A spotlight fell on Rainbow Dash as everything darkened and soft guitar music began to play. “Three months of winter coolness, and awesome holidays,” she sang.
Another spotlight fell, this time on Pinkie Pie as she gently danced about. “We've kept our hoofsies warm at home,” she sang, “time off from work to play.” The word “hoofsies” elicited a quiet groan.
Another spotlight. The hat-wearing pony. “But the food we've stored is running out, and we can't grow in this cold.”
And then the girliest one. “And even though I love my boots, this fashion’s getting old.” This one was met with an irritated grunt, possibly of pain.
Twilight walked across the snow as the music picked up. But just before she dropped what would no doubt be an assault on the ears with more clunky rhymes and verse, everything turned to blackness accompanied by a low hum. In an instant, everything was swallowed by the darkness, leaving nothing left to exist. Nothing except the reflection of the man in the armchair, holding the remote.
Travis Touchdown sat in his chair, thoroughly pissed. It felt like electricity was shooting throughout his entire fucking body. The remote fell from his hand and landed on the motel room floor with a muted thud. Frustrated, he placed his hand over his face and sighed into his palm.
“They pre-empted my favorite show,” Travis mumbled angrily. One of the best anime of all time (second only to Pure White Lover Bizarre Jelly 5 in its undeniable quality) Super Gundoll Puzzle Mustard. It was a new anime—well, technically not “new” new. It took four years for it to come to American shores, and even then it didn’t catch on at first because the English dubbing was dreadful, even by common dubbing standards. But the show had switched dubbing studios between seasons, and the new season was much better off for it. Travis felt the new actors really captured the personalities of Gundoll and her nakama.
But that was all shit now. All of it, right down the shithole. All for ponies—for fucking—ponies!!!
His face propped up on one fist, Travis glanced to his bedroom. His cat Jeane rolled about on the bed, shedding her fur on the sheets no doubt. The bed’s drawer hung open slightly. The sunlight that snaked into the bedroom caused the drawer’s contents to glint, almost glitter.
Travis drummed the fingers of his free hand on the chair’s armrest in thought. It had been a year since he’d been named No. 1 Assassin in the United States. He’d earned that title through bloodshed, carnage, frequent bathroom breaks, and a whole lot of swearing. Travis Touchdown had earned his reputation as an otaku of action. Right now was a time for action.
Therefore, Travis Touchdown’s equation of the day was “otaku plus time, multiplied by action, equals shit getting done.”
He shot up from his chair and walked into his bedroom, earning a startled look from Jeane. Getting down on one knee, Travis opened the ajar drawer fully, exposing its contents. Tsubaki, Mks. II and III. Peony. Rose Nasty. One by one, he attached each beam sword to his weapon belt. When he was done “suiting up,” Travis closed the drawer and went to his closet.
Inside the closet were his usual duds. The rust-red jacket slid on effortlessly over his shirt, the faded yellow letters “NMH” contrasting the rest of the black cloth. He fingered through several sets of designer’s glasses, picking out the one with the kickass yellow lenses, and put it on like a glasses-wearing motherfucker.
He was all set, except for one thing…
The toilet flushed, his “save” finished. Travis zipped up his pants and refastened his belt before leaving the Save Room.
Travis stepped out of his motel room
—and then swiftly rushed back inside. He grabbed the nearest bag of cat food and filled Jeane’s dish, then refilled her water bowl. For good measure, Travis changed out the litter box. On his way out, Travis stroked Jeane behind her ear and told her to be good while Daddy was away.
With all that done, Travis stepped out of his motel room and into the stifling sunlight of sunny Santa Destroy, California. As he made his way down the stairs, Travis was greeted by a choir of cicadas (who were pretty badass at keeping in tune, by the way). Parked by the sidewalk was his trusted steed, the Schpeltiger.
She was a sweet, sweet killin’ machine. Designed like something out of a science fiction movie, the Schpeltiger boasted speeds of up to 300 mph, complete with rocket boosters. Best of all, she allowed Travis the unique ability to breathe in space. JUST. LIKE. BATMAN. Jealous?
Travis plunked his otaku ass on Schpeltiger’s seat and keyed her ignition. She roared to life like a vengeful goddess. He hummed contentedly as Schpeltiger’s roar dissolved into a growl.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet, my name is Travis Touchdown, and I hate the shit outta ponies.”
Schpeltiger’s engines suddenly screamed as Travis shot down the road. Santa Destroy whipped by him at an escalating pace, until everything became a streak of colors that melted into one another.
“It seems like no matter where you go these days, ponies are fucking everywhere. You try posting on a message forum, you get all of three posts before images of ponies get plastered everywhere. You walk down the street and there’s guys with stuffed pony dolls under their arms. You try to watch TV and even then you aren’t safe from the pony craze.
Ahead was The Ramp. Not a ramp. Not any old ramp. THE Ramp. The Ramp Travis had built for situations like this, because he’s just that kinda guy.
“But that’s where I come in. I’m done putting up with this bullshit ‘brony’ craze. Someone’s gotta put a stop to this out-of-control hostile fandom takeover, and it’s gonna be me!”
Travis built up even more crazy speed, going so fast he must have torn the foundation of several buildings on his way to The Ramp. The moment he hit The Ramp, the world shit itself at how awesome Travis was as he shot into outer-fucking-space.
Space. What else can be said about it besides that it’s big, it’s black, it’s cold, and it’s fucking awesome? As the stars and planets of the solar system piled up behind him, Travis decided that traveling through space on nothing but his motorcycle wasn’t cool enough, so he switched on the radio and cranked some hard rock. Epic head-banging followed.
"That's my destination up ahead. This morning's paper talked about a tear in the space-time continuum. I didn't plan to check it out until this weekend, but this is an emergency."
The Schpeltiger roared as Travis shifted into high gear.
"The scientists who'd discovered it decided to name it the Space Hole of Interdimensional Travel. Three guesses what everyone else called it. Looks more like just a plain asshole to me, though..."
The music around Travis continued to pound the hell out of outer space as he hit the overdrive, doubling the Schpeltiger's thrust in preparation for entry.
"...an asshole that's about to receive a Travis Touchdown enema it can't possibly handle!"
The Schpeltiger roared as Travis shifted into high gear. The music continued to pound the hell out of outer space as the Space Hole of Interdimensional Travel opened up and swallowed Travis, accepting him as easily as a prostitute. (In fact, maybe even more easily. Travis never had enough money for one.)
“Hey! I read that!”
(But it’s true.)
Everything turned white as Travis shot through the vortex. There was a glow. He’d read that the Space Hole of Interdimensional Travel was such a mysterious place that any memory one had of being in it gets erased upon exiting, and maybe that was for the best. When the Schpeltiger hit the grassy ground, all Travis could recall of his trip through SHIT was a lot of screaming and something about a red sock and his mother.
The rock music blaring through the Schpeltiger’s speakers reached a kickass wailing guitar finish as Travis motored on through the grassy plains he’d found himself in. All around him were bright colors, mountains the color of ice cream, and friendly, whimsical designs for clouds and trees. Up ahead was a village of… them.
The little shitbugs who caused a sensation that ruined otakudom forever. They trotted about, doing various “adowwable” things—not that Travis cared, because ponies were stupid and he hated them. Just looking at them made him sick.
This was the place. This was Equestria.
He turned his head and looked you in the eyes.
“It’s time for No More Ponies. You ready?”