Pinkie's eyebrow rang the bell at the front counter of the local Subway. Why is there a Subway in the middle of Ponyville, where just about nopony eats meat? Who knows! I don't.
Anyway, Pinkie's eyebrow rang the bell again. Harder.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," a tired-sounding stallion emerged from the back room. No, not The Backrooms. The back room.
He stared at Pinkie's eyebrow.
Pinkie's eyebrow stared back. Somehow.
"What kind of bread would you li--"
"Italian herbs and cheese, black forest ham with lettuce, tomato, and onion, sweet onion dressing, and mayonnaise!" Pinkie's eyebrow chirped.
"Bing bong," the stallion muttered under his breath as he pulled a loaf of totally-not-legally-classified-as-cake-in-Ireland bread out. " Would you like it to be a footlong?
Pinkie's eyebrow nodded. Somehow.
"Would you like it to be toasted?"
More nodding. How does an eyebrow even nod?
The stallion stared at the bits that the eyebrow had somehow procured. Then at the eyebrow, which was holding the Subway footlong it'd just ordered. And was now eating.
what the heck