Chapter Five

Spike was eating breakfast, when he heard the honk of a car horn. He hurried to the window, and looked out to find Fleetwood's Cadillac Brougham Town Car Prototype outside. He ran outside, Twilight following from a distance.

"Hey, Mr. Brougham!" Spike called to his mentor as he got out of the car.

"Hey, Spike! You ready for that suit?"

"Ready as ever!"

"Alright then," he said, "let's go!"

Before they could get into the car, Twilight ran up to Fleetwood.

"Well, well hello there!" he stuttered as Twilight forced her face into his.

"Listen, buddy," she growled, "I don't like what you're doing to Spike. You're turning him into an egotistical plothole like yourself."

"Well," Replied Fleetwood, straightening his bolero tie in an arrogant manner, "I wouldn't say 'plothole'..."

Twilight continued. "You can poison the air with your converterless cars, brainwash all my friends into sleeping with you, even brainwash Spike, but NOBODY calls Starswirl The Bearded uncool!"

She stomped away, furious at the overconfident salesman, when he finally got into the car along with Spike, and set off.

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They were near the Carousel Boutique, on Allen Avenue, when the unexpected happened. Fleetwood braked hard to avoid hitting a familiar blue Chevrolet, now limping on blown tires, from hitting him. He waited a minute, and 6 Ford Galaxy Police Cruisers shot by, sirens blaring. When the coast was clear, he proceded again.

"Why do we keep running into that car?" Spike asked him.

"I dunno", he replied, "but that car must be pretty great and powerful to be able to go that fast with all four tires blown!"

(HAH, LAME TRIXIE JOKE!)

They soon arrived at the Ponyville Mall, which also housed the Ford dealership. Fleetwood spat at a Ford Ranchero on desplay as they passed it.

"Air-dammed Fords," he muttered, "No sense in style....taking all my buisness!"

After a while of walking, several failed attempts for Fleetwood to pick up a mare, and nine more rants about General Motors' superiority to Ford, they arrived at the only other clothes store in town besides the Carousel Boutique, R.J. Coltfield's, one of many across Equestria, and a few in Utah.

They walked in to find the most amazing array of dresses and suits they had ever seen. Fleetwood stared dumbstruck at a pinstripe suit, while Spike tried to imagine Rarity in the most beautiful non-Rarity dress he had ever seen. After a few seconds of this, a familiar face ran up to them. She had her hair tied back, and was wearing a nametag that said, "Hello, my name is Berry". This was the drunk mare that had appeared in the showroom.

"Hello, welcome to R.J. Coltfield," she said unenthuisiatically, "How may I help y- OH, HEY, SPIKE!"

"Hi again, Berry!" Spike was happy to see this pony, and catch up on things. "So," he said, trying to sound as smooth as Fleetwood, "Why are you working here?"

"Because," she teased, "I'm the only pony alive who has ever drank a colledge tuition away!"

The dragon and the purple earth pony laughed for a while, until the rest of the shoppers gave them stares of confusion.

"Hey, Berry Punch, you still owe me money for ralphing on that Buick!" Fleetwood pointed out.

"Sorry, Brougham," Berry said, overstressed and in debt, "I can't pay you."

"But," Fleetwood said, staring suggestively inter her eyes, "There is another way....to pay."

"You're not suggesting...."

"Oh, but I am, Miss Punch."

The next thing he knew, Fleetwood was on the floor, getting peppersprayed.

"Fleetwood Eldorado Deville Seville Calais Brougham," Berry screeched, "Have you no shame?!"

"Well," Fleetwood gasped, making a huge effort to speak through this pain, "Can you... at least... stop pepper...spraying me.....long enough.....for... me to buy Spike a..... suit and.....leave?!"

"Alright," she agreed, "But only because I need the money to raise my filly and BUY MORE BOOZE!"

She led them to a massive back room, full of suits and dresses of every color, shape, and size. It was an impressive sight to see, with ties on rolls like rubber tubing, and huge shelves full of every type of undershirt imaginable.

