This 4-chapter story chronicles the legend we know today as "Epic Sax Spike".
Spike is a rather marvelous creature; his lack of character development and absence in most of the storylines have helped self-proclaimed writers create their own vision of the young dragon. Follow my stupidity, as I give you a surprisingly accurate depiction of the events that led him towards becoming the virtuosic saxophonist we all know and love today. Full of literary twists and turns, this story's utter lack of continuity gives the reader a much broader sense of accomplishment, and the glorious pictures painted enhance the overall atmosphere of the tale; a must-read for those pro-laughter!
The Legend of Epic Sax Spike: A Tale of Wonder and Unparalleled Satisfaction
This story is one comprised of many literary twists and turns of which most readers have been deprived in their structurally-recycled lives. If one expects any form of “flow” and/or “continuity” within this scripture, then one may not find this particular tale matching their historically-acquired “taste”. Enjoy.
I own nothing but this laptop of which my craft is practiced.
This 4-chapter story will provide the reader a rather accurate depiction of the events leading to the ever-so popular video “Epic Sax Spike” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-thubJ89e4).
As a white unicorn sits idly in a rickety maple chair, she begins to hear hoofsteps in the distance. The concrete walls create an unsettling atmosphere, as two rather large stallions make their way into sight. They approach the magical marshmallow and begin to eye her in a leering fashion.
“So, you’re this ‘Rarity’ girl, huh?” one asks with a thick, big-city accent.
“Well, if you must know, then yes. Might I ask what in Celestia’s name I’m doing here?” the impatient mare responds, folding her fronthooves in distain.
“Boss says he’s got a few words for ya.” says the other stallion, wincing at the brute sitting before him.
“Well, while I understand the privacy one must uphold with certain matters, must it be discussed in such a rancid, desolate parking garage?” Rarity responds, arcing her head with a 180-degree view of her surroundings, and a look of pure disgust plastered across her face.
As the small-talk continues, a sound of scraping metal makes itself known, and the stallions look at each other, smiling.
“Welp, looks like it’s show time!”
“Finally, I’ve been waitin’ to see him in action!” The two stallions suddenly dart behind Rarity, and swiftly bind her limbs to her seat.
“AH! Unhand me at once, you scoundrels!” screams the irate young woman-horse-thing. “What’s going on here?! Who do you work for?!? I swear, I’ll-” her empty threats fall short as forceful taps are heard mere yards away, near the top of the ramp, just out of sight due to the low ceiling.
“Hehe, well, little lady…” one stallion lays his front-leg on her shoulder “looks like it’s time for you to learn a little lesson in corporal punishment.”
“I honestly haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, but I promise you’ll be the only ones punished unless you un-” her mindless rant is cut short, as a moistened hand-towel (or hoof-towel, whichever you prefer) is balled-up and forced into her mouth.
As her muffled screams continue, she begins to see a figure making its way down the ramp. The stubby purple legs are an initial sign of familiarity (which oddly enough rhymes with “Rarity”; put that shit in a Snapple), and the green underbelly sparks a sense of comfort within her bodily spasms. She stops completely, as the small figure stops just hooves in front of her. She looks down at the young dragon with pleading eyes, as a faint “Sprmmk?” leaves her towel-gag.
“Sprmmk” looks up at the helpless creature, and without facial expression, raises his right hand, which is decorated with a rusted pair of brass knuckles. The following moments of silence mirror an eternity of tension, as Rarity once more attempts to speak his name, only to have a swift purple fist connect directly with her jaw, sending her back several hooves onto the floor.
With several coughs keeping her from swallowing her gag, a discombobulated Rarity fixates her vision on the hanging light above her, attempting to make sense of the situation. Before long, the two stallions raise the chair, and place it in its original location. She looks down at the still expressionless dragon, and begins silently shedding tears. She drops her head in disappointment, shielding her eyes from the pint-sized monster that she believes has possessed her platonically-loved friend.
Another moment of silence is broken by a swift breeze, followed by a sharp pain in her gut, as the sound of ribs breaking resonates throughout the B-level foundation. Her otherwise fruitful distance backwards is cut short by the stallions, catching her mere inches from impact. She begins to involuntarily heave, as blood begins soaking into her gag, and falling out of the corners of her mouth. The stallions then grab hold of her shoulders, and push forward, causing her to land on her mascara-ridden face. The following moments consisted of her silently admiring the grooves and holes within the concrete less than an inch from her constantly-judging eyes.
The young dragon then grabs the pristine mare by her consistently-pampered mane, and somewhere in Hell, an iceberg begins to form. He lifts her head, and her final vision of the young friend is in the form of a silhouette, gearing back for a final blow. She clenches her eyes shut, and prepares for the worst.
. . .
The roosters began their common routine of screaming at 8:00 in the morning for virtually no reason, and thus, was Spike’s cue to wake up. With a stretch and groan, the young dragon rose from his pet-size bed, and waddled his way down the stairs of the library-tree. He silently planned out his rather uneventful day, and headed to the refrigerator to obtain the one thing of which living was deemed bearable in his eyes. The greeting of the fridge-light seemed to emphasize his already-giddy demeanor. He reached into the back-right corner of the bottom shelf, and retrieved a half-empty jug of Spike’s favourite beverage.
The otherwise clear container seemed to hold a glowing orange substance of which the young dragon began to drool with wide eyes. He reached into a lower cupboard to reveal his favourite David Pownie glass, the one with his “Diamond Dogs” album cover laminated on the surface. As he made his way to the oak dining table, he held the jug to his chest, and began to secretly rub the jug on his body in a rather lewd fashion; the cold sensation sent pleasurable chills throughout his stubby body.
He began to pour the substance into the glass, admiring the beautiful, orange-tinted cascading waterfall produced in the process. When finished, he placed the jug in its original throne (or so he saw it, the poor, poor bastard…). He returned to the table with pure lust in his emerald eyes, eyeing the glass in a way we eye Mrs. Butterworth when we’ve had a few too many. He slowly leaned towards the glass, and delicately began to drag his tongue across the rim, taking in the small amount of dust that has gathered since his last escapade.
