The Legend of Epic Sax Spike

The Legend of Epic Sax Spike: A Tale of Wonder and Unparalleled Satisfaction

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Chapter 3: The Brunt of Deceit and Its Tangled Web of Misery

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“Phew, almost done!” the stubby purple dragon thought to himself as he continued to lay trap after trap, hoping to ward off the spirit of El Oso Diablo and his mangled cohorts for yet another spring. “I don’t see how everypony can keep this up for so long! I’m practically drowning in my own sweat!”

Just as he placed the final décor to welcome in Bear Season, his Venizon phone began ringing. He checked the caller I.D., and smiled in excitement. “Where you at?” he mockingly answered, poking fun at Twilight’s horrible choice of a cell-phone plan.

“Spike, my dear boy, how’s this glorious day been treating you?” the handsome stallion replied, twirling his silly little moustache. Spike had the inept ability to hear each hair follicle twirling against one another through the magical tubes we know today as “mobile technology”.

“Ugh, it’s been a nightmare!” Spike began, “Have you ever had to deal with bears in Manehattan?”

“Hmhmm, which ‘bears’ do you mean, young lad?” the stallion wittingly responded. Spike began to recollect the great times the two shared in southern Fillyfornia, and the awkward mornings thereafter.

“The animals, you dolt.” He responded sternly, causing a laugh from the gentlecolt.

“But dear boy, aren’t we all animals?” the stallion stated jokingly. “I do believe a look about town would tell you that much.”

“You know what I mean! Anyways, this ‘Bear Season’ nonsense has pushed me to my limits! I hope ‘El Oso Diablo’ comes and leaves a nice ‘package’ on Twilight’s pillow for her contributions. If he won’t, I surely will…” he trailed off while noticing an attractive young filly walking across a nearby path.

After a short visual banging, Fancy chose to break the silence. “Ahem,” he began, “anywho, I called to see if we were still on for bar-hopping this weekend; all this ‘stocks and bonds’ nonsense has utterly drained me, so like most innovators, I feel the need to take it out on my liver.”

“Haha yeah, I’m still free… where are you? It sounds like you’re at a Kathy Griffin convention.” (The mythological creature, not the actual person; they’re just spelled the same. Fuck me, right?) The dragon asked arrogantly.

“No, I’m afraid I’m at the local grocer. I need to restock on some things, mainly Chipotl-Away.” The stallion begrudgingly responded.

“Dude, we’ve been over this, why don’t you just stop wearing pants? It seems to work for everyone here.” Spike pointed out, looking around at the whopping four ponies within his line of sight.

“I’m afraid that goes against my name, dear boy.” He quickly noted.

“Oh… right. For that matter, why bother eating something if it’s just gonna cause blood to rupture from your ass?” he nonchalantly asked.

“SPIKE, LANGUAGE!” Twilight yelled from the second-story window.

“Sorry Twi’, my white friends…” he responded with a shrug. With a groan, she returned to her reading.

“Have you ever tried it, Spike? It’s quite a delicacy.” Fancy stated.

“I’m just saying, if it’s a common enough occurrence for a product to be made, shouldn’t you consider other options? Anyway, shouldn’t you maybe purchase something to remedy the health issue as opposed to its maintenance?” Spike asked, slightly annoyed.

“I’d say all in all, it’s worth the experience.” He answered.

“Well, I’ll have to take your word for it; I’ll stick with my Type 1’s.” Spike modestly responded.

“Suit yourself, dear Spike. Say ‘hi’ to Rarity for me.” Fancy said, ready to end this ridiculous argument.

“You know I won’t.” Spike stated, annoyed with his choice booty’s adoration towards this high-class stallion.

“Hah-alright, Spike. Take care.” With that, Fancy hung up the phone, and continued to slowly destroy his innards.

“He’s gonna be dead in ten years, I guarantee it.” Spike thought to himself. “Wait a minute… I think I might be onto something!”

Ten Days Earlier…

“Look Spike, I paid you a hefty fee to come up with somethin’ and you’re TROWING DAT MONEY DOWN DA TUBES WITCHA DAMN PROAHBLEMS!” the New Colt City delegate screamed at the beloved scaly bastard.

“Look man, just gimme a little more time. I just haven’t struck that ‘writer’s gold’ just yet.” The purple people eater timidly responded.

