Beer and Ponies in Las Vegas
1
Hot.
And Sweaty.
Funny, it didn’t feel like a bed.
And he didn’t feel the slight bit of sogginess, or the feeling of his crotch being tired, that came with having banged the night before.
…So why was he so goddamn hot!? Well, Full House is always hot, he mused. The question was, why was he so fucking warm?
He frowned as he realized he’d actually have to open his eyes for this. He opened his mouth to curse out loud, but the exclamation caught in his throat as he inhaled the driest, dustiest air he’d ever breathed. Coughing, his eyes shot open.
This was his… well, it was a mistake. He’d kind of lost count after the first hundred and fifty. But today, this was his first mistake.
“AUGHBUCKMEINTHEASSTURNDOWNTHESUN!” His retinas were melting! Damn that crazy Celestia, she’d burned his eyes out of his sockets! Damn her, and damn her goddamned phoenix with its stupid conning tricks that were better than his and Celestia’s fucking cake feti- Oh, his eyes were fine. IT WAS JUST FUCKING BRIGHT OUT THIS MORNING.
He blinked like… Like something that blinked a lot. He didn’t goddamn know, what blinked a lot? Anyway, he woke up in a metal box. Which in hindsight (Fuck that guy, he’d get what was coming to him after that fucking phoenix) was probably why it was so goddamned hot. Why was he in a metal box? And why were there random gaps in the metal box?
He rolled to his hooves, and almost fell back down when he realized he had been lying on a really uncomfortable pillow. It stretched from one side of the box to the other, and had a side that was- no wait, couch, not pillow. Couches had backs and crap. In front of him were two chairs, made of the same crap the couch was. In front of that was some sort of control panel.
Fuck this noise. He was outta here. A quick glance around located his trusty suitcase next to the couch, and he eagerly picked it up with his magic and hugged it. Something familiar. Well, might as well see where he was. He pointed at one of the random gaps in the metal box, coiled up his legs, and leapt out of the metal deathtrap.
Or at least, he would’ve, had there not been a magical goddamn forcefield in his way! And now his nose hurt. Rubbing it, he picked up his suitcase with his red aura of magic and gently tossed it at the forcefield in front of him.
It bounced back with a very disappointing thump. Right. Still in the deathtrap. Why was he in a deathtrap again? Ahh, he probably pissed somepony off. Well, not much he could do about that now. He looked around again. Without much else to try, he decided to make for the control panel again.
He climbed over some kinda lumpy plastic shit in between the chairs, which had a couple of levers in it for some reason, both pointing up, and sat down on the chair to the left. This chair looked more interesting. He could reach more buttons from here, there was a weird-shaped wheel in front of him, and a bunch of dials and crap behind the wheel. Even a couple of hoofrests on the floor below, even if they were in a really uncomfortable place.
Well, he had no fucking idea what to do next. He looked around the rest of the box, his eyes settling on the seat beside him. Was that a- It was! He moved to the now much-more-interesting chair and the cooler that sat there. Metal boxes could be as weird as they wanted, beer coolers were universal. He cracked it open and looked inside.
A single, sad-looking bottle of beer was resting underneath a bunch of water. Alright, so it might not be cold. Beer was beer. His red field of magic plucked it out of it’s watery grave, and he held it up to read.
…The fuck? What language was that? Gryph? Zebrican? Must’ve been imported. Probably fancy shit then. He twisted the cap off, absent-mindedly opening his suitcase and putting it in there, before taking a good swig of-
Am I drinking piss? Was his first thought. This was like, beer watered down times a hundred. And it tasted like piss. Maybe not literally, but it wasn’t far off. If this was what Zebrican beer tasted like, he wasn’t going to Zebrica any time soon. He almost spat it out, it tasted so bad, but he stopped as he realized he was goddamn hot and he didn’t feel like actually drinking his own piss to keep from frying.
Grimacing, he finished the beer, and tossed the bottle back into the cooler. It made a satisfying splash-clunk sound, which was almost worth the whole “tastes like piss” thing. He looked back around the box, moving back into the left chair. Well, he didn’t have any better ideas, so “just start pushing random buttons” sounded good.
Results were in, and they were stupid results. None of the buttons did anything. The magical forcefields didn’t disappear, nothing made any good ding sounds or exploded, and he sure as hell didn’t get out of the box. Where the hell was he, anyway? He propped himself up on the wall left of the chair, and looked through the forcefield.
He was in the middle of a goddamn desert. Trapped in a metal box. And there was no beer left. “This is the worst…possible…thi- mother of fuck!” During his melodramatic scream of rage, his hoof had slammed into the center of the wheel, and a loud “BEEP” had blared from the front of the box. He totally didn’t piss himself.
“Goddammit! What If I needed to drink that or some shit?” He turned back to the wheel, and away from the soaked part of the seat that he had nothing to do with you lying shit. “Alright, you make noise. Annoying fuckin’ noise, but you make noise. So that’s progress. Sort of.” He poked it again, and another “BEEP” blared inside the box. He tried again, holding it down this time.
“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-“ “Luna’s tits, alright, I get it!” He looked around the wheel, and found yet another button. Readying himself for another loud noise, he pressed it.
It made another sound, but this one was more like a large cat purring contentedly than a surprised goose. All the lights on the control panel and on some of the buttons lit up, and he nearly clapped his hooves in joy.
“Yes! I’m not going to have to suck my… uh… this mysterious stain out of the chair!” he paused, though, looking at the machine. “Seriously, though? All I had to do was press a button and it turns on? That’s terrible for safety. Man, what if somepony had no idea how to use this machine or something? Shit could be dangerous.”
