Chapter: Bon Bon Bon

To tell the truth, the movie was crap. Everything about it was bad. Between the monotonous and melodramatic acting, the overused special effects, the gaping plot holes that made Queen Chrysalis’ legs look like solid structures, and the sheer length of it all, Bonbon and I resorted to MSTing the thing until it was over.

Emerging from the darkness of the theater, we were both hungry. We had reservations at a place, but first we had to get there. We returned to the parkade, got back in the car, then drove four blocks down. Here, we made a right turn and headed toward the river, then drove three blocks east. We arrived at the riverfront park where we snagged the last available parking spot. This wasn’t where the restaurant was, but I parked there because I didn’t have to pay for it.

We got out of the car, locked it, then went over to the crosswalk because we had to cross the street. This was a really big street that had a landscaped island in the middle, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about it. Then we walked along the block, turned left at the end of it, and walked northward.

While we walked down the street, we passed by every human woman who had ever rejected me. They were scattered across the street, working menial low-wage jobs as waitresses and street sweepers and what-not. They ogled me as I passed by them, interested in me now because I was rich and successful. But I had no use for any of those human girls. I gave each and every one of them the finger, their reward for never caring about me before. They also scowled at Bonbon, furious that a man such as myself preferred a cartoon character over them. Bonbon smiled smugly, emboldened by the suffering of the whorish and unclassy human bitches who so envied her. Nobody else cared that there was a fedora-wearing brony walking down the street with his pony waifu because half the town looked (and acted) like the People of Walmart.

At the northeastern corner of the block, we turned right and crossed the street we had previously been walking parallel to. Then we walked two thirds of the way to the end of this block and into the building known as the Opera House.

They only call it the Opera House because it used to be an actual opera house. Now it’s just filled with boutiques and restaurants and stuff. We went upstairs to where the restaurant was, and we were seated in a quiet and secluded portion of the restaurant next to the railing.

We poured over the menu, reading the descriptions of every single menu item. Then we laughed because there’s only one thing that anyone goes to that place for, and that’s the tacos. We ordered lots of tacos, 17 of each, because we were that hungry. Since there were 9 types of tacos they had, there were 153 total.

The weird thing about that particular restaurant was that its seating area looked down into the boutiques below, with nothing except an old wooden railing and thin air separating the restaurant patrons and the stores. They didn’t even have any ceilings or anything! One of these boutiques was a soap store that sold only soap. Bonbon and I started and held an entire conversation about soap. We discussed the varieties of soap, the process of making the soap, and all of its different uses. This lasted for twenty minutes.

There was also another boutique that was full of swaggots because it mostly sold snapbacks. Bonbon and I heckled the snapbacks while acting like classy rich people. It was fun. Then we realized that it had been almost an hour since we had ordered our food.

I got mad at the staff because they didn’t bring us our food. The restaurant is known for having somewhat slow service, but there was no excuse for taking more than half an hour to make 153 tacos. One hour is a really long time to wait. I didn’t want to bide my time, because it was time that I could never get back! So I got mad. I didn’t want to wait. What was I supposed to do while I waited? I demanded to see the manager. I decided I would make him rue the day he thought he could make Jayson Drops-DeBass wait a really long time. I asked the manager, “Do you know who I am?” and threatened to get my engineers to burn his house down with combustible lemons.

The manager pointed out that I ran a small financial services company and therefore I didn’t have engineers, nor did I need them. He also remarked that burning people’s houses down with combustible lemons is not only impossible, but also illegal. Then our food finally came and I shut up.

Our tacos were good. They were small things, little cuts of meat and spices laid atop a tortilla slightly wider than a post-it note. I didn’t like how they weren’t already rolled up like regular tacos, because that meant that I had to roll them up myself. Then, after I had about five tacos or so, I realized that I was thinking about taquitos, not tacos. But did it really matter? ‘Taquitos’ means ‘little tacos,’ which means that there should be nothing fundamentally different between taquitos and regular tacos except size. I considered complaining to the manager again, but I thought better of it; I had already put him through enough for the night. Besides, what could the manager have done? The tacos-taquitos confusion was an international cultural thing, not something that could be corrected by one restaurant. Maybe if I opened my own restaurant, I could change that. But the restaurant would have to become the most successful Mexican restaurant in the world for that to work, so successful that I would have to out-do Taco Bell ten thousand times over. And to do that, I would need to open restaurants in every town in the western hemisphere, and hire the best chefs in the universe to invent menu items that could out-do Taco Bell and the cooking of every Mexican mother and grandmother who ever lived. Then I would have to file patents on all of my new menu items, hire lawyers to sue everyone who broke those patents, then make sure to renew all of those patents before they expired. Doing a quick calculation of everything that would be necessary, I would need a sum of money equal to the GDP of Mexico. And to get the GDP of Mexico, I would need to sell Mexico. But first, I would need to find a buyer rich enough to afford and willing to buy Mexico. Obviously I couldn’t sell to the United States because we have too many Mexicans here already. But then it occurred to me that I would first have to acquire all of Mexico in order to sell it, but since it would take the GDP of Mexico in order to buy it….

I decided that the endeavor was pointless. And I was too lazy. But it was nice to know that I could always buy Mexico if I ever attained that amount of money. I’m sure it would make a good nest egg. Then I wondered if, by buying Mexico, I would also own all the Mexicans. And would I also own their culture, too? That would mean that I would own the rights to the ‘Quinceañera,’ and that every time somebody wanted to have one, they would have to pay me a royalty or go to jail. Then I could sue Equestrians for their ‘Cuteceañera’ for copyright infringement. I bet I would win big time.

Speaking of Mexican culture, Bonbon was greedily eating her tacos. I decided that I should greedily eat my tacos too, because I didn’t want her to eat the last one. It wasn’t strange at all that a horse was eating tacos filled with steak, chicken, pork, marinated pork, spiced sausage, tongue, cheek, intestine, or fish. She had eaten them all before. Contrary to popular belief, the ponies of Equestria are huge meat eaters who devour whatever flesh they can get their hooves on. Pork, chicken, calamari, you name it and they’ll have it. You know the reason why they keep those pigs on Sweet Apple Acres? It’s for meat, of course. And why there are hardly any cows in Ponyville? Because similar to my state, they had ponies who went around in white robes with ropes, big wooden poles, and torches who killed cows. Except they didn’t lynch them. Instead they tied them up and barbequed them. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do with cows. I had actually written this into Jackass’s portal book while he wasn’t looking, and I put in a place where I doubt he’ll find it. You should have seen the look on his face the first time he came back, only to discover that the hay in the hayburgers had been replaced with actual meat and nopony gave a single fuck! Priceless.

At long last, Bonbon and I had finished most of our tacos. Each of us had eaten exactly 76 tacos and now there was only one left. At first we were prepared to fight over it, but then we saw Drake enter the Snapback store and Bonbon threw the taco at him. It landed in his face and we brohoofed, proving once again that ponies and bronies will always triumph over swaggots. Drake was pissed, and wanted to beat us up but he couldn’t do anything because we were on the second floor.

Then the waiter came with the bill. It was like $153 or something, but since I was rich I paid it all in cash. I gave them $300 and told them to keep the change, then Bonbon and I got up and left. But not before taking some breath mints from the bowl at the front of the store.

Author's Note

Started from the bottom now we're here
Started from the bottom now my whole team fucking here
Started from the bottom now we're here
Started from the bottom now the whole team here, nigga
Started from the bottom now we're here
Started from the bottom now my whole team here, nigga
Started from the bottom now we're here
Started from the bottom now the whole team here nigga