“Oh yes,” he whispered, “this is the day, the day I become a true dragon.” He had read one day, while Twilight and the rest of the girls were on one of their televised adventures, about strange maturing patterns within different animal species. The book had a small section on dragons; the only real information ever published on the majestic creatures. He read that dragons often migrate to untouched fruit lands to partake in their pure bounty that the unscathed land had to offer. Over the years, the dragons have seemed to have taken a liking to trees that bear citrus, and began utilizing the fruits for any and all purposes. Upon random discovery, a dragon noticed growing patterns when the substance was applied to their rough skin. Spike read this article with hope in his eyes and excitement in his breath, as he began planning for the big day.
Spike had always had an unhealthy obsession with orange juice. He often had to beg Twilight to purchase some for him, and even so, it’s not like she hated it herself, so his dream of consuming an entire jugs-worth was never fully realized. Thankfully, his work with Rarity involving jewel extraction gave him small rewards in the form of what would normally be his afternoon snack, but now became his primary source of income, as he would sell the jewels for hundreds of bits at a time. Sure, jewels were quite tasty, but the sweet sting of orange juice paralleled no such satisfaction in the young dragon’s life. Twilight had found it rather odd that he was purchasing anything himself, but found it especially odd that the only addition to the tree seemed to be the ever-accumulating jugs that overflowed the recycling bin in the kitchen. She decided to mark it under the “it’s a dragon thing” category for her own sake.
Spike slowly lowered his tongue into the glass, and stopped just short of the delicious elixir. With his eyes retreating to the back of his head, he gave the beverage a first taste, and wave after wave of pleasure swept through his miniature structure, almost causing his legs to give out from under him. He delicately dipped his tongue into the substance, and scooped a small amount into his mouth. He gently massaged his throat, feeling the solution of orange citrus and dragon saliva travel into his system, and guiding his hand appropriately. His hand lightly fell onto his stomach, and slid ever so innocently to his underbelly. With a look of desperation on his face, he whispered “It’s time.”
Without a moment of clarity (again, Snapple), Spike swiftly grabbed the glass, and poured the drink all over his hungry body. A loud moan was muffled in hopes of keeping his bookworm housemate in her queen-sized bed. He promptly fell to the floor, allowing the glass to roll across the room, and hit the finish on the opposing wall. He rolled in the delicious mess he made, rubbing his body in a most lustful fashion, and moaning softly. The young dragon was in pure ecstasy, and nothing was going to stop him from what he was about to do.
He slowly rolled onto his stomach, and smelled the mixture of orange drink and sweat that lay under him. Such a sensation caused excitement in his nether-regions, and his member quickly became visible. With that, he began to push his hips against the linoleum floor, allowing his member to soak up the juices; it burned, yes, but he never felt so alive as he did at that moment. He also began to sloppily make out with the juice that lay below him, his face a blush-red and eyes entranced in a sexual purgatory. Several minutes of this finally put him over the edge, as he loudly climaxed all over his stomach, stirring his roommate from her scientific slumber.
“Hmmnm?” Twilight said groggily, sitting up to see her assistant/brother/son/friend/pet’s bed unoccupied. She slowly made her way downstairs, as Spike frantically grabbed a towel to clean up his pleasure zone before she would see. As the final puddle was lapped up by the fabric, the purple unicorn came into sight.
“Morning, Spike,” she stated as she rubbed her eye. His nervous disposition prompted her following question, “is something the matter?”
“What!? Uh, well, no. I uh,” he looked down at the Diamond Dogs glass near her hooves, “I uh, accidently spilled my juice on the floor, and I was uh, in a rush to get it cleaned. Sorry if I woke you.” He said, looking down rather guiltily.
“It’s fine Spike, I was actually hoping of getting some extra studying in today anyways!” A slight rolling of eyes and a sigh gave the young dragon his leave towards the laundry room. As he passed her once more, she noticed a strange scent radiating from his body; it was like a mixture of fruit, body odor, and something bleachy. “Uh, Spike, what’s that smell?”
“Nothing!” Spike quickly responded in the form of a high-pitch yelp. He quickly headed towards the door, hoping to escape before questioning ensued. “’K, Twilight, I’m heading out for a little while!”
With a confused look, Twilight asked, “Oh, you’re not gonna make br-”
“Nope!” Spike responded, as the door slammed shut behind him. “Phew, that was close.” Spike thought to himself. “Oh well! Time to enjoy this glorious day!” He then began to strut through town with a look of accomplishment stapled to his face.
To be continued…
Chapter 2: Four Walls of Freedom and Understanding
Spike began to strut down the crowded Ponyville streets, as the Black Seeds’ “Fire” started to play in his head. As his hips gyrate to the chunky grooves manifesting within his subconscious, he shoots admirable looks towards the on-looking mares and fillies, receiving giggles and amorous waves from the coloured beauties in return. He continues to bob his head to the hypnotic rhythm, when his funky trance is broken abruptly by a giant pink nuisance.
“HIYA, SPIKE!” the bubbly Earth pony (a.k.a. “personality ponies”, relying on their personality to be their “special trait”, due to their lack of magic/flying abilities) shouted, shoving her forehead into his.
“WAAAH!! Pinkie, you scared the be-Celestia outta me!” Spike responded, jumping back several hooves.
“Silly Spike, how can you scare someone who’s walking right towards you?” asked the clueless pony, wiggling her rump while keeping eye-level with the annoyed dragon.
“Alright, point taken. So, what’s up?” Spike asked with half-open eyes and crossed arms.
Pinkie responded with a confused look, “Dunno, but Mr. Cake wanted me to stay away from the bakery today. My birthday’s not for another two months, so that can’t be why.”
“Did he mention anything?” Spike asked, now honestly curious.
“All he said was something about Mrs. Cake and somepony made of cotton.” Pinkie said, scratching her head.
“Aah.” Spike responded, now understanding the situation. “Her Aunt Flo’s in town, then?”
“She has an Aunt Flo?! Why would she feel the need to hide her family from me?” Pinkie asked with a slight bit of hurt in her tone.
“Well, it’s kinda… when eggs… what time is it?” Spike asked, detaching from the topic at hand.
“It’s a quarter-after noon, but isn’t that a little late for breakfast?” asked Pinkie, still thinking about his mental quarrel surrounding eggs.
“Oh shoot! I’m late for work!” Spike yelled, jumping with the grace of a terrified cat. With that obvious statement, he bolted towards town, leaving a comical dragon-shaped dust cloud behind.
