Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle trotted down the road to Sweet Apple Acres, into the farmhouse, and then up to Apple Bloom's bedroom.
"All right, girls," Scootaloo said. "If Diamond Tiara's restaurant reviews can have ten thousand Instascam followers, and Featherweight's photography can have fifteen thousand, then surely we can get... three thousand?"
"Think bigger," Sweetie said. "I want thirty hundred!"
Scootaloo and Apple Bloom exchanged a glance.
"Anyway." Scootaloo stretched her wings and began tapping her hooves on Apple Bloom's bedroom computer. "Instascam dot pone. Create a new account. 'Are you over eighteen years old?'"
The girls laughed.
"Yes, we're over eighteen," Scootaloo said with a click and a chuckle. "Choose your username. 'Cutie Mark Crusaders.'" She typed. "'Your username is taken?' What?!"
"Open another tab," Sweetie said. "Check out that account."
"You have to log in to see this content," Apple Bloom read. "Okay, make our username 'Apple Bloom's Crew'."
"Nah, here," Sweetie said, levitating the mouse away from Scootaloo's hoof. She found a picture of the three of them with Dinky, cropped it to just contain Dinky, and used that picture to create an account in Dinky's name. "Dinky's not online."
"Because her mom thinks it's dangerous?" Scootaloo asked.
"Because their monitor is configured for Dinky's mom's eyes and it gives Dinky a headache," Sweetie replied. "Okay, we're 'Dinky' and we're on Instascam."
"Check out that 'Cutie Mark Crusaders' account," Apple Bloom commanded.
"Uh-oh," all three said. The account was covered in pictures of themselves.
"This imposter is online," Sweetie said, pointing at the green icon on the user name. "Hmmm, 'Private Messages open, we want to talk to hott stallions.' It's spelled h-o-t-t. Ugh."
"Open another browser," Apple Bloom commanded. "Use that picture of us with Troubleshoes at the rodeo, crop us out, and make it a Troubleshoes account."
"On it," Scootaloo said, making the Troubleshoes Instascam account. "Okay, private message to our imposter. ...what do I say?"
They thought for a minute. "'Hey?'" suggested Sweetie.
"'Hey, cuties,'" Apple Bloom said.
Scootaloo typed Hey, cuties, into a PM and sent it to their imposter. "Now we wait."
The computer dinged with a reply.
"That was fast," Apple Bloom said.
"Well, they are online," Sweetie replied.
"It might be just one imposter," Scootaloo pointed out.
"That would be illegal," Sweetie said. "Clearly they need three ponies to impersonate three ponies. Q-E-duh."
Scootaloo and Apple Bloom shared a glance.
Scootaloo clicked to read the reply. "It says, 'Send dik pik.'"
"Ewwwww," Sweetie yelled. "Somepony is using our likenesses to collect dick pics!"
"Let's scam this scammer, y'all," Apple Bloom said, a frown of determination on her face. "Let's send him a dick pic."
"This may come as a shock to you," Scootaloo said, "but we're three fillies and can't take such a picture."
"Besides," Sweetie added, "your computer doesn't have a camera."
Apple Bloom grinned. "Check our fake Dinky account."
"What?" said Sweetie. "Why?"
"It's a cute filly Instascam profile and we forgot to lock down private messages," Apple Bloom explained. "It's been open for at least five minutes. It must have dozens of dick pics in its inbox."
Scootaloo checked the Dinky inbox. "Dick pic. Okay, right click, save. We have one to send to the imposter. Right click, delete from inbox."
"Let's clean out the inbox," Apple Bloom said. "Then deal with the impersonator."
Scootaloo nodded. "Dick pic." Delete. "Dick pic." Delete. "Dick pic—"
"Hey!" Apple Bloom shouted. "That ain't cool."
"What?" Sweetie asked.
"See the birthmark on that one? It's Tender Taps! I'm gonna have to ask him why he's sending dick pics to Dinky."
Scootaloo and Sweetie shared a concerned glance before Scootaloo deleted the pic. "Dick pic." Delete. "Dick pic." Delete. "Hey, now!"
The next pic was not a dick, but rather, a filly's backside.
"Is that Silver Spoon?" Sweetie asked. "I think that's Silver Spoon."
Scootaloo right-clicked save, then deleted the rest of the dick pics.
"Why did you save that pic of Silver Spoon?" Sweetie demanded.
Scootaloo ignored her, switched to the Troubleshoes account, and sent the saved dick pic to their imposter.
Surprisingly, there wasn't an immediate reply. The imposter's status went from online to away. The three got bored with Instascam and played a game of cider rummy.
An hour later, the computer dinged as a reply hit their fake Troubleshoes account's inbox.
Sweetie was the first to the computer. She turned even whiter. "Hey!"
"What?" the other two asked, half a step behind her.
"'I just tooked this account away from My little sister,'" she read. "'You have Sent an explicit Picture of your Dick junk to an underage fillies. I need you to kindly go to the store and buy two thousand bits worth of PineApple Computer Gift Cards or Two thousand bits of Mashcoin crypto and send me the numbers from the back of the cards or transfer the Mashcoin to my crypto Wallet so that I can pay for my sisters psycoligicle Counseling or I will report you to the Equestrian Police Authorities. Eeeyup.'"
They stared at each other. After about fifteen seconds, Apple Bloom whispered, "He typed 'eeeyup.'"
They stared at the computer. Another message came in. Voice shaky, Sweetie read it: "'Dear, I await you to kindly do the needful. Eeeyup.'"
Apple Bloom stormed out of her room and down the hallway, the other two just behind her, and she bucked the door to Big Mac's bedroom like it was a particularly fecund apple tree on harvest day. The lock and door jamb shattered.
Big Mac jumped off his bed, his laptop spilling off his lap and landing on the floor, screen towards the three fillies.
It was open to the private messages from the Instascam page impersonating them.
"Mac," Apple Bloom said in a cold voice, "why are ya impersonatin' us to get dick pics?"
He blushed and mumbled.
"It ain't his idea," said Granny Smith from the hallway.
The CMCs jumped in surprise and looked at her.
"I told him t' do it," Granny continued. "Mac is runnin' the underage filly scams, and Applejack is runnin' the 'send fifty bits to get paid from the overseas lottery' scams for me. I run the 'we dun loaded an untraceable virus on your webcam and recorded ya jerking it so you better pay up' scams. The virus ain't real, of course, but ya wouldn't believe how many ponies confess to jerkin' it in front of their webcam."
"B-but why?" Apple Bloom said, her face falling and bow limp. "Ah—I trusted y'all! You made a scam account about us!"
"Because we're gonna lose the farm if we don't make more money," Granny said. "I'm a-willin' to confess it's my fault, one hunnert percent, but whose fault it is don't change the economical imperatives none."
"What did you do to get into debt?" Scootaloo said.
"Ya know how my friends and I go to Las Pegasus every year?" Granny asked.
Sweetie gasped and covered her mouth with her hooves. "You put the farm into debt by gambling?"
"Hardly!" Granny gave a wheezing gasping laugh. "I've been keepin' the farm solvent with m' gamblin', I'm a regular card sharp! Apples didn't buy yer computer, Bloom. Poker did."
"Then why are we losin' the farm?" Apple Bloom cried.
"Because I ain't paid taxes on my gamblin' in over a hunnert years, and as it turns out, Luna is the best forensic accountant in history and her return from the Moon has resulted in the Equestrian Revenue Service doin' a lot of powerful strong audits."