Steamed Hams but it's Sir Tuxley and Sir Reginald · 9:50pm Sep 9th, 2018
*Ding-ong*
Tuxley opened the door.
"Well, Tuxley, I made it. Despite your directions."
"Ah! Superintendent Reginald, welcome," Tux said, smiling. "I hope you're ready for an unforgettable luncheon." The dapper tyrannosaurus rex was brimming with confidence. Reginald, however, was not.
"Hrrrrmm," Reginald said, little more than an auditory regard of Tuxley's confidence. He walked past the grinning lizard and into the library. He placed a gift bottle in a bucket on the dining room table and took a seat. Tuxley walked past the table and into the kitchen to retrieve lunch.
"Gyuhh!" Tux gasped. Smoke leaked from the oven door in twin billowing streams up to the ceiling. Panicking, he rushed to the oven to examine its contents. He pulled down the hatch. "Oh, e-gods!" he exclaimed. The roast he had been preparing was consumed in flames. He closed the hatch again, claw clutching the side of his distraught expression. "My roast is ruined!"
Quickly, his mind began searching for a solution. Out of the kitchen window, something caught his eye.
"But what if... I were to purchase fast food and disguise it as my own cooking?" His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility. "Oh ho ho, delightfully devilish, Tuxley!" He chuckled, satisfied with his own cunning. Carefully, he opened the kitchen window, removed his apron and set it on top of the stove. Starting with a leg, he clutched the window edge and began to climb out of it.
Suddenly, the door to the kitchen opened. "Enh?" Reginald entered, startled to see Tuxley apparently trying to escape. The crystal pony's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Tuxley
& the
Superintendent
Tuxley~
With his crazy explanations,
Superintendent's gonna need his medication
When he hears Tuxley's lame exaggeration
They'll be trouble in town- tonight!
"TUXLEY!!"
"Superintendent!" Tuxley's head whipped around. "I was just, eh, stretching my calves on the windowsill. Isometric exercise," he explained, hastily coming up with an excuse. To really sell it, he quickly added, "Care to join me?"
Tux couldn't tell if Reginald bought it; his narrow-eyed skepticism was impenetrable, but he didn't question him. He did, however, question something else. "Why is there smoke coming out of your oven, Tuxley?"
"Ahhh...oooh! That isn't smoke," Tuxley said, trying not to look nervous. "It's steam! Steam from the steamed clams we're having." He rubbed his belly, "Mmmm, steamed clams."
Reginald glared and turned back around, exiting the kitchen without a word. Tuxley let out a relieved sigh, wiped his forehead and quickly climbed out of the window. He ran to the local Hayburger as quickly as he could.
When he returned, Superintendent Tuxley was just beginning to tuck his napkin into his collar. Tuxley entered the dining room carrying a platter of fresh hayburgers flanked by horseshoe fries. "Superintendent, I hope you're ready for mouthwatering hayburgers!"
"I thought we were having steamed clams."
"No, no," Tuxley said assuredly, setting the platter down. "I said steamed hayms! That's what I call hayburgers."
"You call hayburgers steamed 'steamed hayms'?" Reginald asked, skepticism clear in his voice.
"Yes!" Tuxley replied confidently. "It's uh, regional dialect," he explained, smiling.
"Uh huh. Eh-what region?"
"Uhhhh," Tuxley searched his brain's database for a suitable location. Some place with lots of different expressions, local slang for common things. "Upstate Manehattan?"
"Really?" Reginald asked, voice absent of curiosity. "Well, I'm from Cutica and I've never heard anyone use the phrase "steamed hayms."
"Oh, not in Cutica, no," Tux quickly thought. "It's an Albaneigh expression."
"I see." Reginald seemed to have bought it. Tux had a glass of bubbly and Reginald grabbed a burger and took a bite. All seemed well.
Reginald swallowed his first bite and then took the top bun off his burger. "You know these haymburgers are quite similar to the ones they have at Hayburger," he said, more of an accusation than a statement. He held the burger at Tuxley, awaiting an explanation.
"Ho ho ho ho, noooo," Tuxley leaned over and made a show of laughing. "Patented Tuxley burgers!" he said, delightedly. "Old family recipe." He leaned to one side and grinned to assure him.
Reginald paused. "For steamed hayms?" His lack of convincedness was apparent.
"Yes!" Tux said, sounding sure. He was almost starting to buy it himself. Almost.
"Yes, and you call them 'steamed hayms' despite the fact they are obviously grilled." Reginald showed the hayburger to Tuxley, the grill lines visible on the surface of the hay patty.
Tuxley's mind blanked. He searched quickly for an excuse, for an explanation of any kind. He looked to the side, wiped his mouth with his napkin but nothing came to mind. "E-ye," he stammered. "You know the-" he completely blanked. "One thing I sh-" He looked down at the table. He searched for answers, but none came to mind. He needed to retreat. "Excuse me for one second." Tuxley got up from the table.
"Of course," Reginald said, taking another bite.
Tuxley quickly entered the kitchen. An ominous orange glow and distinctive hot crackling sound escaped in the brief instance the door was open. A moment passed and Tuxley opened the door again, yawning and stretching his arms.
"Ahhhhh, well, that was wonderful. Good time was had by all; I'm pooped!"
"Yes, I should be going," Reginald said, checking his watch and getting up. As he did, the orange glow peaking from the crack in the still-flapping kitchen door caught his eye. "Good lord, what is happening in there?!" he pointed.
Tux turned, then looked back. "Aurora Bronyalis?"
"A-Aurora Bronyalis?" Reginald asked, stunned in disbelief. "At this time of year, at this time of day, in this part of the kingdom, localized entirely within your kitchen." Each part of his statement was itself its own accusation, an expression of utterly contemptuous disbelief, pressing upon Tuxley verbally, battering whatever notion of truth his explanation could have ever have held to the point it would be in sheer insanity, madness to continue to cling to it.
"Yes," Tuxley replied. Perhaps not madness... but devilish cunning.
Reginald was stunned yet again. This final confidently assured response, so simple and quick, had shocked whatever skepticism he had before and turned it into nothing more but innocent curiosity. Maybe it was the prospect of seeing, of witnessing such a phenomenon itself, the hope that filled his heart that it COULD be real that shocked him. Regardless, the superintendent found he could offer no further suspicion. All doubt melted before Tuxley's brilliant, friendly smile.
"May I see it?"
Briefly, Tuxley considered it. "No."
He escorted the superintendent back outside.
"Tuxley! The house is on fire!" Chrys shouted from the second floor.
"No, Madam Chryssie," Tuxley said, "It's just a brony rave party."
"Well, Tuxley," Reginald said, looking his compatriot over again, as if to consider his whole person one more time. "You are an odd fellow, but I must say," he said, and suddenly, he held his hooves behind his back, smiled and added, "You steam a good haym." Content, Reginald turned and departed.
He was almost to the street when he heard, "HEEELP! HEELLLLP!" Chrys' voice shouting from the upper level. Crackling heat and smoke began filling the inside of the house. Reginald glared one final time at Tuxley. But Tuxley just shot him a thumb-claw's up and Reginald turned again and walked away.
Dan, Phoenix, Twilight and Spike came speeding down the street in a fire engine. Fluffle Puff blared a siren noise.
why
Theyre Pinkie and The Drain,
Pinkie and the Drain,
One of thems totally crazy,
The others more flushed than Bruce Wayne.
4934249
maniacal laughter
LOL, cool!
4934282
Low-temperature indeed.
...Wat.
i.imgflip.com/1xua3r.jpg
4934350
It's a meme. And a scene.
simpsons
4935771
Yep.