“Bye, Spike.” Pinkie said lightly, waving her hoof with an even more confused look draped across her face.
As Spike darted into town, thoughts of his last tardiness danced in his head. Boy, was she mad. She made him clean the ink out of every single printer, and then made him stay late to take out all of the recycling from the unread papers of said day. That was punishment for a 5-minute absence; imagine what she’ll have him do with the oncoming 20.
These dark thoughts continued for the remaining trip to the pressroom. He burst through the first set of doors, greeted gloomily by his fellow co-worker. “Featherweight! Is she in yet?” he asked in a panic.
“She came in early today, Spike,” Featherweight began with sad eyes “I haven’t seen much of her, but I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
Swallowing the massive lump in his throat, he slowly turned the knob (why do so many doors have handles and knobs, anyway?), and slowly opened the door.
The room was very dark, only the feint glow of the tinted sunshine crept through the printing room. With hesitation, he dragged himself to the center desk at the opposing wall. He stood there, fiddling with his fingers and basking in the awkward silence created with the situation.
After a minute or so, she finally spoke, still facing her elongated chair away from him. “Three stories.”
“I-… I’m sorry?” Spike asked hesitantly.
“Three stories,” she repeats. “That’s how many stories those bumbling stooges of ‘crusaders’ could come up with while you were sitting pretty, not doing your job!” she exclaims, turning around to face him for added effect. “That’s also the height of this building; a height of which I’m greatly considering THROWING YOU OFF!” she screams, lunging forward and snarling at him.
“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mea-”
“Save it.” She states demandingly, shoving her hoof into his mouth. “Do you think this is a charity (Snapple)? Do you think this is all fun and games? DID I STEP INTO SOME ALTERNATE DIMENSION WHERE SHIT DON’T FLY RIGHT?!?” she screams at him, with blood-lust in her eyes, less-than-mirroring his appalled demeanor. After several moments of heavy panting, she sighs in annoyance at the young dragon shaking before her. “You know, you’re lucky you’re cute.”
“W-What?!” Spike said, quite surprised.
The young pink pony slowly dropped from her chair, and quietly reduced the distance between herself and her employee. She comes within leg’s reach of him, and keeps her head down, masking her face in her purple-and-white mane.
“Dia-” Spike begins to say her name, when she suddenly forces him towards the wall. She slams him into the pure Mahogany finish, and pins his arms against it.
“You listen to me.” Tiara began, “For the time being, I own you,” she removed one of her hooves, and glided it gently down his stomach, “and I can choose to punish you in any way I see fit.” A look of both lust and seriousness now coated her pristine facial landscape. She finally drifted to his private regions, and began pushing forcefully against them. His face contorted with pain and pleasure, as she manipulated his dragonhood with a whim of ease. She slowly released her pressure, and she could see his member protruding from its scaly imprisonment. As the head was made visible, she took it upon herself to jab it back within its private chamber, causing a painful yelp from her employee.
“You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, is that understood?” she asked almost as if it was a statement. He winced with pain and nodded his head, a tear forming in his eye. “Good,” she began rubbing his crotch again, “now, where exactly were you at twelve bells?”
“Uhh,” Spike stammered, “I was… picking up supplies for Twilight?”
“Oh, ‘supplies’?” she asked, centering her rotation on his pleasure zone. “You mean ‘supp-LIES!’” she screamed, jabbing where she believed his testicles lay dormant, obviously landing dead-on, based on his reaction. He squealed like a small filly, and tears filled his illustrious emerald eyes.
“Okay, okay! I was with Steven down by the lake!” he confessed with torture in his eyes. “I was asking him about hair-growth in reptiles!”
“Why on Earth did you want to know that?” Tiara asked, reducing her vice on the poor creature.
“Well, he does look fabulous.” Spike responded, rubbing the back of his head and facing the floor, a slight blush visible on his glorious mug.
“Well, that doesn’t explain the perfume I smell! You got some flank on the side I don’t know about? Last I checked, I’m the only flank you’ve got, so long as you work for me!” she demanded, regaining her grip on his being.
“Aa-AAH! He wanted me to try some fragrances! Said they’d help even out my maturing scents!!” he yelled, pleading with his eyes for mercy.
“’Fragrances?’ ‘Maturing scents?’ What the hell is wrong with you? You sure that’s a dick ‘tween your legs and not some sort o’ prolapsed ‘gine? Ugh, never mind. Just get outta here before I fire you.” Tiara said, rather frustrated. With that, the young dragon bolted out the door, leaving yet another comical dragon-shaped dust cloud behind.
“Well, that could’ve gone worse.” Our young dragon sighs in relief outside the office.
. . .
Third Floor.
“Ugh, this muzak is killing me.” Spike thought to himself, fidgeting to get into his costume properly. It’s times like these that he wishes his suit wasn’t so “skin-tight”.
Seventh Floor.
“Are we seriously not even halfway there, yet?” He continues trying to work out the creases and folds within his latex outerwear, attempting to make sporting the outfit as comfortable as possible.
Thirteenth Floor.
He finally gets the suit on properly, a good twenty seconds before the elevator reaches the top floor. He rushes out, and bolts up the stairs, heading for the roof. He pushes open the metal door and rushes out, only to be stopped by a familiar voice.
“You’re pathetically predictable, like a moth to flame.” The sultry purple unicorn arose from the shadows. “What about my generous proposal? Are you in or are you out?”
Staring intently at the light gravel beneath his feet, he responds, “It’s you who’s out, Twi. Out of your mind.” He turned to her, with tears in his eyes and gritting teeth.
With a sigh, Twilight said “You know, you really are amazing.”
“Some people don’t think so…” he stated, fixing his gaze on the street life hundreds of hooves below.
“But you are.” Twilight said, tilting her head with a soft smile.
He sniffs, raises his head and said with a smile, “Nice to have a fan.”
“Go home dear, you look awful.” She stated with a stern look.
“And you look beautiful…” he softly responded, as Twilight glanced at him with a heavy blush.
She buried her face in her hooves, self-conscious of her own emotional weakness. “Don’t make me look ugly.”
“That’s impossible.” She looked up to see him in legs’ reach of her with a smile on his adorable face.
