Gucci's Day Out

by Stillmatic

The Start of the Day

Gucci looked around. The streets were perfectly empty, a tell-tale sign of future activities that would delve into possible illicitness and the like. Such a small village was far too tranquil for the Atlanta rapper, leaving him a bit uneasy and confused. He was used to weapons firing, screams resonating, and cars honking into all hours of the night. Of course, where he was at the moment was a far cry from what he’d call “civilization.”

“Yo man, da fuck is this shit? Where am I?”

He pulled out his phone to call one of his boys for help only to find he had no service. The man grumbled to himself and pocketed the device for now, only to reach back into his jacket pocket and remove his red and white cap. It was placed firmly upon his head, completing his ensemble and restoring equilibrium to the universe, preventing a meltdown of catastrophic proportions. Now that that matter was settled, Gucci opted to head down a lonely street to his right.

For quite a while, it was fairly silent with the exception of crickets and other insects. The rapper was severely unsettled by the lack of sound and movement. Little houses with thatched roofs and other antiquities were in all directions as he walked, which proved a daunting task the more progress he made to an unknown destination. Suddenly, something caught his eye to his left, forcing the man to stop in his tracks and stare. And what a sight it was.

Standing tall before Gucci was a building, though no ordinary building it was. The gingerbread walls, icing covered trim, chocolate roof, and oh the very tip! It was a cupcake with three very large candles adorning it! Such a magnificent testament to baked confectionaries was surely something to gawk at, and Gucci held to objection to doing so. Despite the only light being a few sparse street lamps scattered about, his eyes took in the amazing sight as if his life depended on it!

He grabbed for his heart, feeling as though it ruptured from sheer astonishment. Those precious ocular orbs of his scanned the structure, finding it quite delectable looking from his current angle. Not once did he consider why such a building existed, but he wouldn’t have really cared anyway. He’d seen weirder things in his time as a living being, but this ranked high nonetheless.

Gucci took a step forward and grabbed for an area of frosted gingerbread by the stairs to the building. It crumbled in his grip, much to his dismay. Taking another, this time more gently, the rapper munched down on the baked-good turned housing and chewed. His mouth movements eventually slowed to a halt, where it nearly fell open. It had tasted like nothing he’d ever had before, as if angels themselves baked sweets just for him and him only. Gucci held back tears and took a single bite before placing the remainder of his snack back where it originally resided.

“… Yo… that shit was off tha’ hook…”

His stomach grumbled lightly, indicating his lack of nourishment in the hospital. Gucci felt regret at not eating the food he left behind, almost tempting him to go back and capture it for himself. Such ambitions were cut short when a smell wafted into his nose, completely obliterating all plans of moving away from the building. It smelled like… cinnamon? Candy? He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it smelled damn fine in his opinion.

Gucci walked beside the stairs and glanced through the windows, finding the lights in what he assumed to be the kitchen on. It clicked in his mind instantly; they were cooking and baking. And that meant he could get something to eat. His stomach made a series of gurgling sounds, clearly upset at his lack of movement towards kicking in the door and looting everything edible in sight. Of course, a refined man such as himself would do no such thing (yet), and simply knocked on the door like a gentleman.

It took a few moments, giving him time to realize that the sun was coming over the horizon and over a forest nearby. Eventually, the clip-clopping of more Dutch shoes alerted him to someone coming to the horizontally-split door. He also made a note of how short the door was compared to him.

“Them Dutchies must be midgets or some shit in real life…” he openly mused, “I don’t give a shit though, them niggas make some nice ass rollin’ material.”

The top half of the door opened and Gucci turned his head to find nothing in front of him. He leaned in and looked to the left, then the right, and seeing nothing that could open the door. It left him stumped for a moment, before a throat being cleared near him brought his eyes downwards. There, before him, was a bluish, cerulean colored horse thing of sorts. Not bothering with what was obviously a side-effect of the drug, Gucci knocked once against the doorway again, raising a brow in annoyance.

“Yo! Anyone here? I need some food, ASAP!”

Another throat clearing, “Excuse me? I’m right here, dearie.”

