The Home of Dr. Seuss
After the brief duel with the troll, Ernest realized two things. The portal that he and Rimshot had driven through was gone, and his truck had stopped running during the fight.
“Hey, Rimshot, why’d you let the truck die? I thought I told you to keep it running,” Ernest accused.
Rimshot leaned out the driver’s side window, gave an anxious bark, and then laid his paw over his nose. Ernest’s eyes widened, “Is that right?”
After getting a flashlight from the truck, Troll Fighter One walked around to the front of the Chevy and saw a deep troll-sized dent on the front of his vehicle. “Whoa, it’s like he put his face in wet cement . . . except it’s my truck!” he exclaimed. “Pop the hood, Rimshot.
Let’s see what kind of damage Hammer Head did.”
Rimshot engaged the hood release, and Ernest tugged and heaved on the hood of the Chevy until his arms ached. He looked down to see what was wrong.
“Oh, I forgot. I gotta hold the lever down and then pull,” Ernest said to himself.
The hood came flying upward, along with several small blue jays, a mother raccoon with babies clinging, and a cloud of insects. Ernest cried out in panic and fell backward to the ground. When the ruckus had died down, he cautiously poked his head into the motor compartment and saw an empty bird’s nest and a host of mud dauber habitats all over the engine of the truck.
Ernest chuckled nervously to himself, “Eh-heh-heh-heh, I guess it’s been a little while since I’ve been under here.”
From inside the truck cab, Rimshot heard his master say, “Well, there’s the problem right there. The battery terminals are loose.”
Ernest wiggled the metal pieces, “. . . There we go; now I’d better check the battery. Since I don’t have a tester, I’ll just gently stick this metal rod in-between here and . . . WAHHHHHH!!”
Rimshot heard the familiar sound of his master being electrocuted, and for a brief moment, the truck started and then immediately died after a loud bang. A few seconds later, Ernest closed the hood of the Chevy. He leaned heavily on the driver’s-side door. Miraculously, he was unharmed except half his face was drooping down to one side.
He spoke in a slow, slurred, sad voice, “Well, boy, I fixed the battery, but I think I blew up the starter and . . . some other stuff doing it. We’re going to have to abandon ship. Besides, we can’t drive out of here anyways.”
The beagle hopped out through the truck window and joined his master outside. Ernest’s face and speech returned to its normal stretchiness, but his heart hurt for the loss of his Chevy.
The garbage man knelt down, petted Rimshot, and said, “Before we head back, I’d like to say a few words to our proud battle wagon.”
He then tried to take his cap off his head but found that it wouldn’t budge. It had been years since he had removed his head wear. Ernest’s scalp and hair had woven itself around the fibers of the hat. After several very painful attempts of trying to remove his cap, Ernest finally gave up. The sad warrior put his hand over his heart and bowed his head. Rimshot did the same . . . except in a very doglike manner.
“Well, old buddy, I appreciate all you did for us,” Ernest said thickly to his truck. “And I’m sorry I treated you so roughly, but it was tough love. That’s why you’re so strong and dependable. When I get back to town, I’ll send a tow truck for ya, and we’ll get you back on your wheels in no time. Me and Rimshot gotta leave ya now, but we will come back for you, I promise. Troll Fighter One never leaves a friend behind . . . at least not for long, you know what I mean?”
After Ernest said that, he placed a hand on the Chevy and started to cry. Rimshot affectionately nuzzled his leg and whimpered in sympathy.
“No, I’m not crying boy,” Ernest explained, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Tears were streaming down his face and dripping onto the ground. “I just got an eye full of battery acid, and it’s irritating my allergies. That’s all.”
Ernest then took a deep breath and reverently opened the door to the Chevy. He took the book Old Lady Hackmore had given him and other supplies and gathered them into an old gunny sack.
After saluting his fallen Chevy, Ernest said to Rimshot, “Well, boy, I guess we better double back the way we came. Judging from the trees and my exquisite sense of direction, I think we’re still in Missouri. Yes, sir, those are some good old-fashioned Missouri ash trees . . . or are they maple? Anyways, the neat thing about our state is that you are never far away from the next town, you know what I mean?”
