Paul Blart Invades Equestria

Chapters

This is only the Blartinning
The Blartzkrieg
Superior Blartetics

This is only the Blartinning

Paul Blart, edgemaster of the multiverse, inhaled another cake as his Poptart Fleet conquered yet another universe, literally steamrolling it as construction of a brand new super-mall began. This had been the third one this week, and his progress no doubt pleased the segway gods.

Blart knew in his diabetic heart that eventually his lard-fueled conquest would lead to his demise, the Jews would be waiting and they would probably take over again with their menorah jetpacks and jewfros. But until that day came, he was going to fuck shit up, and he was going to do it harder then a coprophiliac in zero-g.

Suddenly, a massive purple wormhole appeared in the blackness of space, pulling his entire fleet, excluding his vessel, in along with the newly constructed super-mall. A single tear rolled down Bart's cheek, but he remained steadfast.

Pulling a microphone out of his fat rolls, he ordered the captain of the ship, Admiral Ackbar, to go full speed ahead.

Ackbar, despite sensing a trap, complied with zeal. He shoved the lever labeled 'Do Not Push Up' upwards until it snapped off and killed a completely unimportant and undescribed crewmember, who was probably a day away from retirement.

Paul immediately inhaled the corpse, and gained +1 to his lard factor, and gained a single point of HP.

Paul smiled, and screamed his victory screech, his rolls vibrating in fury, as his strawberry poptart ship went with ludicrous speed into the unknown.

***

Twilight was having a pretty normal day.

No evil invading talking swiss cheese bugs to worry about, no obligatory plot device space bear, no narcissistic evil princess person who was probably having her period during that time.

Yep, none of that bullshit.

Suddenly, she felt a disturbance in the Force. That was probably copyrighted, so to avoid a strike on her Equestrian equivalent of a Youtube account, she turned off notifications.

Curious as to what had disturbed the space-time continuum, she walked to the balcony of her unnecessarily big crystal castle. She pulled out her Plot Device Sensing Telescope 2.0, or PDST for short, and placed it on the edge of the balcony.

Naturally, it turned to the nearest source of exposition, and came to a stop pointing at the center of all plot points, the Everfree Forest.

“Ah shit,” she muttered to herself, knowing full well what was coming, “Spike! Board up the windows and send a letter to the Princesses, we may have an edgefag on our hooves.”

Spike, spawning from seemingly nowhere, saluted like a cunt and did his ghetto magic to spawn a letter. Instead of spell-checking it, he just fire-teleported it to the throne room of the Princesses, much to Twilight’s frustration.

Actually using the telescope this time, she inspected the Everfree for any signs of edgy or canon-breaking bullshit, but none was seen.

‘Weird.’ Twilight thought to herself, ‘Usually there’s a red and black Alicorn OC or an edgy human in a big crater, but I don’t see any-’

With a loud boom, the plot device was born. A purple wormhole, though apparently not nearly as big as before, completely fucked up the Everfree Forest by consuming the entire thing. Twilight knew Fluttershy was probably pissing herself right now, considering her dictated personality and her usual reaction when shit like this happens.

Before Twilight could do anything relating to the situation, a giant frosted fudge poptart burst from the wormhole and slid across the ground, spreading artificial jelly all over the place.

“What in the name of the all-powerful Lord Gaben is that?”

Twilight was not used to this kind of situation happening, especially when it involves edible objects and a fucked sideways version of an alien invasion.

And then thousands of malls crashed into the ground next to it, conveniently missing the raspberry poptart but spilling thousands of segways onto the ground. This sudden impact caused an earthquake, because that’s how physics work you judgmental cunt-pickle.

At this point, Twilight stopped questioning it and decided that this would be far too ludicrous to even try to ponder. But if she knew one thing, it was that the cherry poptart probably contained the main character.

Punctuating her question, a hatch opened up on the on the ‘top’ of the oreo poptart, and out came a evil, menacing...human? Well, he was fat, but that probably held no relevance.

‘Well, that’s a fucking buzzkill if I’ve ever seen one.’ Out of all the possibilities the universe could of chosen, it chose another human. Originality was through the roof today.

