Crashing this story, with no survivors!
Crashing this story, with no survivors!
The Karl Marx crusader's clubhouse loomed ominously in the foreground, and the happy opening music once again reared its ugly head as yet another episode began.
"Hear ye, hear ye," said Apple Bloom, trying to impersonate old English in a futile attempt to not sound like a bumpkin. "This meeting of the Karl Marx crusaders is now in session."
A few seconds of awkward silence permeated the air's membrane like my wee wee permeates your mother's semi-permeable membrane ;) as Sweaty Belle and Scooterlue idled on the clubhouse floor like camels in dirt. After the drawn-out moment, Sweetie Belle decided she couldn't take it anymore, and spat her question.
"Apple Bloom, what's this all about?"
Her demand was met with a head bop of agreement from Scooterlue and a withering glare from Apple Bloom. Twisting her face like a twisler, Apple Bloom wrung out a smug response that was sure to coax her fellow crusaders into a snafu. "Oh, nothin'."
Her words, it seemed, were as hollow as her brain, and Scooterlue's eyes dilated as an inhuman rage marched through her veins like an army of giant, radioactive rubber pants. After all, it was a pony rage. She was about to open her lips and let out a navy seals copypasta when Apple Bloom cut her off.
"Except this letter from Babs Seed!" She shoved the wrinkled note, crisp with partially-dried semen, into her friend's faces. Their big ol' peepers undulated as they read the note, and, thankfully for us in the audience who can't quite make out the scribbles, she summed it up. "It says she got her Karl Marx!"
Scooterlue and Sweaty Belle reached into their secret, tail compartments and pulled out their 'W' hats, putting them on. "She got a scissor Karl Marx?" asked Sweetie Belle, who found such a disgraceful Karl Marx fitting of a mud blood from House Apple. Sweaty had grown exceptionally bitter ever since the accident a year ago.
"But how will she lead the Karl Marx Crusaders in Baltimane if she's got a Karl Marx already?" Wondered Scooterlue.
They all shared a look, realizing at once that Babs Seed getting her Karl Marx meant nothing but trouble for the three of them. "We have to stop her," said Apple Bloom. The other two nodded, realizing exactly what had to be done.
The screen turned red and zoomed in on Apple Bloom's eyes. "We have to kill her Karl Marx."
--
Babs Seed took a sip from her maretini, relaxing in an oversize chair. As if getting her Karl Marx wasn't good enough, now she was on an all-expenses-paid, first class flight to Scissorlar, a paradise exclusively for ponies with scissor Karl Marxes. She couldn't wait to get there and scissor with all the other scissor specialists, if you catch my driftwood.
With a content sigh, she leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes flutter closed, a content smile stenciled on her paper mache face, and before long, she drifted to sleep.
Seeing her opportunity, Apple Bloom rolled out from behind a vacant seat, checking that the coast was clear. They'd already dealt with the flight attendants, and drugged everyone on board, so things were going smoothly. Every passenger in the cabin was already knocked out, meaning they had several hours to work with. With a nod towards the others, Sweaty Belle and Scooterlue crawled out from their cover, the latter toting a steel briefcase.
"Delivering the care package," announced Scooterlue as she set her cargo on the floor next to Babs' seat.
From there it was a simple task of opening it, putting the devices on their four foreheads, and taking a seat in the nearby chairs.
"You all remember the plan?" questioned Apple Bloom as she settled in, the device on her head contrasting with her big, pink ribbon.
"Of course, I'm not made of glue," responded Sweaty Belle who could have fooled me.
"Then let's do this!" squirted Scooterlue as she pushed the big red button on the device. Near instantly, the three of them collapsed, falling into a deep sleep.
--
Seconds later, they found themselves In Babs' dream. Everything was all shiny, and the three of them were quick to note they were each wearing super-tight spandex suits.
"Ut-oh," began Sweaty Belle who noticed where this was heading, "we're underage and this story is rated teen." Haha, don't worry, I'm not gay.
"Yeah, this totally isn't that kinda story," remarked Scooterlue, who was fiddling with her memory disk as she watched the light cycles speed past. She was about to continue her thought, when she accidentally dropped the memory disk, which is hardly surprising considering the lack of fingers, and she lost all her memories. She collapsed right there, a pool of icky, sicky pee pee forming under her as she stared blankly into space.
"No more dilly dallying," Apple Bloom ordered, incredibly serious like usual. "We have to go deeper!"
Suddenly the dream shifted, and they found themselves in the new, remake of Jurassic Park. "What are we even doing here?" wondered Sweaty Belle as she looked around at the huge building they were in. "What's our end-game?"
"We're gonna plant the idea in her head that her cutie mark sucks and then she'll revoke it and rejoin our club, or something. I don't know, I'm making this up as I go," Applebloom admitted, getting annoyed easily without Scooterlue to calm her down.
"So, like, where are we gonna put this idea?" Wondered Sweetie Belle.
"Clearly we're going deeper, you uncultured swine. Or at least I am," Applebloom finally explained as she went deeper, leaving Sweatie Belle there in that layer of dream to wake her up later. Unfortunately, she was quickly set upon by velociraptors as can be expected of characters in Jurassic Park sequels.
Unfortunately, Applebloom never made it any deeper as the plane veered off coarse, both pilots drugged, and crashed straight into the world trade center. There were no survivors.
