The Rock Comes to Equestria
THE ROCK COMES TO EQUESTRIA
You are Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. World-famous wrestler, actor, and general ass-kicker, you’ve destroyed the lives of many a foolhardy Jabroni, and you eat cherry pie for breakfast, lunch, brunch, dinner, after dinner, dessert, and any other meal you can god damn think of.
And you’re in magical pony world.
You don’t need to know how you got here, you are The Rock! The Rock doesn’t need exposition! All you know was you were eating some cherry pie and squeezing the air from yet another wanton Jabroni and suddenly you found yourself in the middle of a three year old girl’s wet dream.
All around you are little pastel colored horses hustling and bustling around a country-bumpkin town. You don’t pay much attention to the mini horses trotting about, but you do notice that each and every one of them has some kind of different ass-tattoo. You make a mental note that your ass would probably look better with an ass-tattoo, if it were possible to make the most electrifying ass in sports entertainment any more appealing.
Remembering your prime directives in life, you do a quick onceover of the land using your Rock Sense. You can’t feel any Jabronis in need of an ass-whooping in the immediate vicinity, so you set out on an epic quest to locate cherry pie.
Your Rock Sense, as well as your nose, leads you to a giant gingerbread house that smells of glory and baked goods. Just as you are about to set to work devouring the establishment whole, a fluffy pink horse appears out of god damn nothing and plops something right in your hands. You know what it is before you even see it.
The pink creature has just slapped down a full cherry pie right in front of you. You blink once, and suddenly the pie is gone, inhaled into your maw at the speed of Kenyans. You blink again, and the pink horse has yet another cherry pie in her leg stubs. You’re starting to like this pink one.
The pie eating ritual continues until you’ve eaten a pansy-ass and a half pies, at which point you decide it might be proper form to thank the Pink Pie Pony. You grasp her in your massive arms and hug with the force of ten Grizzlies, and the pink pony’s body gives like a marshmallow. It giggles like a squeaky toy, and before you know it, you are enveloped in pink and squeezed so hard you can feel your glorious bones bending, and your electrifying organs bruising.
Your pride briefly injured by a four year old’s fantasy being able to deliver a hug many times the strength of your own; you quickly state that you are The Rock, the Brahma Bull, The People’s Champion, The Most Electrifying Man In Sports Entertainment! She matches your ferocious electric fervor pound-for-pound and exclaims to the heavens that her name is Pinkie Pie.
You command her to give you information on how she knew you needed pie, as The Rock does not ask, and she explains to you she has a black magic sixth sense. She calls this her ‘Pinkie Sense’. Presented with all these facts, the glorious gears in your head start spinning, churning and processing information at speeds that would make a supercomputer technician turn a new shade of envious green. You instantly come to the conclusion that this pink squishy object is the children’s television network reincarnation of yourself, The Rock. You hoist Rockie Pie atop your shoulders and set out to find candy-asses on which to lay the SmackDown.
You and Rockie Pie frolic through Princess Pony Tea Party Land for a few hours, until you are intercepted by a large white wing horn horse beast and a smaller midnight blue one. The white one blabs about how you grabbed up a citizen of Equestria and abducted her to frolic through the meadows, and how you’re a monster and you shall not harm her precious Little Horses.
Filled to the brim with electric fury at your carefree fun with Rockie Pie being interrupted by the Big White Horse Bitch, you grab her by the neck and lift her up in her entirety, jump about four hundred feet in the air, and start the meteoric descent of the Rock Bottom, with Big White Horse Bitch in tow.
In seconds, the Big White Horse Bitch collides with the ground with earth-shattering force. With her down for the count, you take her crown and rest it atop your magnificent dome, proclaiming that Tea Party Horse Land has a new princess, and that princess is The Rock, and The Rock will bring his boot to the ass of anything that says otherwise.
Unfortunately, the slightly smaller blue horse didn’t like seeing the Big White Horse Bitch get hit with the full force of the Rock Bottom, and charges up her horn and blasts a magic ball of destructive energy at your chiseled body. It impacts your rock-hard abs and stops, for it is established fact that no force known to the universe can harm the magnificent abdominal muscles of The Rock.
You seize the ball of purple energy and make your way over to the Smaller Blue Bitch that made it, much to her disbelief. You grab her by the neck, take the energy ball, dust it off, turn it sideways, and stick it straight up her marshmallow ass.
With the Jabroni Sisters defeated, you start doing your patented Victory Dance, and Rockie Pie brings out a cannon, blasts it, and suddenly there is party everywhere! You dance and dance and dance at your coronation party until the cows come home. When the talking beef starts dancing too, you have a feeling that being the ruler of this land will be an electrifying adventure, perhaps one that you could make a movie of and star in when you arrive back on Earth.
And for now, all was good in the land of Rockquestria.