She had to admit though that his attire was...strange at best. He wore a plain white dress shirt with a solid blue tie, and wore black khakis that looked on the verge of breaking from the man’s size.

At least the shirt was decorated nicely, with a colorful badge on it’s right sleeve and a strange looking device attached next to the collar. That probably wouldn’t prevent Rarity from losing her shit though.

As if on cue, Rarity appeared next to the the overweight human and started screaming unintelligible fashion babble at him.

***

“Excuse me, you lard bucket, but your wardrobe is absolutely inexcusable! We must get you to my boutique immediately!” Rarity pulled on the fat man’s sleeve, trying to get him to follow her. Instead, he just stared at her blankly, much to Rarity’s anger.

“I said follow!” She pulled more harshly this time, but the mountain of the man remained unmoved. Rarity decided to resort to the timeless and classic tactic of pulling on the flabby arm that squished under her hooves.

“Eeeeew!” Rarity said, instantly letting go of the man’s arm, “Do you even work out?!”

Rarity saw the man’s eyes narrow when she said the last two words, and, being a total cunt, she narrowed her own back.

“That’s…” Rarity’s eyes widened, the human spoke perfect Equestrian! “That’s my trigger word!”

The whale of a man jumped up to a seemingly impossible height, and drop kicked her cracker ass through the entire planet, Rarity disintegrating into dust the whole way down.

***

Twilight shrugged.

She knew somepony was going to die at some point, and that the Princesses would probably turn the ‘evil rampaging bad guy’ into stone at a later point. A more important question was how in the hell that fat guy drop kicked Rarity with enough force to send her through a planet.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see everyday...or ever for that matter.”

The new antagonist totally just fucked up one of her friends, but due to plot device magic, she would be revived later when the time came. The only way that it wouldn’t work was if the author actually took logic into account, but that obviously was thrown out the door, into the street, and ran over a couple times, with a segway, just to make sure it died a violent death.

“TWILIGHT!”

Twilight jumped backwards until she temporarily orbited the planet, screaming bloody murder all the way even with the lack of oxygen. She, conveniently, crashed right back onto her balcony in the same place where she was before, still screaming and completely unharmed.

Once Twilight recovered from her bath-salt induced drug trip, she finally stopped screaming, allowing everyone who’s eardrums weren’t bleeding to uncover their no-longer-virgin ears.

“Rainbow, what the fuck is wrong with you.” Twilight’s face was red as a beet from embarrassment, and possibly the lack of oxygen in space.

Rainbow just floated there on a cloud, not giving a single fuck, “Well, I came over here to tell you that Rarity just died and there’s a fat dude surrounded by segways.”

Twilight sighed, “I know Rainbow, I was right here the whole time.”

Rainbow looked puzzled, “Wait, so you're not weirded out by all this?”

“Rainbow, there’s a massive spaghetti poptart literally sitting there right outside, of course I’m weirded out!”

“Wait, spaghetti?” Rainbow looked back at the blackberry poptart, and sure enough, it was now composed of 100% Italian spaghetti. “Twilight...it was blackberry a second ago.”

Twilight rolled her eyes, “Rainbow, continuity is dead. It had a heart attack and died, probably because none of this shit make any sense whatsoever.”

“Twilight, why are you so...vulgar today? I mean, that’s my thing.” Rainbow looked as if she got stabbed by a knife with a bipod attached to it, “You can’t just be stealing my thunder like that.”

“Rainbow, I’m in no mood for a subplot right now. So let’s just go to Canterlot Palace and see if the Princesses are going to do anything despite the fact I sent them a letter a few paragraphs ago.”

“Uh...what?”
***

Paul had absolutely no idea where he was right now, but he just got a sweet kill on that marshmallow horse thing, surely he would be accepted into FaZe now!

Overused joke aside, Paul extended his right arm, and instantly a segway came into his grasp. He got on, and turned the key already in the ignition.

He let loose a warrior’s call, “DON’T PARP WITH MY TARTS!” and instantly every segway still scattered on the ground stood up straight, and on each one formed another him, albeit heavily distorted and looking like filthy casual memes.

In unison, the clones shouted “Let the games begin!” and sped off in a force of thousands to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting citizens of Equestria.

