Back From Paradise

by yourfanfictionnarrator

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Comedy, Bon-Bon, Random, DJ P0N-3, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Lyra
Length: 1863

My name is Reginald. Reginald Kush, but if you know me, you also know I hate that name. You can call me Reggie. Oh, and by the way, my special talent is marijuana.

If you’re to know the story of my little slice of life, how I ended up where I ended up, alongside the ponies I ended up with, and how it all goes on from here, I should probably start with my cutie mark. My name’s Reginald. Reginald Kush, but if you know me at all, you’d also know that I hate that name. You can call me Reggie. Where was I? That’s right, cutie mark.

Published 2014-07-25 00:50:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-25 00:50:04 UTC

Prolouge

Prologue

If you’re to know the story of my little slice of life, how I ended up where I ended up, alongside the ponies I ended up with, and how it all goes on from here, I should probably start with my cutie mark. My name’s Reginald. Reginald Kush, but if you know me at all, you’d also know that I hate that name. You can call me Reggie. Where was I? That’s right, cutie mark.

Y’know, cutie marks. The thing fillies and colts get branded with when they find out what they’re good at and stick to it. I of course, was a bit of a late bloomer. Really late. Fifteen to be precise, so… freshpony in high school. You ought to know from experience; whether you were one of the bullies or the pony on the receiving end, other ponies tend to give us late bloomers a rough time. Damn was I glad to be outta there. That place was hell. Sure I had friends, but I’m more of an anti social pony anyway. I tend to only make friends with similar interests and only if they were dependable. At least, that’s what the free personality test I took says.

I suppose I’m babbling nonsense again. So, my cutie mark. A perfectly symmetrical Ivy Green Marijuana leaf. And how did I feel about it? In my eyes, I couldn’t be prouder of it. In the eyes of everypony else, I was a talentless lazy bum. In that assumption, they were wrong. But I guess those ponies don’t know that when you assume you make an ass out of you, and me. Truth be told I had many talents. Cooking, drawing, persuasion, writing, (duh) and I have to say, I’m not too bad with the mares either. My true special talent; however, just so happens to be cannabis cultivation. Am I good at it? You bet your ass I am. I know everything that there is to know about the perfect little plant, and to me, that’s a talent worth having.

I’m a 19 year old unicorn with a light forest green coat. My mane is a blood red mohawk with neon yellow roots and dark purple streaks. Although, contrary to most mohawks mine was not shaved on the sides of my head, and stuck straight up rather than hang off to the side. My tail looks about the same. I work at a place called Welcome to Paradise. A cheesy little hole in the wall restaraunt in West Ponyville. While I don’t think it comes close to paradise, I don’t think an A from the Health Inspector every time is too shabby. The boss was a nice guy, a family man. But he worked his employees like Changeling Slaves. If you worked there, you didn’t have one position, no sir. There was no head chef, no hostess, no bus boy. Nope. If you worked there, you’d be required to do it all. Can’t say I blame him. He has a wife and 4 kids to support for. Not that his wife didn’t support. In fact I bet they split their profits 50/50. She was a professor at Ponyville Community College, and a part timer who made the occasional business trip to Canterlot University. Not sure what she teaches, she’s quite the looker though. His kids are… all right. More or less. Two in their late teens, one in middle school, and one was still in diapers. The two oldest worked whenever they felt like making a quick bit. And I had to supervise them. That sure as hell wasn’t paradise. By the way, did I mention who the restaurant used to belong to? My father, who by the way was much more shallow than the new owner. Aside from school being hell, working there wasn’t much better. So my child hood wasn’t all sunshine and lollipops.

Aside from that; even though I still work my flank off, I don’t make much. That being the reason I live in a house in a more ghetto part of town with at least 6 roommates. Neighbors too. The only thing those ponies were good for were the parties they threw. Which; to be honest, were pretty fun. When you’re not trying to enjoy the peace and quiet that is. This, my friend, is the tale of a pony named Reggie Kush.

BACK FROM PARADISE

Chapter One

Episode One
My Father once told me, “Reginald, if you ever want to remembered as a successful pony, forget about it. Because you’re a loser.” Thanks dad.

Orange juice. Freshly squeezed. Yep, that sounds pretty good right now.

I smacked my lips together as if it would somehow remove the awful taste of morning breath from my mouth. I levitated the covers off my body and rolled to the side of the bed. Joints popping as I stretched out, I connected my hooves to the cold brown carpet.

I passed the bathroom on the way to the stairs, reminding me that I had to take a leak like nopony’s business. Probably because I had Over-active Bladder Syndrome. I always have to know where the nearest place to take a wiz can be found. Come on, it's not gross or anything, I don't make fun of your disabilities.

***

FLUSH

I got a short view of myself as I trotted past the mirror. I really should do my hair. I picked up my rounded brush and brought it to my face.
Then I took a closer look.

