A story? You want a story? I got stories. I’m fulla stories. Let me think…
Once upon a time, there was a rockin’ black stallion, footloose and care-free. He was sort of a business pony, and sometimes business is good, and sometimes not so good, and when it’s not so good is always just the time when the foal-support check is due. But you pay less if you spend a few hours every week with the foals, see. So this stallion…
What? No, it’s not about me. It’s a common story. What you call a universal theme.
You want something from a book?
Kids. Don’t you know nothing good comes from a book? Books are traps to keep the smart ponies from taking over.
Okay, okay. Gimme a book. I don’t care, any book. No, not that fat book. Fat books are the worst. That skinny book over there, gimme that.
Okay.
Once upon a time, there was this little filly named Goldenmane, see? Thick curly golden mane and tail, like they was done up with a curling iron. She and her family lived right up against the forest. Probably some kinda farmer. Rubes, all of ‘em. What? Sure, the book says that.
One morning Goldenmane was out picking flowers and wandered into the forest. She walked and walked and walked until she saw a cottage in the distance.
This cottage, three bears lived in it. Papa Bear was a big guy, the kinda guy you take with you when you want to make an impression but don't feel like talking. Mama Bear, she was just regular bear-sized. Still pretty big. And there was Baby Bear. Sometimes you call a really big guy Baby or Tiny or Junior.
The three bears were eating breakfast, but their porridge – I think that’s like oatmeal – was too hot to eat. So they went for a walk while it cooled. Right as they left through the back door, Goldenmane slipped in through the front.
Sly. I like this Goldenmane.
Maybe they left it unlocked. That’s important, kids. If you have to force the lock, it’s B&E. If you don’t, it’s just trespassing, which is only a misdemeanor. They really oughta explain these things if this book is supposed to educate you.
So first thing she came in, she smelled the sweet, steamy porridge. “I’ll have just one bite,” she says.
Sometimes, you visit a guy’s place and he’s not there, so you leave a mark to let him know you were there – a business card, a photo of his kids with a note, something like that. Then he knows you mean business, and maybe you don’t have to visit him again. Eating his porridge is a little what they call ambiguous, but whatever.
I don’t know why she needs to send these bears a message. Maybe she really is hungry. Maybe we’ll find out.
First she put her muzzle in Papa Bear’s great big bowl. “Ow!” she yelled. “Too hot!”
So then she tried Mama Bear’s medium-sized bowl. “Brrrrr! Too cold!”
She sure talks a lot for somebody casing a joint. That’s why talking to yourself is a bad habit, kids.
Finally, Goldenmane took a lick from Baby Bear’s tiny little bowl, and it tasted great. “This is just right!” she said. And she ate it all up.
What the hell? She…
Who wrote this book?
Hell? That’s a place where all the high rollers go, and they shoot craps and play poker all night long, which is forever because the night never ends, and if you say “Hell!” enough you might get to go there. But it's a bad word, so don't say it unless you’re really angry.
Okay, okay. Back to the story.
After trotting around the forest all day, Goldenmane was a little tired. “I need to sit down for a while to rest my sore hooves!” she thought.
What? Sit down and rest in the middle of a job?
No. Kids. This is all wrong. Who can tell me what Goldenmane’s first big mistake was? Besides living on the edge of a goddamn forest.
No, Silent Whisper. Going into the cottage was a good call. You have to take opportunities when they come.
Good guess, Chill Wind, but I figure she’s got a knife or something on her. Even farmers aren’t that dumb, to run around without some kind of protection.
That’s right, Sugar Lips! She should’ve gone through the place fast, finding the exits, getting the layout and inventory so she could come back later with a cart and somebody to stand guard duty. There’s no money in a grab-and-dash, not usually.
This book, you can tell it was written by somepony who worked a day job, never pulled a heist or a con in his life. Maybe read a few novels. No, I figure it really happened something like this:
Goldenmane scanned the downstairs for valuables. In the foyer was a black velvet print of Celestia. “This print is too cheap,” she said, “you can buy a dozen for ten bits on e-neigh.”
In the living room, over the sofa, was a gold-framed oil painting that said it was by Van Neigh. “This painting’s too valuable, would bring on too much heat, and I wouldn’t know where to fence it,” she said. “It’s outta my league." So she left it on the wall and made a mental note to try to find out if it was an original and who would pay her a finder’s fee on it.
Finally, upstairs in the master bedroom she found a framed sketch by T. Turner. “This one’s just right!” she said. She knew that taking it might make the bears take out an insurance policy on the big painting, and those insurance agencies can be a bitch, but that would be somepony else’s problem. She grabbed the sketch and went for the drawers.
What? A bitch is like, say, somepony who says you have to eat the same old broccoli every day, while she’s secretly got ice cream waiting for her in the freezer, some fancy Neighapolitan number, that you know she sneaks out and eats while you’re away. And the ice cream just sits there and smirks at you when you see it, acting innocent, like you're too dumb to know what's up. So one night you and your buddies get together, and you yank that ice cream outta the freezer and –
You know what, ask your mother. Tell me what she says. Now where was I?
The first drawer was full of earrings and cheap trinkets. “This stuff’s too common,” she said, and shut the drawer and went on to the next one.
The second drawer had more useless kitsch jewelry, but it was inside a big quartz jewelry case, with “MOMMA BEAR” etched on the front. “This case isn't common enough,” she said. Engraved jewelry and such is always trouble. She shut the drawer and went on to the next one.
The third drawer had some nice emeralds and rubies, set in lockets and stuff, but pry them out and nopony can tell where they came from. “These stones are just right!” she said, and stuffed them in her saddlebags.
Just then, the three bears returned home from their walk, and they walked right in on Goldenmane. Because she didn’t have nobody standing watch. They saw her standing there with their Turner sketch and her saddlebags full of their jewels, and they didn’t even call the cops. Papa Bear said a few words, Mama Bear laid down some big sheets of plastic, and Baby Bear tore her to shreds on the spot. Then they put her in their porridge and ate her all up.
Like I said, she shoulda had a friend watching for them. Remember, kids: Friends are important. That’s, like, a moral.
Hey, look, your mommas are here and I’m off the clock. Go on, you little bums, get outta here. Sweet dreams!