> My Little Pony, My Little Pony, and Me 317: Hello, Humans!
>  by Sixes_And_Sevens
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Bank Scroll Exhibition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The McColtroy Brothers are not experts, and their advice should never be taken seriously. Scraps claims to be a ‘sexpert’, but if there’s a degree on his wall… well, I haven’t seen it. Also, this show isn’t for kids, which I mention only so the foals out there will know how cool they are for listening. What’s up, you cool foals?



An earth pony stallion with a sea-green coat and a dark mane grinned as he leaned in a little closer to his microphone, the last strains of the show’s familiar theme music giving him that same old familiar thrill as it had their first episode. “Welcome to My Brother, My Brother, and Me, an advice show for a harmonic era. I’m your oldest brother, Juice McColtroy!”
To his right, another stallion, whose coat was a wine-dark shade of violet, grinned. He was a little skinnier than Juice, and sported a brown beard and a pair of glasses. “I’m your middlest brother, Scraps McColtroy!”
To his right, the final stallion adjusted his glasses. His coat was a light cream color, and he wore his brown mane close-cropped. “And I’m your sweet baby brother and thirty-under-thirty media luminary Ditto McColtroy.”
“Now, boys,” Scraps said, glancing from one brother to the other. “I feel like maybe we should just jump right into this hooves first.”
Both Juice and Ditto looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. “What?” Juice asked.
“What, like… just go straight into the show?” Ditto asked, tilting his head quizzically.
“Oh, no!” Scraps said, waving his hooves frantically. “Oh, no, no, no, no! That’s the very last thing that we should do.”
“Really?” Ditto said, frowning. “‘Cause, y’know, it sounded like that was exactly what you were suggesting…”
“No. I misspoke, and I apologize.”
“We can go right in with the questions if you want, Scraps,” Juice said, holding up a thick scroll. “I got ‘em right here.”
“No, no. No.”
“This one is from Braeburn --” 
Scraps cut his brother off. “Nope. No! Ugh, come on, you guys! Didn’t you get the scroll?”
Ditto tilted his head. “Scroll? What scroll? I get lots of scrolls, Scrappy.”
“Yeah, me too,” Juice agreed. “Mostly about boner pills.”
“Oh, I know!” Scraps said. “Boner pills, Neighgerian alicorns, bank notices… they just never end!”
“Hey, guys, what do you do with your scrolls?” Ditto asked. “I tear ‘em up and mulch my garden with ‘em.”
Scraps gasped in mock horror. “Ditto! That’s so rude! I respond to all my scrolls right away. I mean, not the bank ones. The bank is always so impersonal.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ditto said, nodding. “It’s always ‘To Whom It May Concern’, ‘Addressed to Occupant’, ‘Your account is one thousand bits overdrawn’. So cold.”
Juice was valiantly struggling to bite back his laughter. His voice high and tight, he asked, “So what do you do with the bank scrolls, Scraps?”
“Oh, I send them back.”
“You send them back?”
“I send them back… with a lollipop inside.”
Ditto cut in. “Now, Scraps? Why a lollipop?”
“Well, I hope it’s so maybe next time they’ll be a little more considerate when they write to me. That’s why they have lollipops at the bank, after all. Maybe it’ll be something like, ‘Dear nice lollipop stallion,’ y’know? Maybe they’ll add in a little more effort.”
“Uh-huh. And, uh, Juice? What about you?”
“Oh, I frame them.”
“You frame them?”
“Yeah. ‘Cause, y’know, like… a letter, when you really think about it, a letter is a piece of art. Right?”
“Okay…”
“Uh-huh…”
“No, but like, somepony sat down. They made a bunch of ink marks on paper. That’s art! That’s art, and they sent it to me, obviously, so I could frame it and hang it in my Letter Museum.”
“Okay now. Okay now, boys?” Scraps glanced between his two brothers again. “We’ve all had a lot of laughs here today, but what I have to tell you is serious.”
Ditto pursed his lips. “We don’t really… that’s not really what we do here, Scraps.”
“Yeah,” Juice agreed. “We’re more of a, y’know. Comedy show?”
“Yeah, but listen. Hey, everypony? Everypony out there? This is a very special episode of My Brother My Brother and Me.”
“Scraps. Please tell me this isn’t a drug PSA,” Juice said. “Please, my brother, tell me this one thing…”
“It’s not a drug PSA, and if you’ll hush for one single minute I’ll tell you what it is,” Scraps said. He waited for a long moment. “Okay. I have gotten word from Princess Celestia--”
“Bullshit,” Ditto said immediately. “I call bullshit right here, right now.”
“It’s true! She said that her former student, Princess Twilight Sparkle, has discovered a way to send messages across universes. There have been a lot of experiments with it, using Princess Twilight’s own adventures for material.”
Juice nodded slowly. “Okay… so what does that have to do with us?”
Scraps grinned. “Well. The messages have been received by an intelligent species known as… Hugh Menz? Humans. Sure, that sounds right. And now that they know about Equestria’s existence, the Princesses are trying to send along some of our media, to sort of introduce ourselves to them, culturally speaking.”
Ditto stared at his brother. “And we were picked.”
“Yes!”
“Us. The radio show that once claimed that you could commit infinite crime in Canterlot because it doesn’t have an actual police force and the guards are, quote ‘completely fuckin’ useless’.”
“Yep!”
“The radio show that debated for no fewer than twenty minutes the relative downsides and, uh, ‘merits’ of having a dog with a unicorn horn versus a cat with pegasus wings.”
“Mh-hm!”
“The radio show which has not only read aloud but actively created what is by my count no fewer than thirty-seven actual crimes against equinity.”
“That is correct.”
Ditto smiled broadly and waved at an imaginary audience. “Okay! Bye humanity! See you again, uh, never.”
“Oh, c’mon, Ditto.”
“Yeah,” Juice agreed. “You never know. Maybe the human world is just as fucked up as Equestria is!”
“Yeah, Ditto, maybe it’s even more fucked up.”
“I sincerely doubt that, just on the grounds that Discord… exists? But, fine. Let’s keep the ball going. So, if we’re broadcasting to a new audience, I guess we need to reintroduce ourselves?”
“Yes, that is where I was going with this--”
“I’m Juice McColtroy!”
Scraps sighed. “Not our names, dummy! They haven’t just tuned in. I mean the show!”
Ditto pushed his glasses up his muzzle. “Now, to be fair, Scrappy, I feel like that if they’ve been listening to the show so far, the fact that it’s taken us about ten minutes to actually get to the point of this bit is pretty much all the description of our ethos that they need.”
“...True.”
Juice cleared his throat. “Well, uh, basically, we’re an advice show, and we answer questions that are mailed into us from… all over the world, basically, plus questions sent in from the Yahooves Answers Service.”
“Except we’re idiots and all of our advice is super bad!” Ditto added. “That’s… it’s very important that you know all of this is fake and wrong and for goofs.”
“And that includes the opening part of this episode,” Scraps put in.
“Oh shit, yeah, you should… no, that was all fake stuff, I swear. Scraps, please, I’m begging you, if you’re making this ‘human’ stuff up, you do gotta tell us right now.”
“Otherwise it’s entrapment!” Juice put in.
“Look, I’ve got the scroll right here!” There was a rustling noise and then absolute silence for several seconds.
“Boy. This is great radio!” Scraps said brightly.
“Scraps…” Ditto said slowly. “This is…”
“This is an official royal document!” Juice said, his voice cracking. “Fuck! What is -- the fuck!”
“Hey, listen, I know what I just said about the whole opening being fake, but like… we are framing this, yes? Okay, you’re nodding. Good. Good good. Oh my Celestia…”
“That’s who wrote it!” Scraps said brightly.
“Oh no,” Juice said, his face going pale. “No. That means…”
“Celestia listens to our show?” Ditto asked, his voice rising several registers as the sentence went on. “Oh no no no no, how many times have we taken her name in vain on air?”
“A lot?” Juice tried.
“And she apparently still likes us enough to share our show with a whole alien race,” Scraps said with a shrug.
“Scraps, how are you not freaking out about this?” Ditto demanded.
“Oh, I did that when I first got the scroll!” Scraps assured him. “That’s why I was so surprised neither of you got one…”
“Should we explain what the Yahooves Answers Service is to the humans?” Juice asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Absolutely not,” Ditto said firmly. “If they have some kind of equivalent, they’ll understand. If they don’t, I don’t want to be responsible for spreading it to entire alien species. That… that’s not gonna sit well on my conscience.”
> Home Alone Extended Universe
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Talking about the Yahooves Answers, are you boys ready to start in on the actual questions?” Scraps asked.
“I mean, no?” Ditto replied, stifling his laughter.
“Okay," Juice said, picking up a piece of paper. "First question. 


