“(*Hmph*) I’ve ‘gotta be dreaming… Yes, of course, that’s it…I’m dreaming. I’ve dozed off again listening to Matilda & Pinkie Pie chattering on and on about who-knows-what after supper, and now I’m in some strange weird-looking dreamland in some other world…” Cranky Doodle Donkey was telling (no, grumbling to) himself, as he reluctantly plodded his hooves along, taking in the strange surroundings, and eyeing the even stranger activities of the beings here.
First off, the ground didn’t seem like ground at all. Not grass or dirt, or pavement at all. It was…tiled. A strange, hard, off-white tile flooring, which amplified the old donkey’s hoof-clops with each step.
Second…what were clouds doing this close to the ground? And not just any clouds, but…flat, painted, plywood clouds, lined with stars, lightning bolts and other psychedelic shapes in colors of red, green and yellow. Like…backdrop set pieces that belonged on a stage, or something.
Definitely not natural. “Must be for some noisy rock-&-roll concert about to start soon. Not hangin’ around for that. No-siree. The sooner I’m ‘outta this place, the better…” the blonde-wigged donkey grumbled as he continued along.
***
Gradually, however, the set began to change. As the cloud-flats in the background remained constant, the foreground went from tile flooring…to concrete pavement and a white picket fence. Farther along, that soon became…a red-brick wall. A city wall with a spray-painted graffiti mural. The mural depicted some tall, humanoid version of a hoofball hero in a white leather helmet & varsity sweater, with a big red letter ‘A’ on the chest. Next to that was a short, crouching, sinister-looking semi-humanoid swami with a turban and black goatee, and waving a magic wand. In the mural background was a tall red neon sign shaped like a capital ‘T’ that read: “Tessie’s Diner.”
At least it would've read that to Cranky IF he’d learned to read languages other than standard Equish. Otherwise, he would’ve been able to read the caption below the mural: "Learn to read, and YOU TOO can form words like LETTERMAN!" But, since he hadn’t yet, it meant absolutely nothing to him, so Cranky continued on, paying the crude street-art no mind at all.
***
But soon…Cranky came to a hoof-screeching halt!
The old donkey had reached a very busy intersection, at a very urban-looking street corner! Cranky didn’t recall hearing any traffic noises at all, and still didn’t, even here. Yet clearly, here before him right now, was a row of storefronts on a city street corner, complete with a green wooden bench, a red fire hydrant, and a grey wire-mesh wastebasket. Nothing at all like back in Ponyville.
And yet, the people…the town population was a mix of both humans and ponies, absorbed in very busy interactions. One pony Cranky recognized was Twilight Sparkle, with her little dragon friend Spike following behind. She was trotting alongside some tall black smiling fellow Cranky didn’t recognize, dressed in brown corduroys and sunglasses. He held an open book in his hands, reading it as he walked, Twilight had one magically levitated in front of her, while Spike was carrying a stack of three closed books in his claws.
Cranky heard the tall one say: “HA! Heavy! I’m telling ‘ya, Miss Twilight:
top to bottom, left to right, this readin’ stuff is (*hand-clap*) Ow! 'Outta sight!"
“You are so right, Mr. Easy Reader! Er, I mean---RIGHT ON!" said Twilight.
They shared a ‘high-five’ hoof-to-hand gesture, and continued on their way.
“Yeah! Readin’s cool, Daddy-O!” said Spike, wearing shades similar to Easy’s.
Cranky just stared blankly.
***
In the next instant, two ponies on a tandem bicycle came riding by on the street. Cranky recognized them at Lyra Heartstrings
and Bon-Bon Sweetie Drops. Except, Lyra was wearing an odd-looking round hat, with white goggles lowered onto her face.
“So, uh…whaddya think of my new giggles?" asked Lyra in the front, to Bon-Bon in the back.
“Don’t you mean goggles?" her friend asked back.
Cranky just stared blankly again, as the pair biked on by.
