What You Thought Was Going to be a Delicious Confection
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Bill Cosby and the Pudding of Doom
What You Thought Was Going to be a Delicious Confection
It was another glorious day in Ponyville. The birds were shining, the sun was growing, and the grass was chirping. All was as it should be.
A certain purple pony princess’ slave was skipping through the library, humming a pleasant tune to himself as he re-shelved the books all around him.
“Hey hey you you, I don’t like your girlfriend, no way no way no way I think you need a new one,” Spike sang to himself, daintily shoving a book back into its proper place. “Hey hey, you you, I’d like to be your girlfriend...”
Knocking a book from the shelf, he looked down to see what exactly it was that he had caused to fall. Checking the title, he read it aloud to himself.
“Journal of a Less Than Manly Foal,” Spike read aloud, as previously denoted. “I thought we already burned all these books?”
As he called the paper stack he was clutching, and other like it, a “book”, he felt the entire world around him shudder. It was as though he had offended the very universe itself.
Deciding to make nothing of it, Spike skipped away like the little prissy boy he was. A rumbly in his tumbly soon alerted him that he needed to scurry over to the kitchen and fix himself some food.
Opening the fridge, he emitted a squeak of terror as he observed the contents of the food-box. The condiments had gone bad— terribly bad. In fact, they were currently in a shootout with the beer! Knowing that that was only one chance to survive this wasteland that was once a food paradise, he was gonna need to roll with the right homies.
Spike looked down a shelf, and settled on his choice of gang. “Alright cottage cheese... don’t fail me now.”
Not ten seconds later, Spike flew out of the fridge, clutching a broken salt shaker and a cup of some sort of brown substance, his face splattered with cottage cheese carnage. His eyes wide, and his breathing heavy, he could only muster one single sentence.
“I cheated DEATH!”
Growling like the most savage of kitten, Spike consumed the slain salt shaker’s heart in order to gain its powers, and then tossed it aside. Looking down at his other claw, he checked out the other thing that he had grabbed in his brief incursion into gang-life.
“Pudding?” he said, looking over the chocolate substance he was clutching. “Well, good as anything to eat.”
Heading over into the main room of the library, Spike opened his pudding right over one of Twilight’s open spell books. The droplets of delicious brown substance fell in a small spiral down onto the pages full of arcane runes, and began to glow slightly. Spike watched on in horror as the book contorted, and birthed out a large, teal-englowed figure.
“Zoo wee mama!” Spike said, the universe shuddering once again. Before him stood... a black man.
This was no ordinary black man, however. This was the king of all negros! This was in fact... Bill Cosby.
“Well zappa dadda doo bee, my little dragon,” Bill Cosby said. “It is in fact... your lucky day.”
“Why?” Spike asked ignorantly.
“Because,” Bill said, with a black-man grin. “Your zee-doo-baa time is here.”
“Wha—?” Spike asked, but before he could speak any longer, Bill Cosby shushed him with a long, chocolate finger. He reached into the book, and pulled out a long sword.
“I will summon him now,” Bill Cosby said. “And you best be ready.”
Bill Cosby spoke in a tongue unknown to man, dragon, or ponykind, holding the sword up into the air. Spike gasped as the sword glowed, and so did the little dragon’s pudding! It shook and contorted, growing and expanding more and more by the second.
“What are you doing?” Spike asked, falling back in terror.
“I am sum-dim-dom-dingledanging The Pudding of Doom, of course,” Bill Cosby stated, as if it were plain as day. “And you, young squire, are gonna defeat that thing like it’d your bee-bop bizzle-itch.”
Spike squeaked, and tried to scuttle away, but the magic pudding reached out a tendril and grabbed the little assistant’s ankle. He watched, as Bill continued to chant, as a human figure began to emerge from the ooze of pudding. This one was holding a police-issued pistol, and squinting his eyes, a tough guy smirk on his face as he chewed a toothpick. Clearly, this guy meant business.
Bill Cosby’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh shizzle wizzle shit! I misspoke a few of the words, and I summoned... George Zimmerman!”
“Who’s Zimmerman—” Spike began to ask, but before he could finish, Zimmerman plugged Bill Cosby full of bullets. The human turned to look at the little dragon, toothpick still being chewed on like a mother-fucking badass.
“George Zimmerman,” he said to Spike. “I’m only the best black-guy-hunter in the business. Now, I gotta get your little ass too; dragons are at least 40% black man.”
Spike barely had time to dodge the first hail of bullets that were sent his way. A gleam caught his eye, and he saw it there, next to Bill’s dead body— the sword of summoning. Dashing over to it as more bullets shot all around him, he grabbed the blade, and faced Zimmerman.
Zimmerman smiled a knowing smile. “You silly dragon! You can’t defeat me!”
“And why’s that?” Spike asked, scowling.
“Because,” Zimmerman said with a malicious twinkling in his eye. “You can’t flim-flam the Zim-Zam!”
He thrust his arm forward just as Spike charged Zimmerman. There was a large BANG, followed by a short SHUNK, to be concluded by a wet fwap!
Spike fell back, clutching his chest as blood oozed from it. Zimmerman lay on the ground, his body split in two by the dragon’s swordsmanship. Spike’s vision went blurry as he heard sound of hooves enter the room.
“Spike, what’s going—” Twilight said, before getting a good look at the room. “Oh shit!”
The princess ran to Spike’s side. He lay there, motionless. A tear formed in her eye as she looked on at her assistant.
“Damn... slaves are expensive!” Twilight sobbed. “What’s more is, I’m not even sure the market is open today! If only you didn’t have to die, Spike...”
Spike groaned, and turned his head to look at Twilight, blinking weakly.
“AH!” Twilight screamed, smashing his face in with a book. “ZOMBIE!”
Spike squeaked as the book hit him, and he held up his claws in self-defense. “No! Twilight! I’m alive!”
“Oh, jeeze,” Twilight said, blinking. “You gave me a heart attack, Spike.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Spike told the pony with an apologizing tone. “But at least I killed Zimmerman!”
“Who?” Twilight said, looking around the library again. She had been so distraught by the prospect of her best slave dying, that she didn’t even bother to look around the room to see all the damage that had been done; sure enough, it was covered in pudding, bullet holes, and bits of Bill Cosby.
“Spike!” Twilight said, glaring angrily down at her assistant. “What did I say would happen the next time you wrecked the library?”
“Well,” Spike said in a somewhat jovial tone. “You said you were gonna eat me. But you were kidding, right?”
“Sure,” Twilight said, casually sharpening a steak knife on a nearby grindstone, while flipping through a book entitled To Serve Dragon, “Kidding.”