Howdy, McColtroy Brothers.
I absolutely love baking, and my very best recipe is my homemade apple pies. They’ve taken first prize in competitions locally, and even throughout my extended family, which let me tell you, ain’t no mean feat. However, my best friend has gotten into the habit of sneaking pies off the windowsill while they’re cooling, which I honestly did think was only a thing in old kids’ books. Worse still, she’s influenced my pie-crazy coltfriend to do the same thing. Brothers, I love them both and always gladly give them both heaping servings of my pastries, but goldarnint, I want my slice too!
	Best wishes,
		-Braeburn (he/him).”


Scraps leaned forward in his seat. “Well now, the first thing that I would do would be to set up a bunch of Home Alone traps.”
“Well obviously.”
“Yes, clearly. I can’t believe you even thought that needed saying, Scraps.”
“Just the typical stuff, you know?” Scraps continued. “Electrified door knob.”
“Swinging paint cans,” Ditto said, nodding. “Tacks all over.”
“All over the floor?” Scraps asked.
“Yeah, there. On the walls. In the pie. Generally all over.”
“In the pie?” Scraps’ eyebrows shot up. “Ditto, you’re going to want to eat that pie later, you don’t want tacks in it. You want berries, or apples, or pumpkin filling.”
“I think I’d rather have tacks in my pie than pumpkin filling, Scraps.”
“Well -- okay, but my point still stands. Now, if you put out a decoy pie, that one you could fill with tacks.”
“Now, boys,” Juice said, spreading his hooves. “These are all great ideas. Absolute classics, every last one of them.”
“Thank you.”
“But Braeburn -- he doesn’t have time to set up all those traps! You know how long it takes to make a real good pie? That’s a full day right there! By the time he’s made the pie, all the traps have already been sprung or dismantled or what have you, and it’s an absolute sitting duck.”
“Hm…” Ditto nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I see what you mean…”
“So here’s my proposal, and it’s just a little kind of a tweak on Scraps’ proposal. We don’t make this Home Alone.”
“Not Home Alone?” Scraps asked.
“No. We make it Spy vs. Spy.”
“Now, Juice. You realize of course that that is not a movie,” Ditto said, holding up a hoof.
“No, no, that's very true, it isn’t. But think about it. You got the best friend. You got the coltfriend. Both of them are after the same goal, that scrumptious, fresh, hot, yummy-in-your-tummy pie.”
“Okay. With you so far,” Scraps said.
“So then maybe you whisper a few words in the coltfriend’s ear about how your best friend goes around saying how she was swiping pies well before he got into the game. And you mutter to your best friend that your coltfriend loves pie so much, he’s got plans to steal every last one you make.”
“Okay,” Ditto said.
“And then you got what? Two pie thieves --”
“Pie vs. Pie.”
“--Yes, thank you, Scraps. Two pie thieves pitted against each other. And maybe you leave out the cattle prod and paint tins and rope and tacks where both parties can get at them.”
“And then they Home Alone one another…” Ditto said, nodding along.
“Leaving your pie untouched, exactly!” Juice concluded.
“Uh, one problem,” Scraps put in.
“One problem?” Juice repeated, a little hurt.
“Is it that now your best friend and your coltfriend are going to hate each other forever now?” Ditto asked. “‘Cause I think that might be a little problem.”
“No. Well, maybe that too,” Scraps allowed. “But what if one of them is just better than the other at traps? Making them, escaping them… what if one of them actually gets the pie?”
“Well, then they’ve won your twisted little game of pitting pony against pony and the prize is theirs, Scrappy,” Juice said.
“Yeah, they’ve lived up to your Marecchiavellian expectations and earned the pie! It’s simple, Scraps.”
“Well, okay. Or he could also just let the pie cool on the counter.”
Both Juice and Ditto frowned. Scraps held up a hoof. “Wait! Wait. Let me finish. He lets it cool on a counter in the middle of a Saw maze.”
“Oooh,” both of his brothers chorused.
Ditto put on a low, gruff voice. “I’m Jigsaw the piemaker. You want a slice of this nice hot apple pie? First you’ll have to make and eat a pie made out of your own butt meat.”
Juice was practically vibrating with laughter. “Okay. Okay.”
“Now, in order to open the oven door, you’ll have to walk on the giant rolling pin. But be careful you don’t fall off into the pit of hot, bubbling apple filling.”
Scraps put a hoof to his chin. “Do you ever wonder if Jigsaw is just the grown-up version of the colt from Home Alone?”
Juice finally broke into peals of laughter. “He-- he’s so small,” he wheezed. “Maybe he’s not even grown up!”
“Yeah, Saw could just be Home Alone 5, honestly,” Ditto said.
“Home Alone 3, Ditto,” Scraps corrected. “Anything without Marecullay Coltkin in it doesn’t count canonically.”
“Sure, sure.”
Juice cut in. “Happy Hearth’s Warming, Sticky Wet Smelly Bandits. I’ve made some improvements this year. Wanna bet what you’ll be known as by New Year? My money’s on the Buttless Bandits.”
“This is why you don’t mess with young, innocent, impressionable foals on Hearth’s Warming,” Ditto added. “It warps them.”
“Have some holiday pie for your troubles, boys. Oh no, I forgot to mention, it’s full of tacks. You’ll have to eat it all to open the portcullis.”
“And then when they go through the portcullis, they both get hit in the head with cans of paint, yes?” Scraps asked.
“Oh, absolutely,” Juice said.
“Y’know,” Ditto said thoughtfully. “I don’t think Saw can be Home Alone 5.”
“Three,” Scraps said forcefully.
“Sure. You can’t go from a rich little foal -- let’s be real here, a shitty little foal who did, starting in the second film, start to actively lure his victims into his traps --”
“Oh, absolutely,” Juice agreed. “He led them what, halfway across Manehattan into his dark twisted paint-can fantasy.”
“Right. Be that as it may, I don’t think you can go straight from that into Saw, exactly. I think that the next step for the Marecullay Coltkin character in this saga is in fact Spy vs. Spy.”
“Now, Ditto, is he the spy in white or the spy in black?” Scraps asked.
“Oh, spy in white. He likes to play at the ‘good guy’, but really he’s just as twisted, if not more so, than his negative counterpart,” Ditto said. “I see him working as an undercover op for the government first, secretly reveling in his dark and gory fight with the other spy, each time getting a little more sharp, a little more honed.”
“Now, just to be clear,” Scraps said. “You’re making a Home Alone Cinematic Universe, yes?”
“No,” Ditto said. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, Scraps.”
“Oh.”
“It’s multimedia, clearly this is the Home Alone Extended Universe.”
“I see. I see. My bad.”
“So what, one day he just goes rogue?” Juice asks.
“Yeah. He finally kills his enemy. For the first time, his tricks and traps have claimed a life, and it feels good,” Ditto said, tilting his head back. “He gets a medal and a new assignment, and he’s more vicious than he’s ever been before. He keeps moving up. Ponies are terrified of him, and one day he goes too far and is stripped of his rank and kicked out.”
“And that takes us into Saw?” Scraps asked.
“Mmm. No, not yet, I think there needs to be some kind of intermediary stage. With Saw, he’s too well set-up, too established. There’s gotta be a prequel.”
"Uh... Jackass?" Juice suggested.
Ditto scrunched up his face. "Maybe? Maybe. Or one of those other pranks shows."
"Or Wipeout," Scraps said. "You gotta do the big painful obstacle course for money."
"I think Wipeout is already part of the Double-Dare Cinematic Universe," Juice said.
"Fuck. You're right," Scraps said.
"We'll use Jackass as a placeholder for now," Ditto said.
"Actually, no," Scraps said. "I think the escalation goes Home Alone, Jackass, Spy Vs. Spy, Saw."
"...Yeah, okay," Ditto conceded.
“And then we close off with him finally getting taken down…” Juice said.
“...by the daughters of the Wet Sticky Skunk-Stinking Goopy Buttless Bandits,” Scraps concluded.
“How do they do it?” Ditto asked, fascinated.
“I think maybe they get help from the creepy old pony who lives next door to him,” Juice said. “You gotta bookend this kind of cinematic experience.”
“You ever notice that the creepy old person got weirder as the movies went on?” Scraps asked. “The first guy was just a grumpy guy with a shovel. Then there was Brenda Flicker with her bird army… by the end of this series, it’s just gonna be a taxidermist with a knife collection!”
“You think it’s gonna be the knives that take Jigsaw Marecullay Coltkin out,” Juice said solemnly. “But no. The taxidermist throws a bunch of stuffing into the air at him and a swarm of taxidermy animals descends.”
“And then he goes to jail under the name ‘The Fluffy Serial Killer,” Ditto said.
“Beautiful! Beautiful, absolute poetic cinema,” Scraps said.
> Deep Cover Secret Changeling Temp
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you boys ready for a Yahooves question?” Ditto asked.
“Ditto, I was born ready,” Juice said, composing himself.
“Okay. This question was sent in by Yahooves Mailpony Ditzy Doo, makin’ the rounds, and it was written by Yahooves user… nobody, because this service is a piece of actual toilet shit.” Ditto sighed. “Okay. By Yahooves user, uh… Stapler… McStapleson.”
“Ditto, did you just do the thing where you looked at your desk for a name and saw a stapler both times?” Scraps asked.
“No. I was looking at junk mail from Staples advertising their staplers.”
“Ahh.”
“Anyway, the headline is,I think I have been replaces by Changeling please help?"
"Oh boy."
"Oh, boy-see."


