Surely You Joust

by Fiddlebottoms

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Rainbow Dash, Random, Pinkie Pie, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 3237

Rainbow Dash keeps forcing everyone to read a comic that isn't funny. Twilight tries to find out why and Pinkie Pie is, as usual, completely unhelpful in a deeply unpleasant way.

Rainbow Dash keeps forcing everyone to read a comic that isn't funny. Twilight tries to find out why and Pinkie Pie is, as usual, completely unhelpful in a deeply unpleasant way.

Originally was gonna be inspired by Super Trampoline but things went a weird way. Dedicated to him anyway.

Published 2017-10-14 03:00:11 UTC
Last updated 2017-10-14 03:00:11 UTC

You were born to suffer, born to die, born to ask uselessly, "why, why, why"

“The knight, he’s wearing all this armor when he enters the restaurant,” Dash explained to Twilight who was not blind at all, “and he asks for a table for two! For him and his lance!” Dash pointed at the second panel, which would have been pointless if Twilight was blind, but--since she was not--the pointless thing was for Dash to be explaining the comic which Twilight could see very well since Dash was shoving it into her poor, velvety face. “And the guy--the guy in the restaurant--he says,” Dash was laughing already and ignoring the fact that Twilight was about to cry, “he says, ‘surely you joust, sir’ and the knight, the knight ..." Twilight, as we have established, was not blind, and therefore even though Dash was collapsing to the ground, her lungs paralyzed with hilarity, she could read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight said.

The knight in the comic.

What comic? The one Dash was shoving in Twilight’s face while frantically narrating the same comic that Twilight, who possessed literacy among many other of her secret talents, was capable of reading. So, that was a mistake. The scene should have been set up better at the start. So, here’s what it is like: Twilight is walking down the street, minding her own happy business when suddenly, bam here’s Dash and here’s the comic and here’s the narration and it goes like this:

“The knight, he’s wearing all this armor when he enters the restaurant,” Dash explained to Twilight who was not blind at all, “and he asks for a table for two! For him and his lance!” Dash pointed at the second panel, which would have been pointless if Twilight was blind, but since she was not, the pointless thing was for Dash to be explaining the comic which Twilight could see very well since Dash was shoving it into her poor, purply face. “And the guy--the guy in the restaurant--he says,” Dash was laughing already and ignoring the fact that Twilight was about to scream, “he says, ‘surely, sir, you joust’ and the knight, the knight...” Twilight, as we have established, was not blind, and therefore even though Dash was collapsing to the ground, her lungs paralyzed with hilarity, Twilight could read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight said.

Even if Twilight were--as Dash apparently presumed--both blind and illiterate, Twilight would still know what the comic said because she had been ambushed like this at least once a day every day for the past month. As had everyone else in Ponyville, and all the Wonderbolts, and most of Manehattan, Dash apparently had a lot of time on her hooves and for the past month, she’d spent it like this. Every day. Here she comes and then:

“The knight wearing all this armor when enters the restaurant,” Dash explains to Twilight who is not blind at all, “and he asks for a table for two! For him and his lance!” Dash points at the second panel, which would be pointless if Twilight was blind, but since she is not, the pointless thing is for Dash to be explaining the comic which Twilight can see very well since Dash is shoving it into her poor, velvety face. “And the guy--the guy in the restaurant--he says,” Dash is laughing already and ignoring the fact that Twilight is about to scream, “he says, ‘surely you joust,’ and the knight, this knight,” Twilight, as we have established, is not blind, and therefore even though Dash is collapsing to the ground, her lungs paralyzed with hilarity, Twilight can read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight says. Every time this is always happening, has been will be, already to have and never not. When Twilight closes her eyes, she can picture the four panels and minimal dialogue.

“Table for one, sir?” (Dash always omits this line; actually blind or illiterate--and therefore not Twilight--ponies would not know it exists.)
“No, two, my lance will be seated as well.” (Dash always summarizes this line.)
“Surely you, sir, joust.” (This line is special.)
“With this lance, indeed I do.” (This line Dash never actually reads because she is overcome with how funny it is.)

