Applejack's "Day" Off
“Dun dun DUN DUN,” Cordoba hummed. She’d only recently seen Mission: Impossible, but it had definitely rubbed off on her.
She, Trixie, and Daring were breaking into the United States Social Security Administration.
Or at least they will be soon. Help the three of them navigate the highways and byways of the US to arrive in Washington, D.C.!
They were on their way to visit the next name on Valiant’s contact list, Stan Turner. Who is Stan Turner?
A. Stan Turner, the main anchor at KSTP-TV Minneapolis/St. Paul during the 1980s.
B. Admiral Stansfield Turner, former Director of Central Intelligence during the 1980s.
C. Percival Stanley "Stan" Turner, an accomplished British fighter pilot who died of natural causes during the 1980s.
D. A background character on The Simpsons.
We’ll be back with the answer after a brief interlude to Ponyville, where Rarity had gone pruney.
Applejack had once again missed their spa day. To be fair, they all had been very busy trying to figure out how to help Spike’s acquaintance Princess Ember.
Rarity wished that perhaps she had gotten out of the sauna sooner. Aloe had warned her, after all. Still, it couldn’t be helped. She had held out vain hope that Applejack would eventually arrive.
She pinned her face back and went to find her friends. They were gathered in the center of town where Princess Ember lay. She sort of had to lay, since the massive body of the sort-of-Godzilla-thing that had partially eaten her and then gotten its brain exploded was still attached.
“This is definitely not what I thought would happen when I tried to impress my father by entering the competition to become the next Dragon Lord,” said Ember. She sighed. “If you can’t find a way to get me free of this, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I’m sure we’ll come up with something,” said Spike.
“I don’t know,” muttered Twilight under her breath. “There are spells for many things, but separating a partially-eaten dragon from another dragon and having her back to perfect health is coming up blank.”
“Well, in the meantime, we can start by cleanin’ up this mess,” said Applejack, gesturing to the buildings smashed during the previous fight, when Ember was just along with the ride. “Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things, Ember.”
“I don’t know,” Ember replied. “I don’t want to be useful this way.”
“I understand your concerns,” said Applejack. “I was once forced to cannibalize another pony to survive. It was a horrible thing, but now that it’s said and done and the protein hit, I’m one of the strongest ponies in Equestria. It’s horrible what happened, but I can at least use the strength for something useful.”
“Well…” Ember glanced back at the enormous body of which she found herself in control. “Apparently I have little arms.”
Applejack frowned. Right, dragon.
“Hello everyone! I’ve made muffins!” announced Cracker, arriving just then.
“What kind?” asked Rarity.
Cracker frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If you made them, then surely you know the ingredients.”
“Oh. They’re, um, flour muffins.”
Ember took one and bit into it. “She’s not wrong.” She finished it.
“Well, looks like you have taste, at least,” said Cracker. She foisted the basket she carried on Ember, who began downing the rest of the muffins.
“Not to be rude,” said Applejack, “But I have to admit that it’s just a little weird that some random pony showed up, knows all our names, and acts like she’s already our friend.”
“Oh, it’s not rude,” said Cracker.
“But it is a little weird,” said Rarity.
“Oh wow, just what I’ve been saying ever since she showed up,” muttered Twilight under her breath. “No, go ahead, arrive at your own independent conclusions.”
“Weird or not, I’m hungry,” said Ember. “I’m actually worried that I won’t be able to eat enough to keep up with this bulk.”
“I’ve got lots of gems I’ve been saving,” said Spike.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d like something actually filling,” said Ember. “What about pigs or old ponies?”
On that note, let’s return to our quiz. If you answered “A, Stan Turner the news anchor,” you are correct. Trixie, Daring, and Cordoba, however, answered “B, Stan Turner the former CIA director.”
They found themselves in Virginia at the home of retired Admiral Turner, who was not expecting them.
“Hi, we’re here because we think our dad knew you and you might be able to help us to figure out a secret code,” said Cordoba.
Turner looked at her and Trixie, also glancing at Daring behind them. “Doubtful on the first part, but perhaps on the second.”
“Does the number seventy eight million fifty one thousand one hundred twenty mean anything to you?” Daring asked.
Turner considered it. “In what context?”
“We found a note with the number and the mention of Columbia. We’re trying to figure out what Columbia is,” Daring replied.
“May I see the note?” Turner asked. Trixie fished it out of her pocket and handed it over.
“This is a Social Security number.” Turner turned the note around to show them. “The digits are in the format three-tac-two-tac-four. The first zero is significant.”
