Dr Phil and Awful Sitcoms
Twilight yawned, releasing her telekinetic aura from the quill she had been writing with for the past 3 hours. She turned to see spike obediently waiting at her bedside.
“Well, Spike, looks like friendship came through once again!” Twilight said with a chuckle.
“Twilight, the cameras shut down about 15 minutes ago; we’re off the air until next Saturday.” Spike replied cautiously.
“WHAT?” Twilight slumped onto her bed with an audible thud. “I just wasted 15 minutes of my life writing this absolute shit!” Twilight screamed into her pillow. Spike peeked over the purple mare to get a glimpse of the scroll she had been writing on.
Dear Princess Celestia,
CRAWLING IN MY SKIN, THESE WOUNDS THEY WILL NOT HEAL.
FEAR IS HOW I FALL, CONFUSING WHAT IS REAL
HAVE YOU HEARD THIS SONG YOU BITCH?
YOU WANT TO KNOW THE NAME? DARUDE - SANDSTORM.
She let out a deep, throaty groan. She was annoyed, but luckily, any negative emotions she was feeling soon drifted off as the relief of a whole week before Celestia makes her do another stupid task set in.
Twilight had been through hell and back these past few days. She goes through the trouble of saving two realties from eternal death and hellfire, then two weeks later is called back to do pretty much the exact same thing all over again – only this time there were three skinny anthropomorphic bitches she had to deal with.
It would’ve been okay had she not had to do so much God-damned singing! 3 months’ worth of throat lozenges doesn’t come cheap… now she understood how Miley Cyrus feels after a concert, not even including the copious amount of dick she sucks.
“Oh well. I guess it’s not all bad.” She admitted as she rolled over onto her side, only to see Spike nodding in mutual relief. This annoyed Twilight. “Fuck off, Spike. Go shine Owlowiscious’s bird house or something.”
As Spike swiftly plodded out of the room, Twilight let out a long sigh. “Whelp, time to depress myself with a night full of Dr Phil and bad sitcoms…” she thought, levitating the TV remote from the awkward side of her bed. Magic did have its uses at times, this was true.
The chunky television snapped to life with a shrill buzz of static, showing what looked to be the weather channel.
“That’s right Dave, shit seems to be getting real over at the Canterlot castle!” Said a smutty looking presenter, trying to mask an urgent look with one of 'nothing’s wrong, we swear!'
After some distressing comments and concerned voices, the broadcast cut to a weather pony live at the scene.
“Hi there, I’m here at the Canterlot royal caste and there is, to my immediate alarm, what seems to be the fucking rapture happening around me.” The pony yelled over all the carnage while moving around to avoid the flames that were erupting from the ground. Suddenly, to the shock of the news team, the broadcast was cut off after an explosion brought a tower toppling down upon the poor weather pony. He wasn’t exactly ‘live’ at the scene any more.
“Wow, seems like one ‘hell’ of a kerfuffle, don’t you th-” the display shrunk and died as the remote Twilight launched at the TV embedded itself into the screen with a loud crack.
“Yeah, fuck that.” Twilight rolled back over, refusing to acknowledge yet another one of Celestia’s problems. “I’m not getting involved unless I have to.”
As if like magic or bizarre coincidence, Spike came running into the room clutching a charred scroll in his claw.
“Twilight, there’s a letter-” Spike begun, before Twilight’s sarcastic voice interrupted.
“LET ME GUESS, SPIKE. PRINCESS CELESTIA NEEDS ME URGENTLY AT THE CASTLE?!”
“Yeah, actually! Wow, Twilight, you’re-”
“Spike, shut the fuck up. Just book the damn train tickets.” Twilight said, expressionless as she dragged herself out of bed. Spike lowered his head and waddled himself out through a doorway.
“AND USE THETRAINLINE.COM, THE ASSHOLES AT NATIONAL EQUESTRIA RAILWAYS BANNED ME AFTER FLUTTERSHY THREATENED TO HACK ONE OF THE ADMINS!”
The train ride had been just as miserable as it normally was when the cameras weren’t on. There are many things a pony would endure on the Friendship Express™ that would turn them from a child to an adult. Piss, tramps, drunk ponies on their way to an early grave, and general depression all round.
Twilight stepped out onto the platform, narrowly missing stepping on a rat – probably carrying multiple evolutions of the black plague.
“Okay, fuck the scenery, we’re here to save the day with friendship or whatever” she stated blandly into the empty streets of Canterlot. Nearing the entrance of the castle, Twilight noticed that things weren’t nearly as bad as what it seemed like on the news… sure, there were still a few dead ponies scattered around under rubble and in dark alleys, but that certainly wasn’t anything new for Canterlot.
The exhausted pony reached the top of the staircase to the castle and was facing the large monoliths Princess Celestia called doors. She took a deep breath and turned around, lifting up her hind legs. In one swift movement, Twilight threw all her strength into a forceful buck… unfortunately, the desire to look cool obscured the concept of physics and surface area. Her back left leg was racked with pain as it made contact with the door.
A sprained hoof wasn’t going to make Celestia’s problem any easier to deal with.
Twilight opened the door, and the sight before her caused her to take a few steps back. In the foyer of the great Princess’ castle sat a blood-red monstrosity, anthropomorphic in structure. Standing next to the horrific creature was Celestia herself. The beast turned his head to reveal that it was none other than Satan, harbinger of the end times, supporter of UKIP.
Twilight took a gulp and began to charge up her face laser.
“STEP AWAY FROM THE HORSE, YOU SLIMY RED CUNT.”