Spike looked high and low for one he could fit into, and high and low again for something he actually LIKED. At last, they found it: a fat black suit with a white undershirt, and yellow tie.

"Is this the one, buddy?" Fleetwood asked, bending over to face height of the dragon.

"Oh, it's the one that's gonna knock Rarity's socks off!"

"Rarity, huh?" Berry punch said questioningly. "Don't you have feelings for any other pony in this town?"

"Nope!"

"Are you sure?"

Spike was not sure where the alcoholic was going with this, and gave her a confused look.

"Ugh!" she snorted, stamping her hooves angrily, "Let's go get this purchased, I guess."

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Spike and Fleetwood were wallking back to the parking lot, suit in hand. They grabbed lunch at the food court, and then continued down the hallway. They met Pinkie, who was shopping for party supplies, Applejack, who was visiting the Dodge dealer for parts for Sweet Apple Acres' one and only flatbed, and Rarity and Irvan, bickering between eachother as usual.

They were passing the Ford dealership again, when they heard someone laughing at them. They whipped around to see an elderly tan unicorn with yellow hair, his sides BURSTING with laughter.

"Air-dam, Fleet," he chuckled, "I bet your boy there looks like a pimp with that suit on!"

"Well, hey, Uncle Henry," Fleetwood growled, trying to suppress his anger, "how's your buisness going?"

"Amazing, as usual," he bragged. "How's your's? Buisness crappy as usual?"

"I'll have you know that it's not crappy at all, Westside!" Fleetwood fired back. "It's going very well. Everypony in Ponyville is lining up for a look at this year's Cadillac!" He then leaned over to Spike. "Back me up, kid!" he whispered sharply.

"Oh, uh, yeah!" Spike stammered nervously. "Buisness couldn't be better!"

"That's funny," Westside sneered, "Last time I checked, everypony in Ponyville was lining up to get a glimpse of this year's Lincoln! Face it, Fleetwood, i'll always be a bigger seller of cars in this town, and always was!"

"That's even funnier," Fleetwood retorted, "as I seem to recall a little project of your's not selling too terribly well. What was it called? Oh, yeah, THE EDSEL!"

"Ha, Ha, Ha!" Fumed the tan unicorn, "VERY funny! You know what? Let's settle this prejudice right now, with a bet!"

Fleetwood's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of bet?" he asked slowly.

"The Sweet Apple Acres Classic is next week," Westside explained. "I bet 800 bits AND bragging rights that one of my racers OR ME can beat your pathetic little team!"

"It's a deal!" Fleetwood growled, forcing his face into that of Westside.

After several long minutes, Westside broke the death-stare, and trotted back to his dealer. After he had left, Fleetwood threw himself on the ground, and commenced crying.

"What am I gonna do?!" he weeped, "he is the best racer in this tournament EVERY AIR-DAMMED YEAR! I'm bound to lose!"

"Well," Spike said optimistically, "I could race with you in that tournament!"

Fleet perked right up.

"Good idea, Spike!" he trumpeted, "and, this could be a good time to improve your image! I heard that Irvan was gonna be running in that race, too!"

"I'll give them both hell!" Spike roared, "One for taking my love, and the other for taking our bragging rights!"

"That's the spirit!" Fleetwood yelled joyfully. "Plus, I'll let you borrow one of my Corve- SPIKE, LOOK OUT!"

Fleetwood pushed Spike out of the way, as an ever-so-familiar blue Chevrolet broke through a wall, and raced through the mall, followed by an array of Ford, Plymouth, and Chevrolet police cruisers.

"What were you saying, Fleet?" Spike slurred, dazed by hitting the deck so hard.

"I said," he repeated, "that you could borrow one of my Corvettes!"

Spike and Fleetwood were amped: One was going to finally get his dream girl, and the other would triumph over his lifelong buisness rival, Westside. They were both high on life, on top of the world, and NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING could bring them down at that moment, not even Trixie's screams of protest as she was handcuffed to the rear seat of a Ford police cruiser nearby.