“You know, you’re taller than you look.” She softly said, almost eye-level with the reptilian creature.
“I hunch.” Spike responded modestly, blissfully unaware of his maturing.
“Don’t.” Twilight said, leaning ever closer to him, but he pushes her away at the last second. “Spike, look. You’re changing. I know. I went through exactly the same thing at your age.”
“No,” Spike began to disagree, “not exactly.” He started to walk back towards the ledge.
“Look, I don’t mean to lecture and I don’t mean to preach. And I know I’m not your father…” Twilight began, only to be interrupted by an oncoming purple runt.
“THEN STOP PRETENDING TO BE!” Spike screamed directly at her face. The words echoed throughout the various concrete structures. Tears began falling down her face, as her emotions took over the conversation.
“I’ve been like a father to you! Be a son to me now!” She returned the anger, her voice trembling.
“I have a father, his name is Princess Celestia” Spike responded, clutching his fists and turning away violently.
She whispered loudly, “No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, the ones I love will always be the ones who pay.” She then fell to the ground, and openly bawled to the nightly clouds above.
He walked over to her, and placed a claw on her shoulder. “I want you to know, that I will always be there for you; I will always be there to take care of you. I promise you that. I will always be your friend.”
She wiped the fresh tears from her guilt-ridden face, and looked up at him with eyes full of need. “Only a friend, Spike?”
“That’s all I have to give.”
Having said that, the dragon returned to his perch at the building’s ledge. “You do too much; college, a job, all this time with me… You’re not Superman, you know.” The unicorn said with a more worried tone.
“Not everyone is meant to make a difference,” the dragon began, “but for me, the choice to lead an ordinary life is no longer an option.”
“Just remember,” Twilight softly began, making her way to the exit, “with great power, comes great responsibility.”
Who am I, you might ask? You sure you want to know? The story of my life is not for the faint of heart. If somepony said it was a happy little tale… if somepony told you I was just your average ordinary guy, not a care in the world… somepony lied. Whatever life holds in store for me, I will never forget those words: “With great power comes great responsibility.” This is my gift, my curse. Who am I? I’m Spider-man.
With those parting thoughts, the young dragon cloaked his face with the crimson mask, and leapt from the building to continue his nightly duties.
To be continued…
Chapter 3: The Brunt of Deceit and Its Tangled Web of Misery
“Phew, almost done!” the stubby purple dragon thought to himself as he continued to lay trap after trap, hoping to ward off the spirit of El Oso Diablo and his mangled cohorts for yet another spring. “I don’t see how everypony can keep this up for so long! I’m practically drowning in my own sweat!”
Just as he placed the final décor to welcome in Bear Season, his Venizon phone began ringing. He checked the caller I.D., and smiled in excitement. “Where you at?” he mockingly answered, poking fun at Twilight’s horrible choice of a cell-phone plan.
“Spike, my dear boy, how’s this glorious day been treating you?” the handsome stallion replied, twirling his silly little moustache. Spike had the inept ability to hear each hair follicle twirling against one another through the magical tubes we know today as “mobile technology”.
“Ugh, it’s been a nightmare!” Spike began, “Have you ever had to deal with bears in Manehattan?”
“Hmhmm, which ‘bears’ do you mean, young lad?” the stallion wittingly responded. Spike began to recollect the great times the two shared in southern Fillyfornia, and the awkward mornings thereafter.
“The animals, you dolt.” He responded sternly, causing a laugh from the gentlecolt.
“But dear boy, aren’t we all animals?” the stallion stated jokingly. “I do believe a look about town would tell you that much.”
“You know what I mean! Anyways, this ‘Bear Season’ nonsense has pushed me to my limits! I hope ‘El Oso Diablo’ comes and leaves a nice ‘package’ on Twilight’s pillow for her contributions. If he won’t, I surely will…” he trailed off while noticing an attractive young filly walking across a nearby path.
After a short visual banging, Fancy chose to break the silence. “Ahem,” he began, “anywho, I called to see if we were still on for bar-hopping this weekend; all this ‘stocks and bonds’ nonsense has utterly drained me, so like most innovators, I feel the need to take it out on my liver.”
“Haha yeah, I’m still free… where are you? It sounds like you’re at a Kathy Griffin convention.” (The mythological creature, not the actual person; they’re just spelled the same. Fuck me, right?) The dragon asked arrogantly.
“No, I’m afraid I’m at the local grocer. I need to restock on some things, mainly Chipotl-Away.” The stallion begrudgingly responded.
“Dude, we’ve been over this, why don’t you just stop wearing pants? It seems to work for everyone here.” Spike pointed out, looking around at the whopping four ponies within his line of sight.
“I’m afraid that goes against my name, dear boy.” He quickly noted.
“Oh… right. For that matter, why bother eating something if it’s just gonna cause blood to rupture from your ass?” he nonchalantly asked.
“SPIKE, LANGUAGE!” Twilight yelled from the second-story window.
“Sorry Twi’, my white friends…” he responded with a shrug. With a groan, she returned to her reading.
“Have you ever tried it, Spike? It’s quite a delicacy.” Fancy stated.
“I’m just saying, if it’s a common enough occurrence for a product to be made, shouldn’t you consider other options? Anyway, shouldn’t you maybe purchase something to remedy the health issue as opposed to its maintenance?” Spike asked, slightly annoyed.
“I’d say all in all, it’s worth the experience.” He answered.
“Well, I’ll have to take your word for it; I’ll stick with my Type 1’s.” Spike modestly responded.
“Suit yourself, dear Spike. Say ‘hi’ to Rarity for me.” Fancy said, ready to end this ridiculous argument.
“You know I won’t.” Spike stated, annoyed with his choice booty’s adoration towards this high-class stallion.
“Hah-alright, Spike. Take care.” With that, Fancy hung up the phone, and continued to slowly destroy his innards.
“He’s gonna be dead in ten years, I guarantee it.” Spike thought to himself. “Wait a minute… I think I might be onto something!”
Ten Days Earlier…
“Look Spike, I paid you a hefty fee to come up with somethin’ and you’re TROWING DAT MONEY DOWN DA TUBES WITCHA DAMN PROAHBLEMS!” the New Colt City delegate screamed at the beloved scaly bastard.