They all stared at the paper. 078-05-1120
“The first zero is significant,” said Daring. “Come on, I only have a degree in archeology, but I knew that.”
“Well, I’m a stage magician,” Trixie grumped. “How was I to know?”
“You could have actually shown me the paper before now!”
“I’m sorry! I couldn’t know what I didn’t know!”
“What’s a Social Security number?” Cordoba interrupted.
“It’s issued to US persons to identify them,” Turner replied.
“Where do we find more and figure out who this number belongs to?” Daring asked.
“You can try the Social Security Administration,” Turner replied. “Is there anything else?”
There wasn’t. They thanked the old man for his time.
As they got back in Valiant’s Plymouth Breeze, Daring looked up more information on the phone Cher had planted in the car. “I know where we need to go next. The Arthur J. Altmeyer Building in Woodlawn, Maryland.”
“Sounds fun! What are we waiting for?” said Cordoba.
What do you think happens next?
A. They reach their destination uneventfully due to the rugged reliability of the Chrysler JA platform.
B. The Social Security headquarters is under renovations and the Altmeyer Building is closed.
C. They stop for ice cream. Cordoba murders everyone.
D. Aliens invade.
Find out after this message:
“Twilight, you are irresponsible,” said Tin Mare.
Of course, that didn’t sit well with Twilight. She’d gone to Sweet Apple Acres to help out. Applejack was busy cleaning up the town without Ember’s help. Rarity, of course, was busy not getting dirty. Nobody expected Fluttershy to help with heavy construction, and nobody wanted Pinkie to help. Rainbow couldn’t be found.
So it fell to Twilight and Spike to do Applejack’s job, because she was the only member of the Elements who actually had one that required labor.
She hadn’t had time to tell the two of them what to do, though, so Twilight read a few books on farm operations on the way there. Applejack was probably very efficient with all her meat puppets to help her.
When they arrived, however, they found Braeburn and Tin Mare already doing the work.
“Applejack is responsible. She wouldn’t have left her job in the first place without finding somepony to take over,” said Braeburn.
“More responsible than you, Twilight,” added Tin Mare.
“When did you get so snippy?” Twilight asked. “Is that part of your programming?”
“No. It is a fact.” Tin Mare paused. “Though, I can see why you might think so.”
“I’m still trying to get her to let me do something about her programming,” said Braeburn.
“I am not authorized to consent to that, and will take action to prevent it,” said Tin Mare.
“I’ve heard your debates before,” said Twilight. “I’m not going to be responsible for any dents that puts in your friendship.”
“Twilight, you are irresponsible,” said Tin Mare. “Isn’t friendship at what you claim to be skilled?”
Twilight whirled around. “How dare you!”
“I do not dare. I merely ask for clarification due to a contradiction. You claim to be good at friendship, but then say that you will not be responsible for it. Which is it?”
“I’m not on trial here,” Twilight huffed.
“That is true. You already have a position of power that you are neglecting, the Governorship of Silent Hill. For my information, when will you be making use of your executive powers?”
Twilight frowned. “What executive powers?”
“The legal immunity the Princesses granted you.”
“Oh!” Twilight shook her head. “I had forgotten because I never break the law. Also, that was supposed to be a secret.”
“It is not true that you never break the law. You’ve even committed murder. However, despite everything that you and your friends have done-most commonly property destruction-you all rarely face punishment. Why did the Princesses feel the need to grant you such immunity?”
“What are you getting at?” Twilight demanded. “Are you trying to annoy me now that Valiant isn’t around anymore to do it?”
“I understand that Valiant would have wanted that, praise him-”
You’re welcome.
“-however, that was not my purpose in asking. I wished to obtain information.”
“She isn’t a big fan of rhetoric,” Braeburn added.
You know who else isn’t a big fan of rhetoric? Death. It just happens, and happens to everyone eventually.
Contrary to what you might think, the headquarters of the Social Security Administration were actually quite dreary and soul-crushing. Namely, because it was full of death. Even Interstate 70, which runs for thousands of miles from Utah to Maryland, terminates in a park and ride lot that adjoins the SSA campus. More in line with the function of SSA, people died all the time and their Social Security numbers had to go somewhere. They came to the Arthur J. Altmeyer Building.
Trixie, Daring, and Cordoba rolled up and parked in the lot. I-70 let out a faint wheeze beneath the tires. But to answer the question posed earlier, the answer was “A, they arrive uneventfully.” The real events began shortly after arriving.
“So here we are,” said Daring. She frowned. “Do either of you smell that?”
“Death,” said Cordoba. “And bureaucracy.”
“So we have this Social Security number,” said Trixie. “What should we do with it?”
