Light 'Em Up

by Regidar

Rating: teen
Tags: Spike, Comedy, Random, Owlowiscious, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 1687

Twilight goes out, and Spike is taken in by peer pressure.

Twilight leaves Spike alone with the owl for a bit, and things get freaky.

Based on a true story.

Published 2013-10-08 09:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-08 09:20:01 UTC

Four-hundred and Twenty Blaze It, My Kind Homosexual

“Alright, Spike, I’m going out!” Twilight Sparkle called out to her dragon assistant, Spike.

“Alright,” Spike called back. “Where you headed out to?”

“I’m going to see the local prostitute for my monthly session,” Twilight said, freshening her breath. “We’ve got a nice thing going here.”

“What’s a prostitute?” asked the oblivious dragon, a confused expression on his face.

Twilight sighed at her dragon’s lack of knowledge on the ways of the world. “It’s somepony or something you pay to have sex with?”

“Oh,” Spike said, still sporting a confused look. “Wait, why would you need to pay somepony to have sex with you?”

“I ask myself that everyday,” Twilight said with a sigh. “You’d think that a 22-year old alicorn princess who saved Equestria multiple times wouldn’t have to go out a pay to get off, but there you have it. Life sometimes fucks you in the ass, and not in the good way.”

With that, Twilight left her home to go fuck her stallion-whore, leaving Spike sitting there feeling strange emotions. However, the little purple dragon was soon faced with other problems.

“Ey, da purple bitch gone?” came a deep voice.

“Huh?” Spike said, looking around widely. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, you honky-assed dragon cracker!” came the same voice, from somewhere up in the rafters.

“I don’t...” Spike said, before being knocked flat on his back by a descending blur of brown feathers. The wind had been significantly knocked out of him by the fall, and he was almost certain he was imagining things when he heard the voice from before come out of the creature that was walking up to him.

“Its me, Owl-fucking-owiscious,” Owlowiscious said, biting off the head of a mouse held in his talon nonchalantly like the mother fucking gangster he is. “And I axed you a question: Is da purple bitch gone?”

“Owlowiscious?” Spike asked. “You can talk?”

“Guess the purple bitch is right in front of me, so let me be more specific,” the owl said, rolling his large eyes. “Is the purple pony princess bitch gone?”

“Twilight?” Spike said, in equal confusion as before.

“No, Barney the talking dinosaur,” Owlowiscious said, saying the name of all Equestrian Dragons in vain, deeply offending Spike. “Of course I mean Twilight, you talking lizard! Is dat bitch gone?”

“Yeah, she just left,” Spike said, deciding to put aside his offended feelings until he could determine what in the flying fuck was going on. “Why?”

“Because,” the owl said, discarding the carcass. “I want to have a bit of fun wit’ you.”

Spike gulped hard. He always knew this day would come, and he was prepared.

“Step any closer and I’ll blow my rape whistle!” Spike cried, digging in his pockets, which he had Rarity install at his hips so that he could carry things better. He pulled out a tiny whistle that had previously been used for dogs, and held it to his lips.

“Shit, nigga, I ain’t gonna do dat!” Owlowiscious said, his eyes wide open. “You got a fucked sense of humor, Spike.”

“But I was—” Spike began, but Owlowiscious would have none of it.

“Not even sure I want to hang out wit’ you, if that’s what you’re getting your laughs to.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” The owl said, holding up a claw to Spike, and turning his own head away from the dragon. “I’ll give you one last chance, since I ain’t got anyone else to do dis with. But if you start cracking wise about shit like that again, Imma have to beat some sense into your ass. Both claws, beak, and no ‘uncles’.”

Spike knew that he had no chance of talking about this any further; Owlowiscious was pretty serious about this if he had called “no uncles” on the beat down.

“Alright, what is it that you want to do with me?” Spike asked, suspiciously.

“As any good gangster, I must tell you my true plans through song,” Owlowiscious said. Turning his head in the direction of the rodent he had discarded, he yelled: “Yo, Deadmouse! Lay me down a beat!”

The mouse, dead, did no such thing.

“Shit, guess I’ll have to freestyle this bitch,” the owl said, and put a wing over his beak, beat-boxing up a little beat to go off of so he could get into the rhythm of his rhyme.

“Yo, my street name is Owlowiscious,

My rhymes are the sickest shit

I’m the demolitionist of your perfectionist

Pony princess bitch

I fly low to grab a mouse and I rip of it’s head

Then go back to its home and bang its mouse widow

ON HIS BED

Come back

Smoke some crack

Lean back

Take a stab

I’ll be your next heart attack

Dat bitch who lives here always be crimpin’ my style

But now I’m gonna strike while she’s out for a while

You’re the only nigga around, so you best be respectin’

Or I’ll call my homeboy Shrek down to teach you a lesson

So now we gonna chill

On the windowsill

Getting thrills

Getting fills

On the true nigga life.”

