't know whether I stood and climbed on, or whether someone carried me. I remember guzzling down an entire bottle of water. I was riding inside the giant mutant vehicle that had nearly run me down, sitting next to the driver. Enormous loudspeakers above us blared Led Zeppelin's Kashmir into the desert, the first real music I'd heard in the continual synth-pop assault I'd endured since coming here. The sun beat down on us as mercilessly as if the dust storm had never been.

All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground
And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land

He dropped me off at Esplanade and 3:30. I made a beeline for the nearest bar, asked for some water in my canteen, and guzzled that too. A couple of the patrons looked at me sideways, so I dug around in my robe's pockets until I miraculously found an unused glowstick and dropped it in the gift jar. One of them smiled and gave me the thumbs-up. Fuck them.

Then I walked back to camp, took down my tent and threw everything into the rental car and drove back to Reno, where I took a room at the Circus Circus and crashed for twelve hours. I had no business being with the burners. All I could do was poison them with my bitterness. I have no business being here, either. I just can't quit it.

Shrooms don't lie, and they don't tell the truth. They just show you what you already believe.

Was my poison sweet?