//------------------------------// // The Cutie Mark Crusaders are in your bed (and you're ignoring them) (Budget Player Cadet) // Story: Fimfic Authors Are In Your Bed // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// The Cutie Mark Crusaders are in your bed (and you're ignoring them) Budget Player Cadet Mondays. Mondays. Mo-o-o-o-ndays. You roll the word around in your head until it becomes as meaningless as the chaos ruining what was formerly known as your life. The chaos that the various unbidden weekly guests have wreaked upon you, your room, your sanity, and your furniture. You haven't even made it out of the parking garage, and at this point, you're afraid to even go. You couldn't even bring yourself to relinquish the steering wheel. You considered spending time at a friend's house before realizing that due to you telling them about these events, all of your friends consider you psychotically unstable and had stopped dealing with you. Fair-weather friends. You briefly wish that they would share in your suffering. Maybe selling your house and leaving it to the next guy to deal with. Murder! Now there's an option! Maybe if they started coming back as comfortable leather chairs, the ponies would consider not demolishing, setting fire to, or otherwise ruining your bed! Yes, that does sound like fun! You'd have to learn a thing or two about tanning hides, but it would be so worthwhile to imagine the look on that smug princess's face when her subjects started coming back as fancy upholstery! ...Hmm. Maybe there was something to the whole "psychotically unstable" thing. You slowly turn the key in your apartment, and opening the door, you could already hear it. A loud crashing sound coming from the bedroom. You sigh. Presumably a pony doing something to your bed. Luckily, you came prepared. Ten minutes later, the crashing had faded from your mind completely. The bottle of vodka on the coffee table is about half-empty, and so is the large, ice-filled glass in front of you. You hear voices from your bedroom. "Damn it, Scoots, watch where you're driving that thing!" "Sorry, Sweetie Belle! At least I managed to miss you!" "Yeah, but last time I was here that same thing broke, and he seemed really upset about it." A third high-pitched voice pipes up. "Yikes, I reckon I can try'n fix it..." You roll your eyes. Whatever they were doing to your room, you didn't need to know. Or care. You are at peace. Another loud crack awakens you from your stupor, but you shake yourself and pour yourself another glass. "Oh wow, Sweetie, how did you manage that?" "I don't know!" Shake 'em off, pay them no mind; soon enough they will be gone. You take another slug from the glass, reflecting on your life. Aside from the insanity on monday, things are going pretty decently. Your job pays well, and the boss was eyeing you for a promotion before you started showing up a shambling zombie on Tuesdays... Think happy thoughts.   *Sip* You don't have a girlfriend, mostly because you can't take anyone home because there's constantly something on fire, or broken, or ruined, or you're out of food, because ponies keep on... Happy thoughts. *Sip* HAPPY. THOUGHTS. Noticing your glass is empty, you take a slug straight from the bottle. You have good friends. Or had, because now they all think you're crazy. Another loud crash, this time with the distinctive sound of glass. You know that the only thing it could have been was your computer monitor or your windows. Oh to hell with this. "Applebloom, how the hay did you manage to snap the mattress in half?" You take another shot from the bottle, and then another. You feel ready to start crying. Confound these ponies, you think to yourself, they drive me to drink. "Hey girls, look, nudie mags!" NOPE. You stagger up from the couch, eyes bugging out, as you stumble towards your room, trying to shield the innocent eyes of children from your smut. After all, having children read through your porn is a horrifying prospect. You then hear words that make it even more horrifying. "Let's burn them!" You shamble as best as you can over to the door and slam it open, revealing three small fillies in inexplicable pilgrim outfits warming their hooves around a fire made out of your last remaining joy. In unison, they cry out, "Cutie-Mark Crusaders Book Burners! Yay!" You pause, and then stagger off to the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, it's not too late to learn how to work leather.