***
Next came the pony Cranky recognized as Rarity, clad in her Shadow Spade detective outfit, and levitating a magnifying glass in front of her, as she walked along, nose bent down to the pavement, following a faint trail of shoe prints. Following close behind was another human fellow unrecognizable to Cranky, but similarly clad in a faded beige trenchcoat, purple Fedora hat, a similar magnifying glass pinned in his lapel, and sporting a pencil-thin black mustache on his face.
“Ah, yes…you have an excellent eye for detail, my dear Miss Rarity.” he said proudly.
“Why, thank you, Mr. North." replied Rarity.
“Oh, please…call me Fargo." the man said with a modest grin.
After blankly watching them go by, Cranky shook his head, nearly losing his blonde wig.
***
“Weirder and weirder…” he growled, “How much weirder can it get? WHOOPS!"
Cranky nearly ran into---Rainbow Dash, who looked at him and said: “HA! You think that's weird,
take a look at those weirdos over there! As totally lame as they come!” Dash rolled her rosy eyes.
Cranky followed Dash’s pointed forehoof across the street to---one crazed human in blue checkered shorts and blue T-shirt, a blue domino mask with wobbling bug antennae, and big, clumsy blue wings, trotting along on his feet like some mounted policeman on an invisible steed, shouting:
“HAVE NO FEAR! THE BLUE BEETLE IS HERE!”
Dash then nonchalantly changed her pointed hoof to the other direction. Cranky followed it to see---some black nut
in a 3-Musketeers outfit, trotting likewise on some horse-on-a-stick, blowing a sour fanfare on a trumpet, and shouting:
“ALL FOR THE READERS, AND NOTHING FOR THE WRITERS!"
“That’s the last time I give dorks like them a free ride home! See ‘ya!” said Dash,
and she spread-wing and launched skyward, rainbow colors trailing off behind her.
“(*Hmph*) ‘Bye…” said the grumpy donkey, wishing he could do the same.
But before moving on, the donkey spied----still another figure, clad in red & blue tights with black spider-web lines all over and a ski mask covering his face, crawling up the side of one of the brick buildings. Noticing the donkey staring up at him, the figure paused, shrugged his shoulders, and hiccupped a word balloon in the air, which read:
"Hey, don't look at me. I'm just your friendly neighborhood...oh, never mind."
The wall-crawler moved on. Then Cranky blew a frustrated sigh, and started walking again…
***
Deciding to check out the storefront windows now, Cranky plodded over to peer into one: a bakery kitchen, with the front door swung wide-open. And with a group of…what looked like a cooking class in training, as they all seemed to be dressed the same: in white baker’s uniform shirts with blue-plaid aprons, white puffy hats and red bow-ties.
At the table in front, Cranky spied Pinkie Pie and Derpy, evidently helping out with today’s lesson. The instructor chef (another human, big surprise) spoke in a high-pitched rather haughty voice, or so Cranky could make out through the open door:
“Hello, class! This is your old pal Julia Grown-Up, and today we are going to be learning
about: how to bake pumpkin-spice muffins! First of all, you need…”
“Oo-ooh, I know, I know! FLOUR!” said the overly-enthusiastic Pinkie Pie.
The word “flour” appeared in large white lettering in the air above their heads, as Derpy eagerly grabbed the flour bag with her teeth.
“Uh-wait, wait, not quite yet, my dear---OOF!” Julia was cut short, as a cloud of white powder
erupted all over the table! Laughs and coughs ensued from the student bakers.
***
Giving that up for a bad idea, Cranky proceeded to the next window: a radio station. This time the front door was closed, but two small bullhorn-looking external speakers were hanging just outside in the eaves, carrying the broadcast for passers-by to hear. Unfortunately, as hard as Cranky tried to staunch his hearing with the tips of his long ears, he could still hear every booming decibel. He spied Vinyl Scratch at one console, headphones on and phonograph needle clutched in her teeth, about to put it on a spinning record platter, as a light-up sign went from “STAND BY” to “ON AIR”, an echoing vocal intro played: “OO-oo-la-LA-la-la-la…” and the hippie-clad black human DJ next to her spieled into his microphone:
“Hey-hey! Here I am, and there you are! This is your Main Man Mel Mounds, with the hottest new sounds in town! Here now,
for your ears now, the latest, the greatest, the anything-but-datest release from that rising, tantalizing, surprising young group,
The Short Circus, movin’ and groovin’ with an island beat guaranteed to move your feet! Here it is for you cats, right now:
THE PUNCTUATION CALYPSO!"