“Look man, just gimme a little more time. I just haven’t struck that ‘writer’s gold’ just yet.” The purple people eater timidly responded.
“I don’t think you undastand the severity (SNAPPLE) of the situation ‘ere, dragon-buoy!” the moustached marauder yelled in response. “I got corporate breathin’ down my neck about givin’ dis goahbage a fancy slogan, and ‘ere you are, tellin’ me ya ain’t ‘struck no gold’ aftah tree weeks?!? The hell you gon’ get dat scaly head outcha ass and GET ME MONEY?!?” the irate stallion screamed.
“L-l-look, j-… j-just gimme… t-TWO WEEKS! Two weeks, and I’ll give Stallion’s Warehouse the best slogan of ALL TIME!” Spike declared triumphantly.
“You bettah, ‘cause I’ll wring you out myself come next foahtnight if you don’t delivah.” The delegate stated, storming out of the room.
Present Time…
“Hmm, no, that’s not right.” Spike continued scribbling through various slogans, trying to find the perfect fit for the perfect tailors. “Something’s not working here.” He looked at his growing list of failed slogans:
You already love us, I guarantee it. This stuff’s the bomb, I guarantee it. OMG, these suits rock, I guarantee it. Dude, these suits are the tits, I guarantee it. You need to give these suits a shot, I guarantee it. Mares will ADORE your creased slacks, I guarantee it. You will have sex continuously while wearing these garments, I guarantee it. We do crotch-less on request, I guarantee it. Febreze the love-stain and no one will notice, I guarantee it. Vomit will wash off after the third cycle, I guarantee it. Pay the maid for the “extra cleaning” in cash to avoid future problems, I guarantee it. It’s not gay if you don’t cum, I guarantee it. It’s not straight if Andy Dick has done it, I guarantee it. Deception is much better than Armageddon, I guarantee it. The book is much better than the movie, I guarantee it. The original is much better than the sequel(s) , I guarantee it. It’s not incest if she’s not a dragon, I guarantee it. It shouldn’t be awkward at breakfast the next morning, I guarantee it. Oreos should stop production on their regular cookies and solely produce Double Stufs, I guarantee it. Double Stufs should become the new basic cookie and Quadruple Stufs should become the new Double Stuf, I guarantee it. The new Double Stufs should be sold for 15 bits a truckload, I guarantee it. Glasses and a moustache is never a good look for anyone under the age of 60, I guarantee it. “Age before beauty” should only apply to minors, I guarantee it. Paint thinner doesn’t kick you in the teeth like it used to, I guarantee it. Our tuxedos will make you look like a million bits, I guarantee it.
“Uuugh! What am I missing here?” Spike slammed his head on the desk, as the feint flame flickered with his swift wind.
“Spike, don’t you think it’s time for bed? It’s almost midnight.” Twilight said groggily, approaching her young assistant.
“Just give me a minute, I’ve almost got this down.” Spike responded doubtfully.
“Alright Spike, just be sure to get some sleep. Don’t forget you need to help Rarity (SNA- oh, wait…) tomorrow with Roseluck’s Gala dress.” Twilight stated with a yawn, as she began slumping up the stairs.
Spike rested his head on his arm and began to daydream of Rarity, helping her with menial tasks in weak hopes of tapping that sweet marshmallow flank when she’s in her late 30’s, following a divorce from her former lover and an awkward sexual experience with her younger sister. “We’ve been working on that dress for a while now,” he began thinking about the dress “she’s gonna like the way she looks.”
“Wait… aw, snap!” Spike scribbled one more sentence on the parchment.
The G-spot does not come with instructions, I guarantee it. It’s not wise to be creative with coins in a strip club, I guarantee it. Fish do NOT come from vaginas. They just smell that way, I guarantee it. You’re gonna like the way you look, I guarantee it.
“THAT’S IT!!!” Spike yelled, just short of reaching Twilight’s room. He rushed to his phone and called his delegate.
“It’s almost midnight, who da hell is dis?” he answered in an understandably aggravated tone.
“You’re gonna like the way you look, I guarantee it.”
“HOLY SHIT! DAT’S BRILLIANT! I knew you’d come through for us, ol’ Spikey ol’ pal! Wait’ll I tell da buoys down at da docks!” he hung up the phone and proceeded to perform a jig of sorts, while Spike crawled up to bed for a decent night’s sleep.
. . .
“Come on dude, these guys were promised a show.” Snails said hesitantly.
“I know, I know, just gimme a minute to think…” Spike began rubbing his temples in hopes of an idea. He looked through the curtain to see an arena filled with half of Ponyville’s finest, waiting for the show of a lifetime. He began pacing backstage, furiously attempting to conjure up a plan.
“They’re gonna be pretty upset when they hear Daft Pony’s van broke down outside of town. They might demand refunds!” Snips stated in a panic.
“Look, we’ll come up with something. We just need to calm down, and think of an alternative.” Spike said, scratching his scalp. He started to think about things he had read in the days prior, the information still fresh in his mind. He read up on mediums after watching a ghost-hunting show on television.
“It’s not safe to channel spirits, Spike. You never know just what dimension or universe they might come from!” he remembered Twilight’s response regarding the matter.
“It’s a stretch… but it’s our only shot!” Spike claimed, pounding a fist into his open palm. He gathered his two friends and formed a séance backstage with the few candles available. He began to chant an ancient psalm that wakes the resting spirits and beckons their company. After several minutes, a whisper began to develop.
“Keep goin’ guys! We’re on the right track!” Spike said, as the chanting continued. The whisper became broader, and soon began to catch the ears of several other people in the backstage area. They looked around to find the origin of the sound, but no such satisfaction was met. The whisper slowly grew to a groan.
The crowd began to chant “We want the band! We want the band!” almost in congruence with the growing sounds emitting from the spirit. The chants continued from both sides of the curtain, as the air grew thicker backstage. The three suddenly felt a pressure on their chests, making breathing much more of a challenge.
“D-don’t stop now! We need to keep it up!” Spike said between gasps. The three continued their weird chanting, as the groan grew to a growl. Soon, a mist was forming between them, and continued to grow with the surrounding sounds. After several minutes, the spirit had fully manifested itself, and looked at the trio in awe. The spirit was a rather strange-looking creature; it was like a monkey, but with much less hair. It seemed just as well-groomed as most of the ponies were, but had a much different skeletal structure, and looked just all-around odd to the young rascals.
