“Ow! Hey! Geez, Der—Ditzy, cut me some slack! Or whatever! You’re—imploding—my—ribcage—“
Slots Jones batted at Ditzy Doo, or Derpy, as he had called her seconds ago, with a limp newspaper. He briefly lamented the fact that it had rained last night, then went back to self-defense. The Las Pegasus resident was in the middle of an attack; the attack was what most ponies received after calling Ditzy Doo the name of Derpy Hooves. Not a good idea. About half a minute earlier, he had been safe and relative normality was blessing his household. Then came the mailpony, and normality decided it was disgusted with life and committed suicide.
“Whatever, just don’t call me Derpy!” said the grey pegasus, and was just about to take off when she pondered how nice of a word ‘derpy’ was. “Rolls right off the tongue,” she giggled, gliding slowly off of the horizon.
She had dropped off a package, he remembered, just before she had assaulted him. To the Jones residence, it had said. Well, he had been of the Lucky household until he came to grips with the fact that Lucky did not fit him, nor did it describe his accuracy at slot machines, and it sure as Celestia didn’t make sense. ‘Jones’ came because it just seemed as professional as the son of a late gambler could get.
The package, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string, didn’t seem professional. He peered into the crack. Something jingled, and he realized he had accidentally bumped it with a hoof. He reminded himself to be careful, it could be delicate.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. Slots tore off the wrapping and then the string, where, sitting on a white sheet of paper, lay something shiny.
Slots half expected a chorus of angels. But how had all this fit into the package? It didn’t make much sense to him. He assumed it was just a very tight squeeze. Taking a closer look now that his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, he beheld a pile of 1,000 bits. What a strange—but helpful—gift! He thought of how many slot machines he could win jackpot on, cleared his head, and realized that the best thing to do would be give it to a charity. Maybe he could give it to that new school that everypony was saying was in need. He fell back on to the ground. What was a stallion to do?
The first day, all Slots did was consult. His first confident was a talk show host and part-time journalist, known by the name of Sea Swirl. She was well known on the coast of Equestria, and had quite a following on the radio. As the stallion flicked the switch to bring power to the radio, he could already hear Sea’s cheerful voice announcing the weather: “Looks like a fine, sunny day outside, but this much sun means lots of sunscreen! Swim safe…”
He waited a bit, knowing that once the weather segment was over, he would be tuning into the advice segment. The mare went on for a bit, talking about how nice the ocean was going to be. Slots didn’t care much about the weather. Neither did his lifetime supply of bits. They just sparkled in the sun meaning “lots of sunscreen!”
He jolted up, realizing that he had nearly fell into a trance there. He shook his head to clear his mind, then dialed on his wall phone the number. The west coast of Americanter was currently in an industrial revolution, and as such, was just getting phones. He sort of smiled, knowing that this would have put him in a higher class had he been born around Ponyville.
“Hi, Slots Jones. You’re on the air, and this is Sea Swirl! What is it that you wanted?” Sea Swirl asked, once again taking Slots out of his reverie.
“I have a hypothetical question,” he began.
“Oh, a hypothetical one? We don’t get much of those.” Sea Swirl said with interest. Slots heard her lean forward, elbows on her recording table, as if to say: Here it comes, everypony! Almost smiling, he continued.
“What would you do…with one thousand bits?” he asked tentatively.
“Oh, what a generic question. Howsabout we ask some other listeners; I mean, we all know I would just buy better microphones. Twilight Sparkle of Canterlot, you’re on the air.”
Slots was a little taken aback on discovering that princesses listened to the radio as well, not to mention that Twilight Sparkle had a radio and phone. “Well?” pushed Sea Swirl.
“If I had one thousand bits…I think I would probably add some books to my library. I think I’m missing some that somepony checked out.” Then Twilight hung up.
“Well, you heard it here first, ponies! Now, on to our next listener—Neon Lights, you’re on the air!”
“Yo,” he started. “If I had one thou, I think I would get up and leave the country, maybe travel. Get a little out of life, y’know?”
“Pinkie Pie, what—“ Sea Swirl said, but was interrupted.
“Well, let’s see! The first thing I would do would be buy the deeds to your property, so I could bake some more! And then I would renovate your house into a smiles factory—I don’t know how I would accomplish that, but it would happen somehow…” The pink mare was the exact ponification of Billy Mays, or at least that’s what Slots would have thought if he had known who Billy Mays was.
“Well, fillies and gentlecolts, I’m afraid that’s all we have time for, as far as today! See you all later!” Sea Swirl ended the program.
I really should write all this down, thought Slots Jones, but was too mentally exhausted to do anything. He wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it happened anyway.
The next day, a smartly dressed Slots strolled out of his home towards the sidewalk, and ended up looking at a grudge-bearing Ditzy. With a sniff, she flew off, having just been about to leave anyhow. Another package was lying on his lawn.
Surprise, surprise. It contained another 1,000 bits. Slots looked away, then looked back. It sure wasn’t leprechaun gold, no sir. He brought the bundle inside to his house and compared the two packages.
Suddenly it struck him that he was rich. It began to dawn on him that he could do whatever he wanted to, and whenever. He burst into laughter, then remembered that he was ‘high society’ and shut up. Then he realized that he didn’t very much like being high society, and began laughing again.
That day, he made a couple of trips to fancy restaurants, shops, and even a couple of casinos all around Las Pegasus. Some townsfolk were rather surprised to see Slots able to afford it, and some asked, “How?”
That struck Slots for a bit. He thought and thought, and came to the conclusion that he did not care whether or not he knew where the money came from or how it showed up on his lawn not one, not two, but three times.
That’s right. The package came again. He grinned, almost anticipating it. More shining gold bits—and just like last time, 1,000 of them. Now with 1,070 bits (the 70 was his remainder of what he spent last night), he smiled, and was about to relax in his comfortable chair when…
Crash! Derpy Hoo—Ditzy Doo, he corrected himself—came smashing through the window. “Home run!” said the stallion on the radio, coincidentally. “Ditzy…what are you doing in my windowframe?” Slots asked.
“I just forgot something. The package guy asked me to send you this with the package. How are you so rich, anyway?” Ditzy said, curious but oblivious at the same time.
“I don’t know…” said Slots, coming to a halt when he read the contents of the envelope that the mailpony had just handed him.
Dear Slots Jones,
We have been notified that you’ve been receiving a large sum of money lately. We have chosen now to inform you the following. Do not be alarmed. This money was sent to a random location, which just so happened to be yours, by a criminal. This is others’ money. It is hard, we agree. However, we will…
“Be confiscating my money? Well, I guess that makes sense…” Slots said, and then it caught up to him.
“Confiscating my money?! Derpy, wait! What am I supposed to do…oops.” Slots realized that he had just called the volatile Ditzy Doo by the name of Derpy once more. Once again, a rabid mailmare was upon him, and he was just beginning to hear the police sirens…
