The Sunday
It’s pony nature to find pleasure in the simplest of moments. Be it the smell of the grass after a hard rain, or blowing the steam off a fresh mug of tea, or the feeling that swells inside you when looking up at a dark sky pulsing with stars.
For Pinkie Pie, it was far simpler, and it was every day. But today was Sunday.
This Sunday started like so many did, with carelessly closed curtains pouring syrupy sunlight across the floor, oozing over pink shag carpets and piles of laundry until they found their way over her snout a little earlier than everypony else.
Sweet and warm, it tickled her awake. A few blinks cleared away the blurriness, letting in the warmth of the day. A smile flushed her cheeks, and a yawn and stretch pulled her body like taffy as she rolled beneath the licorice-scented sheets.
Today was going to be a good day, she told herself.
She rose, sleepy and slow like honey, letting the light soak her fur and light up her wiry bed-head. She stepped into her plush, bubble-gum pink slippers.
She took a deep breath. Although the ovens of Sugarcube Corner would be cold for the day, the smell of cinnamon still lingered. It drifted lazily through the air, guiding her down the stairs and into the kitchen. The smell strengthened and blended with vanilla and nutmeg.
Shuttered, the windows of Sugarcube Corner kept the air dark and cool and sleepy. She started with the milk, pouring it into a bowl and placing it in the microwave. It began to warm, and she fetched her relics for the morning ritual.
First, the chalice, that gilded porcelain bowl decorated in cartoonish designs. Then, the spoon. Not just any spoon, but the best spoon in the drawer, with a thick plastic handle filled with a glittering blue fluid that animated the plastic fish bobbing inside. Of course, the ritual was far from done.
The Daring-Do mug. The cocoa mix. And lastly, the most precious of additions, without which none of the rest mattered.
She clambered up to the top shelf, where she always left it. Its special spot. The divine and supreme cereal to lord over every breakfast for eternity, branded with all the marketing it could ever need: its name proudly emblazoned over a shower of multicolored puffs.
Frosted Mega-Sugar Crunch Supreme. Trademark of Oats ‘n’ Friends.
She gently stroked its cardboard and plastic box. Zero grams of cholesterol. Zero grams of fat. A negligible quantity of vitamins, minerals, and essential dietary fibers. But enough sweetness to provide twenty percent of a sane pony’s calorie intake in pure sugar for the day.
The appropriate serving size was four bowls, as such.
She tenderly placed the box of concentrated diabetic shock beside the bowl, adjusting it to a perfect parallel angle to the fishy spoon. Mug in one hoof, the microwave beeped exactly as she opened it. The milk was the perfect temperature: hot enough to easily dissolve the unnameable mix of imitation cocoa but cool enough to start drinking immediately.
The table was set. The clock chimed, six in the morning on the dot. Pinkie sighed easily and lowered herself into her plush-backed chair, and poured herself a bowl of cereal.
She instead got a puff of purple dust.
Slowly, she looked down at the bowl. The bright but chipped paintings of lollipops and chocolate bars were still visible. Her eye twitched. She exhaled, placing the box back onto the table with a thunk.
It was alright. The day isn’t ruined yet. After all, she still had plenty of cereal left from the sleepover on Friday. She hopped off the chair to the pantry and swung the door open. Smiling lightly, she reached for the top shelf and groped around for a fresh box.
The look froze on her face. Her hoof swept side to side, more and more frantically.
“No,” she muttered. She scooted a stool to the pantry entrance and scaled it. She pulled herself to the top shelf. It was empty.
“No, no, no,” she said again, her voice rising. She clawed at the empty space, desperate to find something hidden, invisible. This couldn’t be happening. How much cereal had they eaten? Rarity!
“No!” she screamed it this time, tearing away from the pantry. She ripped open drawers and closets, scattering cookware. Each empty cabinet slammed shut with the ticking of the clock. Her breath quickened until she was hyperventilating.