Rimshot gave a yip of agreement, and side by side, man and dog left the truck.
As Ernest and Rimshot made their way through the woods, the Troll Slayer became nervous. A wind began to howl through the black unfriendly looking trees; wherever Ernest beamed his flashlight, he saw sinister looking shapes.
He gave a worried chuckle, “Eh-heh-heh-heh, nothing to be scared of, boy. It’s just our imaginations playing tricks on us. I’m not scared, and you shouldn’t be either.”
Suddenly he heard a loud growl from behind him that caused his mouth to go dry. He also felt moistness on the back of his neck and smelled a foul odor on the breeze.
“Rimshot?” Ernest asked worriedly, “is that you?”
Rimshot had managed to climb up Ernest and was hiding inside his shirt. As Troll Fighter One slowly turned around to face what had made the noise, he fought a strong desire to urinate. Right behind him stood a huge grizzly bear, standing on its hind legs.
Too scared to move, Ernest said quickly, “Wow, Smokey. You look different without your cute little shovel and pants.”
In reply the bear roared in Ernest’s face, and Ernest screamed right back at him for a good fifteen seconds.
The cap that had been stuck for years was blown off Ernest’s head. While the bear and man screamed at each other, the beagle scurried away and rummaged inside the gunny sack. Rimshot produced a half-eaten tuna sandwich that had been in the Chevy’s glove box for weeks. Rimshot picked up the sandwich between his teeth and placed it in front of the roaring bear. The grizzly stopped roaring and greedily wolfed down the morsel in one bite. Ernest knew a good idea when he saw one, so he slowly upended the gunny sack and gave what was left of their food supplies to the bear.
“Eat up, big fella. You don’t want to eat us. We got worms and gingivitis,” Ernest said.
Rimshot gave a bark of indignation at this.
“Oh, alright. I got worms and gingivitis,” he admitted. “How was I supposed to know Vern put . . . that stuff in my sandwich? I’m sure he was just kidding around.”
After chowing down on moldy bread, ham, and cheese, the bear stopped growling and came right up to Ernest. Surprisingly, the grizzly enveloped him in a rib-crushing bear hug.
Ernest hugged him back. “Ow, oww! I love you to big fella. Oof!”
When the bear let him go, the sanitation worker collapsed to the ground and moaned, “Rimshot, ask him for directions on how to get back to Briarville.”
After a series of yips and barks the bear gave a quiet roar in reply and started to plod its way through the brush, in the same direction Rimshot and Ernest were heading.
When the man and dog followed the bear through the woods, they happened across a well-lit tree house, which was literally a house built into the tree, complete with doors and windows. The tree itself was wide and thick, yet small in height. The outside was decorated with what looked like tribal masks and empty glass bottles.
After looking at the strange tree in wonder, Ernest said, “Hmm, well, it’s not exactly Briarville, but it’s better than being out here. Thanks, Smokey, we can take it from here.”
The grizzly nodded his head and disappeared into the forest.
As Ernest and Rimshot cautiously walked up to the weird building, the sanitation engineer remarked, “This must be where Old Lady Hackmore brews her potions.” He breathed a sigh of relief as he said this. “I was starting to get a little worried there, buddy. We can’t be far from home now.”
As Ernest was about to knock on the entrance, he spied a note taped to the door. It read:
To any pony it may concern: Zecora has what you yearn. I have many potions that will cure, but only if your heart is pure. Unfortunately, at home this zebra is not. I am collecting something that can’t be bought. A beautiful flower I must harvest by moon, for what I am gathering is the rare Midnight Bloom. Fear not, my friends I will be back. In one day’s time, I will provide what you lack.
Impressed, Ernest said, “Wow, Rimshot, this is neat. I didn’t know writing like Dr. Seuss was still popular around these parts. But who’s Zecora? And what does ‘Unfortunately, at home this zebra is not’ mean? It must be witches code for what her next meal’s gonna be. I didn’t know you could eat zebra. This has to be Old Lady Hackmore’s cousin or step-sister’s place. Come on, boy, this den belongs to some other creepy lady. Let’s go find the home of our witch.”
