Bloody Hellby Henry HatsworthChaptersPart one: Wires and ToothpastePart one and another bit that might actually be part 2 but I honestly can't tell: Shallots with GeoffThe bit that actually is part 2 this time: Hacking is a thingPart 2 and a bit, maybe 3. Honestly it's a bit hard to tell and yes we're using this joke again: whiningPart one and a bit: The bit where the fic starts to get a tad disappointingPart one: Wires and ToothpasteDISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING WORK OF FANFICTION CONTAINS DANGEROUS LEVELS OF DEADPAN SNARKERY AND ABSURDNESS ON A NOT QUITE EXAGGERATED ENOUGH TO BE INHERENTLY FUNNY YET STILL EXAGGERATED ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU QUESTION JUST ABOUT EVERY WORD THE AUTHOR HAS PUT ONTO HIS VIRTUAL PAPER. PLEASE APPROACH THIS FIC WITH CAUTION AND A HEFTY AMOUNT OF BOOZE. THANK YOU FOR LISTENING. "Bloody hell." We both said in unison as we stared at the telly. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant to say,"the mass of wires and toothpaste that once functioned as a telly." Hi. I'm Geoff Daniels, Age 21, and I own a hotdog van in Bristol. Heh, listen to me, I sound like the opening to an episode of The krypton Factor. Ah yes, good ol' Krypton Factor. They don't make TV shows like they used to, nowadays it's all Celebrity Britain's Got The Pop Factor and Possibly A New Celebrity Jesus Christ Soapstar Superstar Strictly on Ice, or CBGTPFPANCJCSSSI. It's strange, for most people, old British television shows such as Krypton Factor either represent an important part of childhood or an obscure bit of pop culture paraphernalia, sandwiched somewhere between Monty Python and Lee Evans. but for me, and indeed the duncical mass of blood, sweat and wank that I call my friend Bill, community liasons officer on the hotdog van and one of my only aquaintances, the Krypton Factor represents something a lot more than that. It represented a complete change in our way of life. A new way of life devoid of the pointless trivialities of modern society such as electricity, entertainment and meat. Nope, no meat where we fuckin' ended up. No thanks to the bloody Krypton Factor. Anyway, you're probably wandering by now what sort of wild tangent I could be going off onto with this. I mean, what you've heard so far could easily be put in quotation marks and -Boris Johnson placed on the end and nobody would bat an eyelid, in fact we'd all probably be a tad disappointed that that was in fact all we got from the blonde haired buffoon this time around. Anyway, you'll find out what this all ties into in due course, but first I must issue a safety warning: If you are one of those people who have an adverse reaction to descriptions of places so sickeningly sweet that it gives you triple diabetes just to read extracts from them then I must advise you to think for a moment what you're doing searching,"brony" into google, I mean how else are you going to get here? What did you think this was, a fuckin' pornhub? Anyway, with that warning out of the way, let's begin. As I've said, this story begins with the two of us staring at was once a flat screen tv, but was now less of a 'flat' screen and more of a 'scattered in bits all over the bloody carpet' screen. This was a result of one of Bill's trademark,"I'm gonna feel that 2 fuckin' weeks from now." Drug and Booze nights. And for some unknown reason, presumably because he was also thick enough to use the yellow pages as bog roll that same night, he'd called me over to try and help him fix it. Why me? Why now? Simple, the Krypton Factor was on and we're both damned if we're missing an episode of that. The first thing we did, after clearing out all of the toothpaste from the inside of it and persuading Billy Bob Thornton that, no, this wouldn't be published in a damning tell all book published solely to makes us approximately loadsamoney, we set about trying to repair it as best we could the only way we knew how: Copious amounts of gaffer tape. So we began gaffer taping down anything that was sticking down or that looked a bit out of place. The end result was about half a telly that looked like it'd just stepped out of the tomb of fucking Amenhotep III. Everything seemed to be going well until a small, yet still somehow fucking blinding light showed up. It hurt my eyes just to look at the bloody thing, yet neither me or Bill couldn't take our eyes of it. it was like when you were a kid and you were always told not to look at the sun but you went outside and looked at the fuckin' thing anyway. As we kept on staring at this light we both found that it was growing bigger and bigger, eventually enveloping the room. Now, normally I'd say something about us being rendered silent by this light, except that we really weren't. We were screaming at each other asking what the fuck the other one had done and them responding with that they hadn't done anything, or phrases to that effect. Eventually, at around the point that we'd stopped screaming words at each other and had begun to sound like some horrible orgy of pain in the blackest, thorniest part of Satan's arsehole, the light intensified almost indefinitely. To try and replicate the feeling at home, try stting at your computer at 20 to 2 in the morning and retyping this entire page. It wasn't pleasant, and the light had left us blinded for what