This can’t happen. It was Sunday. Sundays had to be perfect or they couldn’t be Sundays and they couldn’t be perfect without Frosted Mega-Sugar Crunch Supreme, brought to you by Oats ‘n’ Friends. The jingle rattled through her head, off-key and droning. She laughed as she pulled a drawer out onto the floor, but it was halting and shrill and hysteric.
“Because breakfast should be fun!” she sang through gritted teeth, sweat forming on her brow.
It’s fine. It’s fine. She tore open the last cabinet and spilled its contents. Nothing. Nothing nothing noth--
She stopped. Laying on its side, undisturbed by the chaos, was a familiarly-shaped red box. Her hooves trembled as she took it, turning it over to see the front.
Cheery-O’s.
The images gave her hope. On its front, a dangerously overfilled bowl spectacularly burst with milk and nutty-brown loops. A spoon, far larger than any professional would ever use, impacted with the overflowing bowl but somehow kept the loops perfectly positioned inside. Above the orgy of cereal, a cartoon bee. Its large, sympathetic eyes promised salvation in the form of sugary relief. It promised home.
She sniffled a bit, wiping away tears she didn’t realize she had. She lovingly consecrated the empty box of Frosted Mega-Sugar Crunch Supreme to its trash-can grave, and the newcomer took its place.
It was almost the same. The cocoa was colder, and the carton of milk had broken into a sweat, but there was still time. The Sunday could be saved. She sighed, her breath trembling with resolve, and poured the cereal.
The soft tinkling of puffed corn and oat falling into the bowl filled the room. Then, the milk. It bubbled and fizzed slightly as it filled the gaps and pores, floating the cereal to the top. She stopped the flow as it reached the perfect level. Just enough for the cereal to float, but not so much as to upset the critical balance of milk-to-cereal in each spoon.
Finally, she took a careful scoop, and ate it.
She took a tentative chew, then another. The crunch was right, and the bee on the box smiled at her. Then the milk dissolved in her tongue, and she tasted the cereal for the first time.
“Oh Celestia.” The spoon fell dramatically, clattering on the floor. Her gut clenched. Something was wrong.
The flavor didn’t envelop her mouth like Frosted Mega-Sugar Crunch Supreme. It wasn’t bright and bold it was… sinister. It spread across her tongue like a spider web. It was tough and dry and stale and flecked with hard particles. She gagged, desperate to choke it down. Her tongue lashed against her molars, and each time she found a fleck stuck between her teeth, the reaction started all over again. She could taste it in her throat. She could taste it in her brain.
Choking, she grabbed the mug off the table, Daring-Do watching in helpless horror as she guzzled the lukewarm fluid. It flooded her palate with notes of chocolate and high fructose corn syrup. Salvation.
She necked the rest of it, her tongue desperately slurping up the carefully-planned residue at the bottom. She rolled it in her bottom lip, slurping it and smearing it against her teeth. The staleness melted away. With a final gulp, it was gone, and she let the mug fall from her hooves.
For a while, she laid there, trembling in her chair. The memory of the taste throbbed like a tumor in her brain. The chocolatey residue smeared across her face dribbled down her chin. Her body lurched. Slowly, she looked down at the box. The bee stared at her, his smug smile mocking her, his engorged, bloated fingers pointing accusingly at her.
“Why would you do this to me?” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her trembling hooves took the box and turned it over. Cold, black-and-white text stared her in the face. Her eyes raced over it.
Iron? Vitamins A and B? Oh, Celestia, was that… dietary fiber? At the bottom of the list, the last number stood there, arrogant.
1 gram of sugar per serving.
Her hooves trembled with horror. She gagged. Something was building in her throat. Pinkie Pie staggered upright. It was worming its way over her tongue, leaden and harsh. It was stale. Staler than death.
“It has an…” She swallowed. “Aftertaste.”
She rushed to the sink and opened the faucet before sticking her mouth beneath it. Water rushed down her throat hard enough and fast enough to nearly drown her. It flushed her taste buds. The acrid, bitter nothingness wouldn’t let go. Defiant, it clung to her tongue despite her pleading and sobbing.