The one true Blart stood still as the mass of lardasses went on it’s merry way, and patriotic music played somewhere in the background. Blart looked towards the small town that his vessel landed near, and smiled.

“Prepare your anuses for the Electric Blartaloo, you pastel horse bitches.”

Author's Note

Yeah I know it's terrible, hush sweet children of the internet.

The Blartzkrieg

The many multi-colored ponies of Ponyville parted as a mysterious, fat human on some strange technological device slowly drove through town.

Whispers and murmurs about what the creature was and where it came from filled the air, all of them apparently missing the giant purple wormhole and poptart that just appeared minutes ago.

All this bickering didn’t stop Pinkie from, as always, getting in front of the alien’s vehicle with a large grin plastered on her face.

“Hello, Mister Evil Alien Man.” she said, sounding like a text-to-speech bot, “Do you like parties? ‘Cause if you do, I’ll throw you one so wicked that even the Wicker Man would lose his shiznet.”

The alien, clearly not interested, swerved around her.

Pinkie, unfazed by its action, walked alongside it, “So, I heard from the plot that you want to take over Equestria, amiright?”

The alien’s vehicle started moving faster, so Pinkie adjusted her pace, “I can totes help you with that, all we need is a Chef Ramsay and a Simon Says, ‘aight?”

The alien stopped this time, and turned it’s head slowly to look at her. Pinkie gave him an overly sexual look, biting the entirety of her bottom lip.

***

Blart pulled Chef Ramsay out of his fat rolls, holding him by the collar. The British man was already chastising and criticizing Blart for how fat and unhealthy he was, thrashing around in his grip.

“Look at yourself in the mirror, you damn sperm whale! The iceberg that sunk the Titanic had a smaller width than you, and your rolls of fat go deeper then most tunnels I’ve seen!” the chef pulled two pieces of bread from his pocket, and sandwiched Blart’s head with them, “What are you?”

Blart held back his man-child tears, “An idiot sandwich.” he said, looking sullenly at the ground.

“Good.” the chef said, removing the bread, “Now put me down before I put you twenty feet down.”

Blart complied, dropping the chef.

Ramsay looked around in soul-crushing disgust at the cartoonish buildings and landscape, noticing the many pastel ponies staring at him in amazement and slight horror.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Ramsay bellowed, his face turning red from anger. He pointed at each individual pony, telling them to either ‘Fuck off’ or ‘Go to hell, you fucking miniature Hitler’.

Ramsay threw a platter of overcooked steak at one of the ponies with such force that the steak turned them into a cow, only to be brutally butchered by Ramsay and cooked over a spit.

This shocking display of confusing actions caused most to turn tail and run, but the few that remained were arrested by Blart.

Paul pulled out a massive purple dildo from the seemingly infinite amount of space under his fat, and started beating the arrested over the heads with it, shouting ‘I’m going in dry!’ repeatedly.

“The safeword is police brutality!” he yelled as he pepper sprayed them with Taco Bell hot sauce with a dash of salty orphan tears.

***
Admiral Ackbar rubbed his aching head as he stumbled out of the chocolate poptart, his fish eyes visually assaulted by the color choice of this planet. He knew all along coming here would be a trap, but Blart refused to turn away from a possible conquering and subjugation of a innocent and developing world.

Ackbar coughed up blood, his allergy to bad exposition taking over. He coughed up more blood, this time his own fault. He should have known better than to expose himself to exposition, especially in the Spring.

“Well shit,” he said, trying to block out the fever dream equivalent of the planet, “Am I hallucinating right now? I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating right now.”

He rubbed his eyes again, but no change was made. Either he was higher than Wiz Khalifa on the International Space Station, or this was reality.

He honestly hoped that this wasn’t reality.

***

It took Ackbar a while, but he had finally scrounged up the remaining ISIS suicide bombers he hired off Ebay. They had been pretty easy to find, considering they would not stop yelling ‘Allahu Ackbar’ every few seconds.

He tried explaining the situation to his new team, but all they did was run off in random directions and explode like they were in a Michael Bay movie. Without, of course, a metal CGI orgy.

Ackbar groaned in frustration, and left the team to their fates.

