"Hey sis?"
"Yes sweetheart?"
"What's that pony doing over there? She looks kind of sick."
Sick, would be the understatement of the century. The older sister, one alabaster white unicorn with one hell of a good-lookin' mane turned what I assumed was her little sister as I up-chucked just about everything I had ever eaten in my existence. Hold the phone, when did I have corn?
"Well...she isn't sick...per se."
"Well then, what is she? OH! Does she have an incurable disease? Cutie pox? Did she touch Poison Joke? Is that why she's-"
"AHEM! Don't you have some friends to pick up?"
Nice distraction lady. If I hadn't been trying to lose ninety pounds the super-model way, I'd be clapping. Speaking of, you have no idea who I am, where I am, why I matter, and why the hell you should care. Well, let me sort it out for you. My name is Berry Punch, local town drunk, currently unemployed. Currently, I'm sitting here in an alley right off the intersection of Stirrup and Seventh right next to the Davenport furniture store. Why I matter and why you should care? I got nothing. Sorry bud, you're out of luck here. I mean, my own daughter called me selfish drunk right before she walked out in the custody of Equestria's finest. Don't quite remember what happened before all that since I woke up with one heck'va shiner and a migraine that would give a thunderstorm a run for its money. Sure, I've had my trysts, I've had my fair share of fails and triumphs, the former more so than the latter, but I ain't somepony to be singing praises about.
"Oh yeah! Oh! There's Scootaloo and Applebloom! Oh! Oh! Over here guys!"
"Ap! Why don't you go run along with your friends? I'll be right along, and you can tell Pinkie that the shakes are my treat!"
"Really?!? Thanks Rarity! You're the best!"
Holy Celestia's highly praised and laureled ass is her voice loud. It feels like someone's trying to rake glass across a chalkboard. Thank whatever deity I failed to mention, that she ran off somewhere. Sugarcube corner was it? I get a toothache just looking at it. If you ask me, their cakes are too fluffy, the cream's too thick. The eclairs are total shit, and the Napoleon's feel like a cracker wafers and jelly sandwich. The coffee tastes like someone took a pound of sugar and bucked the ever-loving Luna out of the ground beans. It tastes like how I'd imagine cotton candy wood, if it was liquidized.
You know, I'm slightly concerned that I'm this self-aware during a hangover.
