The Power of the Ear Worm

It was a busy, industrious day in the Ponyville market. Twilight was hustling from stand to stand, making hasty transactions, stuffing her bags full of merchandise and whittling down her list as quickly as she could. Today was the day she would start reading Commander Hurricane's Last Stand, a book she had been putting off for the past month, and the sooner she got her grocery shopping over with, the sooner she could start reading. As she piled item after item into her bag, bloody massacres and swashbuckling duels danced through her head.

At long last, she had come to the final item on her list; milk. Without skipping a beat, she marched up to the dairy vendor, grabbed a jug, tossed a pile of bits on the counter, and uttered a hasty, "Keep the change" before trotting away.

Finally, she thought. Now all I have to do is hurry home and... actually, on second thought, I should probably double check my list.

As much as it pained her to put off her reading even more, she really didn't want to end up having to make a second trip. She levitated her shopping list in front of her eyes and went down the items one by one.

Let's see... I just got milk... oranges... bagels... butter... apple cider... tomatoes... cheese... vodka... yeah, that's about i-

Twilight's thoughts were abruptly cut off when she heard a loud, shrill, "HEY TWILIGHT!" coming from behind her. Twilight gasped in shock and swiveled around, only to be met by the bright, inviting gaze of her bouncy, bubbly buddy, Pinkie Pie.

"Oh, hi, Pinkie," she gasped, catching her breath. "You startled me."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Listen, there's something I wanted to ask you: can you do me a super-duper-ooper-special favor?"

Twilight barely stifled a groan. ANOTHER distraction?

"I-I promise it's nothing big," said Pinkie as she clasped her hooves together, a twinge of sadness shining through her puppy-like eyes. "Pretty please?"

Twilight sighed. "All right, Pinkie. What is it?"

"Yippee!" Pinkie cried. "Okay, you see, last week, Applejack decided to invite some of her folks over for dinner, so she decided to make a big, big, biiiiiiiiiiig dinner to surprise them, and she asked me to come over and help her. See, normally Granny Smith helps with the cooking, but she hurt her hip and she had to stay in bed, and Big Mac doesn't like to cook, because he isn't very good at it. Applejack said the last time he tried to make dinner, the kitchen EXPLODED! Like, KABLOOIE! Almost like the Sonic Rainnuke, only smaller and a lot messier. Then again, the last time I saw a-"

"Get to the point, Pinkie."

"Oh, right. Well, I had a lot of fun helping Applejack make dinner, and my favorite part was harvesting the corn, so I decided to write a cute little poem about it."

Twilight's face immediately lit up. "You write poetry?!"

"Of course I do, silly!" said Pinkie, beaming. "Anyway, I was thinking of sending my poem to the Ponyville Tribune, and I thought I'd run it by you to see if it's good enough, since you read a lot of books and stuff. Wanna hear it?"

"I'd be more than happy to," Twilight said with a grin.

"Okie dokie lokie, here it goes. Ahem...

"Shuck, shuck, shuck that corn!
Shear that ear 'til the ear's all shorn!
Boil 'em good 'til the steam starts rising!
Pile 'em high 'til the table's capsizing!"

Twilight couldn't help but giggle at the last line; the mental image of a dinner table collapsing after being stacked impossibly high with nothing but corn was just too funny.

"Is that all?" Twilight asked.

"Well, it's a work in progress," said Pinkie with a shrug. "That's what I have so far. Thoughts?"

"Not bad at all!" said Twilight. "Not particularly deep, but your prose is really playful and energetic. Pretty amusing, too."

Pinkie gasped with delight and gave Twilight a hug around the neck. "Aw, thanks, Twi, it means so much to hear you say that!" she kvelled. "So y'think I should send it in?"

"Go for it," Twilight said with a smirk.

"YAY!" Pinkie cried, releasing the hug and bounding away. "Thanks a bunch, Twi!"

"You're welcome, Pinkie!" Twilight called back. What a charming little ditty, she thought. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less from Pinkie.

During the trek home, Twilight's mind drifted back towards Commander Hurricane, and the vivid recounts of his final moments that awaited him. With his forces obliterated, the armies of King Sombra surrounding him on all fronts, and naught but Private Pansy remaining by his side, the-

Wait, what's that?

Twilight's thought process was interrupted when her ears picked up a steady, rhythmic clopping noise coming from the ground. Twilight looked down, only to find that her steps had taken on the rhythm of Pinkie's poem.

CLOP, CLOP, shuck that corn

CLOPpity, CLOPpity, ear's all shorn,

CLOP, padda-CLOP, padda- steam starts rising,

CLOP, padda-CLOP, padda- table's capsizing

Twilight shrugged, thought nothing of it, and continued walking, letting the rhythm move through her. But by the time she was nearing her treehouse, the constant looping rhythm was just beginning to get on her nerves, causing her to purposefully change up her step to avoid it.

"Spike? I'm home!" Twilight called as she walked through the door.

"Oh, hey, Twilight!" Spike called, bounding down the stairs to greet her. "Need some help with the groceries?"

"Actually, yes. See, there's this book I've been meaning to read all month, and I really, really want to start it as soon as possible. Would you do me a favor and shuck the groceries away for me?"

Spike gave Twilight a peculiar look. "You want me to what the groceries?"

Twilight's eyes widened with surprise as soon as she realized what she had just said. "I-I'm sorry, I meant put the groceries away. Could you do that for me, please?"

"Fine," Spike groaned with a roll of his eyes as he began to carry bag after bag into the kitchen. Twilight giggled as she trotted up the stairs to her room. Now she has ME saying it!