Spike was stunned. Never before had he heard such skillful lyrics spit out without some sort of crazy beat to back it up! Truly, Owlowiscious was a force to be admired and feared.

“So, what are we going to do?” Spike asked.

“Ey, I’ll be right back,” Owlowiscious said, flying upstairs. He returned a moment later, a bag with a pipe, some paper, and a large amount of green plant in it. “We gonna go faaaaaaaaar ooooooooowt, mah nigga!”

“Hey, that’s the bag from under Twilight’s mattress!” Spike said. “Twilight told me to never touch it!”

“Well, Twilight ain’t around, is she?” Owlowiscious said. “Dat bitch is always hogging the good shit that she gets from Flutternigga.”

“Fluttershy?”

“I prefer to use her dealing name,” Owlowiscious said, shrugging his wings. “Anyway, what the fuck are we doing talkin’ about this? Let’s smoke some of dis shit!”

Before Spike could object, the owl had opened the bag, grabbed a paper, lain it down, grabbed some of the green plant, laid on on the paper, and rolled it up. Licking the edges and then sticking them together, he admired the phat blunt he had just perfectly rolled. “Damn, dat sit is tiiiiight. Spike! Light a nigga up!”

Spike discharged a brief burst of fire, which lit the end of the paper. Owlowiscious took a big huff, and sighed as smoke poured from his nose-holes. “Awwwwwwwww yeeeeeeeeaaaaah...”

“Do I get some?” Spike asked hopefully.

Owlowiscious took a look at him, then burst out laughing. “Hell naw! We gotta start you out on somethin’ a bit harder! Toughen you up and all that shit! You gonna go right on the pipe, bitch!”

The owl set down his blunt on the floor, and grabbed the pipe out of the bag. “Hold onto this shit,” he said, passing the pipe into Spike’s talons. Owlowiscious scooped up some fresh kush from the bag and dropped it into the pipe’s bowl. “Now, light dat shit!”

Spike blew a few sparks onto the weed, and soon it was lightly smoldering. “Now, put the pip in your moth and SMOKE DAT SHIIIIIT!” Owlowiscious instructed him.

Spike put the pipe in his mouth, and took a deep, sharp inhale. Instantly, he felt the horrible burning sensation of burning sticks being jammed down his throat. His eyes watered, his nostrils filled with terrible smoke, and he was soon laying down on the ground, coughing uncontrollably.

This horrible sensation went on for roughly a half-hour, before Owlowiscious stopped toking on his own blunt. “Shit, you need a glass of water or somethin’?”

Spike gurgled on his own vomit, tears streaming down his face.

“Naw, I think you just need a bit more weed,” the owl said, shoving the pipe back into Spike’s mouth. The dragon swallowed his bile, and took another inhale, only to have the horrible effects of the first toke doubled.

At that moment, the door opened with a creak, and a familiar voice called out to the inhabitants. “Spike? I’m home! Big Mac was faster than usual today, so I was able to cut down my waiting line for my whor— DEAR SWEET CELESTIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Spike looked up from Twilight’s pipe, and opened his mouth, trying to explain, but only smoke poured out. Looking over to Owlowiscious for support, he found that the owl and his blunt were nowhere to be seen.

“You’re smoking it all wrong!” Twilight said, rushing down to sit next to Spike. “You have to take slower inhales, the sharp ones will just make it burn!”

Spike followed Twilight’s directions, and found the burning feeling to be fading away, replaced with a desire to protest corporations and bake cookies.

“Wow, thanks Twilight,” Spike said in a slow, chill voice. “So like, you’re not mad at me, man?”

“Oh, no, I am,” Twilight said. “But I’m going to fix it like I fix all my other problems that don’t require the elements of harmony; By getting stoned off my ass!”

And the two lived happily ever after, until the cops busted them two hours later and dragged them off to rot in prison.

“How long are we gonna serve?” Spike said, tears streaming down his face. “Five years?”

“What?” the police pony said. “Five years? Minor felons like murderers and rapists get that! You two are going away for a good twenty years, with the likes of all the other horrible criminals: Tax evaders and music pirates!”

“Twilight,” Spike begged his counterpart. “You’re a princess! Can’t you pull some strings to keep us from getting jailed?”

“I’m sorry, Spike, even I’m not above the law,” Twilight said. “We’re going to have to serve our time.”

Spike shed a single tear, and grit his teeth as he watched Owlowiscious flip him off from inside the treehouse the two used to share, smoking a fat blunt as he did so.

Moral of the story: Owls are tricky fucks.