“W-who are you?” Spike asked hesitantly.
“Who am I? What the hell are you?” the spirit asked in shock.
“I-I’m Spike the dragon. These are my friends Snips and Snails; they’re both ponies.” Spike responded, pointing at his two border-line retarded chums.
“I guess. The name’s John.” The spirit said, lightly waving his right hand.
“Well, look John, we need your help,” Spike began, “This band was supposed to play this concert for the town, but their bus broke down! We were hoping you knew any musicians that could help us out.”
“Oh. Well, you conjured up the right spirit. I used to drum for this group, Led-”
“You’re a drummer?!? Sweet!” Spike interrupted, “Could you maybe possess my friends and I so that we give these assholes a concert they’ll never forget?” Spike batted his goat eyes in hopes of charming the spirit into assisting them.
“I don’t see why not; I’m not exactly doin’ anything else at the moment.” John responded, unable to resist the alluring gaze of the strange goat-dragon-boy. He then entered his new friends’ spiritual beings, and took over their bodies. They each grabbed their respective instruments, and rushed onto the stage.
The crowd erupted into a continuous cheer for the youngsters, believing they were the opening act. With that, they began their set. With a “Heartbreaker” here and a “Immigrant Song” there, the three were tearing up the stage with their funky rock grooves. After somehow pulling off “Kashmir” with only a guitar, bass and drums, the trio ended their set.
The crowd remained in silence, not uttering a sound since about their third or fourth song. The three stared on through the blinding strobes, hoping to hear an uproar of cheers within the upcoming moments. “Man, talk about an awkward silence.” Spike thought to himself as he sat behind his 4-piece kit.
“You’re tellin’ me. Later, bro!” John said, as he exited their bodies and evaporated into Ponyville’s atmosphere. Another ten seconds of death-inducing silence followed before freedom of speech took its unfortunate toll.
“The FUCK was that?!?” Donut Joe screamed, as he got up and flailed his front-hooves in anger.
One by one, everyone in the crowd began to yell in aggravation at the monotony to which they were just exposed. They began throwing rotting vegetables towards the young whippersnappers (as to why they carry rotting vegetables around, we’ll never know…). Turns out, that genre of music had never quite reached into their specific universe, and as most new sounds develop in new areas, it was furiously rejected by its listeners at first. The grooves of LZ would never be heard in the ponyverse ever again.
“Guys, I think this was a ba-a-a-a-ad idea.” Spike bleated, as his friends turned around to find a purple goat sitting at the drum set.
“Uh, Spike, I think you conjured up a little more than you can host.” Snails said nervously.
“Who else but Spike?” Snips said, as the two ponies shared a laugh with the shrugging goat, as the audience began throwing blunt objects in hopes of killing the poor creatures.
To be continued…
Chapter 4: The Roaring Silence of Closure and Its Implied Subtleties
“I’m sorry, Spike! You’ll just have to trust me on this one!” Twilight yelled, as she and her five friends ran towards the horizon.
“But…” Spike faintly objected with an outstretched claw, only for it to slowly drop with a defeated sigh. How was he supposed to know where it was? With a quick shake of the head, he turned and began sprinting back towards the city, hoping it wasn’t too late.
He burst (sorry, BURS) into the nearest establishment, Le Restaurant Stéréotypée Français pour les Chevaux, hoping his first guess was successful. “Puis-je vous aider?” the fancy French pony asked at the door.
“Uhh…” Spike began, “avez-vous vu le septième point?” he asked with a confused look on his face.
The pony mirrored the confused look. “Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?”
Spike threw his arms up in frustration. “Regarde, je n'ai pas le temps pour cela!” He stormed past the befuddled waiter, and entered the main room of the restaurant.
He started to look under tables, hoping to find the missing item. As he dodged tables, he overheard conversations from the customers.
“… et je lui ai dit son pénis ressemblait à moustache d'un clown!” a young mare stated.
“Haha, vous allez, ma fille!” Spike said to himself. “Maintenant que j'y pense, depuis quand dois-je comprendre Français?”
“…mais je l'ai violée avant qu'elle ne puisse crier à l'aide!” an older stallion jovially boasted.
“Wow, je veux faire la fête avec CE mec!” Spike said with a chuckle, as he stealthily scoped under the stallion’s table; just as bare as the innocence in his soul.
“Pouvez-vous me blâmer? Ses parties génitales puait de vinaigre!” a stunning mare asked her group of friends.
“Eh bien, je suppose que les filles ont leurs priorités, trop...” Spike said, as he approached the final table in the far corner. A rather stylish stallion sensed his upcoming presence, and shot him a dirty glare.
Spike hesitantly reached the table , and the stallion spoke, “Nous savons tous pourquoi vous êtes ici, jeune dragon.” He began, “Vous cherchez le septième élément de l'harmonie?”
“Vous fils de pute!” Spike yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “Où est-le? Alors aidez-moi Celestia, je vais te tuer, sauf si vous me le dire!” The fellow customers began to look back at the developing “scene”.
“Calme, vous tromper! Si vous devez élever la voix, laissez-nous au moins changer notre dialogue.” The stallion stated sternly. “Etes-vous couramment l'anglais?”
“Un peu.” Spike responded with folded arms.
“Oui, un tel langage horrible, mais bénéfique. Etes-vous sûr que vous pouvez tenir le rythme?” the stallion asked.
“Je suppose que oui...” Spike answered, as he took a seat.
“Très bien.” The stallion said, as he cleared his throat. “Now, I’m sure by now that you’ve realized that I’m aware of the seventh element’s location.”
“I’ve figured as much.” Spike responded, leaning further back into his seat. “So, where is it?”
“Hmm, one must question a spectral adversary in the confines of a dining establishment.” The stallion stated.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Spike asked, narrowing his eyes.
“I thought you said you spoke English.” The stallion said flatly. “In layman’s terms, what is the opposite of this fine eatery in the realm of culinary service?”
“What, you mean like fast food?” Spike asked with a cocked brow.
“Correct. Now, you have three main chains within this town; McDonalds,” Spike made his best Dolan impression at the thought of “McDolan’s”, “Burger King and Wendy’s. I have in front of me three cards, one of which is the current location of the element. Choose wisely.”