"I think I have been replaces by Changeling please help? 
I have recently noticed that my behavior has been changing and I am habing hard time remembering names of friends and coworkers? Also craving sugar. Have I been replace by Changeling and if so how do I find where my body has been taken please help?"


“Okay…” Scraps said slowly.
“Okay,” Juice said. “So, one. This person has definitely been replaced by a changeling, yes?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Scraps said, nodding. “Absolutely.”
“So now what do they do about it?” Juice asked.
Ditto shrugged. “I mean, I guess the first step would be to turn yourself in to the changeling authorities.”
“Wait, I’m sorry, Ditto. Did you say turn yourself in... to the changeling authorities or turn yourself into the changeling authorities?” Scraps asked.
“You know, that’s a very good point. Clearly, this is a changeling already off the grid, breaking all the rules, so why would they stop now?” Ditto said. “They become King Thorax, take his throne, rule over all of the changelings and replace whoever they want.”
“Would a changeling know if a changeling had replaced another changeling?” Juice wondered.
There was a long pause. “I have so many questions now,” Scraps whispered.
“Right, okay, but getting back to the point,” Ditto began.
“Now that’s pretty off-brand for us,” Juice said.
Scraps shook his head. “You turn yourself in -- you surrender to the changeling authorities, and then they can take it from there, right?”
“Well… yeah,” Ditto said, rubbing his chin. “Unless…”
“Unless,” both of his brothers chorused, turning to look at him. 
“Unless you’re a deep cover agent,” Ditto said.
“Ooooh,” Scraps said, nodding. “Super-secret super-spy.”
“Exactly. You’re in there so deep, even you don’t know what you’re doing,” Ditto said.
Juice stared off into the distance. “So… are we super-secret spies, then? Because -- let me tell you, boys, I never have any Celestia-damn clue what I’m doing.”
“Wait wait wait,” Ditto said, waving his hooves. “I don’t think -- I mean -- we’ve established that Celestia herself does actually listen to this show, yes?”
“I mean… yeah…” Juice trailed off, horrified. “Oh, shit. Oh, no. We’ve taken her name in vain… how many times on this program?”
“A lot,” Scraps said, his voice suddenly grim. “Like… a lot.”
They were silent for a long minute. “Well…” Scraps said slowly. “She wrote to us. And it’s not like she told us to stop--”
“Scraps, let me stop you right there, because what you’re implying is buck the fuck wild,” Ditto said. “Are you saying that Celestia enjoys our show not in spite of the fact that we use her name to swear about fifty times an episode, but because of it?”
“Well, maybe just ‘in spite of it’,” Scraps admitted. “But if it bothered her a lot, she’d definitely have mentioned it, right? Especially for the release of this special episode for the humans.”
“I… guess?” Juice said, tilting his head. “Fuck. I dunno. Maybe she likes the familiarity. Maybe she gets off on it.”
“JUICE!” Ditto shrieked. “NO! BAD JUICE. As we have established, not only is she the leader of our fuckin’ nation, she is also a listener.”
“Yeah. I mean, if she enjoys this show, who knows what else she’s into?”
Ditto took several deep breaths. “Okay. Okay. Getting back to the question before the angry sun goddess comes knocking on our door -- you know this is getting edited out, right? You know that.”
“Sure, sure,” Juice said.
“So, back to the question,” Scraps said. “I’ve had this different twist on it. I know we were saying this has to be an undercover sleeper agent for the secret changeling spy agency or whatever, but… what if it’s the other way around?”
“... You’re gonna need to clarify that one, Scraps,” Ditto said, leaning back in his chair.
“What if this was just some innocent changeling, walking along and going about their business, when suddenly -- BAM! They get kidnapped by this guy --”
“--The guy they’re impersonating?” Juice asked, perplexed. 
“Exactly! And they put this poor changeling through a bunch of mental conditioning or whatever, give it a whole new identity.”
“Question asker’s identity,” Ditto said, still sounding a little unsure.
“Yes! So then the changeling replaces question asker -- becomes question asker -- and the original pony goes off to start a new life on the other side of the continent with their secret lover, leaving their family and friends none the wiser.”
“Like the Bourne Identity,” Juice said, nodding slowly.
“Exactly! Maybe. I’ve never seen the Bourne Identity.”
Juice’s face fell. “Me neither,” he admitted.
Ditto was nodding. “Okay. Okay, I like this,” he said. “I do have just one little tweak?”
“Oh, by all means!” Scraps said, gesturing for his brother to continue.
“This isn’t so much a permanent thing, it’s just that question asker has this really awkward social event coming up…”
“A company picnic,” Scraps said, nodding.
“Family reunion,” Juice suggested.
“Second cousin’s wedding!”
“Oh, man, you just know Great-Aunt Candelabra’s gonna be there and get all up on your jock about when you’re gonna get married…”
“Exactly, something like that,” Ditto said. “So now question asker -- original question asker, I mean. Man, this is getting hard to keep track of. Anyway, they’re so desperate to get out of it, they kidnap and/or hire and/or brainwash a changeling to impersonate them at second cousin Ticket’s wedding. They don’t gotta go, the changeling gets a nice meal out of it and maybe some money…”
“I think you might have just stumbled on the next great business venture of our era, Ditto,” Juice said. “You come up with a good name, and the three of us are set for life.”
“A temp agency,” Scraps said. “You could call it, uh…”
“Gotta think fast, boys. Best name gets the business,” Ditto said.
“Impersonators Incorporated,” Scraps tried. “Um, The Doppelgang.”
“Horse Copy,” Juice said. “Shit, wait, Copyhorse. Like a copycat, but a horse!”
“Doppelgang is strong,” Ditto said. “I feel like you boys might be focusing too much on the stand-in part and not the part where you avoid bad social interactions, maybe.”
“Stand-Ins is actually pretty strong…” Juice mused.
“Social Stand-Ins,” Scraps said firmly.
“Alright, that’ll do it,” Ditto said. “To the Scraps go the spoils.”
“Yay!” Scraps said. “Alright, I guess I’ll get the paperwork drawn up on an undercover changeling temp agency.”
“After the episode,” Juice said.
“Oh, certainly.”
“And we each get shares in the company, right?” Ditto asked. “It was all our idea.”
“Hmm..." Scraps pondered this. "Nope. You said whoever gets the name gets the business, and I got the name.”
Ditto frowned. “Well, you can be the CEO, but like… c’mon Scrapsy.”
“No, sorry, I’ve already let the fame and fortune of my position go to my head. I might do anything, now! I could… um, I could…”
“Go on,” Juice said, resting his chin on his hoof. “Imagine your most hedonistic desires. I’m honestly curious to know what they are.”
“I mean… I’m not a young stallion these days,” Scraps said. “So late night partying is out, I wanna go to bed at eight. I don’t wanna cheat on my wife, because she’s awesome, and I don’t wanna be a bad example for my daughter, either!”
“Aw, c’mon, Scraps, there’s gotta be something!” Ditto said.
“No, not really. All I can really think of is a bidet, and I’ve already got one of those. Maybe I could buy really stupidly expensive dice. Like, made out of gold or gems or whatever, and pull them out every time we play Ogres and Oubliettes for our other podcast.”
“That sounds cool and all, but you did mention bidets, and I’ve started this new rule where any time any of us mentions a bidet, we gotta change topics immediately,” Ditto said.
“But they’re so nice for your bottom!” Scraps said.
“Yeah, c’mon, Ditto. Bidets, ghosts, and shows from our childhoods that maybe half a dozen ponies still remember. Those are like the three pillars of our whole scene!”
“Nope. Movin’ on.”
“But--”
“Movin’ on.”
> Just Eat Some Dirt
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, fine, next question,” Juice said.