“I don’t think you undastand the severity (SNAPPLE) of the situation ‘ere, dragon-buoy!” the moustached marauder yelled in response. “I got corporate breathin’ down my neck about givin’ dis goahbage a fancy slogan, and ‘ere you are, tellin’ me ya ain’t ‘struck no gold’ aftah tree weeks?!? The hell you gon’ get dat scaly head outcha ass and GET ME MONEY?!?” the irate stallion screamed.

“L-l-look, j-… j-just gimme… t-TWO WEEKS! Two weeks, and I’ll give Stallion’s Warehouse the best slogan of ALL TIME!” Spike declared triumphantly.

“You bettah, ‘cause I’ll wring you out myself come next foahtnight if you don’t delivah.” The delegate stated, storming out of the room.

Present Time…

“Hmm, no, that’s not right.” Spike continued scribbling through various slogans, trying to find the perfect fit for the perfect tailors. “Something’s not working here.” He looked at his growing list of failed slogans:

You already love us, I guarantee it.
This stuff’s the bomb, I guarantee it.
OMG, these suits rock, I guarantee it.
Dude, these suits are the tits, I guarantee it.
You need to give these suits a shot, I guarantee it.
Mares will ADORE your creased slacks, I guarantee it.
You will have sex continuously while wearing these garments, I guarantee it.
We do crotch-less on request, I guarantee it.
Febreze the love-stain and no one will notice, I guarantee it.
Vomit will wash off after the third cycle, I guarantee it.
Pay the maid for the “extra cleaning” in cash to avoid future problems, I guarantee it.
It’s not gay if you don’t cum, I guarantee it.
It’s not straight if Andy Dick has done it, I guarantee it.
Deception is much better than Armageddon, I guarantee it.
The book is much better than the movie, I guarantee it.
The original is much better than the sequel(s) , I guarantee it.
It’s not incest if she’s not a dragon, I guarantee it.
It shouldn’t be awkward at breakfast the next morning, I guarantee it.
Oreos should stop production on their regular cookies and solely produce Double Stufs, I guarantee it.
Double Stufs should become the new basic cookie and Quadruple Stufs should become the new Double Stuf, I guarantee it.
The new Double Stufs should be sold for 15 bits a truckload, I guarantee it.
Glasses and a moustache is never a good look for anyone under the age of 60, I guarantee it.
“Age before beauty” should only apply to minors, I guarantee it.
Paint thinner doesn’t kick you in the teeth like it used to, I guarantee it.
Our tuxedos will make you look like a million bits, I guarantee it.

“Uuugh! What am I missing here?” Spike slammed his head on the desk, as the feint flame flickered with his swift wind.

“Spike, don’t you think it’s time for bed? It’s almost midnight.” Twilight said groggily, approaching her young assistant.

“Just give me a minute, I’ve almost got this down.” Spike responded doubtfully.

“Alright Spike, just be sure to get some sleep. Don’t forget you need to help Rarity (SNA- oh, wait…) tomorrow with Roseluck’s Gala dress.” Twilight stated with a yawn, as she began slumping up the stairs.

Spike rested his head on his arm and began to daydream of Rarity, helping her with menial tasks in weak hopes of tapping that sweet marshmallow flank when she’s in her late 30’s, following a divorce from her former lover and an awkward sexual experience with her younger sister. “We’ve been working on that dress for a while now,” he began thinking about the dress “she’s gonna like the way she looks.”

“Wait… aw, snap!” Spike scribbled one more sentence on the parchment.

The G-spot does not come with instructions, I guarantee it.
It’s not wise to be creative with coins in a strip club, I guarantee it.
Fish do NOT come from vaginas. They just smell that way, I guarantee it.
You’re gonna like the way you look, I guarantee it.

“THAT’S IT!!!” Spike yelled, just short of reaching Twilight’s room. He rushed to his phone and called his delegate.

“It’s almost midnight, who da hell is dis?” he answered in an understandably aggravated tone.

“You’re gonna like the way you look, I guarantee it.”

“HOLY SHIT! DAT’S BRILLIANT! I knew you’d come through for us, ol’ Spikey ol’ pal! Wait’ll I tell da buoys down at da docks!” he hung up the phone and proceeded to perform a jig of sorts, while Spike crawled up to bed for a decent night’s sleep.

. . .

“Come on dude, these guys were promised a show.” Snails said hesitantly.

“I know, I know, just gimme a minute to think…” Spike began rubbing his temples in hopes of an idea. He looked through the curtain to see an arena filled with half of Ponyville’s finest, waiting for the show of a lifetime. He began pacing backstage, furiously attempting to conjure up a plan.