Spike grazed each restaurant in his mind, carefully mulling over his options. After several minutes, he drew a logical conclusion. “I choose…” he swiped the left card from his hoof. It had Burger King’s classic logo glossed atop the card otherwise designated as the “Joker”. The stallion shot up, and pushed Spike to the ground, bursting out of the restaurant. “Oh non vous di-iiint!” Spike said, snapping his fingers and jerking his head from side to side. He rushed out of the restaurant, only to be knocked back on his ass by the roaring power of a fighter jet engine blasting just hooves away from his face.
The powerful aircraft blasted off, just after the stallion stuck his head out proclaiming, “La course est lancée, jeune dragon! J'espère que vous avez emballé cercueils pour vos amis, aussi bien!”
“Vous morceau de merde! Vous aurez de la chance si je fais un autre spectacle! Je veux dire que diable-” he knocked over a nearby pile of empty cans left for recycling, “Vous avez ruiné ma Taco Mardi!”
Somewhere in a distant universe, he could envision a French Texan saying “Je suis votre hôte, l'homme qu'ils appellent Ghost, et encore une fois, je tiens à remercier tout le monde pour le tuning dans avec moi.” He looked up at the daytime sky, and shed a tear. He then rushed through the town, hoping to catch up to the impressive aircraft and its less-than savvy pilot.
He BURS to mach 2 speed, narrowly avoiding the idiotic townspeople with every step he took. Every move he made, every bond he broke, every breath he took, he was watching the jet, and slowly catching ground. After several minutes, the fast food wonderland was in sight, and it was truly anyone’s race. With a skidding halt, Spike stopped at the rear of the restaurant. He rushed over to the front, only to be stopped by his handsome adversary.
“Well well well, il semble que vous avez été défait, jeune dragon.” The stallion had a triumphant laugh, just before he was full-nelsoned by a charming stallion.
“Oh no you don’t, dear boy. Snips, Snails, NOW!” Just as the French bastard began to struggle, the two young idiots bound themselves around his back-hooves. “Alright Derpy, ATTACK!” Just then, a gray Pegasus flew into sight, bumping break-neck speed with an outstretched hoof towards the stallion. The wind suddenly blew slightly east, and she instead flew through the roof of the establishment.
The stallion said with a chuckle, “Je n'ai pas de mesurer correctement votre popularité (SNAPPLE), il semble. Mais peu importe! Le septième élément est le mien!” The stallion broke free from his vice, and BURS (SWAG) into the restaurant. He quickly scanned the area, hoping to catch sight of it before the stubby purple beast could enter the establishment. Spike rushed into the eatery, and almost immediately noticed the spherical stone being used as a paperweight to hold the receipts at the main counter. The two locked eyes, and charged towards the counter.
Unfortunately for the stallion, his French blood began to take over, and he suddenly bolted in the other direction. “Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, vous bâtard écailleuse!” Spike slowed and turned around, utterly dumbfounded. He chose to merely shrug it off, and continued towards the element.
“Excuse me, can I see that for a moment?” he asked the colt behind the counter.
“Oh, that? Sure, I guess.” He answered, obviously going through puberty.
He picked up the sphere, and slowly eyed it from every angle. He noticed the engraving began to faintly glow. “’Burs’. ‘Burs’? I don’t get it. What’s ‘burs’ mean?” At the third utterance, the sphere shot up several hooves and shined a blinding glow towards the indigo imbecile. It slowly moved atop the dragon, and lowered itself. When it made contact with him, a blinding white filled the restaurant for a few moments. He hesitantly opened his eyes, only to realize he was now sporting a bitchin’ gold chain which read in sapphires, “Se vanter de la Côte”. “What the hell?” Spike asked, as he got a good look at the chain.
Fancy then entered the eatery to explain, “Don’t you see, Spike? The seventh element was within you all along!”
“But… but what is it?” Spike asked, tilting his head.
“The element of swag, dear boy!” Fancy answered. Spike’s eyes went wide along with a gasp.
“You mean my swag is gonna save all of Equestria?” he asked with hope in his voice.
“Of course! Shall we be on our way, then?” Fancy asked with an outstretched hoof.
“Fuck that shit! Let’s get some donuts!” Spike proclaimed, slapping away Fancy’s hoof and began to walk toward the door.
“But what about your friends?” Fancy asked frantically.
“Who needs friends when you got all this swag?” Spike answered as he turned around and struck a manly pose. Almost on cue, Carrot Top and Berry Punch slid to both sides of him and began to caress him.
“I thought you were different, dear Spike.” Fancy said, as he dropped his head in defeat.
“Oh, don’t be like that! Let’s go get some donuts!” Spike suggested.
“Hmm, now that you mention it, I have had a hankering for some icing-doused pastries as of late…” Fancy scratched his chin in deep thought, “alright, then!” The two then headed to Donut Joe’s parlor.
A fun afternoon of merrymaking and vigorous drinking ensued, as Spike jumped atop of the counter and practically screamed, “Un autre beigne! Extra arrose!” The three shared a hearty laugh, and subsequently passed out.
. . .
Spike tore down the ad posted on the side of the library.
Wanna vamp like a New Foaleans champ? Want the skills with the sound that kills? Want the bitches on your dick like ink on a BIC? Then p-mail the ‘corn with the golden horn! John Colttrane now giving lessons in a city near you!
“I’ve heard of this guy,” Spike said to himself, “he’s one of Twilight’s favorite musicians. I’m not a fan of jazz, but man, can he blow some sax!” He crumpled up the ad and threw it into the nearest recycling bin. He entered the library and began to prepare lunch.
Several minutes later, Twilight approached him. “Hello, Spike.” She said with a warm smile.
“Oh, hey Twi’,” Spike responded, “what’s up?”
“Just checking out what you’re making for lunch.”
“Oh, well, I figured I’d go the minimalist route today, so I’m making a strawberry salad with raspberry dressing.” He stated, as he continued tossing his salad.
“Ooh, sounds delicious!” Twilight exclaimed. “I hope you’re planning on making a large batch; I invited Rarity and Pinkie over for lunch so we could discuss plans for Fluttershy’s birthday party.”
“Oh, alrighty then, I’ll be sure to make it for four!” Spike said.