After he said that, the beagle whimpered and began to scratch the door hurriedly.
“Well, whose fault is that?” Ernest responded, “Is it number one or two?”
The dog barked twice.
“Why didn’t you use the bathroom before we went through the portal?” Ernest scolded.
Rimshot shrugged his shoulders in reply.
“Fine, I’ll try the door and see if it’s unlocked. But don’t be surprised if this Old Lady Zecora doesn’t have a toilet.”
Surprisingly, the door was unlocked.
As the duo entered the strange structure, Ernest was not surprised to find himself in a witch’s lair. All along the walls were strange looking masks, and on every shelf, cabinet, and cupboard were vials of different colored fluids. In the center of the room, suspended over dried wood, was a large pot.
Ernest pointed to it and said, “Rimshot, come over here! I found the chamber pot, and it looks clean.”
Ernest put the pot on the ground, and as he did so, his stomach suddenly rumbled violently. He belched loudly and said, “You go on ahead. I gotta talk to a man about a horse myself.”
After doing his business outside, Ernest came back in the tree building and looked around the one-roomed structure.
“Well boy, I don’t see a sink in here, so she must clean her own appliances with the potions she makes.”
He was about to say more when one of the masks hanging on the wall got his attention.
“Hey, Rimshot, get a load of this,” Ernest took the mask off the wall for closer examination. “This is neat. Look at all the detail, Rimshot. This mask almost looks like it’s made from real bone, feathers, skin, and . . . and how about we put this back? I’m getting a bad feeling, know what I mean?”
The beagle barked in agreement
Ernest was about to put the mask back where he found it when he saw a cavity in the wall that had been concealed by the mask. Shining the flashlight into the hole, he saw three vials.
“Rimshot, there’s something back here. I’ll just reach on back here and,” his fingers grasped the three bottles, “. . . there we go.”
The vials were different from the ones on the shelves. They were checkered white and blue, with each depicting a red pegasus, unicorn, or a horse on the center of the bottles. According to the labels, they were potions of Pegasus Flight, Unicorn Magic, or Earth Pony Strength.
“Wow, Rimshot, look at these sport drinks I just found. I bet these make you run faster, jump higher, and . . . and . . . all that good stuff. They’re neat and all, but not really what I had in mind for a thirst quencher.”
In response to this, Rimshot hopped up on one of the tables in the large room and began to sniff the bottles. When he got to a bottle that contained a yellow substance, he gave a bark to get his master’s attention.
“Whatcha got there, boy?”
The Troll Slayer walked over to the table and picked up the vial that Rimshot had been sniffing. The label on the bottle read, “Mellow Yellow.”
Ernest grinned at his dog and said, “Good boy, Rimshot, you hit the jackpot. This was exactly what I was looking for. I could use a soda right now.”
Before he uncorked the vial, he added, “Hey, Rimshot, do you want any?”
The beagle shook his head in reply.
“Are you sure? It’s Mellar Yellar after all. Way better than Mountain Dew. I like it cause it goes down smooth and tastes like a tangerine wrapped in a lemon, you know what I mean?” With that he pulled the stopper out of the glass bottle and downed the contents in one gulp.
Ernest smacked his lips together and said, “Not bad, but . . . eeeeehhhhheeeewwwwww.”
Troll Fighter One’s face contorted like he had bitten into the sourest fruit he had ever tasted. His eyes watered then bulged. His lips puckered, and his skin turned a bright shade of yellow.
Ernest clung to the table, took a deep breath, and said wheezily, “Man, Rimshot, that soda has gone south in a big way.”
The garbage man got back on his feet, turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, and said dizzily, “Whoa, Rimshot, check out this room. It’s like it has several faces all lookin at ya at once.” He then began to chuckle and say, “I think they like us, boy. Oh, wait. Hold on. The faces are talking to me. I’d better listen and see what they want.”