	Dear brothers,
My husband and I have made plans to visit some relatives in the country next month for an extended stay while our apartment is fumigated. All of us are earth ponies, but my husband and I have spent our entire lives in Manehattan. I want for the two of us to be able to connect with our rural relatives, as well as our earth pony roots. What should we do?
Sincerely,
V. Orange.


“Now -- boys, for the new listeners, I feel like we should say that all three of us are, in fact, earth ponies,” Ditto said. “Which, I will say this, does make it a little harder to advise the other pony races on certain matters of wing and horn, as well as advising nonpony species on certain other traits which the three of us do not share with them.”
“Yeah, we’re considering maybe franchising,” Juice said. “Getting a few more locations to send specific queries to. Interested parties of brothers can send their applications to P.O. box 153 in Hoofington, Equestria.”
“Yeah,” Ditto said. “But--”
“Parties of sisters can also apply,” Scraps added. “Or siblings that are of other genders, or mixed-gender sets.”
“Yeah, we don’t discriminate based on gender. You just have to be siblings, and there have to be three of you, and you have to be all one-hundo percent ridiculous goof-clowns,” Ditto said. “But as I was saying, although we aren’t qualified to answer all questions for all species, I can say that we try our best to avoid bias by answering all questions in the dumbest possible way. Now, with that in mind. Boys. We were raised in the Appalachians. We’re good ol’ country boys.”
“Ditto, you and Juice are video game journalists --” Scraps said. 
Ditto frowned at him. “Scraaaaps. You gotta come and play with me in this question. You gotta come play in this space!”
“Well, okay, I was just pointing out --”
“No!” Ditto said. “No, it’s rude to point, Scrapsy. It’s rude. Come play with me in this space and tell me what you, as a good ol’ country boy think that this, uh, city slicker, should do to get back in touch with her roots!” 
Scraps exhaled through his nostrils. “Well,” he said. “I think the first thing you really gotta do is eat some dirt.”
“Okay,” Ditto said.
“Oh-kay,” Juice agreed, nodding. “Now, Scraps, what’s your favorite way to eat some of that dirt?”
“Well, Juice, I’m very glad you asked,” Scraps said. “Obviously, you can’t go wrong with a good old-fashioned mud pie.”
“Obviously.”
“Of course, yes.”
“Now, having said that, my personal preference runs more toward dirt cakes,” Scraps continued. “These are easily distinguished, as they are drier than mud pies, and more sweet, not quite as savory. They’re best when accompanied by some fresh grass, and maybe a dandelion. Overall though, I don’t think I can say more for a good, simple taste of country livin’ than a nice, fresh spoonful of loose soil, eaten straight.”
“Hey, uh, opinions on worms in your dirt, boys?” Juice asked.
“Love ‘em,” Ditto said immediately. “Mama Nature’s Spaghetti, that’s what I call dirt -- shit, I meant worms. I call dirt The Good Brown Stuff.”
“Mm, I can take ‘em or leave em,” Scraps said. “Like I said, I go for sweet over savory.”
“It’s interesting that you mention worms in the context of spaghetti, Ditto, because that is exactly where I was going with that,” Juice said. “A nice plate of worms served al dente in a nice brown sauce, served with dirtballs and topped with shaved tree bark.”
“Oh yeah, gotta love that bark,” Scraps agreed.
“Now, boys, I love what you’re doing with this bit, but we gotta consider, this question asker has spent her entire life in the city. She’s upper-crust. She’s highfalutin.”
“Sure as shootin', she’s highfalutin!” Scraps threw in.
“Exactly what a pony like this would never say, thank you for that excellent example.”
Juice tilted his head back. “So what exactly are you proposing, Dit?”
“We gotta think a little bit higher class in our recipes! We gotta shoot for the upper crust instead of just the crumbs!”
“Moonshine champagne,” Scraps said immediately.
“Well, that’s good,” Ditto allowed. “Not a lot of dirt in that one, though.”
“Oh, you can put dirt in moonshine,” Scraps said. “Worms, too. Anything can go in moonshine if you try hard enough.”
“What about crawdads?” Juice proposed. “They’re like a fancy lobster dinner, but smaller and dirtier.”
“Again, not a lot of dirt in that one!” Ditto said, shaking his head.
“Au contraire, oh brother my brother!” Scraps said. “By certain ponies in this country, including my own daughter, crawdaddies are known as ‘mudbugs’.”
“That’s mud and bugs,” Juice said, raising a hoof in vindication.
“Well. It’s not. It’s not actually either of those things,” Ditto said.
“Y’know, I had never really thought about lobsters in the terms of them just being big crawdaddies before, but now that I am? Really kinda weird that ponies eat them,” Scraps said, rubbing his chin.
“Well, most ponies don’t,” Juice said. “Only the fancy ponies, which, now that I say that? Makes it kinda even weirder. It’s like… eating a fish dinner. That’s normal. That’s protein. But now the fish has armor and it crawls around and looks basically like a big sea bug, and I’m supposed to believe that’s more fancy?”
“I think it’s from Griffonstan,” Scraps mused. “So maybe eating crawdads is a better way to get back in touch with your roots as a griffon.”
“Well, let’s keep it in anyway,” Juice said. “This is about baby steps for fancy city ponies.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“So that’s the seafood course and the booze taken care of,” Ditto said. “Soup can be a nice, uh, soupe de saleté avec des morceaux --”
“Sorry?” Juice asked. “Come again?”
“Dirt soup with chunks.”
“How the fuck did you know that off the top of your head?”
“While you two were busy talking about dumb stuff that wasn’t even relevant to our menu plan, I got up, checked the Equestrian to Fancy dictionary, and sat back down again.”
“Oh. Huh.”
“Salad course?” Scraps put in. “I mean, that practically takes care of itself, you just don’t wash your veggies.”
“Yeah,” Ditto said. “Uh, you don’t wanna do too many courses, this is about simplifying all your shit.”
“We do still need a main course, though,” Juice said.
“Oh, yeah.”
All three considered that for a long moment. “Worm pasta,” Scraps said at last. “Not worm spaghetti. Maybe um…”
“Wormicelli,” Juice said.
“Wormicelli! In a, uh… green sauce.”
Ditto grimaced. “What - what’s the green sauce made of, Scrappy?”
“...Lichen,” Scraps decided. “You still got the shredded bark on top, though.”
“Yeah, some things transcend class,” Ditto agreed. “I think that just leaves dessert.”
“Mud petit-fours,” Juice said firmly. “Gotta be.”
Scraps nodded. “Alright! I think that’s our menu, then!”
“Yeah, eat that for dinner for a few weeks, and then maybe you can move onto step two,” Ditto said.
“Which is?” Juice asked.
Ditto laughed, just once. “Oh. They’ll know, when the time is right.”
“Yeah, Juice, we can’t just give away the Great Earth Pony rituals live on air,” Scraps said, disapproving.
“Oh -- no, no, of course, you’re right,” Juice said. “Yeah. Don’t wanna tell just anypony about the Order of Bud and Branch--”
“Juice!” Ditto said.
“Oh, yup, right, I’m sorry, not a single word more about the Gaean Mysteries will pass my lips --”
“Juice, no!” Scraps said. “I’ll take away your mike!”
“Okay, okay.”
Juice lapsed into silence for several seconds. “C’mon baby,” Ditto muttered. “Comedy rule of threes.”
“I know, I know, I’m thinking,” Juice muttered back. “Gah, all I can think of is how weird the Tree Altar looks --”
“JUICE, NO!”
Both Scraps and Ditto tackled their eldest brother. "Scraps! Scraps, I'll hold him down, you take us--"
"Yup! Yup!" Scraps hauled himself back up to the microphones. "Let's go to the Money Zone!"
> Money Zone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Okay,” said Ditto, sitting back down. “Are we clear now?”
“We’re clear,” Juice said. “No more secrets spilled here.”
“Okay. We can just edit all that out in post, so we’re fine. We’re all good.”