“They’re gonna be pretty upset when they hear Daft Pony’s van broke down outside of town. They might demand refunds!” Snips stated in a panic.

“Look, we’ll come up with something. We just need to calm down, and think of an alternative.” Spike said, scratching his scalp. He started to think about things he had read in the days prior, the information still fresh in his mind. He read up on mediums after watching a ghost-hunting show on television.

“It’s not safe to channel spirits, Spike. You never know just what dimension or universe they might come from!” he remembered Twilight’s response regarding the matter.

“It’s a stretch… but it’s our only shot!” Spike claimed, pounding a fist into his open palm. He gathered his two friends and formed a séance backstage with the few candles available. He began to chant an ancient psalm that wakes the resting spirits and beckons their company. After several minutes, a whisper began to develop.

“Keep goin’ guys! We’re on the right track!” Spike said, as the chanting continued. The whisper became broader, and soon began to catch the ears of several other people in the backstage area. They looked around to find the origin of the sound, but no such satisfaction was met. The whisper slowly grew to a groan.

The crowd began to chant “We want the band! We want the band!” almost in congruence with the growing sounds emitting from the spirit. The chants continued from both sides of the curtain, as the air grew thicker backstage. The three suddenly felt a pressure on their chests, making breathing much more of a challenge.

“D-don’t stop now! We need to keep it up!” Spike said between gasps. The three continued their weird chanting, as the groan grew to a growl. Soon, a mist was forming between them, and continued to grow with the surrounding sounds. After several minutes, the spirit had fully manifested itself, and looked at the trio in awe. The spirit was a rather strange-looking creature; it was like a monkey, but with much less hair. It seemed just as well-groomed as most of the ponies were, but had a much different skeletal structure, and looked just all-around odd to the young rascals.

“W-who are you?” Spike asked hesitantly.

“Who am I? What the hell are you?” the spirit asked in shock.

“I-I’m Spike the dragon. These are my friends Snips and Snails; they’re both ponies.” Spike responded, pointing at his two border-line retarded chums.

“I guess. The name’s John.” The spirit said, lightly waving his right hand.

“Well, look John, we need your help,” Spike began, “This band was supposed to play this concert for the town, but their bus broke down! We were hoping you knew any musicians that could help us out.”

“Oh. Well, you conjured up the right spirit. I used to drum for this group, Led-”

“You’re a drummer?!? Sweet!” Spike interrupted, “Could you maybe possess my friends and I so that we give these assholes a concert they’ll never forget?” Spike batted his goat eyes in hopes of charming the spirit into assisting them.

“I don’t see why not; I’m not exactly doin’ anything else at the moment.” John responded, unable to resist the alluring gaze of the strange goat-dragon-boy. He then entered his new friends’ spiritual beings, and took over their bodies. They each grabbed their respective instruments, and rushed onto the stage.

The crowd erupted into a continuous cheer for the youngsters, believing they were the opening act. With that, they began their set. With a “Heartbreaker” here and a “Immigrant Song” there, the three were tearing up the stage with their funky rock grooves. After somehow pulling off “Kashmir” with only a guitar, bass and drums, the trio ended their set.

The crowd remained in silence, not uttering a sound since about their third or fourth song. The three stared on through the blinding strobes, hoping to hear an uproar of cheers within the upcoming moments. “Man, talk about an awkward silence.” Spike thought to himself as he sat behind his 4-piece kit.

“You’re tellin’ me. Later, bro!” John said, as he exited their bodies and evaporated into Ponyville’s atmosphere. Another ten seconds of death-inducing silence followed before freedom of speech took its unfortunate toll.

“The FUCK was that?!?” Donut Joe screamed, as he got up and flailed his front-hooves in anger.

One by one, everyone in the crowd began to yell in aggravation at the monotony to which they were just exposed. They began throwing rotting vegetables towards the young whippersnappers (as to why they carry rotting vegetables around, we’ll never know…). Turns out, that genre of music had never quite reached into their specific universe, and as most new sounds develop in new areas, it was furiously rejected by its listeners at first. The grooves of LZ would never be heard in the ponyverse ever again.

“Guys, I think this was a ba-a-a-a-ad idea.” Spike bleated, as his friends turned around to find a purple goat sitting at the drum set.

“Uh, Spike, I think you conjured up a little more than you can host.” Snails said nervously.

“Who else but Spike?” Snips said, as the two ponies shared a laugh with the shrugging goat, as the audience began throwing blunt objects in hopes of killing the poor creatures.

To be continued…