Twilight knew it by heart, she just couldn’t understand what was so funny about it. She forced herself to smile anyway, because anything less would only warrant a repetition of:

“The knight, he’s wearing all this armor when he enters the restaurant,” Dash would explain to Twilight who would not be blind at all, “and he asks for a table for two! For him and his lance!” Dash would point at the second panel, which would be pointless if Twilight were blind, but since she wouldn’t be, the pointless thing would be Dash narrating the comic which Twilight could see very well since Dash was shoving it into her tired, aching face. “And the guy--the guy in the restaurant--he says,” Dash would be laughing already and ignoring the fact that Twilight was about to bury herself alive, “he says, ‘sir, surely you joust,’ and the knight, the knight,” Twilight would still not be blind, and therefore even though Dash would collapsing to the ground, her lungs paralyzed with hilarity, Twilight would read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight would say.

To forestal all of the above, Twilight guessed at what to say. “Indeed he does,” she said, and Dash indeed agreed, because indeed he did.

Suddenly Dash was on her feet, having spotted Rarity. She had not yet had her daily dose, and Dash was just the mare to give it to her, and what she rushed over and gave to Rarity was:

“The knight walks into the cafe and he’s wearing his armor and, and,” Dash explained to Rarity who was somewhat near-sighted from her stitchwork and wore glasses to compensate but was perfectly capable of reading the comic anyway, “and he asks for a table for two! He wants a seat for his lance!” Dash pointed at the second panel, which would have been pointless if Rarity was blind, but since she was merely nearsighted, the pointless thing was for Dash to be explaining the comic which Rarity could see very well since Dash was shoving it into her poor, pretty face. “And the maitre-de says,” Dash was laughing already and ignoring the fact that Rarity was about to cry, “he says, ‘surely you, sir, joust’ and the knight, the knight,” Rarity as we have established, was not blind but she was nearsighted, and therefore when Dash collapsed to the ground, her lungs paralyzed with hilarity, she actually couldn’t read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight said, anyway. He was such a patient fellow. What a guy! Always saying his lines and never flubbing them or complaining. You could learn a lot from an inanimate object, which is the level that Maud appreciated the comic when Rainbow Dash showed it to her on a daily basis just like this:

“The knight goes into this fancy restaurant, and,” Dash explained to Maud who had 20/10 vision and was a speedreader and so had actually read the entire comic while Dash approached, “and he asks for a table for two, one seat for him and one for his lance!” Dash pointed at the second panel which was pointless because Maud Pie was of the mountains and dreamed all of time simultaneously and each moment was the same to her and always present before her, including every moment where Dash shoved this comic into her stony, quiet face. “And the guy says,” Dash was laughing already and ignoring that Maud was becoming one with the stone, “he says, ‘surely you joust, sir,’ and the knight, the knight…” Maud did not behold time sequentially, but rather as a single mural spread before her, therefore when Dash perceived herself collapsing to the floor, Maud was able to see, simultaneously, the comic in front of her face and could read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight was always saying even as he requested a table for two, beside himself in time, frozen yet moving, and Maud appreciated that.

Twilight was pulled painfully and unwillingly back into this existence when she was in a conversation with Pinkie Pie. Do not feel too sorry for Twilight, because Pinkie was just as painfully and unwillingly being forced to remember something that had happened earlier that morning. What had happened was that Dash had ambushed her with the comic and it had gone like this:

“The knight, he’s wearing all this metal when he barges into the restaurant,” Dash explained to Pinkie who had eyes to see, “and he asks for a table for him and his lance!” Dash pointed at the second panel, which would have borne no fruit if Pinkie was blind, but since she was not, the pointless thing was for Dash to be explaining the comic which Pinkie could see very well since Dash was shoving it into her poor, pink face. “And the restaurant guy says,” Dash was laughing already and ignoring the fact that Pinkie was melting, “he says, ‘sir, surely you joust’ and the knight, the knight,” Pinkie, as we have established, was capable of seeing what was to be seen, and therefore even though Dash was collapsing to the ground, her lungs paralyzed with hilarity, Pinkie could read the last line of the comic.

“With this lance, indeed I do” is what the knight said.