Gucci looked back at the creature and coned a hand by his mouth, “An’ you got a horse or somethin’ up in yo’ house too! Might wanna fix that ‘less you want that shit all up in there anyway an’ shit.”

“Well, I’ll- Listen, young stallion! I will not be spoken to like that in my own home! Do you understand me?”

He saw her mouth move this time, “Da fuck? Is you talkin’? To me?” The rapper rubbed his eyes, “Oooohhh daaammnnn, the piiiillllsssss! Those shits musta fucked me up baaaaddd. Chyeah! That’s why you’s talkin’ to me right now, right?”

Mrs. Cake was left confused at the creature speaking to her at that moment. She’d never seen such a creature, let alone one dressed so absurdly, in her life. It acted as if it thought she couldn’t speak or was nonexistent. Then, it came to her. Wasn’t this that thing that a few ponies found bleeding its head off in the middle of town yesterday?  Sure looked like it, minus all the gratuitous amounts of blood that it had caked on its body earlier.

The mare cocked her head to the side, confused at the encounter she was participating in. Did this thing not know what an Equestrian was? If so, how could it speak the language (she decided to use the word speak loosely, due to her not quite understanding the lingo and accent fully)? The thought pestered her for a good few seconds before her motherly instincts automatically kicked in.

If this thing was hurt, she would have to do her part by helping it. Mrs. Cake couldn’t possibly leave the poor thing to go hungry after suffering such a horrific injury. Such a thing was just plain rude and heartless, which suddenly made her regret snapping at it. Without hesitation, the mare opened the door and beckoned for the rapper to come in, which he ironically did with hesitation.

Gucci looked around, finding the place extremely bizarre and in serious need of redecoration. It was obviously a bakery, what with all the tables and the counter and all sorts of bullshit he didn’t bother acknowledging. He scratched his chin idly in thought until the magical horse thing near him began to speak again.

“Welcome to our little bakery, dearie. I know what happened to you earlier and I’m sorry to hear about the injuries.” She frowned, “They must hurt a bit, don’t they?”

Gucci decided to go along with the whole talking horse thing until his high wore off, “Naw, that shit’s ight for now, though.” He bared his teeth and lifted a chain, “CHYEAH! Gonna take more than some trick ass nigga to take down GUUUUCCCCIII!”

She nodded in understanding and motioned for him to come to the counter, where various treats lied, calling for the rapper to consume them and absorb their tasty intestines and faces within his gullet. His eye caught a banana-nut muffin within a glass case nearby that looked oddly attractive, yet familiar at the same time. The horse had its back turned for a moment and he leaned in close, looking at it. For whatever reason, the top was severed, revealing a red center. Two googly-eyes were glued onto it, disturbing the man.

Then it spoke in a whiny whisper, “Hey! Just take me! What’re they gonna do? Putcha in jail? You’re Bob Kelso! Just grab me and run!” His eyes widened, “DO IT!”

Mesmerized by the muffin, Gucci reached out to grab said treat, only for his hand to collide with the glass surface that restricted such actions. The muffin laughed to itself at Gucci’s frustration and spoke to him again, this time in realization.

“Wait! This isn’t the hospital! And you’re not Bob!”

“Chyeah, the fuck you think?”

It’s voice suddenly changed to a more deeper tone, “Ight, ight, sorry mah nigga, I apologize for fuckin’ with you an’ shit, but a nigga got to do his job, ya’kna’mean?”

Gucci nodded his head, understanding what kind of position the muffin was in, “Chyeah, ight, I feel you, nigga.”

“Dearie? Who’re you talking to?”

He turned his head to find the horse woman thing staring at him, slightly worried at his actions. She supposed such things were common if you’d suffered such severe injuries as he did, making her feel all the more sympathetic to him.

Mrs. Cake trotted behind the counter and smiled, “Would you like the muffin? They’re today’s special, our Derpy Muffins.”

Gucci spotted the muffin shaking ever so faintly, “Nah, but,” he pulled out his emergency monocle from within his jacket and set it on his eye, “Would I be able to partake in some fine Earl Grey, perhaps? Possibly some scones and the like on the side to slate my hunger as well?” He pocketed the monocle immediately after speaking.

