Another gorgeous day in Ponyville. You trot down the cobblestone and grass streets, saying hello to everyone you meet as they smile back at you with saccharine smiles as wide as the ghastly gorge, their teeth glaring in Celestia’s midday sun like lighters held up at a Trotston concert during “Hitch a Ride.” (Sorry, couldn’t figure out how to ponify that last part of the analogy.)
Of course, you are far too busy with your tasks to bask in the glorious day which Celestia hath made. You’re on a mission. A critical mission.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, and by reading you kinda implicitly sorta are, is to go to the internet cafe. You open the door as the smell of fresh cut coffee beans and minimum wage barista sweat assaults your nostrils like a fluffy kitten.
Ponyville has only had internet—and computers for that matter—for a short period of time, but already it has taken off like a runaway pegasus tornado created by Derpy Hooves. It seems like only yesterday, ponies were writing letters to each other with quills and parchment, but now, there’s an equestria-wide web of knowledge and information and bits and bytes connecting everypony. Technology is wonderful, and lately there’s been a lot of progress, since the writers of the show introduce new technology haphazardly whenever they need a sight gag.
You imagine that in a few years, the ponies will all be flying around in hovercrafts and eating pills instead of dinner.
You open the clamshell screen of your new, sleek-black laptop as you type in the password to the internet cafe’s free wifi: “Mochafrappachinolattemachiato.” You don’t know why it’s that long, but you figure that it would be nearly impossible to crack for some freeloader who didn’t want to actually buy a drink.
You log onto IRC, because Equestria doesn’t yet have Skype. They’re still in the late 1990’s phase of the internet, after all, but they’ll probably have Skype in a year or so.
You type the long string of commands required to get into the chat, and decide to go looking for ponies to chat with. After searching for a few minutes, your pulse quickens as you see two similar usernames that looks oddly familiar:
“POUND91” and “PUMPKIN425.”
Your heart skips a beat. You’ve always kind of liked the Cake twins, Pound and Pumpkin Cake. Ever since they were foals, you’ve had your eye on them. Looking back, you fondly recall many trips to Sugarcube Corner to buy loaves of bread and candy. But that wasn’t really what you were after.
What exactly it is that draws you to them, you can’t quite put your hoof on. Maybe it’s how they’re twins, and are both really cute. Maybe it’s how Pound can fly circles around you, or how great Pumpkin is with magic. They’re only eight years old, but really mature for their age, after all.
Maybe it’s their cute little high-pitched voices. You recall taking a tape recorder outside of their nursery once and recording their voices for posterity’s sake. You listen to it every night as you fall asleep. It's like a mother's lullaby.
But whatever the reason is, you have never quite summoned up the courage to talk to them. After all, what if they judge you and call you a jerk, or a doofus, or whatever it is that kids call each other nowadays? You’re a grown-up, and they’d never accept you as your friend.
But you are emboldened by the anonymity that the internet provides. They would have no way of knowing who you are. You could just type in whatever messages that you want, and then win them over with your charm. Then, when they are completely enamored with you, you can reveal that you are actually a grown stallion, and they will accept you for who you are.
So, you type out a quick little message to them.
PROWLER73:hi
You wait for a moment. Then another. then another. You start to bite your hooves. Maybe they didn’t see your message. Maybe you should type another one. Maybe—
Your thoughts are interrupted by a tinging sound as they respond.
POUND91: hi prowler73.
PUMPKIN425: whats up?
You grin. You’ve got them now! You type out a new message, frantically typing away like a woodpecker trying to get at a succulent termite.
PROWLER73: im very lonely. it seems like i dont have a friend in all of ponyville
They respond.
POUND91: thats so sad! everypony deserves a freind
PUMPKIN425: we’ll be youre friend prowler!
POUND91: how old r u
Your jaw drops. This is—and you groan at the pun—a cakewalk!
PROWLER73: nine
POUND91: Oh cool an older pony!
After a few more hours of chatting with them on IRC, you get to know a bit more about them. Well, actually, you already knew many things about them from standing outside their window and watching them, or from hiding in the bushes near the playground as they talked. But you pretend to be learning it for the first time.
Finally, after summoning up the courage, and after noticing the sun slowly crest toward the horizon outside through the window, you make a move.
PROWLER73: Lets meet irl
PUMPKIN425: oh i dont know mommy said not to talk to strangrs
POUND91: come on Pumkin he seems pretty cool
PUMPKIN425: we only just met him today
POUND91: u do have a good piont. hmm…
You gulp. You can’t lose them now; you’ve been trying for years!
PROWLER73: ill make it worth ur while
PUMPKIN425: rlly? how/
You put your hoof on your chin, trying to think of something. Then, you nod your head, full of self-confidence as you come up with a response.
PROWLER73: ill do things to u, and theyll feel really gud
Then you wait a moment, and they respond.
PUMPKIN425: better than cnady?
POUND91: better thn flying?
PROWLER73: yeah totaly
You sit back, waiting for their response. It seems like forever, and the anticipation is killing you, like that one time that you were waiting to get into the Hannah Manetana movie and didn’t know if they’d have any extra tickets. They didn’t, but you just ended up camping out outside the theater and waiting for all the little fillies and colts to come out, because they were the real show, anyway.
PUMPKIN425: ok. we live at Sugracub corner
PROWLER73: great. are your parents home?
POUND91: theyre over at raritys gettin nu aprons tailered
PROWLER73: how long does that take
PUMPKIN425: a few horus mayb?
PROWLER73: perfect! B over in a bit
You close your laptop and head out of the internet cafe. Trying not to gallop, you instead gleefully skip over to Sugarcube Corner, hopping up and down like a cat chasing a laser pointer. Because that will attract a lot less attention.
After a few minutes, you reach the colorful frosting and confectionary-coated storefront. Your heart skips a beat as you reach up with your hoof to knock on the door.
“It’s unlocked!”
You hear a voice from inside, which sounds like the twins.
Gleefully, you place your hoof on the doorknob and turn it, pushing the door open as you walk into the foyer.
Seeing nopony, you raise an eyebrow. Perhaps they’re in the kitchen.
So, you walk into the kitchen.
But suddenly, a wave of anxiety washes over you as you see that there is, in fact, an adult present. Several of them, actually. And they’re pointing cameras and boom microphones in your face.
“Wh-wh-what’s going on?” you stammer, confused.
A tall pony wearing a suit approaches you.
“I’m Chris Horseson. Are you familiar with the Dateline PBC show, To Catch a Pony Predator?”
You gulp.
Horseson stares at you like a hawk eyeing a juicy field mouse. He repeats your words in the chatroom, verbatim.
"I'll do things to you, and they'll make you feel really good," said Horseson, sneering with each word. "You were aware that these are minor children, were you not?"
"I-I-I..." you stammer. You try to think of some sort of excuse. But you can't. Finally, you burst out, shaking and in tears, "Please! Just let me go! I promise I won't ever do it again! I'll get help, I swear!"
You grovel on the floor below him, clasping your hooves together as you blubber forth with a waterfall of tears.
He pauses for a few minutes, and then he says, "Okay. You can go."
You glance at him. He looks stone cold serious.
"T-t-thank you!" you shout, running over to hug him. "I promise I won't ever do it again!"
You leave the bakery, ecstatic.
"DOWN ON THE GROUND, NOW!"
You glance around and see some black-clothed pony policestallions running towards you.
"Wha--" you start, before being tacked to the ground by one of them. He slaps a pair of hoofcuffs on you, and then hauls you off to jail, where you get raped in the shower several times.
You fucking pervert.
Author's Note
April fools!