Cranky didn’t recognize the song title, nor did he care much for the tropical music genre. But Cranky got the gist of what the tune was intended to do: tell about basic punctuation marks, like a period (.) exclamation point (!) question mark (?) comma (,) and what each one was for. Cranky didn't like the tune one bit, and by the looks of ‘aural constipation discomfort’ on the DJ-pony’s face under her rose-tinted sunglasses and headphones, neither did she.
***
Giving that up for another bad idea, Cranky trotted onward to the next window. This looked like a small TV or movie studio with a shoot in progress, again with small speakers outside. It was a brightly-lit jungle set, with that famous archaeologist/author pony A.K. Yearling clad in her Daring-Do khaki safari duds, along with the zebra voodoo witch doctor Zecora with a hot brew boiling in a large black pot. Standing in between them was a slender pale white human female with long black hair, leopard-print fatigues and sneakers, and a pith helmet similar to Daring-Do’s. Next to her was her big brawny black-furred pet gorilla who spoke in unintelligible raspy mumblings, and was forever munching on bananas.
“Okay, this is a take! Quiet on the set!" someone called from off the set. From her director’s chair, an Hispanic-looking human
female director in a yellow horse-master’s outfit and red beret, raised a megaphone to her lips and shouted: "ROLL 'EM!"
A human stage-hand with an afro-coiffeur ran to camera-center, holding a slate, and called out:
"Otto Biondo presents: JENNIFER OF THE JUNGLE AND PAUL: 'Strange Brew' Scene 1, Take 1!"
The striped bar came down with a CLAP!
Biondo called, "ACTION!"
“Okay, Paul...” said Jen: “…now pay attention. For today’s lesson, Daring-Do and Zecora here, are going to show you
how to gold-plate a brass-monkey. It’s really quite easy. Now watch…”
A stunned & shocked Paul stopped and stared, the ape’s mouth agape mid-banana, as he now realized what the pot was: a smelter full of molten gold! Daring-Do reached down behind the pot-rim with her teeth, and pulled up a brass idol in the shape of a little crouching monkey. Likewise, Zecora reached down, and raised up a large pair of wooden tongs in her own teeth. Taking the idol with the tongs, Zecora began to lower the idol slowly down over the bubbling brew.
Paul got highly agitated, and started howling and beating his chest! (Movie scene or not, fake prop or not, the gorilla could not stand to witness the cruel act of a fellow primate about to be boiled; not even in effigy! Clearly this was not in Paul’s contract, so what he did next was not in the script.) Jennifer and the two ponies ran for cover as the enraged Paul upended the big pot, pouring steaming hot liquid gold all over the set!
"CUT-CUT-CUT! Yikes!" Biondo yelled and ran for her life, as her director’s chair perished in the golden flood! “GET MY AGENT!”
She yelled to passing stage-hands, beckoning for a telephone, but no one seemed to be listening to her anymore. Still, she kept on trying:
"SOMEBODY? ANYBODY? HEY, YOU GUUUUYYS!!!"
***
Giving that up as the worst idea yet, Cranky moved away from the storefront windows, and followed his nose----to the sidewalk bench. There sat Applejack and her little sister Apple Bloom, facing each other in profile, and playing a strange word game.
What was strange about the game, Cranky discovered, was not only the fact that both ponies were holding up in their forehooves a green-colored screen that cast their profiles into ‘silhouette’ form; not only the fact that some ‘odd soft-shoe tap-dance music’ started playing out of nowhere, but also the fact that the words actually slid out of their mouths in bold white letters on the screen between the two ponies. First, AJ said a consonant sound, then Bloom said the rest of the word, and then as the two parts came together, both ponies said the completed word. It went something like this: (4-beat intro...)
