Chapter 3:
Of Pretzels and Poems
Ah! Such is my (increasingly) pathetic life. Charged with helping my romantic rival woo my beloved (who doesn't
even know my romantic intentions towards her). Through the now darkened streets, illuminated only by lamp
light I made my way to the sheriff's office. Gossamer (the big ham) and his deputy (and foul smelling sidekick)
Woody greeted me at the door.
"Come in. Come in." said Gossamer as he yanked me inside and checked to see if the coast was clear (all this
secrecy for a love poem?!). A life time of irritation towards this fool was building up within me, despite knowing
Gossamer for a total of two days (two and half tops). Inside the jail cell was a rather obese pony sleeping away in
a drunken stupor.
"Um..." I pointed at the snoozing prisoner.
"Oh, that's just Teetotaler. Shotglass kicked him out of the bar again." Gossamer stated in a matter of fact voice that
implied this was a regular thing. Teetotaler (having the most hypocritical name ever) awoken, very much like a fairy
tale princess. Except being male, drunk, grossly overweight, and being completely disgusting.
"Ah, geez. I'sh gotta getsh home. The missus will kill me." Yes, we don't want to keep Pale Horse in business, now
would we.
"You're such a cut up, Teetotaler." chuckled Gossamer. Apparently, alcoholism is totally hilarious and nopony told
me about it. Woody released Teetotaler from the cell. Teetotaler stumbled from left to right, garnering a few
childish giggles from Gossamer and Woody. He stopped short at the door and stared at me.
"Did anypony tell you that you look cute?" Teetotaler then proceeded to vomit all over the floor and my hooves
before his tottered out through the streets, drunkenly singing as loud as he can. I immediately formed a "happy place"
in my mind (Why no, this isn't vomit, its a gentle blast of refreshing spring water), to keep me from screaming my
head off.
"Towel, Miz Poem." said Woody, offering me a towel (an extremely filthy towel, at that). As I wiped the vomit from my
hooves, Gossamer snapped in his "let's get to work" mode.
"Now, Miss Poem..."
"Call me Pretzel." I said. I would prefer that he'd call a carriage to get me away from her.
"Since, you're a lady..."
Wow, I must have been living a lie for the past twenty-two years.
"How would I go about writing a love poem for my love."
"You don't have one written, do you?"
"Actually, I do." Gossamer then whipped out a ratty looking piece of paper loaded with scribbling and incoherent
writing. He then started to clear his throat.
Sweet Celestia! He's going to read it!
"Ahem."
My dearest Clementine.
I want you to be mine.
As sure as the sun and the moon.
You make me croon.
Until noon.
He had that moronic grin on his face as I looked at him, dumbfounded. This wasn't a poem, it was a crime against
literature. No, a WAR CRIME against literature! It was sewage wrapped up in iambic pentameter and framed in
stupidity and lousy rhyming.
"Well?" He said, smiling like an idiot.
"It's...um...well...what do you think Woody?" I turned towards Woody, hoping he would get me out of this mess.
"Ya don't convey yer true emotions well enough, yer use of rhyming is extremely forced, and ya style is too derivative
of Early Pre-Celestian styles." And then Woody spat into the spitoon. Like they said, inside of every grungy looking
deputy, there is a snobby literature critic trying to get out.
"He's right.", I said. Gossamer began to sulk in the corner, sucking on his hoof like a petulant child. I went over to
his desk and silently took out a quill and a clean sheet of paper. Woody and Gossamer, who decided to stop acting
like a spoiled foal started to look on.
I put quill to paper and started to write. Gossamer and Woody looked on in silent awe as I went to work. My
imagination went wild with images of me giving Clementine the love poem, watching her eyes tear up.
She would take my hoof and we would watch the sunset together. And then we would kiss tenderly into the night.
Damn! I'm the most foolish pony ever. Foolish in thinking I could shape the minds of young foals, foolish in thinking I
could escape the shadow of my family, and foolish in thinking Clementine would love me. Fool all around. That's me
in a nutshell.