After what seemed like hours, it faded. She shut off the faucet and collapsed. Water dripped down her mane, collecting underneath her. The world seemed hollow and distant, echoed in the drops of water. A chill wracked her body.
The monolith of cruelty stood unflinching on the breakfast table. The cold, jeering eyes of the bee staring down at her. She crawled towards it, leaving behind a trail of tepid water.
She searched the eyes of the bee for some sort of pity, of empathy. She found none. Defeated, she collapsed back into her chair, staring blankly at the drifting Cheery-O’s.
Why does this exist? she thought. Why would somepony make this? Somepony had to sit down, willingly, and create Cheery-O’s. But why?
The lifeless eyes and cruel smile of the bee stared through her.
Ponies are supposed to be good to each other, to love each other. Strangers are just… ponies we haven’t met yet. The thought swirled through her head like the cereal in the bowl, slowly becoming soggy and incontinent in structure.
A terrifying idea blossomed into her mind, a poisonous flower growing thorny roots.
Could I be friends with the pony who made Cheery-O’s?
It perplexed her. She walked out of her chair, her hooves dragging through the scattered cutlery. Of course I could, right? I mean, ponies want to be nice to each other. Maybe it was a mistake. She nodded to herself, rationalizing it. Yeah, a mistake. This wasn’t meant to get released or eaten by anyone. Maybe some ponies…
She gagged.
Like it?
She shook the idea away violently. No, no, no. It was icky, awful, no-good, terrible cereal. There was not one teensy inch of flavor or sweetness or good taste. It’s like eating the box!
What does it take to make cereal? The answer eluded her. She paced in front of the box. There’s… there’s gotta be stuff like quality testing and sampling and science and things like that. And a launch party, obviously, where they serve it in bowls to--
This time, the gag was strong enough to double her over.
Maybe I was eating it wrong. She looked across the floor, spying a half-gutted sack of sugar. It’s probably meant to be eaten with sugar. But the longer she looked at the bag, the more she came to realize that no amount of sugar could convince her to put Cheery-O’s into her mouth again.
Ok, Pinkamena, let’s just calm down for a second here. There has to be a reasonable explanation. She trotted back to the box of cereal, ignoring the surge in adrenaline when she locked eyes with the bee. Nopony would create cereal that bad on purpose. It’s probably some ponies who got started making their first cereal! That has to be it! I bet there’s a contact number for the company that made it, and I can give them a call and ask them some questions and we’ll all be friends!
For the first time since breakfast began, a smile spread across her face. It would absolutely make somepony’s day to get some gentle, constructive criticism. She turned the box over, looking for a name.
The blood drained from her face.
Rainbow Dash had never flown faster.
Every Sunday, as one would expect no less, she trained. Twenty kilometers, back and forth, coming closer to beating her best time every day. Then it was deadlifts, wing flexes, and one cheeky Razzin’ Razzbery smoothie at her favorite spot. And every single Sunday, on her way back, Pinkie Pie would be waiting with balloons at the finish line of her run. No matter what time she came back.
But not today, and when Rainbow Dash arrived at the finish line, Rainbow Dash left half the rooftops in Ponyville in shambles in her wake. In fourteen seconds, she was at Sugarcube Corner. Her pulse pounded. She twisted around to beat down the door, only for a passing breeze to open it.
She paused, then cautiously entered.
Blenders, spatulas, and stirring bowls were strewn over counters below empty cabinets. A bag of sugar, now crawling with ants, was collapsed between a broken salt shaker and a spice rack.
A lump built in Rainbow Dash’s throat. The cry caught in her mouth mid-scream when a pile of cookware collapsed with a crash of metal and glass, and Pinkie Pie rolled out of it. On her back, she looked up without moving, her mane wrapped around her placid face.
“Oh, hey Dashie,” she said in a monotone. “Do you think ponies are born good?”
Rainbow Dash coughed out the suppressed anxiety. “P-Pinkie, where the heck were you? I was worried sick!” She looked around with a raised eyebrow. “Did you guys get robbed or something?”