He levitated his suitcase up next to him, in case the next button he pressed was something stupid like a chair objection button, and dropped it underneath his hooves on the hoofrests. It landed with a creak, and the rest of the box started making a horrible grinding noise. Startled, he lifted it back up. One of the hoofrests seemed to be stuck, however, and the box jerked.
“Whoa! What the shit?” He dropped the suitcase again, and this time it landed on the stuck hoofrest, the other one propping it up. The box leapt forward, and Full found himself pressed against the chair as the whole thing tipped forward. It seemed the whole thing was on the edge of a cliff, and he had just made it drive off.
“Jake, why the hell are we patrolling out here?”
“I told ya, we’re looking for this Surgeon. Apparently he got drunk and was supposed to show up somewhere this morning.”
“Yeah, I know that part. Question is, why are we the ones patrolling all the way out here?”
“…I may have taken the last donut out of the chief’s box.”
Silence reigned inside squad car 342, as Officer Larry glared at Officer Jake. It was only broken when a bright green convertible with tinted windows, as well as covered in dust and vomit soared off a cliff and onto the road in front of them, making a perfect landing that royally pissed Isaac Newton off by only shaking the suspension. A faint voice was heard, shouting something to the effect of, “Holy fuck! I’m still alive!”
“Larry, ain’t that the car we’re looking for?”
“Eeyup.”
“Aren’t you gonna, you know, do something about that?”
“Eenope.”
“…You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?”
“Eeyup.”
Full House glared at the hoofrest below him. When he was absolutely sure it wouldn’t make the box jump again, he finally took his eyes off it and instead looked around where he had ended up. He now seemed to be on a road of some sort, made out of black gravel. Far behind him was another box, which he used to try and imagine his box looking like.
That one had wheels on it. His probably did too. There seemed to be a pair of large, overdressed monkeys sitting in that box. Of which, one had left their box and was moving towards his.
Full House had never particularly liked monkeys.
Another glance around his box confirmed his suspicions. No new buttons had revealed themselves, so he was stuck with the crappy assortment of colors he had now. He tapped his hoof against the side of his box, and jumped when he accidentally hit a button and the forcefield…slid down? Okay, whatever, it meant freedom! He was just about to leap from his unpleasantly warm prison when he realized that doing so would mean entering an unbearably hot desert.
Quietly, he slid the forcefield back up.
Well, what now? The box was still making its purring noise, and that meant it could do stuff. Absentmindedly, he began fiddling with a mirror attached to the ceiling of the box, and caught sight of the monkeys again.
Full House had never particularly liked cops either.
It seemed no matter what crazy world he was in now, cause he sure as Tartarus woulda remembered monkeys like that on Arcadia, the cops were the same. Same colors, same uniforms, same mentality. Same habit of ruining all his best cons.
It was right next to his box now. He realized that either it was used to Ponies, which would give it an edge in the conversation he didn’t have, or it couldn’t see him. In which case, he might be able to utilize his special talent.
It tapped on the forcefield. By this point, Full had realized it was actually just glass, but forcefield sounded cooler. Like, one-fifth cooler. It would have been more if it actually was a magical forcefield.
“License and registration, uh… Sir or Ma’am. Please roll down your window.” By this point, he wasn’t even surprised it spoke Equestrian. There was a lot of weird shit going down today, why not? It would just make the monkey easier to con.
“Certainly, Officer. If you’ll give me a moment, my uh… Window, is stuck.” It was a bit surreal, looking at the monkey, and yet knowing that the monkey couldn’t see him.
“Really? World-famous Surgeon, and the rental place didn’t bother giving you a decent car?”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” This was too easy. The monkey was feeding him everything he’d need to know to pull this off. “Piece of crap thing. …Say, mate, could you do me a solid?”
“I guess, Dr. Burke.” Really, a surgeon named Dr. Burke? The fuck was his first name? Nigel?
“Weeeell, you know us celebrities, right? Always partying and getting drunk and driving out into the middle of nowhere for no good reason?” Go with what you know. Build off that. And be non-specific.
“Okay…”
“Well, if you ticket me, it’ll go on an official record, ya know? And us celebs, we can’t have stuff like that, or PMZ-“
“You mean TMZ? They’d really follow a- Uh, nevermind.”
“Yeah, them. Anyway, it would be a really big help if you could, uh… Not give me a ticket. And I, Officer…”
“Calhoun.”
“And I, Officer Calhoun, may just be able to put in a good word with one of my producers, ya know? Give you a nice little shot to the big time.”
“…As a surgeon.”
“Surgeons have producers too.”
“…Right.”
Silence was doing a lot of reigning today. It’s a pity it wasn’t actual rain, because the desert could’ve used it. Especially in the massive amounts it was in.
“…You aren’t buying this in the slightest, are you.”
“Sir, please step out of the vehicle.”
“Right, Plan B time.” And with that, he slammed his hoof down on the hoofrest (Which he’d only just realized acted quite a bit more like a pedal), and the box, or car, as it was apparently called, leapt forward with a growl.
If he could hear anything over the roar of the engine, he would have heard the cop cursing and running back to his car, and the cop car starting up, but he couldn’t. So he just grabbed the wheel and did his damndest not to add to the already soaked seat. Which still totally had nothing to do with him.
Author's Note
So, my first out-and-out comedy story. I kinda need it, with my other stories being darkish Steampunk and Villain Twi, respectively. If I just had that, my stuff would be kinda depressing. Of course, this is not what I'm good at, so if this is unfunny for a comedy, tell me and I'll try to improve on it.
Incidentally, one universe to the immediate left...