“Hmm,” she said, putting a hoof to her chin in thought, “well, I’ve never heard of ‘Earl Grey’, but I can whip up some tea for you in a jiffy! The scones should be done soon too, dearie. Have a seat at one of the tables and I’ll bring them right over, alright?”

Gucci nodded and made his way to a table to sit down, reclining comfortably and shutting his eyes. He found himself at peace for a few moments, that is, until his Gucci Senses went off and his arm extended forward, grabbing an object. The rapper opened his eyes to find that he’d caught a tea plate along with its cup. Mrs. Cake gave him a relieved but curious look, silently wondering how he knew she lost her balance.

She shrugged it off and placed the scones before him, waiting patiently to see his reaction. Gucci’s hand dipped back into his pocket and pulled out his monocle, placing upon his right eye again. With a grace that would have made Queen Elizabeth weep from jealousy, the man dipped the marvelous scone into the tea and took a bite. His face faltered for a moment, losing its dignified, cultured look. The scone was slowly put back down on the plate from which it came.

Mrs. Cake found him staring into her eyes, “My word, these are simply scrumptious! I’ve never tasted something so delectable in quite a while, I must say! By Jove, these must be the grandest treat I’ve consumed yet!” He took off the monocle and pocketed it, “Nah, fo’ serious tho’, them shits are pretty good.”

“Oh! Well, I’m glad you liked it so much! Carrot baked them only a little bit ago.”

An orangey stallion peeked his head out of the backroom, “Honey? Did you call me?”

“Oh nothing, dear, just giving our guest some scones and tea,” Mrs. Cake said, waving a hoof down dismissively.

Gucci raised a scone towards the stallion, “Them shits are good.”

Mr. Cake nodded his head and stepped fully into view, “Glad you like them; not many ponies get them for some reason.” He sighed, “I suppose they’d rather get muffins or cupcakes instead of something with actual culture.”

“Uncivilized plebeians,” Gucci added.

“Say…” Mr. Cake started, “Aren’t you that thing that everpony was talking about?”

“I’m not surprised,” The rapper said, his voice muffled as he ejected bits of scone while speaking, “Every nigga loves the Guc’.”

“Everynigga? You mean everypony, right?”

“Chyeah, whatever, nigga.”

Mr. Cake turned back towards the kitchen, “Well, I hope you start feeling better soon. Must’ve been a real doozy on your head, whatever happened, that is. Enjoy the rest of the scones.”

Gucci Mane nodded and shoved the rest of the scones down his throat, followed by the tea. Luckily for him, he’d spent the money to invent a SO ICY brand Icy-Regulator. The harsh heat from the tea did nothing to hurt his throat, as it passed through cool and as cold as ice. Of course, the chip in throat itched at times, but at least he has a one up over everyone else.

“Dearie, didn’t that hurt? That tea was piping-hot!”

He chuckled at the small horse thing, “I’m too icy to get hurt by the heat! Chyeah!”

Mrs. Cake rolled her eyes and smiled, “Well, you go on and enjoy yourself. It’s still a bit early, but I’m sure there’s something to do.”

“Ight,” he replied, pulling out his wallet, “You got change for a Benjy?”

“A what?”

“A hundred.”

“A hundred what?” She asked, confused.

“A hundred dollars, damn!”

He produced said bill from his wallet and held it out to her, “… Is it supposed to be money?”

“Chyeah, what else?”

“I’m sorry, dearie,” Mrs. Cake said with a shake of the head, “But Equestria uses bits as a currency.”

Gucci pulled out a dime bag full of a green, leafy substance, “Ight, I’ll share an’ shit, but how much you askin’ for?”

She tilted her head to the side, “What is that?” The blue mare sniffed it, “I’ve never smelled an herb like that before.”

“That’s because that shit is the fine herb, ya get me? This shit’ll fuck you right up!”

“Hmm, interesting…” Mrs. Cake suddenly got an idea, “Dearie, would you like to earn some bits? You seem to be familiar with cooking, what with carrying spices and herbs on yourself and what not. The breakfast is already on the house, but would you be interested in helping out for some pay? We could always use a pair of helping hooves around.”