“No,” she answered vaguely, staring at no spot in particular on the ceiling. “I was just thinking. A lot. So what do you think? Are ponies born good?” She rolled to her haunches and stared at her hooves. “Can we be good?”
Rainbow Dash stared at her for a while before choking out an uncomfortable laugh. “Ooookay, Pinkie, you’re starting to freak me out. What’s going on?”
She said nothing, instead just pointing to the breakfast table. A dry brown stain marked the tablecloth where something had spilled. Inside the bowl was an unidentifiable mass of brown-sludge floating on milk.
“Ew, gross,” muttered Rainbow Dash under her breath. She took the open box of cereal off the table. “Cheery-O’s? Since when do you eat something that isn’t Frosted Mega-Sugar Crunch Supreme?”
“Brought to you by Oats ‘n’ Friends,” sang Pinkie Pie flatly.
She cringed. “I’m gonna need you to stop creeping me out, buddy. What’s gotten into you? Look at this place, it’s a mess! Twilight’s gonna be here soon for the picnic, and I don’t see a single trebuchet.”
Pinkie Pie stared through her, her eyes lifeless and adrift with doubt. Rainbow Dash felt an uncomfortable creeping in her spine. She looked down at the box. A bee with the same blank eyes stared up at her. She shrugged and stuck her hoof into the box.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but tell you what,” she said, pulling out a hoofful of brown loops. “I’ll give you a hoof cleaning up the place. But you owe me one, alright? I mean, I had to rush down here and everything. Totally gonna kill my image.” She popped them into her mouth. “So how about you pull yourself together before… before…”
Rainbow Dash chewed slow and hard. She couldn’t swallow. The box fell to the ground. A damp mass of what felt and tasted like wood shavings was lodged in her mouth. Then it broke apart, and the taste of it wafted across her tongue.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Oh my Celestia.” Her head spun around desperately before spying a trash can. She galloped to it and spat. The mass of stale oats clung to the plastic before oozing down. It fell with a wet thump.
Her head suddenly felt light, and she realized she was hyperventilating. She staggered back to Pinkie Pie and her voice shook. “Pinkie… what did I just put into my mouth?”
“Cheery-O’s,” she whispered.
“That was… that was… Oh, Celestia.”
“The aftertaste,” mumbled Pinkie Pie.
“The…” Rainbow Dash swallowed hard. “The what?”
Pinkie’s eyes bored through hers. “The aftertaste.”
Rainbow Dash rushed to the bathroom. After the gagging had finally ceased, she staggered drunkenly back into the room and collapsed beside Pinkie Pie. There was a long silence.
“Dashie?” asked Pinkie Pie.
“Yeah?” asked Rainbow Dash.
“Do you think ponies are born good?”
It was a while before she spoke. “I wanna think so. I mean, ponies always want to help one another, right? But…”
“But somepony made Cheery-O’s.” Pinkie Pie stared at the box, then picked it up. “And not just any pony. Look.”
Rainbow Dash rubbed her eyes in disbelief. But there it was, clear as day at the bottom of the box.
Cheery-O’s, brought to you by Oats ‘n’ Friends.
“No way,” she murmured. “How the heck does a group of ponies go from making, like, your favorite breakfast cereal to making… this?”
“If ponies are born good,” said Pinkie Pie slowly, “does that mean that a pony has to learn to be mean? Is meanness learned?”
Rainbow Dash’s ears went flat. “But that doesn’t make sense, though. If all ponies are born nice, then how do they learn to be mean? At some point they have to discover it somehow. They have to find something.” She exhaled and shook her head. “Something that would mess them up enough to make ‘that’.”
“But that means it comes from somewhere else.”
“Maybe nature?”
Pinkie Pie looked at her strangely. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She tried to organize her thoughts. “Like… bears and tigers and stuff. They hunt things and hurt animals because they need that to survive. They gotta be born like that.”
