Redneck translates to: a lot more likely to survive an apocalypse than most everyone else
The train from Appleoosa pulled into the station with a wheeze of escaping steam. Braeburn Apple adjusted his hat and picked up his suitcase, stepping down onto the platform. He passed a sign at the station warning about transporting dangerous pets on the train and headed down the street towards where he remembered Sweet Apple Acres was located.
It’d been ages since he’d visited his cousins in Ponyville. He felt he owed them a visit, maybe help a little around the farm, get to know some of the ponies here. Worst case scenario- nopony was home and he grabbed the next train out. Well, worst case scenario that he could imagine.
Before he got there, however, he spotted a sweet shop that itself looked rather... sweet, with the entire building decorated like a pastry.
Having not tried anything fancier than pie for months, Braeburn’s mouth instantly began to drool and he nearly drifted through the air towards the bakery on the air currents of the sweet, sweet scent.
Inside, his attention rested first on the display of baked goods, although after few minutes he also noticed the small group of mares around one of the tables. It was the ponies his cousin Applejack had brought along to Appleloosa that one time they were all nearly killed by buffalo.
“Hello Braeburn!” called the purple one, Twilight Sparkle, if he remembered correctly. “What are you doing here?”
“Just got into town,” Braeburn replied. He was about to say more when a sharp poke from behind startled him. Jerking forwards, he looked down to see a jackalope that had followed him into the bakery.
“Look at that!” exclaimed Fluttershy, crouching down to study the antlered bunny. “I’ve never seen this little guy around before.”
“You have a jackalope in your menagerie, don’t you?” asked Rarity.
“That’s right,” confirmed Fluttershy. “I wonder where this one came from?”
“It’s typically a western animal,” Twilight noted. “Braeburn, do you see a lot of jackalopes in Appleloosa?”
“Yuh,” Braeburn muttered, his face covered in cake.
“He says yes,” Pinkie translated. “Although he has a bit of an accent.”
“Those from Appleoosa do have some drawl,” Rarity agreed.
Rainbow Dash chuckled. “Sounds just like a redneck.”
There was a sudden crash as Ms. Cake dropped a glass serving dish. Several customers in the bakery looked sharply in Rainbow’s direction. Even Braeburn paused on the way to his sugar coma to stare at her.
“What?” said Rainbow. “We all know that-”
“You can’t talk about them,” hissed Rarity, “or they’ll show up!”
“But Braeburn’s their family!” argued Rainbow. “Surely they’ll be too caught up in a reunion to get into a hoedown or a mud bog or something.”
“Um,” said Fluttershy, “did any of you see where this other jackalope came from?”
Twilight frowned. “I didn’t hear the door open. I doubt it was here before.”
“Oh no!” Fluttershy’s eyes suddenly went wide. “It’s started.”
“What’s started?” asked Rainbow.
“Jackalopes multiply even faster than rabbits,” Fluttershy explained. “I had mine fixed, but this one could be a problem. Why, even the environment here in Ponyville is perfect for reproduction, much better than in Appleloosa.”
Meanwhile, a third jackalope had appeared. Twilight, grasping the direness of the situation, said, “If they keep going at this rate, soon the whole town will be flooded! They’ll eat everything!”
“How are we to stop them? Rarity asked.
“Feeding them doesn’t seem to help,” Pinkie observed.
“Then stop!” Twilight demanded. "This will be parasprites all over again! We do not need more than one apocalyptic creatures incident!”
A fourth jackalope had already appeared and all indications were that they were going to keep going at an exponential rate. Rainbow, never one to stand idly by, had had enough. “That’s it - I’m calling the rednecks!”
She whipped out a pistol, firing at a piece of scrap metal and intentionally missing the first two times, the third time was a hit. *BamBam- Ding!*
Surprisingly, Big Macintosh ambled in immediately, eyeing everypony calmly and evenly. “Y’all called?” he asked the group in general, though he guessed by Rainbow’s stance it was her who had fired the shots.
“Yeah,” Rainbow asserted, “that was me. We’ve got a jackalope problem thanks to your cousin, mind lending a hoof?”
Big Mac idly glanced around, shifting the sprout of wheat from one side of his mouth to the other. He observed the rapidly multiplying jackalopes and glanced at Braeburn, his eyebrows going up.
Braeburn shrugged at the scrutiny. “Maybe they followed me from Appleloosa on the train.”
“That train goes so slow, Applejack really wouldn’t have needed to pack up that tree she brought in the first place! It could have probably boarded all on it own if it had a brain! Only trees aren’t basically grounded parasprites!” Rainbow moaned, her pistol once more safely holstered, which funnily enough was visible now.