felt like several minutes after, during which time we attempted to make sense of things by stumbling around with our hands out in front of us and shouting about everything, like some sort of loud, pathetic zombie. We were less like actual blind people and more like the mildly insensitive yet still somehow oddly funny caricatures of one in almost every cartoon ever produced, which, as we discovered, was oddly befitting of our current location... Eventually, the blindness wore off, as it were, and we were thankful that we could both see again, that is until we realised what we could see, at which point our bollocks collectively recceded into our bodies at the speed of sound. you see, what we saw were ponies. bright, colourful, cartoon ponies in just about every hue you could think of that has at some point been associated with some kind of confection. Pink, White, purple, blue, pink, green, orange, more pink, pink, pink as hell, even more pink, my god I think my heart's going to give out just typing about it this much. the perplexing part, in hindsight, was that they seemed just as frightened of us as we were of them. Well, I say frightened, when what I mean is emasculated to a degree that, should it ever be weaponised, it would be deemed to cruel to use on even the fucking monkey nazis of 2032. And besides, what reason would they have to be afraid of us? Unless cartoon pony freaks from another dimension have an inherent fear of "kiss me quick" hats and T-shirts with horrible sex jokes printed across them in big bold letters. However, we seemed to forget that instance, and we ran away from where we were, some sort of town square style area, and made for whichever direction seemed to best represent 'away' at that instant. We took what we assumed were back alleys and byroads until we eventually found ourselves in what seemed like a forest, at which point we all realised that we had no wilderness training and were probably going to die. Still, could be worse. It wasn't raining. Oh, wait, yes it was. We walked for fucking ages in that forest. Our only sense of time was that every 3 minutes and 47 seconds Bill would ask,"Why don't we just go home." At which point I'd turn to him and say something along the lines of,"We're fucking lost! What, did you leave a trail of breadcrumbs through a fucking dimensional wormhole?" At least, I thought this was our only measure of time until I remembered that my watch was still working. After that facepalm-fest, if you will, we carried on walking until we reached some sort of caravan looking thing. Bill voiced his concernt hat it was caravan and most likely wasn't worth our time, until I reminded him that we were lost in a fucking forest in another dimension. Tentatively, I knocked on the door, in case it was home to some as yet unknown eldrich abomination that's go ahead and bash us to death with its cock. However, all we discovered was another pony. A blue one with a fucking cone looking thing on its forehead. It stepped out of the caravan and I swear to fuck I heard a fanfare in the background as it did this. It reared up on its hind legs and from its moouth spilled the following: "Gaze upon the majesty of the great and powerful Trixie!" "Fuckin' hell, they talk too." We both said in unison. Part one and another bit that might actually be part 2 but I honestly can't tell: Shallots with GeoffWell, I'm back. Sorry about that, but that was some good fucking pizza. Where was I? Oh yes. We'd just punched out the horse with the magical, pointy tumor growing out of its forehead, nicked its caravan because this was a dimension where horses could own and operate caravans, and were now reenacting the episode of Top gear where they go caravanning and then Jeremy sets the thing on fire while cooking some chips. It was at around the point where I served up some, erm, actually I'm not entirely sure what it was. So let's call it Geoff. It was around the point where I served up some nice Geoff on a broken plate that the thing I'd clonked out appeared in the caravan with us and caused us to crash in a horrible orgy of screaming, swearing, and Geoff flying everywhere. And if you thought that that segment of this story was too fast paced and not well presented then first off what are you doing trying to critique something like this? You don't try to put out a fire with fag ends and you don't come to me to hear a well done story. And besides, it happened basically that fast. She seemed to decide in that 16.3 seconds of confusion that she'd rather just fuck off and hope that we die or get our nobs stuck in a wringer or something. I watched her walk off, taking the salvageable bits of the caravan with her, before I realised that Bill was lying prostrate on the floor snorting Geoff. I stared at him, not sure wether I wanted to shout, vomit, or implode on the spot, but eventually he explained himself to me, sort of. All he did was look at me like a fucking mental patiant and shout "MAN DAS SUM GOOD ASS SHIT." I figured I couldn't argue with that and began to snort some of Geoff myself. the result? Everything looked pretty much exactly the same, not that made Skegness(Yes, we're still calling it that) any less trippy as it already looked like a slightly less edible version of the tutorial level from The Simpsons Game. In fact, the only thing that was different about the