“I dunno… Cheery-O’s exist because of tigers?” She got up and began pacing. “That feels too easy. Wouldn’t it make more sense if ponies…” After a pause, she hopped over to the garbage can and retrieved the trashed box of Frosted Mega-Sugar Crunch Supreme. “I mean look! The greatest cereal of all time made by the same ponies who made Cheery-O’s! Doesn’t that mean that ponies can be born to be super nice or super mean? Think about it! Some ponies throw parties and invite everypony to get pizza, but some of them do that too but put onions on it.”
Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Then how do we make the choice? Just because ponies can be good or bad doesn’t mean that magically disappears.” She stood and grabbed a spatula off the floor. “Look, say this is Mr. Oats ‘n’ Friends. He was born a good pony and wanted to make a good cereal that would make everyone happy. But then, for some reason, he decides to make that.” She pointed the spatula dramatically at the cereal box in Pinkie Pie’s hooves. “Then one day, something snaps. He goes crazy! And for some reason, he makes Cheery-O’s. Possibly the second worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”
The two exchanged intense looks. She continued. “Now that totally doesn’t make any sense, right? If being super nice has gotten him this far, why would he do something that lousy?”
Pinkie Pie raised an eyebrow. “Tigers?”
With a groan, Rainbow Dash dragged her hoof down her face. “Forget the tiger! It’s just an example! All I’m saying is that something that isn’t necessarily a pony made him turn bad.”
Pinkie Scratched her mane. “So what you’re saying is that it's not the pony that decides to be bad, it’s… the world around it?”
“Yeah!” shouted Rainbow Dash, flailing the spatula wildly.
“That’s a… pretty good idea,” said Pinkie Pie carefully.
Rainbow Dash’s face fell. “What?”
“What? Nothing.”
“You’ve got that look,” said Rainbow Dash, pointing the spatula accusingly. “You think I’m wrong!”
“Well it’s just that I think you might be making things a teensy-weensy bit too simple.”
“Like how?”
“What about choice?”
Rainbow Dash scratched her head. “Choice? I--”
“Nightmare Moon was a really bad pony for a really long time because she was upset at Celestia.” Pinkie Pie tapped the box of Cheery-O’s against her muzzle in thought, quickly stopping after a whiff of the stale death inside. “But when we stopped her, she didn’t turn back into Nightmare Moon. Princess Luna decided to be good!”
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, because the situation changed. The Elements of Harmony were what helped her turn good again! It wouldn’t have worked otherwise.”
“The Elements of Harmony don’t have mind-control powers, Rainbow Dash!” She waved her hooves, scattering a few rings of cereal. Rainbow Dash moved like they were drops of acid. “If they did, wouldn’t that make us bad, too? Maybe even worse than Oats ‘n’ Friends?”
They slowly lowered their spatulas and cereal boxes. “Omigosh,” said Rainbow Dash, her eyes going wide with shock. “Are we… bad ponies, too? What… what if Cheery-O’s are punishment?”
Pinkie Pie squirmed uncomfortably and turned her back to her friend. “That seems a little bit much, doesn’t it?”
“If the world affects if ponies are good or bad,” insisted Rainbow Dash, her voice getting a bit more shrill, “that means it can make good ponies bad and bad ponies good! This is the universe trying to make us good! We… we have to eat it.”
“No!” Pinkie Pie’s eyes went feral. She whipped around and grabbed Rainbow Dash’s shoulders. “Think about it for a moment! We… we have free will! We can change! We don’t have to put that… that stuff inside our bodies. It’s evil!”
Tears blossomed along her cheeks. “It’s only as evil as we are,” she whispered.
“But who decides?” Pinkie Pie shook her friend and shrieked, “Who decides who’s good and bad? We have friends, we save Equestria or the town or the day, like, every Saturday! If that’s not being good, what is? Do we need to put out fires? Save orphans? Save fires and put out orphans?”
“...Celestia, maybe?”
“Celestia?!” she trilled. “She’s a pony like anypony else! She gets upset, she gets mad, she even gets hungry, but she still doesn’t eat Cheery-O’s! How can somepony as messed up as everypony else get to choose something like that?”