Applejack: Apple Bloom: Both:
“Fuh..” “At…” “Fat!”
“Cuh…” “At…” “Cat!”
“Suh…” “At…” “Sat!”
“Huh…” “At…” “Hat!”
“Fluh…” “At…” “Flat!”
[Song repeats one time…]
[Music Tag] “Yeah!”
As the two apple farm sisters shared a good laugh together, a nonplussed Cranky moved on…
***
Following the fence again, Cranky now spotted graffiti on the fence: a chalky drawing of an ‘E’ with hands and feet, and a magic wand. He had just turned the word “Cut” into “Cute,” and a short guy with blonde curly hair, a bowler hat and a hook-handled cane, was mutely saying in a white word balloon:
"Who's the dummy writing this show?"
Again, not being able to read anything beyond his own native language, Cranky thought little of it,
and kept on going. Yet at the same time, the donkey managed to grumble to himself:
“Who’s the dummy writing this dream?"
***
Blowing a frustrated sigh, and deciding he’d had just about enough of all this comedy-variety junk and vocabulary-related nonsense, Cranky nosed his way through the door of some place with a marquee that (he couldn’t tell) read: “Vi’s Diner.” Upon entering, the proprietor---a tall dark woman with a large poofy afro and white kitchen apron, stopped abruptly from wiping the counter top, to stare at the unfamiliar quadruped sidling up to a stool, and propping up his forelegs on it.
“Well, hey there, long-ears! Love the hairdo! Aww, why the long face?"said the woman, putting on her brightest smile at first,
then putting on her most sympathetic and pouty frown, to get the stranger to open up to her.
Cranky just stared back for a few seconds with the sourest face he could muster, deciding whether
or not to regale her with an answer. “Oh, brother…that’s supposed to be a donkey joke, ain’t it?”
“Okay, okay…no need to get offended. Just trying to make a friendly chat. Okay, tell you what, I’ll start over… (*ahem* bright smile, almost a SQUEE-grin) Hi there, and welcome to Vi’s Diner! And my name is Vi, your host, waitress and cook. Now…what can I
get for you, sir?”
“Hmm…well, I suppose…” Seeing the lady was making an effort to be kind, and deciding that he
appreciated it, Cranky was just about to ask to see a menu, when…
"ISN'T!" said a loud, rude voice, from across the café.
At this, Cranky’s long ears pricked up, nearly making his wig slip. He turned his head to see who spoke.
“Eh? Who said that? What’cha mean?” the dubious donkey inquired.
“Hoo-boy, here we go…” said Vi, rolling her eyes and leaning to rest her chin in the palm of one hand.
"ISN'T!" the rude voice repeated insistently, "I heard you say the word 'AIN'T.' The proper word to say is 'ISN'T.' If you're 'gonna use proper English when you speak, you might as well do it right! I should know. I tried holding a campaign for 'AIN'T' to be accepted as proper English a while back. Didn't work. So then I say---"
“Hey! Are you making fun of the way I talk? Who are you? Show yourself!” said the annoyed donkey
as he glanced around quickly, trying to follow the voice to see where it was coming from.
"Hey, buddy! Don't 'cha know it's rude to interrupt a 'fella when he's talking to you? Yeah, that's right,
I'm talking to YOU! Now come on, pal, LOOK at me when I'm TALKING to you! OVER HERE!"
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Be right back, honey…” said Vi, casually retreating to the kitchen.
After a quick moment, Cranky realized it was coming from the only other customer in the whole place, at the moment----a gruff-looking white human fellow seated at a table near the diner window. Cranky started over slowly, squinting at the odd character, sizing him up
as he approached him.
The man mocked the donkey, making an ugly, grimacing fake-face with a long frown. He had glowering greyish-blue eyes with low-hung eyebrows, grizzly-grey hair & matching mustache, a pushed-back olive-drab green Pork Pie hat with turned-up brim, loud matching olive-drab suspenders over his red-flannel shirt, and a ridiculously loud-patterned yellow necktie. Despite the suspenders, he wore a dark belt with his baggy khaki trousers, though with white socks and old black patent-leather shoes. He seemed an average-built man in his late 60’s or early 70’s, who clearly dressed the same way he spoke: trashy and proud of it. He seemed perfectly comfortable with himself, and couldn't care less about what others thought of him.
Upon reaching the man’s table, Cranky wrinkled his muzzle, and just said: “Hmph.”
The man said right back: "Well, 'hmph' to you, too! What’s the matter? Not what you expected? You trying to scare me? Huh? Is that it? Is that the best you’ve got? Heh-heh-heh…that’s nothin’. I’ve seen ‘em all. Takes a lot more than that to scare old J. Arthur Crank, here!” He proudly jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “That’s my name, by the way. J. Arthur Crank.” he announced smugly, as though it were the title of a king.
The donkey was not impressed. But casually, the donkey reared up and took a seat, placing his forehooves flat on the table,
and his hindhooves flat on the floor, in a series of sound clops!
“Well, bully for you, pal…” said Cranky. “I’m a crank, too. Cranky Doodle Donkey!
That’s my name, by the way!” And he jabbed a forehoof at his own chest, too.
At this, J. Arthur was seized with a fit of contemptuous chuckles!!
“Cranky Doodle? Heh-heh-heh!! Oh-ho, boy...sounds like some silly patriotic song!
Cranky doodle came to town, a-trottin' like a pon----EEEE-HEY, WHADDYA' DOIN'?"
The man was cut short by a sudden and violent tug on his tie----and found himself in close quarters, face to face with the donkey!
“NOPONY…CALLS ME…DOODLE!" the irate donkey sneered with flaring nostrils.
“N-n-no--pony?" J. Arthur was barely able to ask, much less breathe, his face turning pale.
At that, the donkey relaxed his hoof-grip, and let the gasping man slump back into his chair.
Face-hoofing, Cranky corrected himself: “(*Sigh*) I mean…no-body. Nobody but my wife, Matilda.”
The color now returning to his face, Crank asked: “…Oh, yeah, well, your wife, gee whiz…I mean, that, I can understand.
You must love her somethin’ pretty awful to say that, huh?”
“(*Sigh*) That, I do. Best gal in the whole wide world…” said a wistful Cranky.
“Yeah? And, um…where’s that?" asked Crank.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, right, you don’t know… um…Ponyville, in the faraway land of…Equestria.”
“Far away, huh?”
“Must be. I mean…compared to this strange place. I mean, nice place, sure, but come on…”
Crank just shook his head. “You really don’t know where you are, huh, pal?”
“Nope. Can’t say as I do…”
“Well, um, er, uh…(gosh, how do I put this, um…) ever heard of an old PBS children’s
television program, called, um…The Electric Company?'
At this, the donkey stiffened, opened his eyes wide, and blinked over and over…
Then he furrowed his brow, and ground his teeth a couple of times, thinking of how to answer.
All that came out was: "...ELECTRIC WHAT?"
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
Author's Note
Disclaimer - this fan author respectfully acknowledges the characters & properties of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic to be owned & copyrighted by DhX Media & Hasbro Studios, as well as the characters & properties of The Electric Company to be owned & copyrighted by Sesame Workshop, Inc., and makes no claim of ownership whatsoever of said intellectual properties. This work was made solely for recreational writing purposes as a hobby in creative writing. All rights reserved.
(*Pssshew*) Yeah, I know, I know... a lot of setup and exhibition, lots more than in Gilda meets Oscar. But that's what you do with a show that's been cancelled for almost 50 years, and is no longer in reruns. Electric Company, for all its promos & nostalgia hype (even its short-lived 2009 reboot) isn't as well-known to today's kids as Sesame Street. This, then, is my own way of bringing the show out of mothballs, so MLP fans can rediscover it, too. (Who knows: I might put Applejack with Mister Rogers next. 
)
