Hi, my name is Action Jackson and I am a little smarter than the average ~~bear~~ Brony. I found a way to Equestria one day by flexing my totally not overpowered biceps while riding a talking train. Its name was George.

“Baybee! Mama’s gruntin out another little miracle! Get mama’s birthin’ bucket!” Lyra calls. She is my sweetie-peetie cutie-wutie pony waifu.

In the living room, I hear what sounds like a large water balloon full of oatmeal bursting followed by profanity.

“Never mind!” Lyra calls lyrically. “Best get the mop!”
_

This all started several months ago, when I wrote my own version of Equestria while riding George the Train that is basically just like the show, but SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT so I have immunity from criticism. Action Jackson is a clever man as well as a handsome bad boi senpai. George agreed with a whimsical toot.

It didn’t take long for me to meet Lyra Heartstrings. She was chewing on some grass along the riverbank, swatting some flies off her hindquarters with her luxurious, matted tail. That was when I first saw her gorgeous rubbery folds. They spasmed invitingly, like the amorous mouth of a defanged lamprey, and I knew instinctively what I had to do.

The ancient axiom came to me like a flash from Heaven.

If you like it, you should put a ring on it.

I flexed myself home and, with George’s help, used my entire bank account to buy the most expensive ring I could find. With the theme to The Princess Bride humming through my head and my heart, I slipped the gold-plated wedding band from Wal-Mart onto the gray unicorn’s knobbed horn. The cubic zirconia glittered in Celestia’s sunlight like a diamond.

“Marry me, plox,” I implored like the most romantic character from the most romantic Shakespeare play.

“Okay, sounds good m8,” Lyra replied. Her voice tinkled like a glass bell and she pawed at the ground several times.

We had a simple wedding ceremony without undue ornamentation or those blasphemous wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube men that plagued weddings in my hometown. Both of us cried. Then Lyra winked and dripped, and I knew she was ready.

Scented candles littering the room, I sighed in the rapturous bliss of God's love as I took my Lyra to our marital bed and tongue-punched her fartbox.

It was true love at its most beautiful.
_

I have always been special. Not only because this story is going to get featured (wink wink nudge nudge), but because I have spoken to God on several occasions. You can find him on the corner of 31st and 9 ¾ on most days. He usually tries to bum a smoke, but will accept a McGriddle if it’s after ten. He’s guided me through most of my life’s difficulties with his wise words and crusty hands.

I’ve had flashes of him speaking to me even when he’s not there. My parents had always said I was special and the school counselors agreed. I usually get these whenever I am eating a hot dog or banana, or whenever I’m washing my hands because I’ll never be clean never be clean never be clean never be clean never be clean

Where was I? Oh, my visions from God.

One day while I was rubbing my chub up against my horse-wife’s gloppy gash, I realized that homosexuality was wrong. The thought of two men grinding each other’s sausages got me sweaty and flustered, but not in a gay way. I knew that it was my destiny to put an end to the insidious fudge-packing industry that apparently existed in Equestria even though I wrote it shut up.

But where does one begin their holy quest to eliminate from this brave new world all the ass bandits, bun dusters, clam jousters, colon commanders, exhaust pipe engineers, pirates of fire island, backdoor men, knob jockeys, muff divers, beaver eaters, and cunning linguists? Being a one-hundred percent heterosexual Christian, I had no idea. Tearfully, I fell to my knees and prayed for guidance, while also thanking Lord Jesus that thanks to pony races not correlating to ours, I didn’t have to deal with any snicker lickers.

I started by visiting the local steel mills, studying the stallions intently for signs of lingering homosexual thoughts. The sweat beading on their abs amid the myriad sparks tempted me, but only briefly. Action Jackson will not be swayed by such rippling temptations.

I next tried the inexplicable dubstep club, which was ruled over by the frankly dykish DJ PON-3. As a smarter than average Brony, I knew how the fandom liked to make her and Octavia peel each other's peaches. I had saved Lyra from her impending homosexuality and would begin my long and righteous quest by saving the other couples from the dark pleasures of their fanon shippings.

At first, it seemed like it would be an impossible task to sneak DJ PON-3 out of the club, seeing as how she was on a raised dais in the center of the crowd. However, I used my brain smarts from my head to come up with a brilliant plan.

When the bass dropped, everypony whipped themselves into a frenzy, keeping their eyes shut tight to avoid the flailing glowsticks. I made my way to the center of the stage as a new song began, knowing that I had anywhere between 60 and 65 seconds before the bass dropped again. I winced and gritted my teeth as several glowsticks bopped me on my noggin, but managed to get to the foot of the stage just behind Vinyl when the bass dropped again.

Popping a black bag over her head, I wrenched the struggling pony through swathes of whirling dervishes and escaped that awful club. I don't really know why I wrote it into existence in the first place. I'm not behind the times or anything, but I don't really like dubstep all that much. I prefer bands like Skillet. Have you heard of them? Because if you haven't, you totally need to check them out after you like, favorite, and subscribe.

Author's Note

Did I tell you it got featured already?
Don't you call me a liar!