Around two, I finished my magnum opus. Pouring my feeling onto the paper and having them become one with the ink.
Gossamer looked over my work like a second grade teacher looking over math homework.
"This is pretty good." Gossamer said, giving his muted opinion.
PRETTY GOOD?! I poured my heart and soul into that piece of paper so you can steal the love of my life away
from me, and all you can say is PRETTY GOOD?! I wanted to stab him to death with my quill right there and
then. No jury would convict me.
"Now all I have to do is deliver it."
Sheriff Gossamer got as far as the door before he froze up. His pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks, his
breathing became ragged, and he started to sweat profusely. This is what we call in the "love game" as
the "Seven Yard Stare". Woody just rolled his eyes.
"It's happenin' again." said Woody, shaking his head in pity.
"I-I-I-I-I CAN'T DO THIS!" And as fast as the wind, Gossamer bolted under the desk. Something tells me that
this has happened before.
"Come on out, you big baby!" I grunted, as I tried to drag him out by his tail. Unlike his name, Gossamer
was immovable as a brick outhouse. I just threw up my hooves and started to leave.
"But how would I give Clem the poem?" whimpered Gossamer. I wanted to leave this fool like the whiny mess
that he was. But my conscience (Damn you, conscience!) got the better of me.
"I have a busy day tomorrow and I need my sleep. I'll think of something, so good night for now!"
Leaving behind a confused Gossamer and an indifferent Woody, I made my way to the Prancing Pussycat. I silently
prayed that Mr. Shotglass will look into the kindness of his heart and let me stay. Murmurings were heard
from the Pussycat as I neared the door. The more masculine voice had gotten louder as I approached.
"Absolutely not! We ain't runnin' a flophouse!", Shotglass said, at near shouting level. "This pony might be a lunatic."
"Be reasonable, daddy!", pouted Clementine, cutely. "She want to make an honest day's pay. So she won't be livin'
here for nothin'."
"What can that fusspot do? 'sides complainin'!"
"I, my dear sir, am a maker of salty breaded snacks." I said, making my grand entrance. Shotglass still gave me a
skeptical look.
"What?", he said coldly.
"I'm a pretzel maker, okay! It's in my name, for Celestia's sake."
"Well, ya'lls a mare."
No duh!
"An' since yer a mare, ya'll won't have any impure intentions towards my Clem."
Actually I do. But I'll stay quiet for now.
"An' you say that ya'll willin' ta work?"
"Indubitably, my good stallion."
"Very well. Ya gots yaself a place ta stay. Ah expects ya up bright an' early ta set up th' Pussycat."
We shook hooves as an informal contract as Clementine cheered on. In the last two days I, gained a job, met a grungy
deputy and the brain dead fop they call a sheriff, met the second worst pony, fell in love instantly, lost my job to the
worst pony, found out the town is under the constant threat of criminals, and agreed to help said brain dead fop
steal the mare of my dreams. All in all, this has been a lifetime of taxing experiences balled up into two short days.
"I'll show you to your room." The ever pleasant Clementine said. She lead me to a small room with a rather
uncomfortable looking cot and several crates blocking the window. An apologetic look formed on Clementine's
face.
"I'm sorry," She said. "This is the only empty room in the Pussycat."
"Oh, pish-posh." I said, brushing of her concern like dandruff. "A room is a room no matter how small..." Just
then I heard several small squeaks. "...or rodent filled."
"Call if ya'll need anything."
And I was alone again with my thoughts. That idiot will be here tomorrow night for the express concern of getting
Clementine to fall in love with him. I nodded off as soon as my head hit the pillow. My thoughts slowly melted into
dreams.
I was in a church, at the far, far end of the aisle. The whole thing stretched out for miles and miles with the pews
filled to the brim with ponies. At the end of the whole thing was a preacher pony flanked by Gossamer and
Clementine, dressed in their wedding attire. From what I could hear, the preacher already started the wedding.
"...And if anypony has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."
"NO!", I screamed out, calling attention to myself. "I LOVE YOU, CLEMENTINE!"
