It has been along day at the office, and it's not even 11am. Free Write, the lonely secretary, had finished reorganizing her pens for the eighth time and had just kicked her hooves up onto her desk. Thinking she may be able to get away with a nap, she figured now would be a decent time to have her lunch so she could fall asleep on a quelled appetite.
Just as she lifts her bag, lo and behold, the phone actually rings. She assumes her professional posture in a slight panic. A part of her was a little upset at the fact the call came at such an inopportune time. But then again, it was their first call in 3 days. She pick up and answers in her factory-grade office voice, "Pepper Lake City Pest Control. How may I assist you?"
The voice on the other end was a deep, scraggly, dialect she could barely understand. Yes, pest control, you said?
"Yes, sir."
Oh, fantastic, I do have the right number. He continued on the other end. This is Mr. Hoofsock speaking. Tell me, have you any work with parasprites?
"I'm fairly certain we do. Let me tap you to our guy who covers that. His name is Fort Garrison, but he prefers Gary."
Thank you very much. The colt on the other end was transferred to another line.
Gary's phone rang with a red light blinking on the 'line one' button. He picks up and answers in his utmost confidence at the prospect of business. "Hello, this is Fort."
Yes, Gary, do you deal with parasprites?
"In what regard?"
Well, in the regard that they're fucking everywhere and I need them taken care of. A parasprite found its way onto my property, then the next thing I knew, it multiplied into its own colony. They've infested the backyard, ran rampant through our busted attic, and now they're crawling through the vents to get inside. That's why I'm calling, I can't seem to get rid of them no matter what I try. From what I've been told, you're the best guy for the job.
"Well, I'm going to need to know what I'm getting into. What else have they done? Are they aggressive?"
I wouldn't call them aggressive, hell, I'd call them bloody cheeky. Once my last can of Sun-rayd ran out, I could have sworn I heard them laughing at me. They're making a complete mockery of me: They're swimming in the pool with all our foam noodles, they're dancing all over the patio furniture in the backyard, and some of them have made their way inside. I caught one of them in the kitchen trying to make a sandwich. All I could do was stand there while it held the knife in its mouth and spread mayonnaise on the slices. Fuck, it knew I was helpless, so it took pity on me and even cleaned up after itself.
Gary was beginning to crack up.
I wish I could say the same for the rest of them. 'Cause they're shitting and slobbering all over the place; my fence looks like a Jackson Gallop painting. My son went out 15 minutes ago, I'm fairly certain they're holding him hostage in his treehouse and raising him as their own. I can't find my wife either, I'm fairly certain she's just making the situation worse. The last time I saw her, we were watching them lick at the patio door. She probably got too many ideas from how big their tongues are, the whore; that's probably why they've decided to set up shop. Think you can come over and perform a rescue?
"Um," Gary was struggling to hold back his laughter. "It sounds rather serious, I'll have to check what tools I have at my disposal." He covers the mouth piece and beckons the rest of his coworkers in their cubicles to come join him and keep quiet. He puts Mr. Hoofsock on speakerphone. "I have a multitude of weapons I can use. Shall I bring my 'Pesti-cloud bazooka'?"
Well, I have a very good idea what that thing would do, not enough. You better come over in fucking medieval armour with a bastard sword in hoof. A fitting weapon for their so-called 'king', at least I think it's their king from the crown and how fucking huge it is, he's the size of a sodding beach-ball. They fashioned a throne for him out of my lawnmower. And they must have ransacked the garage and found my porn collection; he's ogling at a centerfold of Princess Luna. You know, the one from the 50th anniversary issue of PlayColt? The little twat better not eat that one like they did my barbecue! How the fuck they do that?!
Everyone in the office was having a riot. Gary continued, "I suppose I may need to call in some favours. Tell you what, my cousin is a minor league wrestler, he could probably take care of that one."
Might you know any unicorns with nothing better to do? I swear I'll install towers on the corners of my house and hire them to just stay up there as magical sentries to zap any others that come by in the future. I'll have a team of pegasi drop a fucking noxious fume bomb on my house. I'll do literally anything at this point. Money is no object. I don't care how far away you guys are stationed, I need my property liberated. Bring a crack team of black magic thugs to shoot the living piss out of them with fire and lightning for all I care!
"Well, where do you live?"
I'm in the Basil district. As long as you can get here within an hour, I might be able to make it out of here alive. Oh, piss off you little wanker! Gah, stop biting my mane! No, don't eat the--! A dial-tone began ringing through.
With that, everyone was safe to burst. Gary hung up and tried his best to rally his comrades through his own hysterics. "Alright! Seems like a hefty order. So let's all get moving! A severely infested house in the small Basil district shouldn't be hard to find."
They were convinced they were getting pranked. Regardless, they know they're not allowed to ignore any calls. Besides, even if they are sent on a wild goose chase, they felt it would be nice to have an excuse to leave the office.
If they just so happen to find the guy who made the call and his is fine, they agreed they won't hold it against him too much. A quick laugh, then go back.
"Holy mother of Pestilence... What is that?!" Gary stood in front of the rest of his coworkers upon finding the house they didn't exist. it truly was shrouded in a deluge of parasprites, all ready to consume everything in their wake. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"
A male figure peaked his head out the front door and answered in the same scraggly voice. "Oh, fantastic, you made it!"
Author's Note
Normally, I'm against ponifying things that have no business being ponified. But I could not help myself.
