A Non-Pony's Guide to Conquering Equestria

All was well in the political world of the United States, Jeff Gunderson just witnessed the debate between the democratic candidates for the 2016 election. It was important to him, considering he was a statesman for the government and the spoils systems was a bitch.

During his walk home he thought all about the potential winners and how they could benefit him. Maybe half-way home he heard the sound of Jake brakes and a screeching honk. Lost in thought and racked by tiredness he had forgotten to look both ways, that was embarrassing, well it would have been if he was going to live past it, which he doubted, but still.

With a resigned sigh he whispered under his breath, "Heh, early retirement."

A vomit-inducing crunch and cry of pain was all that the people around him heard. His last thoughts as he was leaving the world of living were:

"I hope Hillary doesn't win the race."

It was chaos in the view of the russian Spetsnaz special forces. There were riots everywhere, people have had enough of the laws being forced onto them. In fact, there was so much chaos the spetsnaz had to be called in. Desperate times called for desperate measures after all.

His team was heading towards Moscow, a reckless riot-goer rammed a van right into the head police department. He gave the signal to breach, and popped open the back doors of the van. Hoping to find some evidence on who was driving it before it was left lodged into the building. Hilfon was met with a surprise, Mounted on the floor of the vehicle was a bomb. A bomb that was on the final three seconds before detonation. Wasting no time, he shoved a comrade out of the way as it detonated.

He wasn't prepared to meet his end, however. Sometimes a soldier’s training couldn't prepare you for your own death. The shrapnel tore him to pieces and ripped into his skin. The fire, he felt the hot tongues of the flames as they roasted his skin. As he left the land of the living he had one final thought:

“But who will defend Mother Russia?”

If you asked an average person off the street what they thought of the season spring, the typical answer would be a positive one. Joseph Tremblay was not an average person. Spring is tax season in Canada and if there was a time he hated his job the most, it would be tax season. His hours usually ran longer than usual and by the time he was ready to leave his office he didn’t have time to do any of the necessary chores of daily life. His job wasn’t a bad one, his pay was alright and his hours were low.

Except during tax season.

    It was incredibly late by the time Joe closed the front door to the office, the rain had already started to die down to a damp sprinkle. He walked to his car and opened the trunk to put his briefcase inside before closing it with a dull ‘thunk’. He turned around to see a hooded man approaching him.

“you got the time?” he asked. This man made Joe nervous, though he wasn’t sure why. He looked down at his rather expensive watch.

“It’s, uh, eight thirty-three.” he said anxiously, but by the time he looked back up all he saw was the muzzle of a pistol.

“Oh, fuck!”

This was the last thing the man ever said before his life ended with a bang and a flash of light.

Jeff was the first to awaken, if only because he had to sleep lightly in order to get any sleep in in the first place at all. The first thing Jeff noticed was the fact that it smelled like shit, that was exactly what he expected hell to smell like, so he smiled and laughed.

Then he got up and looked around, yeah, no, this wasn't hell. It’s too green, way too green, God, he'd add fire just to stop the vibrant color. It was dark out too, and he still noticed the green. Damn, it was giving him a headache, and then he noticed he was standing on four legs, blue furred legs that ended with hooves. Oh, and a wing twitched, he had wings. His head felt heavy, he couldn't place why though.

Shieeeeet, he was a winged horse. And he knew how to move, for some odd reason.

A rustling from his left signaled another horse had awakened, a grey horse with an ashy mane, and a grimace on it's long face.

Hilfon was the second to awake from his deep sleep. He really didn't need much, maybe four hours at most in a day, but he savored the moments he got. The first thing he noticed was that he was somewhere in a densely packed forest at night. He attempted to get up, but failed on the first try. He noticed something odd though, he had no feet, only hooves and grey fur. He didn't freak out though, he was trained not to freak out in any situation.

Not even in the case of undead nazis.

He had trouble standing up at first, but he managed to stand up straight, as he was trained to adapt. “Adapt or get slapped.” he quietly cited his personal mantra to himself.

Hilfon reached for his gun and was slightly confused to see he that he didn't have it. In fact, he couldn’t have picked it up even if he did have it. He remembered one thing he still had and…

Drat, he didn't have that either. His combat knife was long gone by now and he was running out of ideas. He already knew that he had wings; he could see them in his shadow, but he needed a weapon. The rocks would probably damage his teeth if he tried to pick them up with his mouth, so he had to stick to hand to hand, or in this case, hoof to hoof combat. Man, how he wished he had a bottle of his favorite vodka, then again, he probably wouldn't be able to drink it.

An awkward hum was all Jeff was capable of. This shit was getting weirder and weirder. The horse next to him muttered something in English with a Russian accent; adapt or get slapped. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? The world may never know.

The first thing Joe heard when he came back to consciousness was the sound of someone humming. This was exceptionally odd because he distinctly remembered dying. His eyes snapped open, he realized he should be dead. He looked up and saw a thick canopy of trees and a moon peaking through, his thoughts started to wander before he realized something; he heard someone humming, he looked to his left and froze.

“What the jack fuck?”

There was a dark blue… something standing there, it wasn’t a horse, that was for sure, though it bore a passing resemblance to one. For one, it was a bit too small. Secondly it had a far too human range of expression. And last, he could have sworn he had just heard it humming.

That was when he realized something was very wrong; there was something obscuring the bottom center of his vision, and it was much too large to be his nose. He had a muzzle. He tried to jump to his feet and promptly fell over. Looking down at his body, he saw something completely alien to him. He had fur, he had hooves, he had a tail, and he was not taking it in stride at all.

“Jesus space titty fucking Christ!” he yelped, then looked over when he heard a male voice.

"Hey, sirs, are you okay? There seems to be a predicament on our hands." Jeff asked politely. The brown haired one ignored jeff in favor of freaking out, but not the russian accented one.

"Sirs, are you okay? This is a serious question, stop ignoring me, goyims!" Jeff shouted with all his might, in his Midwestern drawl. That caught their attention.

“I am fine, I am calm.” Hilfon said calmly while getting up revealing his cutie mark, a Spetsnaz logo.

    “Oh my god, what the fuck? I’m dead, I should be dead! Why am I a mini-horse? Who and what the fuck are you?” Joe rapidly exclaimed.

Jeff facepalmed, or rather face hoofed, these people were idiots.