A horrified look crossed Clementine's face as the whole church exploded in anger.
"Fillyfooler!", screeched one pony.
"Degenerate!", shouted another. Persimmon Pepper (how did she get into the wedding I shall never know) started
giving "I told you so"s to the enraged crowd.
"I knew she was a fillyfooler, she was like that in school." squealed the loud mouth slattern. All of the sudden,
Princess Celestia emerged from the crowd, stuffing her face with cake (she should at least have the decency to wait
until the reception), just as angry as the crowd.
"Pretzel Poem!", she roared. "I hereby banish you to the moon." She levitated me far up into the air and launched
me through space. It was a shame I overshot the moon and kept going.
"SOMEPONY SAVE ME!" But nopony heard my cries. I then heard a voice in the void call to me.
"Pretzy...Pretzy...WAKE UP, FOUR EYES!"
I took a half gainer out of the bed, finally awoken from my nightmare. Sunlight poured through the window as the
birds sang their little morning songs, and looking down at me was Persimmon Pepper, with a smirk on her
detestable little face.
"Good morning, Pretzy.", she sneered. I wanted to go back to sleep and take my chances with the pitiless void than
see HER face.
"I am going to ask you two questions.", I threatened. "If I don't like the answer to either of them, I will toss you out
of the window."
"Very well." she said, rolling her eyes. Ignoring her rudeness, I started my "third degree".
"One, how did you get in?"
"The window. Ponies shouldn't keep ladders laying around were other ponies could take them, you know."
I could have and should have throttled her right then and there. That annoying smirk on her face was making it
even more tempting.
"Two," I growled. "Why did you come up here?"
"The sheriff."
"What about him."
Percy shoved an accusing hoof in my face.
"Don't play dumb, Pretzy. I seen you talking to that handsome hunk of stallion last night." she said trying not to yell.
I began to put two and two together. Laughter started to build up in my chest.
"So, you think me and Gossamer..."
"You're on a first name basis?!", Percy slumped to her knees and started to whine. "It's not fair! I have the looks,
smarts, and most definitely, sex appeal! And you...well...you're you!"
"Thanks for the backhanded insult, but I am not nor will I ever be in love with Gossamer. Now excuse me, but I have to
set up the bar."
"You mean you're not in love with him?"
"Yes."
Persimmon's eyes lit up.
"Oh happy, happy day.", she sang. It was a wonder she didn't wake up the whole neighborhood.
"He's in love with the bartender's daughter." I said, coolly. Percy's switch went from obnoxious glee to obnoxious
overwhelming sadness.
"Noooooo!", she howled, like the howler monkey she was. "It's not fair!"
"Tough toenails, Percy!" Oh, how I do like rubbing it in. "Life's not fair. Remember how my research paper got passed
over for yours."
"Still harping on about that, Pretzy?"
"Why, yes. Yes I am."
"Humph. Well, I shall take my leave."
And with that Persimmon Pepper stormed out of my room and headed out the door...after tripping down the stairs and
forgetting the door was still locked.
"Curse you, door!" she howled. I was surprised that she didn't wake Clementine and Shotglass from their slumber. Being
the good sport that I was (and stifling my laughter at her attempts at opening the locked door), I decided to "unleash the
beast", as it were. As an infuriated Percy stormed out of the Prancing Pussycat, I surveyed the work I needed to do. First
order of business, set up the bar.
I buzzed around the Pussycat like a bee. The floor was mopped AND waxed. Chairs set up neatly (until the inevitable
bar brawl). Tables and the counter dusted. Everything was in place and nothing was stolen. Second order of business,
make the pretzels. Dough was made, kneaded, twisted into their recognizable form, and placed into the over. After a
while, I removed the reasons for part of my namesake from the oven, waited for them to cool, salted them, and put
them in a bowl on the counter.
Shotglass and Clementine emerged from upstairs. The shocked looks on their faces said all.
"Th' Pussycat.", an astonished Shotglass said. "I-it's clean! It ain't been this clean in ages!"