Juice picked up a can of soda and cracked it open.
Ditto made a face like he was in physical pain. “We are no longer good,” he muttered. “How many times, Juice? How many times?”
“You just said we could edit stuff out!” Juice said, holding up his hooves in protest.
“A minimum of one princesses listens to this show!” Scraps said. “You have to show a little more respect!”
“It’s Cherry Coke, how much more respectful can a drink be?”
Ditto was sat frozen to the spot, staring into space. This did not go unnoticed by his brothers. Juice frowned at him. “Ditto? Are you alright, bud? Normally you’d razz me way longer about the soda.”
“A minimum of one princess listens to our show,” Ditto said, a note of doom in his voice. “A minimum.”
Juice sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Huh. Huh. Well. Uh. We haven’t been convicted of lese-majeste yet, so… I guess we’re good?”
Scraps frowned at his microphone. “Hey. Hey, listeners? MBMBAMbinos? If you’re an alicorn or a draconequus or a royal or whatever, you have to tell us.”
“Legally, you do have to tell us,” Ditto agreed. “Otherwise it is entrapment.”
Juice picked up his ad copy. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, our first sponsor this week is Roll-X Dice.”
“Roll-X Dice is a company that makes specialty RPG dice,” Scraps said. “Listeners to our other podcast that we do with our dad, The Adventure Pone, will know that we’re big fans of all kinds of those games, like Ogres and Oubliettes, Urbane Shadows, Robots and Emotions…”
“Bighoof Stole My Cart, whatever the fuck system Dadlands was…” Ditto agreed.
“And Roll-X Dice makes quality dice for all of those games! Except the Dadlands one, because that uses poker chips and fanny packs instead of dice.”
“Now, we each got a set of dice from Roll-X. Mine was one of their Dwarven Mine sets, which are these ones that look grey, but they’ve got veins of glow-in-the-dark material running through them,” Juice said. “What about you boys?”
“I got a set of translucent orange dice that have little autumn leaves inside,” Scraps said.
“Mine are kinda this dark purple with little silver sparkles,” Ditto said. “And I’ve had a lot of dice over the years, boys, and these are quality.”
“And right now, our listeners can write in to Roll-X dice and receive 50% off their first set of dice by mentioning the offer code Brother.”
“That’s right,” Scraps agreed. “Write to Roll-X Dice at 20120 East Cortland Street, Manehattan, Equestria, zip code 10453, with offer code Brother, and receive 50% off your first set of dice.”
“Roll-X Dice,” Ditto read. “Fulfilling your most critical needs.”
“Our next sponsor is Modest Freedoms,” Scraps said.
“Uh…” said Juice, frowning and holding up a hoof to stop his brother.
Scraps grinned. “I’m just kidding, it’s for Extreme Restraints.”
Ditto rubbed his forehead. “Boy. You sure got ‘em with that goof,” he said flatly.
“Extreme Restraints is a company that makes, uh…” Juice trailed off, grinning. “Well, they also make high quality toys for, I guess in some cases you could say, roleplaying games.”
“No. No. You need to stop,” Ditto said. “They’re a sex toy company. Audience, please do not get it twisted, you should not order dice or miniatures from Extreme Restraints.”
“And you really shouldn’t order a buttplug from Roll-X Dice,” Scraps said.
Ditto made a face like he’d bitten into a banana and forgotten to peel it. “That is very true!” he managed to choke out after a few seconds. “That is… yeah, I’m with you on that one.”
“That’s nasty, Scraps,” Juice said.
“You started it!”
“Aaaaanyway,” Ditto said quickly. “They have basically everything you might need for pleasuring yourself or your partner.”
“It’s sure to be a critical hit in the bedroom,” Juice added.
“You just said that was nasty!”
“I think this is some kind of record,” Scraps observed. “Losing two sponsors in a single ad break.”
“And -- you know --” Ditto gave up. “Just write to Extreme Restraints at 1569 --”
“Nice,” Scraps said.
“1569 Shireland Road, Seaddle, Equestria, zip code 98102,” Ditto rattled off as quickly as he could. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Our listeners can use offer code Middlest for a fifty-bit discount from their first purchase. Now please, let’s go to the pre-recorded stuff, Celes-- Disco-- for somepony’s sake!”
Scraps clicked off the microphones for a moment and Juice flicked on the record that held a pre-recorded ad. The needle scraped along for a moment before finding its groove. A gentle, homey music began to play.
“Hi,” said a male voice. “Has this ever happened to you?”
“My wife keeps stealing my bow ties!” an indignant female voice with a Lawndon accent proclaimed.
“My roommate never finishes any of his leftovers,” a male voice complained.
“My husband won’t stop correcting me when I try to tell people anecdotes,” another female voice said.
The original voice spoke again. “If so, you may be entitled to justice. I’m Judge P.C. Hodgpony. I’m not a real judge, but I sometimes pretend to be a deranged billionaire in radio comedies. All these voices you heard were from real litigants seeking justice. Here in my fake radio courtroom, I listen to all sides of the argument. I ask questions and get to the heart of the matter. I can get you the justice that you seek, today.”
“Thanks to Judge Hodgpony, my mother is no longer allowed to tell other ponies that they’re making her cake recipe wrong,” a new male voice said.
“Judge Hodgpony ruled that I have to join a community theatre group.”
“Judge Hodgpony found in my favor and ruled that my husband can no longer turn off the heated bathroom tiles overnight.”
Judge Hodgpony himself spoke again. “Write to me with the details of your case at P.O. Box 367, zip code 10460, Manehattan, Equestria. No case is too small. This is the sound of a gavel --”
There was the sound of clinking glass. “That is all.”
> Prench Fry Perfume
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Ditto, how ‘bout another Yahooves?” Juice asked. Butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth.
Ditto squinted at his brother through his glasses. “...kay,” he said, never once breaking eye contact as he picked up a piece of paper. “This Yahooves Nights Mystery comes to us from --”
"Drg-dr-dggd-dr-dg-dg-dt," Juice rumbled.
Ditto pursed his lips. "Comes to us from --" he tried again.
"Chug-chgga-dr'chn-ch-chg," Juice said.
Scraps giggled. "I think your microphone's got some feedback there, Juicer."
“CJGHW'CHGA-WGGACHGGA-CH-CHGGA'DR-CHGG, I WANNA MUNCH!” Juice yelled.
“Squad!” Scraps cheered.
“Squad,” said Ditto, a reluctant smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he set the paper back down.
“I WANT TO MU-UNCH.”
“Squad!” both of his brothers chorused.
Juice grinned. “Welcome to Munch Squad, a radio show within a radio show where we bring you the latest and greatest in fast food innovations.”
“Uh, for those new human listeners out there, please remember that thing about not taking anything we say seriously,” Ditto added.
“Yeah, you gotta have a real liberal use of air quotes,” Scraps agreed.
“This month!” Juice began. “As we enter the hot, lovin' summer, here’s a line of new perfumes and colognes guaranteed to drive your lover wild.”
“Oh Celestia,” Ditto said.
Scraps gripped the side of the table, nibbling at his lip. “And -- and who exactly is making this fabulous innovation, Juicer?”
Juice grinned broadly at his brothers. “Why, the good folk at Hayburger, of course!”
“Oh, fuck me!” Ditto groaned, putting his head in his hooves.
“Well, that’s what they seem to be claiming your partner will say once you apply one of their new signature scents, based on their new menu offering -- the Double Tofu Hayburger.”
“Oh, no!” Scraps said. “Oh, no no no!”
Ditto merely groaned again, louder this time.
“Now -- now boys,” Juice said, shaking with barely-suppressed laughter. “I want to play a game with you.”