But as she trotted up the stairs, she noticed that her steps were, once again, conforming to the pentameter of the poem. Twilight sighed and changed up her step again, painstakingly making sure that she didn't fall back into the rhythm.

As she opened the door to her bedroom, she found Commander Hurricane's Last Stand resting on her pillow, exactly where she had left it. Twilight could hardly contain her excitement as she scampered into bed, snatched up the book and began to read.

Commander Hurricane's Last Stand

Prologue

Any historian worth their salt can vouch for Commander Hurricane's fortitude and military prowess. By all accounts, he enjoyed near constant success on the battlefield, and his innovative strategies and methods would majorly influence the art of war for centuries to come. But while we have a wealth of information about Hurricane's accomplishments, his corn has largely remained a mystery.

Hurricane was reserved and emotionally distant, refusing to get too involved with his-

Wait, did I read that right?

Twilight backtracked a couple of sentences and reread the last line of the paragraph.

But while we have a wealth of information about Hurricane's accomplishments, his character has largely remained a mystery.

Sweet Celestia, what is going on with my mind? Twilight thought, giving off a nervous chuckle. Oh, well. Where was I?

Hurricane was reserved and emotionally distant, refusing to get too involved with his soldiers. He was renowned for his 'business only' mentality, and for refusing to shuck his sheared demeanor at any point during a-

Wait, what?

Twilight blinked and took another look at the passage.

He was renowned for his 'business only' mentality, and for refusing to shed his stoic demeanor at any point during an operation.

At this point, Twilight was beginning to grow concerned. This is odd. REALLY odd.

The lone exception to this, as you may know, was his now iconic defeat at the hands of Corn Sombra. According to one famous accorn, Hurricane suffered a full scale mental shuckdown upot discovering that his table was capsizing. This account, written by Hurricane's steam-in-corn, Private Pansy, was not published until-

WHAT?

Twilight gave her eyes a good rubbing before trying to read the passage again.

The corn exception to this, as you may boil, was his now iconic shear at the hands of Corn Shorn. Acornding to one famous account, Hurricorn suffered a full pot of boiled corn upon discovering that his table was-

Twilight's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Who the hay WROTE this?!

Twilight flipped forwards and backwards through the book, only to find more of the same on each and every page. Instead of heart-racing retellings of Hurricane's crippling defeat, she found paragraph after paragraph of nothing but nonsensical ramblings about corn and boiling pots and capsized tables. Her day of reading, as far as she knew, was ruined.

I just have to take my mind off it! she thought, bursting out the door and trotting back down the stairs. Maybe another corn will help- I mean BOOK! Another BOOK will help!

As soon as she got downstairs to the library, she started grabbing book after book off the shelves, looking for anything unrelated to corn. But though she scoured everything from cookbooks to self-help books to harlequin romance novels to children's fairy tales, every single page she flipped to looked exactly the same to her.

Shuck, shuck, shuck that corn

Shear that ear 'til the ear's all shorn

Boil 'em good 'til the steam starts rising

Pile 'em high 'til the table's capsizing

At this point, Twilight felt as if somepony had embedded a metronome in her brain, as the playful rhythm of Pinkie's poem had mutated into an incessant, nerve-grating tap, tap, tap, tap. To make matters worse, Twilight had just noticed that the metronome was ticking in perfect time with the clock she kept above her doorway.

Tick, tock, shuck that corn

Tick, tock, 'til the ear's all shorn

Tick, tock, 'til the steam starts rising

Tick, tock, 'til the table's capsizing

"SHUCK!" she bellowed. "I mean Spike! SPIIIIIKE!"

Spike dashed in from the kitchen to see his mentor in, to say the least, a concerning state. She was trembling, her mane was frazzled and sweaty, and in her eyes Spike saw nothing but pure, unadulterated panic.

"What's the matter, Twilight?" Spike asked.

Twilight took a deep breath and paused to mop sweat off her brow. "Spike, I need you to shear a letter."

"What?"

"TAKE a letter, I mean!" Twilight cried. If there was anyone who could help her in this state, it was Princess Celestia.

"All right, all right!" Spike said, heading over to Twilight's desk to grab some parchment and a quill. Twilight cleared her throat and began to dictate her letter:

Dear Princess Corn Celestia,

I am shucking writing this letter because I am in desperate need of your table help. I have an incessant rhythm shuck stuck in my head, to the pot point that I cannot shear read anything without being capsized disrupted. If you corn can, please shuck help me before my shear table capsizing steam starts rising AAAARRRRRGGGHHH

Twilight gave up, threw up her hooves and started clomping back up to her bedroom in defeat.

"So... do you want me to send this?" Spike asked, giving Twilight a worried look. Twilight ignored her assistant and returned to her room in silence, slamming the door behind her. Spike shrugged, took out a fresh piece of parchment and started to pen a letter of his own:

Dear Princess Celestia,

I think there's something seriously wrong with Twilight. Ever since she got home today she's been ranting about shucking corn and boiling pots. I don't know what's going on with her, but I do know that she really needs your help. She already looks pretty bad and I don't want to know what's going to happen if we let this go on too long. Can you please come over to take a look at her?

And with a fiery breath, the letter was sent. Spike sighed and took a seat on the floor of the library, waiting for the princess's response.

Spike began to grow anxious as he heard anguished groans emanating from behind Twilight's door. Come on, Celestia... hurry up...

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Metool Bard

Metool Bard #1 · Jun 25th, 2014 · · ·

As someone who's a fan of the original story, I pity whoever Twilight ends up passing the ear worm to. Still, seeing Twi on a gradual meltdown from the poem is rather humorous.