"Um...Did I do a good job?" I said, trying to read Shotglass's expression.
"Only mama did as good of a job cleanin' up the 'Cat." Clementine said, in wide eyed amazement. At that moment,
Shotglass started to laugh.
"And I thought you Canterlot ponies couldn't handle hard work. Color me shocked.", Shotglass gave me an affectionate
nudge on the shoulder. "C'mon ladies. Time ta open th' Pussycat!"
The double doors of the Pussycat swang open and the usual cabal of drunks, fighters, gamblers, and drunk fighting
gamblers filed in. Sans the small scuffle (only one chair was broken over a pony's head), everything was peaceful...until
three-thirty that afternoon. I was manning the counter after placing my third batch of pretzels into the oven.
Clementine was making sure the pretzels didn't burn and Shotglass was delivering today's profits to the bank
leaving me (and the drunks) alone.
"Barkeep! A glass of yer finest cactus juice." called a rather boisterous voice. I spun around and seen a rather
overweight (what's with this town and obesity anyway) pony. He was clad in a hat and jacket of pure white
seersucker with a large cigar clasped in his mouth. Just looking at him I could tell that voice belonged to that fat stallion.
"Aw, shucks. Ah'd thought ya was Clementine.", he sneered. "By th' way, where is our beloved patron of this fine
establishment."
"Mister Shotglass is out right now and Clementine is in the kitchen. Who might you be?"
Looking at him, just looking at this fat, bloated excuse for a stallion I knew I hated him the second I laid eyes on him.
He smirked at me as he proceeded to put the cigar out on the counter (did I mention how much I hated him). I was
about to yell at him when I noticed the bar was silent. Not one single solitary peep.
"I'm sorry, darlin'. I shoulda introduced my self. Th' name's Big Oil."
So this is the legendary Big Oil. I knew that any of the ponies here could send this bloated gasbag on a one way trip to
Valhalla without blinking. But nopony moved. They were actually frightened of him for reasons I couldn't imagine.
He had no bodyguards and he looked like him couldn't handle himself in a fight. Clementine emerged from the kitchen,
with a tray of pretzels hovering over her head.
"This batch is done...", Clementine dropped the tray as soon as she caught sight of Big Oil. "YOU!" He gave Clementine
this lusty look as he lit up another cigar.
"Now, now Clem. That's no way to meet an old buddy of yer pappy." said Big Oil.
"Ya'll ain't no buddy of daddy's!", Clementine was seething with an anger I haven't seen in a pony. "Now git, before I call
the sheriff!" Big Oil just chuckled.
"Oh, you mean good ol' Gossamer. He come around eventually or he'll...well let's just say Pale Horse is gonna be might
pleased with the results."
Clementine was close to tears as Big Oil's chuckling turned to full blown laughter. I've decided I had enough of him.
Picking up the fallen pretzel tray, I left from behind the counter.
"Excuse me, sir.", I said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "I have to ask you to leave."
"Or what?"
"Or this."
WHAM!
Big Oil's head jerked back as struck him in the face with the metal tray. Clementine and the bar patrons looked on in
abject horror, as if I killed him. The smiling and guffawing left Big Oil's face leaving only extreme fury.
"Big mistake, missy. BOYS! We got us a filly who doesn't know her place."
Several demonic looking ponies emerged from the shadows. The mere presence of these stallions caused full grown
ponies to wet themselves. Big Oil soon returned to his smug, overconfident self.
"Where ya'll from, missy." sneered Big Oil. My knees suddenly turned to jelly as the frightening looking stallions
advanced on me.
"C-canterlot." I stammered.
"Well, Miss Canterlot. Allow me to introduce ya'll to the Bloodhooves. It's a shame ya'll time in town was short.
I'll send your family a sympathy basket."
The color left my cheeks as the Bloodhooves leveled several weapons at me, each one making an ominous clicking
sound.
"Bye bye, Miz Canterlot." said one of the Bloodhooves, as he was about to fire.