“Is it like the game in Saw?” Ditto asked. “Please say yes, I don’t want to live in this world anymore.”
“No, no, nothing like that. There are seven scents in this delicious new lineup, and I want you boys to take your best guess at what they might be.”
“Okay,” Scraps said. “Uh, hay.”
“Yep, that’s one,” Juice said.
Ditto nodded, his lips a firm line. “Mmkay. That’s not so bad. Smell like fresh-cut grass, some creatures like that. Uh, I’m gonna say tofu.”
“Yep, yep,” Juice said.
“Uh…” Scraps scrunched up his face. “...Bun?”
“Mm, mm-hm!” Juice said, his lips pressed tight together.
“Now you too can smell like fuckin’ bread,” Ditto said. “This is dismal, Juice. This is super upsetting.”
“Now, hold on,” Scraps said. “Fresh-baked bread smells great!”
“Uh, yeah. Fresh-baked bread does. Hayburger buns that’ve been defrosted and sitting out for a couple hours? Not so much.”
“Okay, agree to disagree,” Scraps said charitably.
“Four to go, boys,” Juice interjected.
“Oh, Luna. Uh, lettuce?”
“Yeah, that’s on there,” Juice said.
“Alright, that’s not so bad--”
“What about ketchup?” Scraps asked.
“Oh, no,” Ditto said, his eyes going wide. “Oh, please no.”
“Yep, you can buy ketchup-scented perfume,” Juice said.
“OOOOOHHHHH, NOOOOOOO!” Ditto howled. “No, no, no!” He looked from one brother to the other. “No! Discord no!”
“Shouldn’t that be Celestia no?” Scraps asked.
“Celestia had nothing to do with this one,” Ditto said. “Fuck. Please tell me mustard isn’t on there? Because mustard gas is, uh, a little much even for this segment.”
“No mustard,” Juice confirmed.
“Thank Cadance.”
“You can, however, buy cheese-scented --”
There was a sudden clattering as Ditto pushed away from the microphone, rose from his chair, and left the room.
Scraps leaned into his own microphone. “Well, um. Ditto’s left. He, uh…”
In the distance, the clear sounds of Ditto yelling, “No, no, no!” were audible.
“He’s left,” Scraps repeated. He looked at Juice. “So… just to be clear here, you mean Amareican cheese?”
“Uh, it doesn’t get that specific, Scrapper, but I don’t think they do any other kind.”
“Not a nice cheddar, maybe, or a blue cheese?”
Juice stared at him. “You’d rather have it smell like blue cheese?”
“Listen. It’s pungent, yes. But! It’s also very pleasant.”
Ditto stormed back into the room and threw himself into his chair. “Alright,” he said. “Last one?”
“Yep.”
“Pickles.”
“Nope.”
“Sesame seeds.”
“Presumably part of the bun.”
“Tomato?”
“The ketchup would make that redundant, Dit, come on.”
Ditto wracked his brains, then shook his head. “No. I got nothin’.”
Juice pursed his lips. “Prench fries.”
Ditto let out an animal wail of distress and buried his head in his hooves. “Oh,” said Scraps. “Oh, I don’t like that! Do -- do they make it with the leftover fry grease?”
“No,” Ditto groaned. “Don’t guess their methods. Don’t look into the abyss, my brother whom I love so very dearly, or it will look back into you.”
“Because that would be really bad for your skin, right? That’s just bottled acne!”
“Of course,” Juice said smoothly, “the point of the Munch Squad isn’t to force our perspectives down your throats, dear listeners. It’s to get the word straight from the horse’s mouth, and I will do so now, with this press release from Hayburger itself.”
“Oh, dear sweet Celestia,” Scraps said. “I know you’re listening. Please save my ears from what they’re about to experience…”
“This is what Bell Whistles, senior marketing director for Hayburger had to say about their new line of signature scents.
“At Hayburger, we’re known for bringing ponies together --”
“So you’re trying to get ponies to make babies?” Scraps asked, incredulous. “Ponies who smell like ketchup?”
“I would also like to point out that Hayburger is not known for bringing ponies together,” Ditto said, folding his hooves over his chest. “I think of them as a kind of restaurant of last resort, for when you’ve been looking for hours for somewhere to eat dinner and your children are screaming about kiddie meal toys and you’ve just given up on life generally.”
Juice regarded Ditto coolly over the top of his press release. “Well, that may be what you think, Ditto, but you’re not a quick-service restaurant professional like Ms. Whistle is, are you?”
“...Guess not,” Ditto admitted.
“If I may continue?”
“Yeah, okay, go ahead…”
“So what better way to get together with your loved one than with our specially-released line of Double-Tofu-Burger-Inspired scents?”
Ditto whimpered.
“This summer, treat your spouse --”
“--soon to be ex,” Scraps interjected.
“--to the savory, delicious scent of Hayburger.”
Ditto was visibly shaking now. “Hey! Ponies! Come to Hayburger, and we’ll show you how to treat your lover right.”
“Hayburger! We fuck now!” Scraps added.
Remorseless, Juice soldiered on. “With over a hundred possible scent combinations --”
“OVER A HUNDRED?” Ditto demanded, his voice a squawk. “That can’t be right, that’s bullshit--”
“We guarantee you’ll find the perfect scent to fit the mood.”
“Oh, sure!” Scraps said. “Is the mood ‘depressing scene from a bad family vacation’?”
“Well, if that’s what turns you on…” Juice said with a shrug.
“NO!” Ditto howled. “No! This is legally torture. This is actual torture to me, and we’re inflicting it on innocent humans. Oh my Cel -- uh, oh my goodness.”
Scraps and Juice both looked at him judgmentally and shook their heads. “Listen, if you’ve got better swear words that aren’t the names of ponies who actually listen to this program, I’m open to suggestions,” Ditto said flatly.
“I think you might change your tune here pretty quick, Ditto,” Juice said. “They’ve got suggestions for scent combinations.”
Ditto gave a strangled cry and put his head down on the desk. “No, no. Oh, no no. Juice, I’m begging you.”
“First, we have Fast Casual: Hay, Bun, Ketchup, and Fries.”
“Fast Casual?” Scraps repeated. “That-- that might be the least sexy name I’ve ever heard for anything.”
“Oh, just you wait, because next on the menu is On the Side.”
“Oh! Oh no!” Scraps said, blanching.
Ditto sobbed quietly.
“On the Side consists of three scents, Fries, Ketchup, and Lettuce. Then we have All the Trimmings: Cheese, Tofu, Lettuce, and Ketchup, and the final option, Carbo-load: Bun and Fries.”
“Oh no!” Scraps repeated. He didn’t seem to know what else to say.
“This is fucking dismal as fuck, Juice,” Ditto said, not lifting his head from the table.
“Yeah -- yeah, I can’t disagree with you there,” Juice admitted. “Uh, All seven scents will be available to purchase at participating Hayburgers starting June 5.”
Ditto lifted his head from the table. His glasses were askew, his eyes hollow. “Participating Hayburgers,” he echoed, his voice dead.
“Uh, yep. Yep, that’s what the press release says--”
“You’re telling me,” Ditto said, his voice beginning to shake, “that after all that selling and pitching about the hot new way to ruin your romantic life forever, there’s a chance I might not even be able to buy this at my local Hayburger? There’s a possibility that I won’t be able to wreck my entire stuff by giving the love of my life the fucking ability to smell like a fast-food meal? Is that what you are saying to me right now Juice? Is it?”
“I - heh - uh, well…”
“LET ME RUIN MYSELF WITH CHEESE PERFUME, JUICE. LET ME SPRAY MY WIFE SO THAT SHE SMELLS OF KETCHUP. WHENEVER WE KISS, I WANT THAT SAVORY TOFU TASTE ON MY FUCKING LIPS.”
Ditto fell back in his chair, shaking. Whether it was from laughter or genuine fury, neither of his brothers could discern,
“Uh…” said Juice. “This… has been the Munch Squad that killed my brother, apparently.”
> Upper-Class Lightning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Now can we have a Yahooves?” Ditto asked plaintively.
“Yeah, hit me,” Juice said.
“Alright. This question was sent in by user Darkstarling and is written by -- oh hey, I got one! It was written by user H_Bouquet. Uh. This is actually… kinda a weird one for this service.”
“Weird? On Yahooves Answers?” Juice asked.
“How can you tell?” Scraps asked.
“...You’ll see. It reads, 