Ernest then collapsed face first in the middle of the floor and began to snore loudly. Half an hour later, he awoke to Rimshot licking his face in concern. He opened his eyes and said wearily, “The, uh, faces, yeah the faces. They say we need to get back to the truck and, uh, fix it. . . Gosh, I sure am hungry.”
Like a man on a mission, Ernest went about the room gathering random odds and ends and dumped them into the chamber pot after he had emptied it of Rimshot’s business. He then took the three “sports drinks” and added them to his gunny sack, which also got thrown into the smelly cauldron. Dazedly he opened his wallet and placed twenty-seven dollars on the table the Mellow Yellow had come from.
“There. I paid for everything. Now let’s get out of here, boy.”
As they exited the tree house with the pot, he saw the note and said groggily, “I should say what we took . . . and I should do it in Dr. Seuss.”
He found a pen in his pocket and scrawled at the bottom of the note:
Dear Zecora,
Thank you for your hospitality. It sure was enjoyed happily. My dog used the pot to do his business in. We shall clean it and return it to you again. I tried on some masks and that was fun. Then I found some sports drinks in a hole. (Sorry, I couldn’t think up a rhyme here. Writing in Seuss sure is hard). Like a good fellow, I drank the Mellow Yellow. I recommend next time you refrigerate your stuff, because one drink of that sure was enough. I took some pieces to fix my truck. Your money’s on the table. Wish me luck.”
Ernest P. Worrell
Stats
Page generated in 0.025 seconds
Total duration
1,012 users online
1,952,777 hits today, 2,167,270 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
....why? Like, what inspired this idea?
3916148
What can I say? I love ponies, and I loves Ernest.
I Really do not do this, but this gets a Fave from me on Sheer concept alone.
Time to combine my childhood fave movie Series, and current fave TV series!!
3916403
appreciate it buddy. Thanks
25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ma0b77JOkt1qcf707o2_500.gif
I don't know.
Hmmmm, interesting.
I like!
3916968
I'm happy that you approve.
OhmiCelestia this should be a thing!!
ernest be soooo trouble
when he meet the mare6?
3917450
All in good time my most excellent chum.
and thank you for the fave.
my reaction exactly
please write more!
you write ernest so well!!
Well....sh*t!
I have been working on writing an Ernest in Equestria story for a while now (trying to figure out some stuff for it), with planning, writing ideas and outlines in a notebook, and more planning, hoping to have it out soon as I never as this particular goofball crossedover with FiM before...but seems ya beat me too it.
Oh well, I will still give it a read!
Good luck with your tale and hope it does well!
Ernest no fucking why! This is so awesome!
Oh, the nostalgia.
3918019
Cool video! Had to replay it a few times and laugh along with it.
3918720
It's pretty cool that you want to write an Ernest story too. Please do so! I'd love to read it.
Keep writing.
Oh man
This was funny
I can't wait for him to meet Pinkie Pie!
3923277
I can picture this happening:
And I would like to see Auntie Nelda interact with Discord because of this.
And I can see the trolls teaming up with the changelings. Good story keep up the good work.
A Ernest and My Little Pony crossover? YES!! You have made this Ernest fanboy VERY happy! Delighted even!
Love how you wrote this fic, you kept Ernest in character and the humor in this fic is just great, i can't wait for the next chapters! Seeing the Ponys react to Ernests rather....uniqe pesonality will be a hoot!
3923262 off screen, a laptop with this fic on it and sandvich laughing along with me.
sence when did ernest have a beagle he had a fish named jake he accidedently ground with a garbage disposable and what about trolls?
3938559
Rimshot first appeared in "Ernest Goes to Jail." Rimshot was also in the next movie to be made "Ernest Scared Stupid," which is also where the trolls were introduced. After Scared Stupid I don't believe either Rimshot or the trolls were in anything else Jim Varney did. I think the gold fish Jake, was only in "Ernest Goes to Africa."
3940236 actually I do belive you're you know you must be quite the earnest fan