whole thing is that Bill had morphed into what appeared to be a first edition copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy(the one mentioned in the book by Douglas Adams, not the book by Douglas Adams) and that every single one of my fingernails looked like this. So, having honed the act of deliberately not giving a shit for a cheap laugh down to a fine art, I watched as the little blokes in my fingernails pranced around holding a pair of shallots each like they were a set of fucking castanets. This went on for about half an hour, at which point I returned to reality and had to drag Bill along with me due to his having snorted far more Geoff than I had. I don't know what he saw during that trip he had, but what I do know is that now I don't half fancy a fucking shallot. I'll be back in a sec. The bit that actually is part 2 this time: Hacking is a thingRight, I'm back. Don't know what I did there, I don't even like shallots. Anyway, once Bill had come out of his Geoff induced trip, we decided to head in the direction that both of our barely functioning minds had decided to call "The right way" and, lo and behold, we soon reached civilization. Well, the closest thing that the artstyle that dimension happened to be rendered in could call civilization. I mean, compared to basically any form of civilization in human history it looked just a bit shit to be honest. Anyway, we arrived there before realising that this was the same town that we'd, erm, spawned(?) in about 2 bits of the story ago and we felt a dark reprise of the bollock receding performance that had so terrified us previously ensuing, and from the looks of the place, every single multicoloured grand national reject sensed it too. They all crowded around us in what on reflection was probably curiosity but at the time registered as the sort of emotion that Hannibal Lecter felt when he got his liver and beans. it then transpired that our feeling about the whole dark reprise thing wasn't entirely off, by which I mean that it couldn't have been more on the mark if it was aimbotting. We got out of that town as fast as our legs would carry us and then a bit faster because we were speedhacking or something(I'm sensing a theme here), ran back into another forest, or maybe it was the same forest, who the fuck knows or cares? Punched another unicorn(I'm going to just call them unicorns now) Nicked another caravan, did some more Geoff, I went and got another shallot in the time it would've taken to tell all that, we went back into the town and this process was repeated about 17 times before we both realised that it'd be easier on just about every single part of our bodies if we just went somewhere else. So we did. I don't know how far we walked to get to where we eventually got to, partly because your brain tends to tune out after walking for a long time and instead try to find a cloud in the sky that looks a bit like a cock, and partly because Bill realised that he had some more Geoff stuck to the back of his neck, which we snorted like we were out trainspotting before we eventually reached another city. Also, I'd just like to point out that I finally managed to produce a segment of this that isn't longer than the queue at an apple store. How's that for pacing? Anyway, the first thing we noticed upon arriving in this majestic city of castles and phallic symbols was a sign that we later learned said something along the lines of,"Welcome to Canterlot, city of royals." but may as well have said,"The English saw the dining table and saw the opportunity to play Wiff-Waff with The King's bollocks" For all the sense it made. it was written in some sort of language that seemed like a cross between klingon and Anthony Burgess tongue. Anyway, after spending a good few hours or two trying to make sense of the sign, we realised that, due to what we later learned had to do with some insecure goddess going off to have a sandwich, it had only just turned night. Upon noticing this, we decided that we may as well just fucking sleep right there because if this is a world full of multicoloured horses then I reckoned I could get away with sleeping wherever I damn well pleased. Which at this point is going to be my bed because I've just realised that it's half past bloody eleven and I'm fucking tired. Good night. Oh, before I go, I've only just realised that I named the Geoff after myself. Subconscious attempt at fame, or the word Geoff being inherently funny? You lot decide, I'm going to bed. Part 2 and a bit, maybe 3. Honestly it's a bit hard to tell and yes we're using this joke again: whiningRight, I'm awake and I'm ready to do shit. Now what time is i-Oh bloody hell, has it been that long? I was supposed to have the next bit out ages ago! Sorry about that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. So we were both sleeping outside that city, only now realising how long it had been since we jumped dimensions and how much running, snorting and punching unicorns in the face we'd been doing when we were suddenly awoken by one of these horse-y looking things. Well, I say 'we'. I was the one who woke Bill up and probably broke his ears while I was at it. by the way, quick warning before I go on, the bit you're about to read is the closest I can give you to my speech at the time, so that's why it probably makes no sense. Anyway, I