Rainbow Dash clutched her head. Frustrated tears were rolling off her face. “I don’t know, Pinkie, I just don’t know. If no one can say what’s right and what’s wrong, does it even matter? Does it?”
Her eyelid twitching, Pinkie Pie let Rainbow Dash collapse to the floor. “That’s it. That’s it! Dashie, you’re genius!” A hysterical smile grew across her face and she laughed without helping it. “It. Doesn’t. Matter. It doesn’t matter! Don’t you see?” Her sobbing joined Rainbow Dash’s.
“This entire time, we’ve been thinking about it all wrong! Cheery-O’s aren’t good or bad. Well, no, they’re absolutely terrible, but they weren’t made to be good or bad! It’s all just… random!”
Wiping away her snotty muzzle, Rainbow Dash looked up at her hopefully. “Like chaos theory? It’s this thing Twi talked about once. At first it sounded cool so I listened but then I realized it was math so I kinda zoned out a little but it’s--”
“Cheery-O’s theory.” The two ponies gasped in awe. “Nothing matters! Everything is preordained; we’re just cogs in the cosmic machine! Everything that happens is planned but never for any reason!”
Rainbow Dash got up excitedly. “Then I was right! Choice doesn’t matter!”
“And everything…” Pinkie Pie chose her words carefully. “All of that randomness led to this.”
Suddenly, the secrets of the red box opened themselves to them. This cereal wasn’t evil. It was beautiful. Billions of random variables collided to create this, this perfect entity of fiber, added minerals, and a total absence of sugar and good taste. The eyes of the bee held no malice, only the peaceful serenity of one who had learned his place in the universe and accepted it.
There was no purpose, only Cheery-O’s.
They hugged, and it was like doing it for the first time. The world was free of pretense and its heart shined through. The smell of cinnamon was earthier, the colors brighter and more radiant. None were brighter than the color of Rainbow Dash’s mane, or the hue of her eyes. Pinkie couldn’t pull herself away.
“Rainbow Dash I… I think I lo--”
“What are you guys doing?”
Twilight Sparkle was standing in the doorway. Her saddlebags, full to bursting with carefully prepared picnic gear, fell to her sides. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash separated, stammering excuses.
“What happened here?” Twilight eyed the overturned kitchen. “Did Rainbow Dash see a spider or something?”
“Spiders are beautiful creatures and just as lost as we are,” Rainbow Dash said earnestly.
“Right,” said Twilight after a pause. “Well, I’ve got everything for the picnic, but we should probably get… Hey, are those Cheery-O’s? Pinkie, I didn’t know you liked those, too!”
Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie said nothing. The world seemed to go dark as Twilight trotted to them and snagged the box off the ground. Without hesitation, she shoveled a hoofful of them into her mouth. She chewed with delight.
“Hey, isn’t this the box I left here last week?”
“I--”
“Hey, it is, look!” She pointed to the back. “It’s the crossword puzzle I finished! It was a bit easy to be honest. All the answers are cereal puns. Honestly, it’s a bit patronizing. Ponies can handle a little bit of challenge during their breakfasts. It’s the best time to get the brain juices going.” She popped a dozen more loops into her mouth. “Are you guys ok?”
“Pinkie, I think it’s just terrible cereal,” said Rainbow Dash flatly.
“The worst,” agreed Pinkie.
“Aw, c’mon guys, it’s not that bad.”
The pair burst out laughing, then pulled Twilight into a hug.
“I guess the world needs all sorts to go ‘round,” said Pinkie with a giggle.
“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash ruffled Twilight’s mane. “Even eggheads who like Cheery-O’s!” They hugged closely, filled with warmth.
Twilight said nothing. She reached into the box of Cheery-O’s and consumed another hoofful, feeling nothing.
Nothing at all.
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Oh hey more proof that you're alive!
I never thought Cheerios could make me enter an existential state... but Cheery-O's sure did.
Wow.
That made me think about life more than On Walden Pond.
Haha Haha great story
You're goddamn right it is. :V
Wow it’s been a long time since I’ve read your stuff and I forgot how good of an author you are on the individual sentence level. There was some beautiful writing in this.
