780 [OLD]

"So... Does this count as later?" Neon asks.

"No," I reply.

"Well, it isn't really fair if the definition of 'later' is determined by the user."

"Yes, it isn't."

I stare at Neon, who is now in the front seat, only because the back seat is full of crap.

"Ok, ok, fine, I'm stupid, you're stupid, we're all stupid in our own special way, now, again?"

I look back at the road.

"No."

"I'm sounding like a spoiled foal right now, aren't I?"

"Yes. You are."

...

We're about a mile to my house, as I can tell. My house is about in the center of Plexelton, and we're just approaching its borders. The skyscrapers aren't as tall as Manehatten's, but they are skyscrapers nonetheless. It's the same deal as Manehatten with the city ponies trotting around getting hot dogs and pretzels, shopping in the fashion district for, well, what do you think, and a great deal more. It could have been Manehatten if it weren't for the fact that Manehatten came first.

Neon finally speaks up again.

"Look, I know everyone has their preferences, but, isn't it ironic that although we both create EDM music, we don't like to listen to it as much as we like making it?"

"Mmmaaaaayyyybeeeee..."

...

"So does that mean we're hypocrites?"

...

"Mmmaaaaayyyybeeeee..."

We laugh.

"Well, not really," comments Neon, "because we have the right to like whatever the heck we want."

"Tell that to the thousands of fans screaming my name, and then see what you get."

Neon laughs. "Oh come on, if a hundred of them will buy your McDouble, then a thousand of them will buy REO Speedwagon."

"Then the conspiracy theorists will listen to it, hate it, and release theories that I am working with them to sell more copies."

"Wait, you have your own conspiracy theorists?"

"Seriously. Some say I'm a changeling. Making EDM music to sway the masses and steal them of their love for everyone else but me."

Neon bursts out laughing.

"YOU SERIOUS?" he says in-between laughs.

"Yeah," I say, now laughing as hard as he is.

"THESE PONIES ARE CRAZY!"

"Hey, all my fans are kinda crazy too, so don't worry."

Neon laughs even harder. I'm worried he's going to pass out.

"Ok, ok," I say, "We're done now, we're done."

Neon calms down a bit.

"But I don't wanna be done laughing!"

"Ya think?"

Neon heaves a big sigh.

"Aww, man."

We arrive at our destination.

It's a very, VERY tidy home, with trees and plants planted all throughout the lot. It's a big house too, about three times the size of my old one.

"Looks like you got promoted," Neon jokes.

I say nothing.

We get out of the car.

"Hey, I need you to help me with this." I command Neon.

"And by 'help' you mean 'use some magic with this along with me'."

"Yeah, I guess." I chuckle.

I open the trunk. My computer is in there along with some other trinkets, like a "bass cannon" one. I can't believe how that "bass cannon" joke got to be immensely popular, so popular in fact, that the marketing reps command me to keep it on me at all times. It's like the world is hopeless against the mass marketing wizardry and manipulation these guys pull off.

The bulk of my cargo is in the back seat. All the loose papers I had (if you guess bills, then congratulations, The Price is Right) and a folding table I had for no apparent reason were stuffed in there. The rest of my belongings will have to be moved in my Coparate-Van, which is already in the garage. I will be noticed from a mile away, but hey, you gotta pick your poison.

As we're unloading the car, I get a question stuck in my head.

"How did you hear rumors that I actually gave a spare key away?"

"The company said it."

WHAT?

"What do you mean?"

"They said that the winner will get a spare key to your Buick Skylark which was said to no longer be in use by you."

"Well that's bull. Were they trying to get it stolen from me?"

"I guess, IDK."

...

"What was the bet anyway?"

"Some guy told me that one of your sponsors are doing a contest to see who can re-create your music the best."

"I could probably have guessed you won."

"That's how I got these glasses. I could choose whatever color I wanted. But not your color. That will be confusing."

I chuckle.

We get the last of our items into the Corporate-House. It's, again, a roomy house, with a very elaborate stairwell into the second floor. The first room you go into is possibly supposed to be a party floor (for "guests"), so ponies that invade your house don't have to see the REO Speedwagon poster you have in your open bedroom door. The entrance-way below the stairwell goes into the living room. It has a lit fireplace (for some reason), a piano (no, it wasn't for me, it's for a professional to play during "special events", even though I'll probably use it more), and some more rich-pony stuff that I didn't ask for but I got anyway because I'm rich. That's where all my stuff is going for right now until a "professional" designer goes in and messes with my stuff. Of course, I could call that off, but they never told me how to even though I could look up online the designer and contact her saying I'm calling it off and not call it off through my agent. Oh well. Life happens.

I get the last of the stuff in the living room, and I trot over to the garage. The Corporate-Van is right there. It has my face, with my trademark glasses hugging my face as I give a cheesy smile; my logo, a pair of headphones firing out blue electricity at the ear pads, and "DJ-PON3" written on the side of it. So stupid. But, I didn't tell them how to make it, so they market-sized it. That's life. I get in the van along with Neon, open the garage door, and head off to Charleston.

When we get there, there isn't much to be moved other than the furniture. We put as much as we can in the van (hey, that rhymes) and go back to Plexelton.

And then crazy stuff happens.