Pinkie Pie Has it All Together

by Twilightclopple

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy
Length: 1023

She's not crazy, and you have to believe her.

She's sharp as a razor, cool and calculated. She's perfectly sane.

Pinkie Pie is NOT crazy, and you HAVE to believe her.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-04 05:54:01 UTC

Why won't you believe her?!

     Any moment now, any moment there would come a knock on the door. She was expecting guests, very important ones at that. The decorations had never been so perfectly laid out, they'd never been so inviting, and the cake had never been so ornately iced, every little swirl a perfect reflection of the time she had put in creating it.

     The cake was truly the marvel of the afternoon, perched at the head of the table like the towering majesty that it was. Hours of labor had come together in creating the perfect confection, perfect like everything else at her party, that would soon find its place at the bottom of the stomachs of very satisfied guests. Pinkie Pie felt a twitch roll over her merely at the thought of the blissful smiles of a group of satiated party goers.

     The walls hung bare, though really, who would notice? Naturally, all of her guests would be so captivated by the perfection with which she had layed out the evening's spread, blue plates on yellow, pink streamers contrasting so harmoniously with the spring green tablecloth. Who could possibly notice the stony walls when-look over there!-a prim and perfect pink pinata suspended so sweetly would catch their attention?

     If anything, the gray stony texture of the walls had a rustic appeal, really bringing out the best in her so perfectly placed party pieces. If not, well, who could possibly notice?

     Pinkie Pie paced, a bounce in her step exclusive to excited hosts, as she admired her pristine party panorama, eagerly awaiting the arrival of her guests, who would surely have not a negative word to say about the so carefully designed spread. After that, there would be cake, the cake that she had iced herself, begging to be eaten, and then there would be games. All in all, Pinkie ensured that there would be no shortage conversation.

     The sound she'd so anxiously awaited arrived at her ears, and Pinkie graciously greeted her guests, allowing them to make themselves comfortable. A cup of punch-or two?- and a slice of cake-perhaps another?-and everyone was as comfortable as the good host could provide.

     "Thanks for coming, all!" Pinkie exclaimed, beaming as brightly as the north star. Her exclamation was met with a murmur of approval as the conversation resumed, setting the room alight with tinkling glasses and forks as they ravaged perfectly prepared pieces of party confections.

     Pinkie laughed at how splendidly it had all come together. The decorations, so perfect, the cuisine could not possibly be sweeter, and everything came together like the well-oiled cogs of a fine watch. And then the guests; they all arrived on the dot, smiling and expecting a great party that only the host of hosts could provide. Of course, who better to host the soiree of the century than a certain positive pink party pony?

     She simply had to share. "Oh isn't this great?" She declared to her party, the chatter dying down and the attention turning to the spry speaker. "Look at how lovely everything is? How could they possibly say I can't pull this off?" She exclaimed before pausing at her last comment.

     Foolish ponies, thinking she had lost her mind. If anything, Pinkie had been left sharper than ever before, sharper than that studious Sparkle, even sharper than the pampered princess!

     'You can't live a party!' they said, 'It's not realistic!' They said! Pinkie Pie had shown them, she'd shown them all otherwise!

     "Just look at how perfect this is!" She exclaimed again. "Could the mind of a mad pony possibly pull this off? The timing, the setup, evey piece falling together with perfect consideration like the pieces of a puzzle!" Pinkie's hooves flew through the air in grand animated gestures, only better to prove a point.

     "Just look around you! Gaze in admiration at the way every streamer is twisted, at the precision with which it forms a helix, like the great web of life itself! Just watch, just observe the cake on which everyone feasts right at this very moment!" Pinkie grew more agitated with the passing of each moment, almost rearing from her chair in blind frustration. "Can't you all see at how delicately every swirl of icing lays, not a single strand overlapping another? The accuracy, the focus it must have taken to create such a thing! Could it, HOW could it ever be the weathered mind of mad pony responsible?"

     Pinkie stood now, her hair swinging as she moved this way and that, desperately proving a point that should be so sickeningly obvious already. "Look at the coordination, the timing!" She began again, gesturing wildly around the room. "Everyone arrived right on time, not a minute too soon or too late! How could an incapable mind have arranged this? How-I ask you-how can that not be the fruits of an incredibly sharp mind's labor?!"

     "I am not crazy, it doesn't matter to me what the others say!" Pinkie cried again, her voice growing almost hysterical with passion. "Could a crazy mind ever hope to create this so excellently? No!" Certain she had once and for all proved the obvious point, Pinkie fell silent, before stating one last thing.

     "Thank you so much," She said, flinging a hoof around one of her guests, smiling in affection. "You are such a good listener."

     Pinkie ran a hoof through her pin-straight silky fuscia hair, flicking a strand of it out of the way. Her eyes grazed over her own gray pink coat, admiring the smoothness with which it lay, a reflection of the calculated pony it covered. Her glance rested on the triple balloon cutie mark, noting the fitting nature of its design, belonging to the pony who had indeed thrown the party to end all parties. This was the undeniable truth.

     All the while, her guest remained in thought, listening patiently to the perfectly sane rants of her host. She said not a single thing.

     Sacks of flour can't speak.