His Ma always told him he was different. "Gentle," she'd add, her eyes focusing on something distant. Then, with a warm smile, she'd tap him on the nose. He would grin, leaking milk down his chin before shoveling the next pile of Cheerios into his mouth. Then, she stopped telling him that. Stopped saying much of anything, on account of not being around anymore. He got along anyway, alone. Just him, his wood carvings, and his meds.

His name was Lawson Detierre. Sounds fancy, but most people in town just called him Law. Most of the odd creatures, gods, and demons that seemed drawn to him called him that, too.

The blue alicorn and the orange pony with the hat mostly just called him 'friend', though.

Captain Morgan is a bastard. And a sociopath. And I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me. Right, now that that's off my chest...

Between rum and a host of other alcoholic beverages, I somehow manage to turn terrible ideas into mostly legible strings of words that I'm naive enough to call "stories". One day, I came home from work to find a few of my drinks hanging out. Not as discarded beer cans my sexy bachelor ass was too lazy to toss into the trash, either. As people. Or people-shaped avatars of their alcoholic beverage equivalents. Anthropomorphic booze? Personified ethanol?

Look, I have no idea how they popped up. I just know they're pretty pissed that I've been drinking their swill and procrastinating on the next chapter of the story I'm actually trying to write. And so they offered to help me, whether I wanted it or not...

Updates will occur when I have tiny aneurysms that slowly deprive me of a bit more of my sanity, bit by bit, until I'm changing the names in Twilight fanfics around and becoming a NY Times bestseller. (By that point, I will be in a persistent vegetative state and will be incapable of feeling guilt over my actions. But I'll be rich, yay!)

As I desperately tried to ignore this commercial jingle that plays ceaselessly over my job's speakers, my friend and coworker made the mistake of telling me what he named his Guild Wars 2 character. When I finally stopped laughing, I began to tease him. As I am a cruel man and an even worse friend, my vehement remonstrations over his character's name escalated until I wrote an entire story about it.

And then I posted said story to his Facebook wall. This is that story.

Kind readers, join hands with me as we follow the exploits of Dark King Oblivion on his not-so-epic quest as a cashier at Sugarcube Corner. Through great heartache, hardship, and a dizzying array of neurons that fail to spark, watch as he discovers the sparkly, saccharine magic of friendship—accompanied by a perky blue smurf, Gumdrops McHappysparkles—while he gallivants about happily in Tortilla Land. Which is functionally identical to Equestria, save for the smurfs in tortilla hats, and the inhabitants' tendency to break out in commercial jingles.

Crossover between Guild Wars 2/Smurfs/My Little Pony/my job slowly consuming what little is left of my sanity/what is this, I don't even-

With a very special cameo by another coworker of mine, who knew I was writing it and asked me to "take him to Tortilla Land".

To anyone who actually reads this: I'm sorry.

Now with a hilarious dramatic reading by the immensely talented PresentPerfect!