So, Pinkie Pie had been enjoying her 24 hours or so of not having to deal with the comic when Twilight had started asking her about it.

“Well, you see, the comic eschews the western traditional three panel set-up by following the eastern four panel arrangement in which the third panel, bearing the punchline, is followed by a reaction panel, in this case delivered with the knight deadpanning his confirmation that, yes, he does indeed joust with his lance, as the waiter had suggested he might. The art style utilizes--”

“Pinkie,” Twilight interrupted, “you have spent 30 minutes babbling inanely and not at all answered my question. Why is the comic so peeving funny to Rainbow Dash?”

“I have no idea why it is supposed to be funny. I just laugh because it makes her happy, and why not? It doesn’t hurt anypony. Just like when I’m in your lab and you babble on about nothing and I just agree.”

“That doesn’t make me happy,” Twilight hargumphed, “you blinded me in one eye once that way!”

“Blinded you with joy?”

“No, just blinded, and then there was that time I got electrocuted--”

“Electrocuted with ecstasy?”

“No, just electrocuted, and the chemical spill that left me writhing--”

“Writhing with delight?”

“Writhing in agony,” Twilight bombarded. “There is a reason I forbid you from touching any of my instruments!”

“Well, that sounds like a problem you have,” Pinkie replied, “and one that is not mine.”

So Twilight did what she did best and scienced herself a solution to a problem no one else had.

The next time Rainbow Dash ambushed Twilight with the intent of initiating the following event:

“The knight and so on,” Dash would say, and Twilight wouldn’t be blind and so on. So it goes, until:

“With this lance, indeed I do.”

But this time, Twilight had a giant cannon-shaped thing. Dash lowered her comic and stared up at the array of turning blades and dishes and antenna.

“This ends today, Dash! No more will I set in quiet confusion about what the comic actually means. This machine will allow me to open up your brain and take a look inside--”

“Literally or metaphorically?” Dash asked.

Twilight paused and rubbed her jaw for a moment. “You know,” she said, “I’ve quite forgotten. Let’s find out!” Twilight slammed a button on the side of the device and the various menacing implements set about aglowing and amoaning and aturning.

Dash stumbled backwards, and it suddenly occurred to Twilight that she’d never thought about using violence to solve this problem. This was working great!

“No!” Pinkie smacked the device out of Twilight’s hooves.

“No!” Pinkie repeated.

“No,” she added again for no good reason.

“No?” Twilight asked.

“No.”

“Please no,” Dash threw in, because she rather liked her skull in its current form.

“You want to understand comedy?” Pinkie asked Twilight.

“Wait is this what this is actually about?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Can I leave now?” Dash asked, confirming Twilight’s suspicion that violence was the answer to this problem all along.

“Getcher ass outa here!”

And so Dash left, not really knowing who had told her to leave.

“Twilight, take my hooves.” Pinkie held out her forelimbs and reestablished the narrative amongst the void. “And listen to me. This is a meditation.”

Twilight reached up numbly.

“Riftia pachyptila grows to several feet in length, but has no mouth, gut or anus and what is the difference--”

Twilight guessed where this was going and interrupted, “I have a mouth, gut and anus.”

“Twilight! You are meditating, and that means shut your mouth.”

Pinkie looked skyward and intoned, “a species may go extinct though every member lives long and happy lives--produce children even--provided their children differ far enough, least resemble their parents, change the most. Static forms are an aberration, tolerated only because they are momentary and leave no lasting impact. “Fossils,” the cry of an idiot who thinks a tree falling in the forest makes no sound. The self-described reason is atrocious, but fortunately it is incapable of damaging anything of value.”
“Imagine then, remember, sitting upon a train. A man shouts, gnawing on his knuckles--”

“What knuckles?”