9052648
the punchline is that cheerios are fucking gross and also i don't wanna get sued
9052657
it's all you bb
no one can be happy without their breakfast of choice
pinkie pie can just pour candy in a bowl and call it cereal and it's cereal then
and it works
Cheerios are subtle and nutty and delicious.
I grew up on '80s Generic Oat Rings. You can't even begin to understand what truly bad cereal is.
Cheerios aren't bad but they do have a bit of an aftertaste which is why it's best to have them with tea or coffee or juice. De gustibus non est disputandum, as Seneca used to say whenever his guests complained about his cooking.
(Pinkie Pie probably adds sugar to cheesecake.)
Why Honey Nut Cheerios exist, maybe?
Strange, though, I’ve never liked the honey nut but I like the original just fine.
I’M WEIRD AND I’M PROUD!
9053153
I wouldn’t even be surprised.
How did this get in the featured box?
Well, everyone has their own tastes.
9053270
media1.tenor.com/images/edcc7edc0f7cc47d1cb40bfd363fc54d/tenor.gif?itemid=9516308
this place has gotten weird
I love existentialism as much as the next person but I have to ask. Were mind altering substances consumed while writing this and, if so, where can I get some?
Does Pinkie proceed to watch paint dry next?
Welp time to discuss the philosophical quandaries of eating cereal, cuz I'm feeling it Mr. Crabs.
First we consider if the act of eating cereal has any intrinsic meaning to begin with. One argue that yes even without the agent (Pinkie Pie) the cereal still has purpose; to be ingested, providing energy and nutrients to the consumer. One would not use cereal as a way to support a falling building, for example. And since the cereal was created with a particular purpose in mind before it came into existence, it thusly has meaning separate from any other entity.
However, one could also argue about the absurd nature of the action. We place dried up pieces of carbohydrates and other natural materials into a piece of stone hallowed up from the inside, mixing it with...actually where does milk come from in this universe? Cows? magic? The aether...eh doesn't matter, mixing with runny white liquid. Then using a lever with a hollow point on one of its ends raise portions of the mixture into our mouths, where we perform a mechanical action to break down those pieces into smaller pieces which are then sent to the stomach via contraction and relaxation of muscles, where acid is used to dissolve the consumed substance into sludge to be absorbed by the body (for those of you who have lost the plot, the last paragraph was about the action of eating). By pointing out the absurd nature of the action, one argues that the whole point of cereal is meaningless, and by extension, everything else is equally meaningless.
From here we diverge into two directions. If cereal has meaning, then it must always be good or evil objectively. A good way to check for this is by following the categorical imperative, and make eating horrible cereal universal. If you find such a world sustainable and something you can accept, cereal is good. If not, cereal is evil. This opinion becomes objective in the same way murder is objectively bad and having a job is objectively good under this maxim.
If cereal is meaningless, then we have a couple of options. Either cereal is neither good nor evil but is simply cereal, or that choice resides with the consumer. In a world without meaning, thinking agents can imbue their actions with meaning simply because they will it so. If Pinkie decides cereal is evil, it is evil. If twilight decides cereal is good. This entails that good and evil are relative to each person, which have their own slew of problems to consider, namely that the statement 'Good and evil are relative' is in of itself true for some and wrong for others, but that's a story for another day
Hey if you somehow actually read all this, flip a coin and say either blue or purple.
Who doesn't like onions on pizza?
9053342
All I have to say about this is that I believe that nothing has meaning until meaning is forced/injected into whatever the topic of discussion is. In essence, "This is my spoon. There are many like it, but this one is mine, and that's all that really matters right now." -quote, Me.
Also, Purple.
9053355
There’s a meme answer and a real answer. I’ll let you decide which is which.
The first answer is that we live in a universe where different sentient and sapient individual human beings lead different lives and make different decisions. As time progresses and more decisions present themselves, there comes a point where these individuals can no longer afford to consciously think about every choice. So more common choices are delegated to the subconcious mind, forever reduced to habit and preference. Thus, some individuals, for myriad reasons, decided that they hate onions on pizza and now they just do.
