Uttering a deviously clever (if not obscenely profane) string of curses under your breath, you bound up the basement stairs, being certain to shut the door behind you. The first thing you notice is that the television is on. The second thing you notice is that your two cats look absolutely puzzled, blankly staring at your unexpected visitor. Oh yeah – Pinkie Pie's playing Halo: Reach on your Xbox.
“Ooooh, triple kill! I'm really good at this, huh?” She giggles, somehow manipulating the white controller with her hooves. You let out a mad bark of laughter.
“Uh, Pinkie? Why are you playing-”
“-bored now! Whatchya got in the kitchen?” Pinkie says from behind you. Shuddering instinctively as the laws of physics are trampled upon with pink hooves, you turn around.
“Pinkie, I-”
The pink pony happily bounces up the small set of stairs leading to the kitchen, absentmindedly humming a tune. She opens your refrigerator, her poofy pink tail bobbing to and fro as she begins to root around.
“Hey, who's Captain Morgan?” she asks, and you instantly feel your balls shrivel (or tits twinge, lolidk) in terror.
“Gah! God, no! That's, uh – it's a human drink. Not for ponies. Yeah. Going with that.”
“Oh well! I'm gonna make us something to eat, ok?” You sigh in exasperation, resigning to the admittedly absurd cards life has dealt you at the moment. You walk dejectedly into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. You run a hand through your hair, chuckling silently to yourself.
I've got to be dead. That's the only explanation there is. I'm dead, and there must be a God and he must be a kind one, because he had the twisted sense of humour to fill it with ponies.
“Well, pony. Singular. As in, one.”
...let's not tempt fate.
Quickly becoming used to the pink earth pony's time-manipulating antics, you hardly bat an eye when she sets down a tray full of somehow already-cooked cupcakes on the kitchen table. Ok, to be frank: your eyes bug out of your head a little and your brain feels like it's bleeding a little bit, but that's to be expected. Still, you somehow find the wherewithal to ask -
“Okay, Pinkie. Those look delicious, really. But there's something I gotta ask-”
“-how I got here? It's easy! The author created a fictional universe sharing great similarities to his or her own, yet kept major descriptions vague enough for his audience to subconsciously fill in their own gaps to create a suspension of disbelief! Therefore – BAM! Pinkie Pie time!”
Oh no.
Oh dear God, no.
“...you're telling me that I broke the fourth goddamned wall?”
“Yuppy duppy!” The pink pony chirped. You facepalm in disbelief, an expression which your guest finds curious. Sighing in resignation, you reach out and snatch up a cupcake, eating it in an attempt to drown your regret.
All right.
“Might as well make the most of it, I suppose.” Your cats saunter casually into the kitchen, trying their hardest not to look interested in the pink pony inexplicably standing in your house.
Then, it hits you.
“Say, Pinkie...ever heard of dubstep?”
“Y'mean dubtrot?”