“We should bust in guns blazing,” said Cordoba.
“We don’t have any guns,” said Daring. “We should sneak in.”
“Or, we could pull the old razzle dazzle on the receptionist and see if we can just get what we want,” suggested Trixie.
Pop quiz! They decided to:
A. Cordoba’s plan, go in guns blazing
B. Daring’s plan, stealthy infiltration
C. Trixie’s plan, just ask
D. All of the above
The answer is “C, walk in the front door and talk to the first person they see.” Cordoba did find a water pistol somewhere, but security decided she was merely a rambunctious preteen off her Adderall.
“What’s the number?” the receptionist asked as the three of them approached the desk. She looked rather pale and unhealthy.
“078-05-1120,” Daring replied.
“Hmm, I’m showing over forty thousand results,” said the receptionist. “Apparently this number has a high rate of fraud.”
“How can we narrow it down?” Trixie asked.
“You’d have to know what you were looking for in the records . But we can’t just give you the personal information of forty thousand US people. We aren’t the Chinese.”
What happens next?
A. Cordoba’s plan, go in guns blazing
B. Daring’s plan, stealthy infiltration
C. Trixie’s plan, just ask
D. All of the above
With a brief flurry of “D, try everything,” Trixie, Daring, and Cordoba stole the identities of forty thousand people.
“Please?” said Trixie.
“No.”
Cordoba shot the receptionist in the face, who fell over backwards screaming, “My eyes! I’m not supposed to get water in them!”
Daring reached across the desk and poked a button on the keyboard. The whole list was instantly sent to her phone.
Security was on the way, and they all skedadled deeper in the building. There was a real risk in becoming lost in the drab, beige passageways. Fortunately, it worked both ways and the security guards were reluctant to follow them too deep into the jungle. The wolves would probably get them anyway.
Slowing down when they were sure they were alone, the three of them took stock. Daring checked the phone, skimming through the first few entries. “This is going to take forever.”
“Maybe we could eliminate some of them if we can figure out who is already dead,” said Trixie. “That information has to be around here somewhere.”
“Like over here?” called Cordoba. She pointed to a sign on the wall. It showed the way to the Death Master File.
“Is that the Death Master-File or the Death-Master File?” said Trixie.
“What’s the difference?” Cordoba asked.
Trixie shrugged. “Probably nothing.”
They followed the hallway. In an abandoned office, furniture strewn everywhere and wolf tracks on the carpet, they found an ominous file folder lying on a desk.
“Stand back,” warned Daring. She approached slowly. The file looked undisturbed, though she knew from many expeditions that it could be a ruse. She carefully examined the area before looking at the file itself. The manilla was faded and perhaps stained with blood, or maybe just red ink. Daring hesitantly reached forward and opened it.
To unessecarily dramatize things, the paper cover landed on the desk with a sound like a gunshot in the still room. The gleam of fresh paper, harvested from the automated system that enumerated fresh corpses, was in front. Older entries filled the rear like an overzealous girlfriend.
But it was what they needed. A quick scan and comparison told them what they wanted to know. They had a name.
Was it:
A. Paul E. Hormel
B. Paris W. Hilton
C. Charles F. Xavier
D. John L. Whitmore
Stay tuned. We’ll return after a brief cutscene.
In the steam room of the Ponyville Spa, the Wonderbolts sat around relaxing. They’d had a tough day of training and had earned it.
“So tell me more about your agenda,” said Rainbow “Assault and Battery” Dash.
“It’s really not that important,” said Wind Rider.
“What do you mean it’s not important?” said Whiplash. “I thought this was all about preserving the true spirit of Equestria and saving it from itself. I thought we were a group for restoring Equestria to glory by any means necessary.”
“I meant that it was really not that important if Rainbow knew,” Wind Rider amended.
“Fine with me, less to remember,” said Rainbow. She looked around. “Does it seem kind of cold in here for a steam room? I could swear the Ponyville Spa usually kept it warmer than this.”
“You go to the spa a lot?” Night Glider asked.
“No, totally not!” Rainbow protested.
Aloe poked her head in. “Ah, sorry about the temperature. We have had a few problems with the steam system.” She closed the door.
“Can’t they fix it?” said Whiplash. “Who knows about steam?”
Valiant was the first name to come to Rainbow’s mind, but she choked it back in disgust. Even if he was around, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fixing her spa steam. Also, he’d probably laugh at her.
Back on Earth, it was no laughing matter for “A: Paul E. Hormel.” That wasn’t his real name, but “Hormel Foods Director of Columbia, MD Operations” was his real job. He’d first come to America as the son of immigrant parents and had scraped his way into success.