Gucci considered it for a moment, “Uhh… Chyeah, why not? Better than bein’ a bum-ass nigga, sittin’ aroun’ and shit all up in this place like I ain’t got shit to do, ya’kna’mean?”

She nodded, “Of course, dearie. Now, let’s head to the back, alright?”

The rapper followed the pony behind the counter and towards a pair of swinging towards. They stepped through, miraculously surviving the ordeal, and watched as Carrot Cake was busily mixing ingredients and baking various goods. He turned his head back and smiled knowingly towards his wife. She nodded back and motioned Gucci forward to a sink, where he washed his hands with some lavender soap. The man was then given an apron, a bowl, a wooden spoon, and different ingredients.

Mr. Cake nodded his head, “Alright, Cup usually has somepony to help during the early mornings, if they’re up to it.” He looked the rapper up and down, examining him, “I guess that’s you then, huh?”

“Burr.”

“Good enough for me. You’re going to be making brownies, okay? It’s extremely important that you take your time and make enough for the entire town to get some. There’s going to be a town-hall meeting later today that we’re catering and it’s important that we do an excellent job! Do you think you can do that?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“I suppose so, whoever that is. Everything you need is here, just follow the steps in the cookbook over there,” He pointed to a thick book on a nearby counter, “and just have fun with it! Do your best and enjoy yourself!”

Gucci raised a brow at the horse but shrugged, “Ight. You might wanna get a blanket or some shit.”

Carrot looked away from his soufflé for a moment to glance at the rapper, “Why would I do that?”

A malevolent grin crossed Gucci’s face, “Because this motherfucker’s ‘bout to get mad icy up in here!”

The baker smiled back, “Good! I like that! Personally, I think our sweets taste better when someone who’s confident is making them! Now, go get ‘em!”

The man turned to his work station and quickly got to work. Within only a few minutes, a large, wooden bowl was filled to the brim with brown, chocolaty goo. Gucci looked back towards the stallion, finding his back turned. With a devilish smile, he pulled out a few ounces of piff from his jacket pockets and began dumping them into the mix, throwing away the bags and stirring the bowl.

“Aww, chyeah! Shit’s about to get fun…” Gucci stated, relishing in what was to come.

Little did he know what kind of impact he’d have today on the small town, or what kind of one it would have on him. Still, what did he care? He was Gucci Mane, rapper extraordinaire. With that settled within his mind, he continued the process of baking and grinning to his heart’s content, happy that he was going to get paid and make others happier than him today. Wasn’t life just grand?

Gucci lifted the monocle to his right eye, “Very much so, ol’ chap!” He quickly stowed it away.

“Did you say something?” Carrot asked.

“Nah, but I think you’re brownies ‘bout to get more popular after today.”

“Well, if you’re that confident, you might just have a position waiting for you tomorrow too! That is, if you’re interested.”

“Maybe,” Gucci said while scratching his chin in thought, “but if anyone asks, I’m just rollin’ a cigarette.”

Author's Notes

I'd like to thank everyone who showed their support by giving a positive comment or thumbs up. You're all classy motherfuckers, did you know that? Of course, there are others among you that don't believe in the greatness that is Gucci. Those uncultured oafs are simply jealous of his success, and why wouldn't they be? They're obviously tone-deaf if they can't appreciate his music.

So I compiled a list of who's a G and who isn't.

Not G's (They're all bitches in my book):

jd896
Solar Eclipse
Gypsy (Probably the biggest bitch out of all of them)
U.S.S. Oakland

Now, for the Original Gangsters who've proven their classiness, among other admirable traits:

Gagster
Spiffy Mcsquee
DarrParrot
The Stallion
John Hood
CaptRico Sakara
Handcannon Bro, who showed exemplary valor by making a similar story involving Vanilla Ice.

Now all we need is for someone to make a Flava Flav in Equestria one.

Also, it turns out people have posted referalls to this story on Facebook and some Livestream channel. Thanks, I guess. Don't know what the fuck that means, but it sounds like it's a positive, so word, it must be good.

Until next time, my Brothers,

Stay Trilla.

Here, for reading this far, have a complimentary Gucci Mane to take home: