Best Buds: Part Three of the Nonsense Trilogy
The Purest Strain of Cancer
All the residents of Ponyville thought life was okay. But it wasn’t.
The Cute Map was calling, and shit was about to go down.
*ring ring*
Spike and Twilight were chilling by the Cutie Map when it started going ham.
“Oh no, Spike, the Cutie Map is going off!” Twilight shouted. “It looks like the event that’s transpiring is at Rarity’s cottage! I hope she’s okay!”
“Who’s supposed to go help her, Twilight?” Spike said, eyes aglow with worry.
“I don’t know, Spike. Wait!”
Spike’s ass started glowing. “Oh shit! It’s me!”
Spike was the pick of destiny this time around. He was happy too, because truth be told, if he was sent to help Rarity he was probably going to go get some of that pony poo-tang.
“Welp, looks like it’s time for me to save the world! Or at least Rarity’s shop. Damn son, where’d you find this?”
Spike gallantly strode off and left the castle, ready to face whatever was going down. But he wasn’t prepared, because it was gonna be really intense.
*****
Spike was all like running down the street to get to Rarity’s house and shit when he passed Cheerilee.
“Hi Spike!” Cheerilee said whilst waving.
“Sup nigga”, Spike said. Then he left.
“What a racist. I’m obviously purple,” said Cheerilee, as she went on her way towards Christie’s Toy Box.
He arrived at the cottage belonging to Rarity. The cottage she owned. The very same building that she was paying a mortgage on. He was ready to save her and all of her taxable income.
Spike knocked on the door!
*knock knock*
“Who’s there?” Rarity said from within.
“It’s me, Spike!” Spike said.
“Spike who?!” Rarity asked.
“Spike the big-cock motherfucking lizard dong,”
“Oh Spike, come right in!”
Spike needed no further invitation and ran the fuck in there. “Hey, Rarity, heard you needed someone- Woah!”
What Spike’s eyes were greeted with was beyond words. Rarity was there, but she wasn’t herself.
“Oh, Spike, do help me. I need some assistance here.”
Rarity’s white, colorless face was as per the norm, but the rest of her body had been replaced by a green, plant-like substance. Her head was merely a protrusion on this giant plant that had been placed in front of him.
“Woah, Rarity, what the fuck nuggs is going on here? This is abnormal!”
“Well, Spike, it would appear I’m turning into a giant bud of marijuana. I’m quite lit, to be perfectly honest.”
“How the fuck did this happen?” Spike asked with a questioning tone and a interrogatory look and a thoughtful sound and an inquisitive posture.
“You are what you eat, I suppose,” Rarity said, triggering the laugh track built into the universe around them.
“Ahh, shit nigga. What should I do?”
“Well, I heard that if you ran three laps around Ponyville while chanting the latest Hasbro merchandising jingle with your dong hanging loose from your sneakers, it will cure this dark magic surrounding my being.” Rarity tried to shift in place, wafting perhaps the dankest smell across the room.
Spike couldn’t believe his nostrils. That shit must have been Jamaican.
“Oh baby…” Spike thought out loud. “But Rarity, do you even have a dong to dangle out your sneakers?”
“I don’t even have sneakers, Dear. But do you know who does?”
“Shaquille O’neal?” Spike asked.
“No, Michael Jordan you little Twat,” the lavender—erm, white unicorn said.
“Hey cuntwanger, I don’t know who shoots the hoops in this bitch,” Spike spat, saliva spattering sideways across the succulent satin suaare.
“Shut the fuck up you little fartcuntshitbiscuitmousefuckingretarthyperatutisticpatroleumjellyeating doof. Now, save the fuck out of me.”
Somewhere in another dimension, a stoner banged his bong over his head and uttered a mighty guttural chant to the great God Snoop Dogg, also known as Kanye West. Back in the boutique, Spike felt the energy wash across his body. He was suddenly filled with the power of a thousand blunts, and he looked on at the lewd ball of hemp sitting berating him for his ignorance of professional basketball.
Spike figured at this point that he had two choices. One, he could save Rarity and turn her back into herself. Or, as per most of Equestria, he loved the weed. This presented a perfect opportunity to get a lot of free weed if he just lit her up a bit with his dragon breath. Choices, choices, choices.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Bad Dragon?” Rarity asked, waving a stem at Spike in an attempt to reign in his massive power.
By this point, Spike was being filled with not just the combined energy of just stoners, but also that of meth addicts and coke heads alike. He was starting to grow from his puny baby dragon form, beginning his path towards the rites of ascension to elder God status, complete with a mighty five-inch neckbeard. His power was so great that it was starting to draw attention from other powerful beings in the universe.
The rafters overhead groaned, and a second later, an extremely muscular African American male came barreling through the roof accompanied by a fiery explosion. He smelled like he had been in the shower for at least thirty-six hours, and he flexed a pec to reign in the dragon and the giant nug.
“OOOOOOOLD SPICE ODOR BLOCKER BODY WASH IS SO POWERFUL IT CAN BLOCK B.O. FOR SIXTEEN HOURS! IT’S SO POWERFUL THAT IT INVADES CHILDREN’S CARTOONS AND SELLS ITSELF THROUGH ILLICIT MEANS!”
“What the fuck are you supposed to be, some kind of monkey on steroids?” Rarity asked, fluttering her eyes, which were becoming red from just being a part of her body.
“CAN IT, CRACKER. I GOT DEODORANT TO SELL.”
“Stand aside, my future spleef. I got this,” said Spike, flexing his biceps that were now as big around as your mother. He stood up to Terry Crews, who flexed his pecs again as a challenge of Spike’s dominance.
“Fus Ro Dah!” Spike shouted, his neckbeard growing another inch as he hit Terry Crews with a pot of boiling spaghetti.
“OH NOOOOOOOOOO…” Terry shouted as he was knocked out the window, towards whatever dismal financial future he would be forced to accept as the fiscal year drew to a close.
With the unwelcome intrusion from the large, yet extremely powerfully-scented man dealt with, Spike turned back towards Rarity. His head was in danger of hitting the ceiling as his neckbeard was beginning to drag against his chest. Rarity’s rather dank scent was already making him dizzy. He vaguely remembered the white unicorn whose toned, luscious ass he pined for, but that silly horse was now only a memory. He was faced with a decision: Run around Ponyville chanting the newest Hasbro playset sales pitch with his dong dragging around his ankles, or kicking back, having a dorite, playing a few doots on the trumper, and lighting Rarara up like he was Jimi Hendrix preparing for the Woodstock Festival in 1969, the most sexually suggestive year of the 20th century.
The choice for Spike was easy.
“K”, he said.
“Potassium,” Rarity replied.
The end was near. The finale was coming to an end. Spike had to make his choice. To smoke or not to smoke? To blunt or not to blunt? To weed or not to weed? Was he going to fuck Rarity, or was he going to fuck Mary Jane? Was he going to get high, or get his dick high? Was he going to get stiff as a board, or leave Rarity stiff as a board? Was he going to live, or was she going to die. Was weed gonna be hit that night, or was that ass gonna be hit that night. Was Twilight gonna congratulate him on a destroyed pussy, or a destroyed mind that only comes from getting too much THC in your system. By the way, THC is a chemical acid component found in marijuana leaves. It’s side effects include: brain issues, motor function inhibition, amnesia, heightened senses, lowered senses, moderate to severe death, violence, and in some extreme cases, AIDS. Fuck it, I smoke weed anyway. My mom doesn’t really like me smoking weed, but fuck it. It tastes good man. I mean, what the fuck are you gonna do? Not smoke it? Fuck it man.
This message is sponsored by FamousLastWords.
“Can we stop having commercial breaks already?” Spike asked.
“No,” Raribud said.
Try the new Ham Sandwich, only from your friendly neighborhood Arby’s.
“Anyway,” Spike said, walking forward towards Raribud, his spines cutting a slit through the ceiling. His neckbeard now rivaled that of the Governor of Amish country. (Pinkie Pie’s father)
“FUUUUCKKKKKK!”
It was time.
“Raribud, ima smoke you, right after you revive my penis. With sexxxxxx.”
“Oh sweet daughter of Jesús Cristobal!” Rarity exclaimed.
“I’mma eat that pussy now, if you don’t mind.”
“Spike wait!”
Spike whirled around, the roof shattering as he tripped over his now body-length neckbeard. He fell on his face, looking up at a lavender unicorn with a book draped over her head. She looked down at him, flipping her mane around her head in a sad attempt to look as sexy as the giant nug sitting atop the fainting couch.
“Twilight?” Spike asked, searching for the breasts he was certain he had just a moment ago.
“The one and only. I’m sure you’re feeling pretty fucked sideways right now,” Twilight said.
“Speak for yourself,” Rarity snapped, triggering the laugh track once more.
“Well, I have a remedy for this whole situation!” Twilight announced. She turned around, exposing the place where her genitals might be if this was a mature-rated story. “Wake the fuck up!” she shouted, letting loose a massive kick into the side of Spike’s head.
Spike opened his eyes, and he was no longer in the boutique, but rather laying sprawled out on the floor of what looked to be the party room at Sugarcube Corner.
“Spike, wake up! You were supposed to help me organize the library today, but I had to come find you instead.”
Spike tried to lift his head from the floor, but the incessant pounding in his skull felt like it would make his brain blow out his ears if he lifted it past an inch above the floor.
“Ugh,” Spike groaned. “What happened last night?” He heard Twilight’s horn light, but he didn’t look up to see what she was doing.
“I think these little mushrooms lying around you might have something to do with it.”
Spike groaned. “I will never buy any of these dank shrooms from Terry Crews ever again.”
Author's Note
Famous: The pattern to writing this was basically drink, write, drink drink, write, drink, cry and throw up, write.
Jack: And lots of unnecessary sexual innuendo. I think this is radioactive enough to outdo Chernobyl.