He was pretty sure he could find some kind of tank or something later, but until then he would have to yell ‘It’s a trap!’ at random passersby to freak them out, preferably old people.

He heard another one of his ‘team’ die, a massive fiery explosion replacing what was once a crazed fanatic. Luckily for Ackbar, he was looking away from the explosion, so he was now uber-cool and badass by movie standards.

Of course, this didn’t stop his back being burned and his clothes singed, or becoming the equivalent of a fancy restaurant’s cooked salmon special that only the uptight or assassination targets order.

Ackbar took his first step forward on this new planet.

“Ow.”

Another step forward.

“Ow.”

And another.

“Ow.”

And another…

And another...

Thirty painful, short steps later, Ackbar collapsed to the ground.

“Where’s some Aloe Vera when you need it?”

***

Blart was still mercilessly beating the defenseless townsfolk with his dildo, and brought back any runaways for more beatings from what was now dubbed ‘The Iron Rod’. He was going to beat the Jew out of them until they succumbed to superior German camping supplies and non-American gas ovens.

Paul felt a shifting in his pocket, and turned around to see a *GASP* Jew! The evil, hook-nosed monstrosity stared at him with greedy eyes, his short height giving him easy access to his pocket.

His vision faded to black, and he was teleported to a heavily pixelated anime turn-based battle fest that probably had a large fanbase behind it.

He knew he didn’t wander into any tall grass, but he threw that into the fuck-it-bucket.

Somehow, he had a higher speed than the filthy casual Jew before him. Instead of going along with the theme however, Paul bicycle kicked the motherfucker through the pixelated background.

The Jew stood no chance, but Blart knew that harnessing the power of its stereotypes will grant it victory in the long run.

“You win this round, Blart. But you can never truly defeat Sir Moneygrabbington the Fourth!”

The Jew removed his cap, and a large, unkempt curly mess of ginger hair expanded from his scalp. The unruly Jewfro levitated the Jew from the ground, and soon the Jew started floating away like a balloon into the sky.

Paul smiled in victory, and patted his pocket that the Jew tried to steal from.

The pocket was empty.

Author's Note

My reaction after writing this

Superior Blartetics

Paul Blart munched on a large triple-decker cake with extra Mountain Dew and Doritos sprinkled on top, as him and the other two most relevant characters drove up the side of the mountain where Canterlot Castle stood.

Ramsay sat inside Paul’s fat stomach like a baby carrier, mumbling to himself as the crumbs from the cake fell into his hair. Pinkie was riding Blart piggy-back, playing loud, incoherent rap music from a boombox on her shoulder as they continued their climb.

“Okay everyone, you know the plan?” Blart asked as they neared the top.

“Plan?” Ramsay asked from his seat. “You never gave us a plan.”

Pinkie gave Ramsay a dirty look. “Hey man, just do some improv, alright? Don’t judge poor ‘ol Blarty Poo.”

Ramsay stared at Pinkie with a mix of shock and disgust. “Okay, first thing. If you say that ever again, I’ll throw you off this mountain myself and watch you fall. Two, we all met no more than, what, three minutes ago, what’s with the name calling?”

Pinkie shrugged, patting Ramsay on the head. “Shush little British-Hitler, you’ll get your nickname eventually.” Pinkie said in a sickeningly sweet tone.

Ramsay frowned and looked forward as the pony continued to pat his head, eventually evolving into messing with his hair. Since he really couldn’t do anything about it, he was at a loss.

“Hey, Paul? Can we please get rid of this pink prissy prick already? She’s annoying.”

Paul shook his head. “No Ramsay, she is an ally.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes. “How is she even remotely an ally? She has been following us for no reason other than being around you. That’s some grade A bullshit right there.” Ramsay grumbled, his left eye starting to twitch from Pinkie’s continued defilement of his glorious, blonde, British hair.

“We are nearing the top!” Blart bellowed, the vibrations of his fat nearly dislodging Ramsay from his seat. “Prepare yourselfs, comrades! We are storming the beaches of Normandy.”

“No we’re not, you bloody fucking wanker.” Ramsay hissed.

Blart cried many manly tears, the insult making a deep scratch in his delicate, diabetic soul. “Ramsay...I thought what we had was special!” Blart cried, his eyes watering uncontrollably.