How might one explain to one’s local weather bureau that they must be more careful with their lightning?”


“I…” Scraps trailed off. “Yeah. Okay, I see what you’re saying.”
“The content is right,” Juice mused. “It’s only the language that’s… Ditto, how confident are we that this one isn’t from an alternate universe?”
“We can get into that after I read the body of this… open letter, I think would be the phrase.


Dear Yahooves Answers Community --”


Both Scraps and Juice burst out laughing. “No! No, you’re making this up,” Scraps said, pointing at Ditto.
“I’m not! Look, it’s right here!” He waved a piece of paper at them.


“Dear Yahooves Answers Community,
I am struck with a most terribly inefficient local weather bureau. They permit the clouds to drift willy-nilly through the sky, they allow the rain to fall in far greater quantities than is necessary for the growing of my husband’s flower garden, and they have even been so sloppy as to allow hail to get mixed in with the rain. All of this I have been prepared to let go after receiving no response to my complaints from that department. Que sera, sera, say I. I really should complain to somepony in a seat of higher authority. My husband works for the town council, you know.”


“Hey, Ditto?” Scraps interrupted.
“Yeah?”
“Are we actually gonna get a question anywhere in here?”
“Gimme a minute.


However, this latest indignity is far too ignominious to be borne. Just last week, we had a Storm. Thankfully, I was warned of this well in advance, and hosted only indoors entertainments that evening -- a lovely candlelit supper with my neighbors, followed by tea in the parlor from my Royal Sisters China set with the Hoofpainted Periwinkles. During these festivities, however, a straying bolt of lightning hit my lightning rod! It has become tarnished and slightly bent! I know that Mrs. Number 23 smirks at it every time she walks past my house, simply because her piddly little lightning rod nevertheless remains in perfect condition. My husband has attempted to claim that lightning rods are not a status symbol. The poor dear clearly works himself too hard at his very important government job. How can I explain to my local weather bureau that lightning ought not to strike at any higher-class lightning rods and instead reserve their force for less impressive devices at cheaper and tawdrier addresses?
Best wishes to all,
H. Bouquet.”



There was a pause. “What the fuck?” Juice said. “I mean -- what the fuck.”
“So, uh.” Scraps took off his glasses and polished them. “Okay. Just before we get into this question, I’m gonna guess that this represents H. Bouquet’s first, last, and only experience with the Yahooves Answer Service.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Ditto said. “Which means that this question is an incredibly limited resource. Boys, we find ourselves faced with the challenge of goofing on this question harder than it has goofed on itself by the simple virtue of its existence. Are you feeling up for that?”
“Aw, Ditto, did you have to put it like that? You got me all self-conscious now,” Juice said.
Scraps, meanwhile, was deep in contemplation. “So… H. Bouquet is proud of their lightning rod because it’s longer and fancier than their neighbor’s.””
“Scraps,” Ditto said warningly. “Dick jokes are too easy.”
“No! That’s not where I was going with that at all.”
“Really?”
“Ditto?” Juice said. “When have you ever heard anycreature bragging about how fancy their dick is?”
“When you go down to the alehouse, do you hear ponies boasting about how glittery their genitals are?” Scraps asked.
“Well -- okay, yes, continue please Scraps.”
Scraps readjusted his glasses. “Well,” he said. “If she’s worried about how classy her lightning rod is, maybe she should work on attracting fancier lightning.”
“Ooooh,” his brothers chorused, nodding. 
“You gotta get that upper-crust lightning,” Juice said.
“Precisely,” Scraps said. “When the lightning hit your rod, did you notice it striking with a particularly posh Lawndon accent?”
“Was it especially notable in the way it forked?” Ditto asked. “Was it, um… an electrifying conversationalist?”
“Well, obviously it was,” Juice said with some scorn. “All lightning bolts are.”
“We can agree, though, that this was probably a very upper-class lightning bolt for a very fancy lightning rod,” Scraps said.
“Hell yeah! In your face, Mrs. Number 23,” Ditto said.
“Well, obviously, yeah,” Juice said. “It was a well-bred bolt, it probably went to private school and learned to thunder with marbles in its mouth. But here’s the thing, boys -- that lightning rod’s a little busted now. It’s a little bent and burnt.”
“Mm, not as fancy,” Scraps said, rubbing his chin. “Tricky. Pretty soon, you’ll start attracting lightning that has grease stains on it and doesn’t wear a tie.”
“Ideally, you’d want to replace the lightning rod and all, but the husband says no,” Juice mused. “So that means that we’re gonna need to find other ways to attract only the most urbane lightning.”
There was a long pause. “...Tiny sandwiches,” Ditto said.
“This is turning out to be a very fancy food-heavy episode,” Scraps observed.
“Yeah, but Juice did that Munch Squad so it cancels out.”
“Fair enough!”
“Uh, what about oil paintings?” Juice interjected.
“Oil paintings of… what, famous lightning?” Scraps asked.
“Well, obviously,” Ditto said. “You don’t get oil paintings of common lightning, Scrappy.”
Scraps tilted his head. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he admitted. “Just. Landscapes with storms in the background?”
“I think in this case, they’d be considered portraits with countryside in the foreground,” Juice pointed out.
Ditto rubbed his chin. “You know, boys, I think that we might have ignored the central question of H. Bouquet’s problem. This isn’t the only trouble they’ve had with the weather department. Maybe they should be responsible for ensuring that the very classy lightning goes to the appropriate homes.”
“You have to sort the clouds by how formal they are,” Scraps agreed. “Boys? Which is classier, a, uh…”
“Now we get to see if Scraps can name two types of clouds,” Ditto said, turning aside to murmur into his microphone like a golf commentator. “He’s lined up the shot, and he swings --”
“A… cumulus…”
“One down,” Juice said with a nod.
“Or… a…” Scraps licked his lips nervously. “A nimbus.”
“Now Scrappy,” Ditto said, leaning on the table. “Can you actually tell us the difference between a cumulus and a nimbus cloud?”
“Well,” Scraps said. “A cumulus has a ‘c’ in it for ceiling, and a nimbus has a ‘b’ in it for ‘bottom’, so I’m going to say that a cumulus floats higher than a nimbus cloud.”
“Which, as we all know, is a cloud that comes from your bottom,” Juice interjected.
“What? No!” Scraps said. “The ‘b’ is for bottom because it might poke you in the bottom.”
“Scraps, is it possible that you’re thinking of stalagmites?” Ditto asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, stalagmites aren’t clouds,” Scraps said. “But like… what I’m getting at is, are clouds that float high in the sky --”
“Like cumulus clouds,” Juice said.
“Yes. Are they therefore higher-class than nimbus clouds?”
Ditto gave his middlest brother a side-eye. “Is that what you were getting at?”
“Uh, you can’t prove otherwise.”
“I’m gonna say yes,” Juice said. “Because nimbus clouds -- which may or may not be fart clouds --”
“They aren’t,” Scraps said. “I’m 85% confident that they aren’t.”
“-- they’re the salt of the earth. They come from the ground, they work their way up. They’re blue-collar workers, is what I’m saying.”
“Hey guys?” Ditto asked. “As three idiot brothers who do a comedy advice show and go on tour and stuff, are we blue-collar or white-collar?”
“Uh, I think I can safely say that we’re no-collar,” Juice said. “You ready to move on?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ditto agreed.
> Eyes In the Back of Your Butt & Final Yahooves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright,” Juice said. “Next question. 



Dear brothers,
My SO and I have been dating for a while, and I’m finally going to be meeting his parents for Hearth Warming Eve. I’ve exchanged correspondence with them a little, and they seem like fine ponies.
My concern is… well… my cutie mark. It’s a single serpentine eye, lidless, wreathed in flame. Sometimes, ponies have sworn they thought it was following them, its gaze piercing cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh.
So, it’s an easily misunderstood mark, especially by ponies who don’t know me well.
I’ve tried covering my mark in the past. But cloaks are an imperfect solution, and makeup keeps burning off. And anyway, these ponies are his parents. I want them to know the real me, but I’m concerned my cutie mark might get in the way of that.
What should I do?
Sincerely,
Randolph Carthorse (they/them).”



