MLP: TCR

by Omlliw

My Little Ghosty (Are you kiddin' me?)

Ghost woke up, a familiar set of characters surrounding him: Twilight, Rarity, Fluttershy (who had a hoof on Ghost's neck), Spike, some sort of pink fruitcake (and Ghost HATED fruitcake) and an orange pony, with a couple of beer cans in front of it. Suddenly, as if on cue, Ghost's belly rumbled.
"Be...eeer..." he moaned, reaching towards Applejack, but unable to grab one as Fluttershy was still pressing him down.
"Now, now, Ghost. What's the magic word?" Fluttershy asked, staring at him, blocking his view.
"...ferchristsakes..." Ghost pushed Fluttershy away and went over to his beer supply on shaky legs. Behind him he could hear Twilight, Rarity and Spike murmuring amongst themselves. Ghost caught a "Who's gonna tell him?" from Twilight.
Ghost plodded forwards, next to Applejack (wondering when she'd grown so much), grabbed an ice-cold Johnny Walker, opened it and downed the whole thing in one go.
Of course, that's what he wanted to happen. Fate had other ideas.
As he tried to grab the beverage, his eyes bleary and half-open, he swatted it off the table and it landed on the floor with a CLINK! The capitalist cursed to himself, and walked over to it again. Once he reached it, he went out to grab it, only for it to, again, roll away from him, this time its destination was at the hooves of the two unicorns. This time, Ghost audibly cursed a rather loud and tired "Piece'a CRAP!"
Rarity looked at Twilight, who was worried about Ghost. Fluttershy and Spike had backed away to safety, both scared now that Ghost had awoken. Ghost shot a hateful look directly into Twilight's eyes. Twilight's horn flared lavender, and Ghost's jaw dropped to the floor once the spell had been completed.
In front of him stood a glowing mirror. And the reflection of a pony incarnate of himself that he'd seen floating around "the internets" had its mouth wide open right back at him. Ghost lifted his right hand. The reflection lifted its left hoof. And then both of them started screaming.
Approximately two minutes of screaming later, Ghost put a shaky hoof in front of his face, so he could see the true extent of the change without a mirror to help him.
"What did you fruitbowl ponies DO to me!?" Ghost yelled.
"I'm afraid that was my fault," said Twilight, calmly. Figures, thought Ghost. She's always had it out for me. "I tried to return Pinkie here back to her normal pony form, but you got in the way...and I guess I turned you into a pony instead. But it's only temporary: In a little while I'll be able to return you back to normal!"
"NO FAIR!" Pinkie shouted. "I was first in line! You gotta wait your turn, John!"
"Make that a long while," Twilight shrugged.
"How. Long." growled Ghost through gritted teeth, pissed off at Pinkie for reminding him that she had to call him John Conquest because she was afraid of ghosts.
"A couple of hours," Twilight lied. If she was going to return Pinkie to normal first, Ghost would have to be done tomorrow morning at the earliest. "For the time being, you should try and get used to your new form." Ghost turned around to look at Applejack, beer stained around her maw.
"Screw that! Look at Twitter! They can hear me, and all of you, and I'm getting even more popular than before! This is a glorious moment for True Capitalist Radio, and you goddamn ponies may have ruined my Baller Friday by turning me into one o' you, but you won't ruin my Radio Graffiti! Now GEDDOUTTAHERE!" Spike, Rarity and Fluttershy instantly ran out, followed by the happy canter of Pinkie, and Twilight's slow trot, her eyes rolling. Applejack didn't move an inch. Ghost smiled at her. "Let's start this, and let's start it..."
"...RIGHT NOW!" they both shouted.

***

"617, Radio Graffiti." Ghost's clear voice cut through the stale air. Most of the calls beforehand (or should that be "beforehoof"?) were about Ghost's current state. Ghost refused to answer each one.
"Ghost," came a male voice from a lively club, "ah, I hope you win that Shorty Award so you can come down to New York City and finally SUUUUCK MAH DIIIICK! HAHAAA!"
"God...DAMN ALL OF YOU!" Ghost launched his hooves into his sealed cans, which seemed more natural now that he learned he couldn't pick them up (or open them) with his hands any more. Instead, Applejack had been teaching him how to do it with his tongue and teeth. While finding it completely disgusting, he really needed his beer. "Take about ten steps away from my freakin' buttcrack with this talk! 214, Radio Graffiti." The sounds of an organ could be heard. High-quality, clearly not a recording. "WOO! We got a True Organist here, baby!" The organist played a few more notes before Ghost finally realised just what it was playing. "OH, HE'S PLAYIN' JUNKYARD AMERICA, BABY! HE'S PLAYIN' JUNKYARD AMERICA, HAHAHAHAHAAAA! Thanks man, thanks for playing Junkyard America. 815, Radio Graffiti."
"Hey Ghost, how ya doin'?" asked a deep voice.
"How's it goin'?"
"Makin' tofu right now."
"Oh, Jesus Christ, tofu, are you kiddin' me, wha-what are you, some kind of a fruit? 313, Radio Graffiti."
"Oh, screw you, granny! I spit on yer grave, bitch!" A splice, of course.
"Goddammit, you asshole. 347, Radio Graffiti."
And the calls, questions, and cans went on long into the night, before both ponies occupying the studio fell asleep.