“Med. It. Ate. Ing,” Pinkie sgnarlshed. “Gnawing on his knuckles, gnawing on his nose, vibrating his eyelids, creaking with corners, and popping his posthumousity. Twitch, twitch, atwtichavating and crying out, ‘I’m not the one with brain problems.’ You see?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, it was. Quit spoiling the atmos, please.” Pinkie stares up again and repeats again, “I’m not the one with brain problems? A question. Hopeful. My pants are irrelevant. True. Our deaths will not be mourned for nearly as long as we feared death, but more terrible is to live. I’m not the one with brain problems! A declaration. Angry now. Who is he talking to? Who am I talking to? Who is he listening to? I’m not the one with brain problems. A whimper. Neglected.”
“Who are you listening to? What are you saying? Where is it? Where is it? Where is it, Kenneth? Where is it? Where is it? Where. Is. It. Where is it, Kenneth? Where is it? Where? Where? Kenneth? Where? Where is it? Where is it? Where?”
“Twenty years ago it would have been inconceivable … but you have now allowed dust to gather on me. And it doesn’t matter, but I am filthy and I love you with all my heart. I’m not the one with brain problems. I’m me. You’ve got Romney scurrying about, literally at night, getting into cars and things. I’m me. He’s knowing his nose and creaking with corners and imitating creepily. He’s a city of flesh and crimson cathedrals and pumps a wine dark sea each second. I’m me, and I’m not the one with brain problems.”
“I’m not the one with brain problems where his diseases weep and crying alone in a crowd and not the one with brain problems.”
“Nietzsche tells the story of a man named Zarathustra who, at the age of 30, goes into the wilderness and enjoys it so much he decides to live there for 10 years and upon returning to society he declares god to be dead. I’m not the one with--”

Pinkie takes a deep slow breath.

“You demand equinity because you have nothing else to offer against all your crimes, but this equinity is a dull, idiot inanimate. I wanna drive my car into a wall. I’m not the one with brain problems. Quiet this time, an experimental whisper.”
“A tree blocks your path with its stupid clinging inertia, you struggle along an 80 degree slope and this thing, this stupid, idiot thing grabs you and demands your fall and your death and you scramble and you stumble and there is still this idiot, inertial mass of the stupidest thing ever that grip-grab-tears and pushes you to your death. The self-described reason is atrocious, but fortunately it inhabits nothing of value. Paleontologists have discovered that all ocupi share a common antarctic ancestor, and geologists have discovered an ancient mountain (monument? How else would aliens see a pyramid?) under the ice.”
“I’m not the one with brain problems! I forgot. I’m not the one with brain problems, but I forgot. Old adage, no one screams at a bad comedy. How wrong could a cliche be? The most horrific thing is bad comedy, imagine being the slave beaten to death by laughing Spartans, here is the mother of all brain problems. Imagine being the woman raped by her ‘liberators’ across the hall from her dead brother--the terrorist--imagine being the one who has brain problems.”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes rolled around backwards and she hissed now madding now. “If you weren’t so smart, I’d give you some advice, but whatever you are is starting to show. Sorry this has to end inconveniently for you. So just these parting words: I’m. Not. The. One. With. Brain. Problems.”

And so Twilight stumbled away and away and away and took a few trembling steps out of her mind. She--NOT THE ONE WITH BRAIN PROBLEMS--knows it must surely have all been a joke. Everything. It was all just a joke.

She doesn’t believe in the Sun in anymore. Oh, sure, she still sees it there and knows it is there and knows it like she knows gravity, and just like gravity she won’t trust it to break her fall. Surely, though, surely, you joust. Surely, sir. Indeed, sir. Surely you joust.

Because, yes, because, it all has to be a joke. It has to be funny. Why isn’t anyone laughing? It has to be funny, as Twilight stumbles with blood running down her face and grasps for an audience. It has to be a joke.

It has to be.

Please.

It has to be funny.

Please? Please, just let it all be a joke. And somebody has to laugh. They have to laugh. Because if nobody laughs, she’s going to scream. And if she starts screaming, she’ll never stop. She’ll never, ever, ever stop. She’ll scream and she’ll scream and she’ll scream and she’ll scream and her head is tilting back now and her throat is opening and it is about to start so please

please

please

for the love of god

laugh

please

Author's Note

I dunno if this comic actually exists. Maybe I am remembering it or maybe I thought of it. Casual googling only turns up the wonderfully wikipedian wikipedia entry for a country album. Disguised as a knight, indeed.