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