Name's Berry Punch. Yeap. THAT Punch. Several-felonies-and-one-more-'till-prison, little missy drunk Punch.

Not a pretty picture. Heck, Social Services came in and took my kid. The funniest part about it? She didn't even look back. Well, screw her. See, that ain't the point of this story. This story's about the things that go bump in the night. The things that go scritchety-scratch on your walls. The things that buck your bed like a faulty wagon spoke. The things that call your name and'll drag your immortal soul down down down. See, I'm what the good folk of Ponyville call an "affront to society". They call me a lowly drunk, a terrible mother, a loafer, a good-for nothing. But make no mistake about it. When the Devil comes a-knockin' I'm the only pony who can stop it.