Getting a purloined Social Security number and a fake name hadn’t exactly landed him his dream job in managing a meat packing plant, but it was still good money. It didn’t require him to have the same name as the company, but he’d come to joke about it as a coincidence.
But he came to realize that it had all been a serious mistake when three women walked into his office that day.
“We’re here about your Social Security number,” said Trixie.
“I can explain-” Paul started to say, but Cordoba cut him off. “We don’t care. Tell us what you know about our father.”
Paul cut his eyes side to side, realizing the full extent of who and what had just walked in his door. “So, it has finally come to this.”
“Come to what?” Daring asked.
“You, me, this moment.” Paul leaned back, sighing. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. But it’s going to require a trip. You’ll have to visit Corporate.”
“This random meat company office in Columbia, Maryland wasn’t the end of the road?” Daring asked.
“Not by a long shot.” Paul peeled off a post-it note and wrote down a well-memorized code. “Take this.”
Trixie, Daring, and Cordoba all stared at the alphanumeric digits, making sure there would be no verbal misunderstandings this time. HOMU4858120
The code was for:
A. An electronic door lock.
B. An intermodal shipping container.
C. A barcode on a Spam can.
D. A familiar driver’s license.
Hang on tight for the answer. We’ll be right back.
Just kidding, we’re back now. This last one was even for extra points. The answer is “B: a shipping container.”
“If you go to Austin, Minnesota, to the Hormel Corporate Headquarters, you’ll find it there,” Paul told them. “That’s what you’ve been looking for.”
“Minnesota? That’s where Stan Turner, former news anchor at KSTP-TV, lives,” Trixie noted.
So they drove a thousand miles back the way they came.
The Hormel HQ in Austin, Minnesota had its own rail spur and was just generally a large meat transshipment point, if you can imagine that. It was also the home of the Spam Museum.
Arriving after dark, Trixie, Daring, and Cordoba infiltrated the container yard. It took a few minutes to locate the one they were after. Spraypainted on the side was a stylized graffito that read COLUMBIA.
“Well go on then,” said Stan Turner. “Open it up.”
“First, shut off the camera,” Trixie challenged. “There’s no telling what we’ll find. Depending on what it is, we can do a staged reveal later.”
Stan nodded. “Glad to have met someone who understands show business.”
With the camera off, they began to figure out how to break into the container. The door was padlocked.
“An Earth lock might be more advanced than any lock from Equestria,” Trixie commented. “But I have my tools, so I’ll try.”
She turned to get them, but Cordoba said, “No need. It’s open.”
She held the padlock in her hand, the shank torn right through.
“Treasure hunts aren’t supposed to end this easily,” Daring laughed. “All right, open it up.”
The four of them each took one latch on the doors. They didn’t really need to, but it made for a bit more of a dramatic moment. Simultaneously, they heaved on the latches and pulled the doors open.
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I... don't know how it happened, but my score ended up being "quack."
I think you might have an Aflac problem.
What?
I got confused (more than I normally am by this story) by all the multiple choice questions in the middle of the text.
Total score was 3.
I got the first question right, the second question wrong, the third question right, but it was on a triple word score, so that would be an additional five brownie points. The blue question was answered on the moon, so that increased my robustness. The palindromic question was read upside down, which filled me with determination. I then had to use my brownie points to call up a friend to the stand to testify to the last question committing the crime. My total score is the number on the mile counter of Valiant's Plymouth Breeze.
It was the square root of raspberry.
I got two points I think. Kinda expected the car to run out of fuel as an E option just for lulz.
After finishing today's episode, may I ask you a favor and have you accidentally murder Zephyr in a totally not accidental fashion? That was totally an accident?
I think my scoring thing is broken, it just keeps saying 'Valiant did nothing wrong', did I win?
Totallynotabrony is in the box, this is some matrix level shit.
In(¤》
My score is -0 clearly this test was rigged. Whatever I cheated anyway.
a cryogentic stasis pod with valiant in it.
a cardboard cutout of a a cryogentic stasis pod with valiant in it.
a small party with a banner that reads Valiant did nothing wrong.
My score tastes upwards and the aftertaste is #valiantdidnothingwrong
Hakunamatata
I scored 0. I'm sad.
And surprised that everyone on earth is just going along with this. I guess it makes sense that what Valiant did to Equestria he did to earth first.
I can't believe this chaptwr ended in the very state that I reside in, let alone so close to a city I lived in, or at a place I have actually driven by on occasion. It is kind of freaky, but then again Milwaukee really is not that far away.