Just peachy. A nice big nappy blue hair.

Vinyl.

If she uses my brush one more time...

I sighed.

To hell with my morning Regiment. I’m thirsty.

***

I opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of oranges with my mouth.

Hold up, where did these come from?

I levitated the bag around and found a yellow sticky note. It read, “Help yourself –Sugarberry”.

Figures. Any time she wanted the people in her house to know something, she’d use one of her yellow sticky notes.

Why thanks. Just what I was looking for you crazy son of a bitch.

My horn was surrounded with three overglows of my trademark dark green aura. The cabinets came to life and out came the required objects. A knife, a juicer, a cutting board, and a glass. Then I got to work cutting the oranges in half, whilst unknown to me the very owner of the house trotted in.

“Morning Reggie. You look like hell. Skip your morning regiment or something?” She said.

“Good morning to you also, Sugarberry.”

I levitated an orange half onto the manual juicer and began to grind.

“Using the oranges I see.”

“Yep. Why’d you buy them?” I asked.

Sugarberry whinnied.

“To piss off that apple mare.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Of course that was why. How had I not known.

Her crap with that apple girl is getting annoying.

I looked at the glass underneath the tube of the juicer.

Seriously? Only one little drop!

I levitated the juiced orange over to the trash can, replaced it with another and tried again.

“It’s Friday.” She announced. “Any plans?”

Lyra came out from under the table.

"Well I'm going to Vinyl's party, thanks for asking."

"Holy hell! Seriously Lyra?!" Sugarberry yelled.

"...Don't ask what I was doing under the table."

Her face tried to hold back excitement.

"... Ask." She whispered.

Okay, now this I could not comprehend.

"What were y-

"EAVESDROPPING!!! Who else is coming?"

"Sounds fun to me." Sugarberry said. "You doing anything tonight Reggie?"

“As a matter of fact. Not a damn thing.”

Sugarberry put emphasis on her (over)exaggerated expression of shock.

“Really now. That’s a first. You’re always either at work or in solitude. You hardly ever come to the parties we have.”

“That’s because I’m too tired to party. This might come as a surprise to you, but work isn’t easy. Not like you’d know. All your money comes from renting out the house.” I said, replacing yet another lousy orange.

Her eyes gave off a, whatever dude, kind of look.

“Bullshit.” She stated bluntly.

“To which half of my reply are you referring to?” I said in a racist posh accent.

“Both. You don’t party because you’re a loner. And by the way, I do work hard.”

“Sure sure. And Celestia is a stallion.”

She went quiet.

"Sooo... Should I-

"Not now Lyra!" I stated as firmly as I could without yelling.

"...Oookay."

She retreated back under the table.

I couldn’t tell if Sugarberry felt insulted or angry. Shit, maybe I should try being a little less blunt from now on.

“Gotta admit Reg that almost made me laugh.”

Mystery solved, I guess she just didn’t give a shit. Okay then.

She walked to the other side of the counter, placing her forelegs on it.

“What’s new?” She asked.

“Today marks the start of the only time off I’ve had in two weeks. Excluding Sunday that is. I just got promoted to assistant manager at Paradise.”

“Impressive. What’d you get out of that?”

“The next five days off, payed vacation. And a bigger paycheck from now on too. Looks like my boss is finally starting to make some money.”

“Good to see he’s finally making enough money to pay his employees what they’re worth.” Sugarberry leaned over the counter and batted her eyelashes. “And you’re worth more than you think Reggie.”

Her face dangerously close now as she nuzzled my neck with her nose.

Great.

She blew in my ear.

I backed away with a big sigh.

“Thanks but no thanks. My morning actually is complete, without being banged by somepony else on the counter.”

I threw away the orange carcasses and put the juicer in the sink. She was still there when I turned around.

If she has to check me out, can’t she be just a little less… obvious?

The 'sexy' look on her face was gone now.

“Suit yourself.”

She gave a flip of her mane and turned around, flanks deliberately swaying as she trotted off to the stairs.

“You always know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“Sure, sure.” I said with a wave of my hoof.

I didn’t take my eyes off the cutting board until she was up the stairs and out of sight. Out came a sigh of relief I didn’t realize I was holding. Sure she’s good looking and all, but I’m too damn tired for that. My goddess, I sound like an old stallion who thinks sex is some kind of workout for strengthening your core. Up and down and up and down. Maybe when I’ve gotten some rest I’ll feel like I’m not 90 years old.

I lifted up the glass.

All that effort and no more than one swig. Pbbbfffttttt Fine!

I set the glass back down and walked to the fridge. Right there on the top shelf was a gallon size carton full of orange juice. (No doubt also something Sugarberry bought to piss off the apple mare.)

Ah, perfect.

I moved the carton to the side and grabbed a beer.

Much better.