“… Ok then, so feel free to stop licking yourself, and hop to it! They’ll be here in half an hour!” Twilight said with a giggle, as she left the kitchen.
Spike groaned, “If you say so.” He brushed his teeth, and got to work. Thankfully, he had just enough to work a large salad together within twenty or so minutes. Just as he finished, he heard thumps at the door. “I’ll get it!” he yelled, as he opened the front door.
“Hiya, Spike!” Pinkie yelled, attempting to merge her face with his. “Twilight told you we were coming over, right? I hope she did! OOH! Maybe it’s better if she didn’t so that we SURPRISED you! Are you surprised? Are ya? Huh? HUH?”
Spike squirmed his way from between her head and the oak finish. “Yes, she told me you were coming over.” He answered, slightly annoyed.
“OH! So you know what we’re doing here, then! So, do ya got any ideas for the party? I was thinking pink and yellow STREAMERS, with strawberry-lemon ice cream cake! NO! Cheesecake! NO! Ice cream cake! NO! Chee-” her mouth was stuffed with a decadent brown substance.
“Pinkie, I’ve been working on a new brownie recipe, what do you think?” Spike said half-heartedly.
“Mmm-mm-mmm!” Pinkie responded as she scarfed the brownie down in a large gulp. Her tongue ran across her face in sheer bliss. “Spike! That brownie was super-duper tasty-wasty!” she proclaimed, bouncing up and down. “What’d you use to make it?”
“Oh you know, the basics.” Spike answered with a shrug.
“I must say, Spike, I’ve been in the mood for chocolate as of late myself. Might I partake in one of these delicacies?” the sultry white unicorn asked as she entered the library.
“Oh, sorry Rarity. I kind of made that brownie specially for Pinkie; I didn’t really make a whole lot.” Spike sadly stated. “I don’t care if you’re Aphrodite herself, touch my stash and you’re dead meat, bitch.” He thought to himself.
“That’s quite alright, dearie. Now where is Twilight? We absolutely must get this show in the road.” The unicorn said, as she sat herself on the couch.
“Here she is!” Pinkie yelled as she stuck her head out the second-story hallway, holding Twilight by her head and shaking her for all to see.
“Pinkie, please let me go. I have to finish putting these books away.” Twilight said, slightly annoyed herself.
“But isn’t that why you have an assistant?” Pinkie asked. Spike shot her an angry glance. “Just you wait.” He thought to himself, laughing maniacally inside his own brain-organ.
“Oh alright, I’m coming.” Twilight groaned as she walked down the stairs with the bubbly pink nuisance at tow.
“Say, have you girls seen those flyers strewn about town? That famous saxophonist from the town over is offering lessons!” Rarity exclaimed.
“Ooh! Ooh! I did hear about that! They say they had to surgically remove the saxophone from his mouth once!” Pinkie said, jumping twice before tripping over herself.
“Pinkie, are you ok?” Twilight asked, concerned for her psychotic friend.
“I think so.” Pinkie responded, attempting to regain her composure. The room began to spin and colors began to mix. Her mouth started to lose saturation, and she started seeing things in dimensions she once remembered. She chose to simply keep her mouth shut, and sit down on the couch.
“So who’s this saxophonist giving lessons?” Twilight asked.
“I believe his name is John Colttrane.” Rarity answered.
“Oh, John Colttrane? He’s one of my favorites!” exclaimed the purple bookworm. “Is he charging much? Not that I would apply, but I’m just curious.”
“I don’t know, dear. It just has his p-mail address at the bottom.” Rarity responded, recollecting the sight adjacent to her boutique.
“You guys talkin’ ‘bout that saxophone guy?” Spike asked, placing four bowls of salad on the table.
“Oh my, thank you, Spike. Yes, we are. Do you share Twilight’s interest in the fine arts?” Rarity asked, gathering a forkful of salad.
“Fine arts? Most jazz sounds like cats in heat!” Spike thought. “Not really. Why, do you?”
“Oh, absolutely! Jazz truly is the finest form of musical expression! Wouldn’t you agree, Pinkie?” asked Marshmallow McGee. She looked over to see her maniacal friend in a translucent state. She stared through her with a glazed look of understanding on her face, and slowly nodded her head.
“So you like saxophonists then, Rare?” Spike asked condescendingly.
Both the tone and nickname confused Rarity greatly, but she merely shrugged and said, “Of course! They’re very talented, charming and dexterous musicians!”
“Is that right?” Spike continued his tone, finishing his salad. He took his bowl into the kitchen, and placed it in the dishwasher. “I’m gonna be upstairs for a while, if you need me.” He said, passing Twilight. As usual, Twilight ignored him and continued talking with her two awful friends.
He hopped aboard his minibook, and logged on to the pony interwebs. He remembered the p-mail address, and began his letter:
To: jcolt@woohah.com CC: None Subject: Lessons
Hello Mr. Colttrane,
I was interested in taking lessons with you. My name is Spike, and I’m a dragon residing in Ponyville. I’ll be frank here for a moment; I’ve never touched a sax in my life, and the only reason I want to do this is for a frail attempt to get into a hot bitch’s drawers. Feel free to send me your hourly rates!
Thanks, Spike spiketheswagon@firemail.com
Four Months Later…
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” Spike said hesitantly, looking through the curtain at the hundreds of on-looking ponies.
“You got this, man!” Colttrane said, slapping Spike on the back. “I got faith in ya!”
“Well, if you say so…” Spike responded, stepping out onto the stage…
I'm sure the three people reading this might be wondering my M.O. in regards to this riveting tale. The whole purpose of this story was conceived when I was plastered one night. I woke up the next morning, and read the story idea, written in.txt format. Here is the document verbatim:
the legend of epic sax spike ch1 -beats the shit out of rarity -drinks orange juice ch2 -leaves for work -works for foal free press -is actually spiderman ch3 -sets traps for bear season -writes slogan for stallion's warehouse -possessed by the ghost of john bonham ch4 -finds lost element of harmony -races a fighter jet to burger king -takes sax lessons from john colt-trane -epic sax spike is born http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-thubJ89e4
This is my first pony-related work, and I plan on making plenty more in the future (obviously less random than this bullshit). I had fun piecing this interesting story together, and I hope you had fun reading it!
