[So my roommate will leave me alone- strong cursing to follow, and I'm so sorry if you actually read this]
The author sits in a rickety old chair, its wheels long missing it digs into the carpet rug. It squeaks with every move the author makes, shifting his form for a better position but never once letting his eyes leave the blank screen. He sat there for what felt like hours, pride keeping him rooted to the spot as he had told himself that no matter what he would get at least a thousand words done for the next chapter of his story.
It certainly didn’t help that his roommate had brought home a bottle of butterscotch schnapps. In most cases the author with a resistance to drunkenness could handle such a thing in stride before going off to fulfill all his writing obligations.
Schnapps though, schnapps made everything weird. It turned the little picture on the label into Twilight Sparkle's cutie mark.
His mind felt fuzzy and the thoughts became running images that did not stay long enough to reach his hand to type. Only a few transitory sentences lay upon his screen to fill the white void of the empty word document.
He gave a sigh, an Irish sigh. A sigh that barely could contain some deep seated depression and venom for the world that schnapps brought out. It also made him racist, god damn Krauts.It also made him quite positive Pinkie Pie was somewhere in his room plotting his downfall.
From the doorway of his tiny room he heard the doorknob twist open. A resounding kick was given to the door’s frame that caused it to violently swing inward and hit the dented wall next to it. “Beeeeeeeearrrrrrr!” the whiny voice called out as it entered the room on stocky weak legs, “are you jerking off in here?”
“No!” The author screams, he turns in his seat causing it to squeak, “I have important work to be done Arthur so leave me alone you bastard! And stop kicking my god damn door!”
The scrawny young man drunkenly laughs at the author’s slurred screams, “Oh my god man I think there’s a butterfly in my head. Oh hey! You do that thing with the writing yeah? Well could you like do a piece of me like doing it with Daring Do?”
“Why would I degrade myself by putting you anywhere in my writing you stupid little shithead?!” The angry author rants in his drunken stupor, “Who the hell you think you are giving me orders and trying to get me to write some god-damn fantasy for you involving a character from the world’s most sweetest cartoon in the entire god-damn world, you god-damn stupid ass-frikken-douche.”
The whiny man grabs his heart, “Because I am your biggest fan, and I love you.”
“Oh my god that means absolutely nothing to me!” The author cries out with his hands outstretched to the heavens.
“No Bear you’re not listening to me man. I. Frikken. Love. You. Not in a bromance way either, in a very sexual way… the very very sexual way.” He juts a bony finger at the author as he spoke with the seriousness of death itself.
“No. No sexual favors you douche, I’m tired you never paying me back. Besides you have a girlfriend or something.” The author says and swivels back to the white screen before him.
“She means nothing to me!” The whiny man says as he tosses his wallet into the air. It collides with the floor and is struck open to show a picture of the scrawny man with a gargantuan woman of unhealthy proportions,” She doesn’t have what we have!” he goes on in his annoying, high pitched voice that never seemed to go through puberty, “Which is this strong built up homosexual tension that you put in all your writing, so actually you're the one at fault here.”
“I do not have strong built up homosexual tension in my writing!” the author scoffs and laughs nervously.
“Oh yeah? Right this second read those sentences on your damn screen and tell me how many times the word ‘throbbing’ and ‘excitable’ come up.” The whiny man says with eyes narrowed like an Asian man’s eyes.
The author does as he is told, “I have both words in their twice, so what?”
“No, Bear, no. If you ever use the words ‘throbbing’ and ‘excitable’ more than once in a god damn paragraph you are putting way too much sexual tension in your story.”
“That is bull, there is absolutely nothing sexual at all about it. I never write anything… sexual” the author says with his hands performing a clumsy sweeping motion through the air.
“Well I saw you writing that thing with Applebloom-“
“No-no-no! That was a joke damn it! I wasn’t gonna do anything with it!” The author says quickly, his eyes dart over to under his messy bed where he was sure a pink blur had been moments ago.
“Uh-huh, pervert.” The scrawny man says and suddenly turns into a Pegasus for no reason what so ever.
‘Just…. Shut up and leave me alone.” The author said with barely contained venom just before everything got cartoony.
“Sure thing… oh wait Jane brought some whiskey over.”
“Oh sweet, crack that thing open!” And so they did, and they made a huge mess on the floor because you aren't suppose to literally crack open a bottle.
Arty and Daring Do were walking through the steamy jungle. The air throbbed with the sense of adventure and danger. Excitable macaws flew through the skies like bright colored kites that swept down to the ground again at the carelessness of their owners.
Arty turns to Daring and asks, “So… you want to like go do it?”
Daring responds by kicking him into a suddenly appearing and well placed river where Arty is promptly eaten by a crocodile in a way that would make Animal Planet proud.
Children, don’t drink schnapps.