The second answer is people with actual taste.
A magnificent entry in the long-neglected "Pinkie gets existential over mindane phenomena" subgenre. Thank you for a wonderfully absurd read.
God, the entire first half is sensory porn. And I love it! I'm just inagining that warm feeling when you lay on that section of carpet that's been catching some sun through the crack in the window curtains. Delightful.
Second half....also liked it, but wow did that rabbit hole get deep really fast
Next story idea, Pinkie cheers up kids at the hospital, but then discovers that diabetes exists. Cue round 2 of pondeilring her existence and the inherent goods and evils of the world :P
9053336
Well there is a classic story for that.
Original cheerios are the only variety I know that I really do not care for. Other versions are fine but that is bland as can be.
Oh Pinkie you were so close to telling Dash how you feel about her...or was that just the crisis talking? With Pinkie it could be both.
9052683
Does... does that make me Twilight?
In more serious news, I loved the prose in this. The story was really quite pointless but the writing made it quite the enjoyable read. I will have to peruse your other works. Have an updoot!
See, this is why we eat Honey Nut Cheery-O's instead.
I'll never look at a box of Wheaties the same after what it did to Bruce Jenner...
I thought at first they were just going to be really stale, but you didn't go that way.
9053506
That's what I was referencing
I remember one time i had a breakdown as i was making a bowl of cereal. In my house there where two shelfs in the closet it wasent where we put food though on the bottom was the dogfood on the 1st shelf was the cat food as he got into it instead of using his bowl if it was on the ground and on the top shelf was my cereal hidden away in the utility closet to keep my brother from eating it i put it together and realized cereal is just peaople kibble sugary addicting with little substance and thats how i started my day crying my eyes out over a bowl of cereal
I want some of that.
OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
9053853
Yea Absolute always deserves some more views so thanks for reminding me of that story.
Brilliant.
Just wanted to say even not counting a possible PinkieDash reference this story is great fun. It is the sort of story I used to read a lot around here but I rarely get anymore. So thank you.
I laughed.
OH
NO
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
this episode brought to you by Oats ‘n Friends
People are born evil, tastebuds change over time and are predisposed towards sweet in the young, the best breakfast is the one with enough protein and fat to get you through a long day, and Pinkie needs a few therapy sessions and a priest.
Existential quandaries are fun to subvert.
Started reading before checking the author. Swishes it around my brain. "Huh, actually really good for cereal" checks author. "Huh, and only one gram sugar." Finds ending a little abrupt "And there's aftertaste, but I liked it."
This was a bit to existential for a story about being out of cereal.
How will they launch a 90kg proyectile over 300m then?
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All the crayons taste differently. Some people like blue and some like red. And some just paint with them.
9052729
Also, Rarity. She does not run on sugar like Pinkie and does not make workouts like Dash. If she would have eaten Crunch Supreme, she would get fat! The horror!
So she doesn't.
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Meet oatmeal. The plain flakes version. How you cook it is what you get.
9056345
But Pinkie Pie said:
Anyway I've eaten raw rolled oats. It's not as bad as Generic Oat Rings.
9056392
Rings, you just dump into milk and (try to) eat.
And porridge is to be cooked, sometimes to truly horrific results.
Also, that's why we're not fighting anymore - because offenders will be fed overcooked oatmeal.
Existential crisis over cereal.....alright.
I legitimately enjoy regular Cheerios, but this was great.
See this is why I stick to Shreddies, Bran Flakes - corn flakes at a push - or Coco Pops. I have never eaten Cheerio's but I am 99% sure I would find them revolting based or prior experience of related things.
Sod the existenial ruminations on the point of cerial - the point of it is, I like it, so I'mma eat it twice a day forever because I'm Undead and I can eat whatever I damn like.
Pinkie's reaction to being out of cerial is... less extreme than mine, but the world has never seen my reaction to being out of cerial - and 'tis as well, for it would be a horror that the living universe would witness only once.
Just pure comedy gold!!