heard the clop-clop-clopping of one of them walking up to us, which caused me to slowly wake up. then it spoke, and this was how I reacted. "Oh god, I just need a few more minutes in be-" "Um, excuse me?" "FUCKING HELL! WAYATRINASEEFUGGINFUGGINERE? IGOTHECINEMAANIFUGGINSCAREH!" I then paused for a moment as I felt an odd sensation in my trousers. "ANNOWISHATMESELFYABASTEH!" Multiply that by two once Bill woke up and you've a pretty good idea of how my morning went that day. I'm sorry I sounded so whiny, but if you woke up and there was a fucking talking yellow horse with wings in your face you'd temporarily have the speech capacity of a five year old as well. Anyway, it sort of backed away from us, like we'd frightened it(I can't imagine how) and it seemed like it almost started crying. Bill ran over and tried to comfort it. Calling it 'fluttershy' which sounds like a name you'd give your daughter if you had a compulsive habit of wanking over your My Little Pony toys or something. No offense, retards. But yeah, While bill was doing that, I'd gone off in search of something to clean out my trousers, theorising that a world of horses probably didn't have Calvin Klein. It was doing this that not only made the problem with my pants worse, but probably gave me a mini heart attack as well. There was just about every single horse that we'd seen before, but they were all fucking running at me! Had i not been so terrified I'd have been at the sidelines screaming "Run, Forrest, run!" However, once I'd fainted again, woken up in a tree library(libratree?) repeated the whiny part from before, fainted again, done all that 17 times and given my trousers a thorough scrubbing, I was told that the horse-y motherfuckers, or ponies as they were called, were running in that general direction because it was the one we were in. Like we were some sort of equine versions of the last two surviving Beatles(or the last two surviving members of The Who, depending on your music preference). Why? Well, I was told by a purple-is looking one with decent hair(for a horse) that, and I quote,"A dark force is descending over Equestria, only you can save us." At which point I took one look at Bill and knew instantly that they were talking out their arses. Oh, I'm sorry, "Flanks". And boom! We finally end on something resembling a hook and not just me being hungry! My obligation for a small update is filled, I'm leaving again. Part one and a bit: The bit where the fic starts to get a tad disappointingI don't really know quite how long I stood there in the freezing fucking rain waiting for the bloody cone faced monstrosity that vaguely resembled a pony to stop talking about how she was the best thing since sliced Jesus and simultaneously raping the entire concept of referring to yourself in the third person up the arse with a hedgehog, but it felt like approximately 7 years and a few days so in the end I thought to myself,"Right, sod this for a game of soldiers." And punched the bitch, at least I think it was a female, straight in the goddamned face, knocking her right out. Only then did it occur to me that we probably could have gotten some information out of her as to where we are. I would normally just tell you where we were right now, seeing as how this all happened a good few weeks ago, but I realised once I'd burned down half the place and missed the fucking Krypton Factor(By the way, spoiler alert) that I still didn't know what the place was called, so until one of you self righteous brony anuses scrolls down to the comment box and writes,"It's called rarararara you retarded faggot also I have never kissed a girl." Let's just agree to call it Skegness, because it was probably just as shit as Skegness. Anyway, Bill reacted to my slugging the pony right in the chops seemed to be mild concern. oh wait, I've been reading the paper wrong, What I meant to say was if he had a knife or a gun or a fucking tesco bag for life he'd probably have used it to kill me right there and then, such was his horror and fury. He ran over to her side like the love interest in a Hollywood movie who brings Shia LeBouf back to life by crying and kissing him. while whispering,"I love you..." Then, once he'd made sure that I wasn't superman and couldn't kill a horse with one punch, he launched into some ridiculous tirade about me attacking,"The best pony." and condemning me for failing to,"Love and tolerate." In that instant I went through the 7 stages of grief in about 2 minutes before telling Bill, in a polite and calm voice that if he ever said something even vaguely related to that outburst I'd shove a croissant down his ears. At this point we both realised that there was now a caravan sitting in the forest doing absolutely nothing. We went inside and discovered that the caravan was capable of driving itself because goddamnit there's unicorns in this world so I'm not questioning a caravan that drives itself. At this point we both rode out of the forest gleefully reciting a typical opening to an episode of Top gear, or Fifth Gear if you're one of those tossers who's a nonocnformist just for the sake of it. Normally I'd break off at this point and detail some more of our exploit in quadruple bypass-land, but I'm afraid the pizza delivery bloke's just turned up and things just have to go on hold when there's a margherita waiting at your door. I'll try not to take too long.