Ramsay rolled his eyes, “Oh shut up you fat lard, we’ve reached the top.”

Blart immediately stopped crying. “We did?” Blart looked down, and sure enough, there sat beautiful solid ground. “Huh, Well then…”

Blart lifted Ramsay from his seat and set him on the ground, Pinkie jumping off his back and landing next to Ramsay.

“Alright soldiers!” Blart yelled, impersonating a drill sergeant to the best of his abilities.

“Oh no…” Ramsay sighed. “Listen, Blart, I know you want to play pretend right now, but this is not the bloody time. Can we just get this over with so we can go home? Please?”

Blart ignored his plea, “We are fighting an enemy we have never seen before! They may be dangerous, monstrous, and maybe even look-alikes of Steve Buscemi.” Paul shuddered. “Either way, do not fret! For we have superior firepower!” Blart removed a piece of ham from his gun holster. “Gaze upon it in all of it's majesty!”

Pinkie gawked at the piece of meat, Ramsay rolled his eyes, and Blart just stood there holding it like a trophy.

Ramsay sighed in frustration, and walked towards the castle. “When you two stop being complete and total morons, make sure to tell me. Or don’t. I don’t care.” Ramsay left the two, who were still worshipping the piece of cold pig meat like it was Jesus if he was reincarnated as ham.

***

After a whole ten minutes, Blart and Pinkie finally snapped out of their trance.

“And that’s why you should always get in the van.” Blart said, shoving the ham back in his pocket.

Pinkie clapped hysterically, tears in her eyes. “So educational! Ramsay, what did you think of-” she turned her head to the left, but to her surprise, no British-Hitler was there! “Ramsay is gone!” Pinkie yelled, screaming and running around in circles like a headless chicken on fire.

Blart grabbed Pinkie by the tail, and started dragging her towards the castle. “He is clearly being held captive by the antagonist, Evil Generic Villain Man! My long-lost mother-father-brother-sister-cousin from Uranus!”

In the distance, the great wizard M. Night Shamalamadingdong shouted “What a twist!”

MEANWHILE, AT THE OBLIGATORY VILLAIN HIDEOUT IN A SWAMP

Mecha-Hitler took a bite out of his Jew Burger, the tangy taste of zionist bringing thoughts of camps to his mind.

“I love the taste of new world orders in the morning.”

Hitler stirred his zionist coffee, the mixture of melted gold and corruption mixing perfectly with tin foil hats and banknotes.

Suddenly, as the plot demanded it, Generic Misanthropic Hero #315 crashed through the roof of his hideout.

It was a very poorly drawn red and black alicorn OC, hundreds of cut marks on his body from his abusive father in Chicago who was really mean and bad, and he also had no friends because he was weird and liked Nine Inch Nails, the band. “I am depressed, give me your sympathy, you horrible human monster.” he said, barely reaching a whisper. He brushed his emo hair out of his dazzling, beautiful monochrome eyes.

Mecha-Hitler, who was totally more beautiful than him, shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee, paying no attention to the self-insert faggot in front of him.

“You are paying no attention to me. You obviously support abuse and the Holocaust. Check your privilege you cis-gendered white Jew killer. Humanity is evil and bad.” The OC summoned a macbook painted with symbols of anarchy and Tumblr, and started typing furiously while breathing really heavily.

Hitler ignored him, continuing to sip his coffee. A thought suddenly entered his mind, his gaze setting finally upon the OC, who was still typing furiously.

“Hey, you want to invade a dimension filled with happiness, ponies, and probably so hyped up on LSD it would make Albert Hofmann and Snoop Dog cry?”

The edgy 12-year old looked up slowly from his laptop, glancing occasionally at his generic hentai porn. He quickly shut his laptop, saving his weeaboo fapping energy for later. “Fine! But it’s only because my mother died in a car accident and I had to grow up with wolves! I had a hard childhood and now I have PTSD!”

Hitler rolled his eyes, taking a final sip of his delicious tea. He gently set it down, knowing that it would probably be cold by the time he’d get back. He didn't like cold Zionist mix, tasted too American.

Author's Note

Why