Her spontaneous open-carry aside, that still didn’t solve the issue. And she doubted a one pony marching band would solve the issue either. Bullets might, though, and luckily those were something the Apple family tended to have even more of than apples themselves, guns too.
“Reckon I’d better call the rest,” said Mac. “They’ll want to be here.”
“By the way, nice to see you again,” said Braeburn.
Mac nodded. “Eeyup.” He frowned. “Where's your gun?”
“Eh heh heh, um, I...didn't think I'd need it,” Braeburn admitted, hanging his head. “What can I say, I came from the mild west.”
Mac shook his head and went to the door. There were a few jackalopes outside and more were already appearing. Reaching down to the bench beside the door, he picked up a banjo, probably left over from Pinkie’s ensemble. Settling the strap around his neck, he played a familiar riff that nonetheless made the hair stand up on the back of everypony’s neck.
From across town, in the silence left by the banjo, a replying guitar carried through the air.
It was followed shortly thereafter by the unmuffled engines of giant, rumbling pickup trucks.
Braeburn gulped. Things were about to get country.
Redneck translates to: a lot more likely to survive an apocalypse than most everyone else
With the roar of engines and horns playing Dixie, a parade of huge rusty pickup trucks zoomed into town. Hanging from the windows and piled into the back of every truck were redneck ponies with guns and booze. It was like a monster truck rally except - well, no, it was a monster truck rally. This one was looked like it was going to be even more destructive than usual.
Beer flowing like water and gasoline guzzling like a reverse oil well, the convoy came to a halt in front of Sugarcube Corner. Big Macintosh played a final strum on his banjo and tossed the instrument away. He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, grinning around the butt as he watched the kinfolk arrive.
His sister Applejack stepped down from her truck and swaggered over. Her ball cap and flannel shirt were tastefully distasteful. The folding knife clipped to her pocket was quite large. Her other pocket showed the circular protrusion of a can of dip.
As she came over to Mac, they each raised a hoof to bump. Clonk
“Howzit?” AJ asked.
Mac tossed his head towards the rabbits. “Need guns.”
AJ grinned. “Ain’t no problem.”
She raised her hoof to her mouth and whistled. With a rebel yell in reply, everyneck piled out of the trucks and began shooting.
And what shooting it was. Everything from cowpoke revolvers to bolt action rifles to lever guns. There were also plenty of more exotically redneck creations.
Applejack was carrying a doubled-barreled pump shotgun, a genuine custom made Remington 1740. Slung on her back was a hoofbuilt AR-15 with dual 40mm under barrel launchers. She also had two two-barreled Colts, named - you guessed it - 3822’s. Two is one, one is none, kids.
Braeburn edged out of Sugarcube corner, followed by the other ponies he’d been talking to. The gun show was already quite underway. His family, the drunk bunch of them, were already happily underway with their task. Somepony casually shoved a spare gun into his hoof.
Startled, Rarity asked, “Can you do that? Just give somepony a gun? Is that legal?”
The party came to a halt even faster than it began. Every eye was turned towards Rarity with surprise and disgust.
“Are you some kinda liberal?” Applejack accused.
“N-no,” Rarity squeaked, accepting a huge revolver that was shoved into her hooves by a helpful distributor. The party started again like someone had waved a green flag at the starting line of Neightona.
Chewing tobacco, cigarettes, beer, and a few other more socially intolerant vices were in full effect. So were “you might be a redneck” jokes, althought those petered out quickly when they began hitting too close to home.
Casual racism was also in effect, although the largely homogeneous (and certainly not homo) population of Ponyville did not draw too much attention. Zecora was wise enough to know not to investigate gunshots.
Braeburn looked around at the crowd. They were, by and large, related to him. He shrugged. Family is family. Taking a few potshots with the borrowed gun, he was pleasantly surprised to score a few hits. He also managed to shoot a few jackalopes.
“That ain’t bad shooting,” the meth dealer commented.
Braeburn smiled, forgetting that doing so showed off his unpleasant teeth.
Applejack grabbed Braeburn and pulled him close, sweeping her hoof over the hunting that had been performed so far. The jackalopes were not faring well. “Whatcha think?”
Braeburn settled for a neutral “Hell yeah.”
“You may have brought these critters here, but I still love ya.” AJ grinned, still holding his shoulder. “If anything, it’s bringin’ the whole family closer together.”
Another round of gunshots rang out. Applejack observed before turning back to Braeburn. “We’re gettin’ ‘er done,” she proclaimed, and kissed him on the check.
Braeburn struggled in her grip. “What was that for?”
Applejack frowned. “Can’t I love my cousin?”