Part one: Wires and ToothpasteDISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING WORK OF FANFICTION CONTAINS DANGEROUS LEVELS OF DEADPAN SNARKERY AND ABSURDNESS ON A NOT QUITE EXAGGERATED ENOUGH TO BE INHERENTLY FUNNY YET STILL EXAGGERATED ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU QUESTION JUST ABOUT EVERY WORD THE AUTHOR HAS PUT ONTO HIS VIRTUAL PAPER. PLEASE APPROACH THIS FIC WITH CAUTION AND A HEFTY AMOUNT OF BOOZE. THANK YOU FOR LISTENING. "Bloody hell." We both said in unison as we stared at the telly. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant to say,"the mass of wires and toothpaste that once functioned as a telly." Hi. I'm Geoff Daniels, Age 21, and I own a hotdog van in Bristol. Heh, listen to me, I sound like the opening to an episode of The krypton Factor. Ah yes, good ol' Krypton Factor. They don't make TV shows like they used to, nowadays it's all Celebrity Britain's Got The Pop Factor and Possibly A New Celebrity Jesus Christ Soapstar Superstar Strictly on Ice, or CBGTPFPANCJCSSSI. It's strange, for most people, old British television shows such as Krypton Factor either represent an important part of childhood or an obscure bit of pop culture paraphernalia, sandwiched somewhere between Monty Python and Lee Evans. but for me, and indeed the duncical mass of blood, sweat and wank that I call my friend Bill, community liasons officer on the hotdog van and one of my only aquaintances, the Krypton Factor represents something a lot more than that. It represented a complete change in our way of life. A new way of life devoid of the pointless trivialities of modern society such as electricity, entertainment and meat. Nope, no meat where we fuckin' ended up. No thanks to the bloody Krypton Factor. Anyway, you're probably wandering by now what sort of wild tangent I could be going off onto with this. I mean, what you've heard so far could easily be put in quotation marks and -Boris Johnson placed on the end and nobody would bat an eyelid, in fact we'd all probably be a tad disappointed that that was in fact all we got from the blonde haired buffoon this time around. Anyway, you'll find out what this all ties into in due course, but first I must issue a safety warning: If you are one of those people who have an adverse reaction to descriptions of places so sickeningly sweet that it gives you triple diabetes just to read extracts from them then I must advise you to think for a moment what you're doing searching,"brony" into google, I mean how else are you going to get here? What did you think this was, a fuckin' pornhub? Anyway, with that warning out of the way, let's begin. As I've said, this story begins with the two of us staring at was once a flat screen tv, but was now less of a 'flat' screen and more of a 'scattered in bits all over the bloody carpet' screen. This was a result of one of Bill's trademark,"I'm gonna feel that 2 fuckin' weeks from now." Drug and Booze nights. And for some unknown reason, presumably because he was also thick enough to use the yellow pages as bog roll that same night, he'd called me over to try and help him fix it. Why me? Why now? Simple, the Krypton Factor was on and we're both damned if we're missing an episode of that. The first thing we did, after clearing out all of the toothpaste from the inside of it and persuading Billy Bob Thornton that, no, this wouldn't be published in a damning tell all book published solely to makes us approximately loadsamoney, we set about trying to repair it as best we could the only way we knew how: Copious amounts of gaffer tape. So we began gaffer taping down anything that was sticking down or that looked a bit out of place. The end result was about half a telly that looked like it'd just stepped out of the tomb of fucking Amenhotep III. Everything seemed to be going well until a small, yet still somehow fucking blinding light showed up. It hurt my eyes just to look at the bloody thing, yet neither me or Bill couldn't take our eyes of it. it was like when you were a kid and you were always told not to look at the sun but you went outside and looked at the fuckin' thing anyway. As we kept on staring at this light we both found that it was growing bigger and bigger, eventually enveloping the room. Now, normally I'd say something about us being rendered silent by this light, except that we really weren't. We were screaming at each other asking what the fuck the other one had done and them responding with that they hadn't done anything, or phrases to that effect. Eventually, at around the point that we'd stopped screaming words at each other and had begun to sound like some horrible orgy of pain in the blackest, thorniest part of Satan's arsehole, the light intensified almost indefinitely. To try and replicate the feeling at home, try stting at your computer at 20 to 2 in the morning and retyping this entire page. It wasn't pleasant, and the light had left us blinded for what felt like several minutes after, during which time we attempted to make sense of things by stumbling around with our hands out in front of us and shouting about everything, like some sort of loud, pathetic zombie. We were less like actual blind people and more like the mildly insensitive yet still somehow oddly funny caricatures of one in almost every cartoon ever