“...Okay,” Scraps said carefully. “So… two options here.”
“Yeah,” Ditto said.
“Either this pony is fucking with us, or, uh, well, they’re not fucking with us, and I don’t actually know which is worse.”
“You don’t?” Juice asked, arching his eyebrows at his brother. “You don’t think that maybe this pony having the fucking Eye of Sauron as their cutie mark might be a bigger issue than them trying to goof on us?”
“Listen, this is a very serious and respectable comedy advice show,” Scraps said. “We are an institution. If this clown thinks they can goof on us with this question, who knows what ponies will send in next?”
Ditto chuckled. “Hey brothers, what can I do to get more ponies to fall into my deadly butt-meat pie traps? Best wishes, Marecullay ‘Jigsaw’ Coltkin.”
“Ooh, callbacks,” Juice said. “I like it.”
“Okay, but seriously… we gotta assume this is legit, right?” Ditto asked. “If only because without that assumption, the entire premise of our show does fall apart. Gotta keep up the verisimilitude.”
“Do it for the vine,” Juice agreed.
Scraps held up a hoof. “For our human listeners, Juice is referring to the trend of ponies swinging on vines to do cool stunts and make goofs on them, a fad which swept the nation until very recently.”
“Aw, c’mon Scraps, these are big talking monkeys we’re dealing with,” Ditto said. “If anyone’s got a version of vine, it’d be them.”
“I just want to be inclusive,” Scraps said. “So, uh, the question.”
“Have you considered sunglasses?” Juice asked.
“Okay,” Ditto said. “I like this very much. How do you wear them on your flanks, though?”
“Uh…” Juice grimaced. “Wraparound. Wraparound sunglasses, like gamblers wear.”
“Oooh.” Scraps sucked in through his teeth. “See, I dunno about that. Having regular Sauron on your butt is already bad, but gambling Sauron? I don’t think your prospective in-laws are gonna be super psyched about that, either.”
“And Randolph did say they didn’t want to hide their mark, too,” Ditto added.
“Hm. Yeah, yeah, those are some points,” Juice said, nodding. “Uh, how ‘bout a monocle?”
“A monocle?” Ditto repeated.
“Yeah! It’s clear, so you can still see the cutie mark, and it’s a lot more fancy and cultured than wraparound shades.”
“Mmmm.” Scraps pursed his lips tight. “There’s still an element of deceit, there. And I don’t know if wearing a monocle on either side of your butt really screams ‘fancy and cultured’.”
“It’s definitely a step in the right direction,” Ditto said. “I do think that any clothes you put near your butt that doesn’t usually go around the butt area is going to be interpreted as a weird sex thing, probably.”
“...Yeah, probably,” Juice admitted. “Y’know, Randolph says this is an ‘easily misunderstood mark’? ‘Especially by ponies who don’t know me well’? And then they send this question to us, three idiots who never met them, without any description of what the mark actually means.”
“Mmmm.” Ditto nodded. “Yeah, y’all can’t skimp on the detail when it comes to this stuff. That knowledge seems like it might be very relevant to how we answer this question.”
“So, okay, options,” Scraps said. “Option one. This cutie mark is the mark of Sauron or Cthulhu or some other ancient terror who terribly misinterpreted the meaning of ‘hindsight’.”
“Option two,” Juice said.
There was a lengthy pause.
“Um…” Scraps said. “Reading… Lord of the Rings?”
“Writing fanfic about Lord of the Rings,” Ditto suggested.
“Paying attention,” Juice said. “With their ever-watchful butt eyes.”
Ditto clapped his hooves together. “They got eyes in the back of their head.”
“Practically literally,” Scraps agreed.
“Exactly! That’s a good parenting thing, right? You’re always keeping an eye on your kids, making sure they don’t get into trouble. Maybe you play that up, show them how much you care about their safety, show them how attentive you are.”
“I like it,” Juice said. 
“It’s very good,” Scraps said. “I do have one question, though.”
“Shoot,” said Ditto.
“What if Randolph is thicc?”
There was a long pause. “...What?” Juice asked.
Scraps shrugged. “What if they’re thicc? What happens when they make it clap, is what I wanna know. Do they get dizzy?”
Ditto tried to reply, but couldn’t find the words.
“I mean, you would, wouldn’t you?” Scraps continued.
“Huh,” Juice said. “Huh. Well, huh, that certainly is a fucking stumper, Scraps.”
“Ia Ia Cthulhu Fh’tagn, I’m trying to infiltrate this ancient and eldritch temple, but I’m dummy thicc,” Ditto said. “And the clap of my ass cheeks is making my head spin with ancient runes and unknowable tentacle faces, isn’t it boys?”
Juice wheezed.
“They can back it up and shake it like a snowglobe, but they can’t stop it from chanting the dolorous praises of the unending one,” Scraps put in. “And another thing -- how far do those eyes see?”
“Uh, the letter says ‘its gaze piercing cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh’, so… I guess it could go forever.”
“Does it pierce clothes?” Ditto asked sharply. “We don't usually wear any, but like -- I’m not super chill about that.”
“Hey, yeah! Stop undressing me with your butt eyes, Randolph!” Scraps said indignantly.
“I mean, the letter specified that it also pierces flesh, so it’s not like it can see your junk,” Juice pointed out. “It can see… I guess it could see your bones?”
“Sees your bones, not your boner!” Ditto said.
“Okay, I’m glad we cleared that up,” Scraps said. “I was actually going somewhere else with it, though, ‘cause if it can see forever, can it wrap around and stare at Randolph’s other flank?”
“Well --” Ditto paused for a moment, frowning. “I’m gonna say no, because it pierces flesh. We just established that this eye cannot see Randolph’s juicy flanks at all, and that is its great tragedy.”
“Could an omnipotent being make a butt so thicc and juicy that even they could not shake it?” Juice asked philosophically.
“Yeah… uh, hey Randolph, if you are still listening after all this?” Scraps said, leaning into the microphone. “Just go and be yourself. If your coltfriend’s parents are cool, they won’t be bothered if your cutie mark looks a little scary. If they’re not cool, well, that sucks, but you don’t need their approval to love this dude.”
“Hell yeah,” Juice said. “If they get up on your case, you just look them square in the eye with one of your butt eyes --”
“Can it see eyes?” Ditto asked. “Are eyes flesh?”
“Eyes are jelly, Dit. Jelly and nerves,” Juice said firmly. “You meet them flank to eye, and you say, ‘I love your son, he loves me, and that’s all that matters.’ And then you turn around --”
“Which would involve turning to look at them with your face eyes,” Scraps pointed out.
“Well, you can close those. Anyway, you storm away and live happily ever after with your coltfriend in Mordor or wherever. You don’t have to prove yourself to these ponies, is what we’re saying.” Juice concluded this statement with a firm nod.
“...Huh. I think that might’ve actually been helpful, actionable advice,” Scraps said.
“Yeah. Guess that means we should wrap this show up, huh?” Juice said.
“Alright," Ditto said. "This has been My Brother My Brother and Me, thanks to John Rodeo and the Long Winters for the use of our theme song, It's a Departure off the album Putting the Days to Bed. Are you boys ready for that final Yahooves?” Ditto asked.
“You know it,” Scraps said.
"Uh, for our -- for our new listeners," Juice said, waving for Ditto to hold on for a moment. "Every week on this show, we like to read out a final Yahooves question to really, y'know, cogitate on and turn over in our brains to come back to in our next episode."
"Right," Ditto said, poker face firmly in place.
"I just thought that the humans at home should get to know that," Juice said, holding back his chuckles. "For context."
“Alright. This final Yahooves comes from Gabby G., crusadin’ for glory, and it says,
Is unicorn horn ‘sensitive’?
And then, in parentheses,
(For Sex Stuff)?”
All three brothers broke down in paroxysms of laughter. "I -- I'm Juice McColtroy."
"I'm Scraps McColtroy!"
"I'm Ditto McColtroy, oh sweet Celestia..."
Juice leaned into the microphone, stifling his giggles just long enough to say, “This has been My Brother, My Brother, and Me, kiss your dad squuuuuaaaaare on the lips!”