Aight Boom
This morning was like most other mornings. The unrelenting blare of his digital alarm clock pulled Big Shaq for sleeps sultry embrace. Big Shaq rolled out of his queen size oak bed, leaving the white linen sheets in disarray. He checked his alarm clock, 6:30 AM. two and a half hours of sleep, bloody wonderful. Big Shaq stumbled to the bathroom, still half asleep, kicking away a comforter that had wrapped itself around his legs in a persuasive attempt to pull him back to bed. But, he couldn’t go back to bed, not today, today would be the first-ever professional recording of his hit single ‘Mans Not Hot’.
On his arduous journey to the porcelain bowl, he managed to catch his big toe on the doorframe. “Oh no my toe,” said Big Shaq, whilst looking down at his toe.
He hobbled to the kitchen and grabbed an ice pack out of the fridge to cool his swelling toe because “big toe can never be hot.”
Hobbling back to the bathroom, careful this time to avoid the doorframe, he stood in the shower. The cold water ran over his dark skin finishing the job his the dull pain in his stubbed toe has started.
After his ten-minute shower gingerly slipped into a fresh pair of boxers, that he had laid out the night before, careful not to further damage his stubbed toe. He hopped out of bed/bathroom down the hall and back into the kitchen.
Busying himself with breakfast Big Shaq laid out two bananas and poured himself a bowl of chocolate Rice Krispies®, with milk. “Gotta get that potassium ting,” Big Shaq muttered to himself as he peeled the first banana.
After chowing down on the bananas and cereal, Big Shaq walked back into his bedroom, got dressed in his long joggers, long sleeve shirt, and heavy winter pumpy, with his .44 inside. He returned to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and walked back out into the main hall of his downtown England flat.
He slid into his light up Timbs and made his way to the elevator. Descending down to the garage, he quickly found his new black Tesla Roadster, which he had brought because ‘earth can never be hot’.
“Mans don’t believe in the global warming ting, they believe their environment protected-ed, they played themselves,” Big Shaq muttered under his breath as he sunk into the smooth leather seats of his Tesla. The car had been expensive, it had cost him most revenue of his most recent album “Perspiration Ting.”
He drove the sleek black car out of his driveway and began heading to the business district of England (his city).
Whether by lack of sleep or boredom or a combination of the two, Big Shaq did not end up paying much head to his surroundings as he drove to the recording studio. Until of course he stopped at a defaced stop sign. The stop sign had been written over in black spray paint and red “ain’t no black in the Union Jack.”
Mans ainit got time got this shit, fam, Big Shaq thought to himself and sped away from the sign. The rest of the ride was, for the most part, uneventful, with the exception of a brief call on his tele. It was his bro, Aznee.
“Bruv when we throwing the banger to celebrate Perspiration Ting?” Aznee asked.
Big Shaq respectfully reminded Aznee to “check the statistacs fam, mans international now, mans ain't got as much time as previously, init.”
“Aight then bruv, but when am I getting my check for doing your music video ting bruv? I can’t live on benefits forever,” Aznee explained.
“Aight listen here bruv, we ain't even shot the Mans Not Hot ting yet, how you gonna get paid for something you haven’t even done, init fam?” Big Shaq retorted, and hung up, he was sick of other people’s shit, and he hadn’t even got to work yet.
Fifteen more minutes of driving took him to the business district, and after wrestling his car into a parking spot, Big Shaq walked to the entrance of Island studios.
After a bit of a trudge up two flights of stairs, Big Shaq met with his producer Lee. Lee was a reasonably tall pasty white Englishman who stood about 5’10 and was addicted to smoking cheap fags and profiting off of other people’s ideas.
“You’re late,” said Lee.
“Then let’s get it started bruv,” Big Shaq responded, and stepped into the recording booth.
As much as Big Shaq wanted to let go of this morning's frustrations, he couldn’t. So, instead, he channeled all of his energy into his singing and began.
“Aight boom–” was all that made it out his mouth.
Everything around him was black, the recording studio had vanished. He was falling, at least he felt like he was falling. A speck of light soon grew into a dot and into a great oval, until it engulfed him in its radius. Then he wasn’t falling anymore, instead, he was staring down at his feet, which had found a new home on a reasonably fancy wooden floor.
Everything around him seemed to be lower resolution than usual. But, by far the most surprising addition to his surroundings was the small, stunned, mint green unicorn that stood about two feet away from him.
“Who or what are you?” the small pony asked.
“Mans is Big Shaq, the one and only,” Big Shaq responded.
“Well, Ummm, hi, I’m Lyra, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Big Shaq, the one and only,” the small pony replied, extending a forehoof.
Big Shaq, uncertain about the gesture, or about how he’d been magically teleported to a pony land where everyone can talk, did what any man would do in this situation: assume he was high off his ass. Well if I’m devastated anyway, I might as well have some fun.
Big Shaq fist bumped the extended hoof, only an idiot with a looser grasp of anatomy than a professor of homeopathic medicine would assume that a pony would shake hooves.
The ‘Lyra’ seemed to be appeased by this gesture and placed her hoof back on the floorboard.
“Common, I’ll get you some tea,” Lyra said, trotting out of what could now be identified as a common room.
Big Shaq followed her into what appeared to be a kitchen, where she began to prepare a pot of tea with her magic.
He blinked a little he watched her levitate the kettle and tea bags over onto a stovetop.
“While this is boiling, I'm gonna go get a friend of mine who might like to meet you,” She said, her back still turned.
“Everyone wants to meet me Bruv,” he responded.
She chuckled and trotted out of the house. Lyra didn’t know why she felt so comfortable around Big Shaq, maybe it was those wondrously new appendages, or his minotaur-like body, or the fact that he’d looked just as confused by his appearance as she was. She didn’t spend much time dwelling on it though, her main priority was to get to Twilight.
Her furious knocking on the castle door was answered by Spike.
“Hey Lyra, what’s up?” the purple dragon asked.
“I need to see Twilight, this weird hairless minotaur just appeared in my living room!”
“Right, let me go get her,” Spike said and vanished behind the door.
Moments later, Twilight appeared, her dragon on her back.
“What’s the problem Lyra?” The alicorn asked.
“Come with me princess, I’ll show you.”
Five minutes later they were back at Lyra’s house, Lyra having given a rudimentary explanation of her situation. Lyra led Twilight and Spike into the kitchen. The pair looked quite taken aback at the strange creature that had just pulled a boiling kettle off an open flame with his bare hand. Lyra wanted to ask If he was ok but he seemed to read her mind and said, “Don’t worry about it bruv, mans not hot.”
Twilight regained her composure first, putting a pleasant smile on her face she looked Big Shaq right in the eyes.
“Hi, I’m Twilight Sparkle, the princess of friendship.”
END OF CHAPTER 1