produced, which, as we discovered, was oddly befitting of our current location... Eventually, the blindness wore off, as it were, and we were thankful that we could both see again, that is until we realised what we could see, at which point our bollocks collectively recceded into our bodies at the speed of sound. you see, what we saw were ponies. bright, colourful, cartoon ponies in just about every hue you could think of that has at some point been associated with some kind of confection. Pink, White, purple, blue, pink, green, orange, more pink, pink, pink as hell, even more pink, my god I think my heart's going to give out just typing about it this much. the perplexing part, in hindsight, was that they seemed just as frightened of us as we were of them. Well, I say frightened, when what I mean is emasculated to a degree that, should it ever be weaponised, it would be deemed to cruel to use on even the fucking monkey nazis of 2032. And besides, what reason would they have to be afraid of us? Unless cartoon pony freaks from another dimension have an inherent fear of "kiss me quick" hats and T-shirts with horrible sex jokes printed across them in big bold letters. However, we seemed to forget that instance, and we ran away from where we were, some sort of town square style area, and made for whichever direction seemed to best represent 'away' at that instant. We took what we assumed were back alleys and byroads until we eventually found ourselves in what seemed like a forest, at which point we all realised that we had no wilderness training and were probably going to die. Still, could be worse. It wasn't raining. Oh, wait, yes it was. We walked for fucking ages in that forest. Our only sense of time was that every 3 minutes and 47 seconds Bill would ask,"Why don't we just go home." At which point I'd turn to him and say something along the lines of,"We're fucking lost! What, did you leave a trail of breadcrumbs through a fucking dimensional wormhole?" At least, I thought this was our only measure of time until I remembered that my watch was still working. After that facepalm-fest, if you will, we carried on walking until we reached some sort of caravan looking thing. Bill voiced his concernt hat it was caravan and most likely wasn't worth our time, until I reminded him that we were lost in a fucking forest in another dimension. Tentatively, I knocked on the door, in case it was home to some as yet unknown eldrich abomination that's go ahead and bash us to death with its cock. However, all we discovered was another pony. A blue one with a fucking cone looking thing on its forehead. It stepped out of the caravan and I swear to fuck I heard a fanfare in the background as it did this. It reared up on its hind legs and from its moouth spilled the following: "Gaze upon the majesty of the great and powerful Trixie!" "Fuckin' hell, they talk too." We both said in unison.
Part one and another bit that might actually be part 2 but I honestly can't tell: Shallots with GeoffWell, I'm back. Sorry about that, but that was some good fucking pizza. Where was I? Oh yes. We'd just punched out the horse with the magical, pointy tumor growing out of its forehead, nicked its caravan because this was a dimension where horses could own and operate caravans, and were now reenacting the episode of Top gear where they go caravanning and then Jeremy sets the thing on fire while cooking some chips. It was at around the point where I served up some, erm, actually I'm not entirely sure what it was. So let's call it Geoff. It was around the point where I served up some nice Geoff on a broken plate that the thing I'd clonked out appeared in the caravan with us and caused us to crash in a horrible orgy of screaming, swearing, and Geoff flying everywhere. And if you thought that that segment of this story was too fast paced and not well presented then first off what are you doing trying to critique something like this? You don't try to put out a fire with fag ends and you don't come to me to hear a well done story. And besides, it happened basically that fast. She seemed to decide in that 16.3 seconds of confusion that she'd rather just fuck off and hope that we die or get our nobs stuck in a wringer or something. I watched her walk off, taking the salvageable bits of the caravan with her, before I realised that Bill was lying prostrate on the floor snorting Geoff. I stared at him, not sure wether I wanted to shout, vomit, or implode on the spot, but eventually he explained himself to me, sort of. All he did was look at me like a fucking mental patiant and shout "MAN DAS SUM GOOD ASS SHIT." I figured I couldn't argue with that and began to snort some of Geoff myself. the result? Everything looked pretty much exactly the same, not that made Skegness(Yes, we're still calling it that) any less trippy as it already looked like a slightly less edible version of the tutorial level from The Simpsons Game. In fact, the only thing that was different about the whole thing is that Bill had morphed into what appeared to be a first edition copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy(the one mentioned in the book by Douglas Adams, not the book by Douglas Adams) and that every single one of my fingernails looked like this. So, having honed the act of deliberately not giving a shit for a cheap laugh down to a fine art, I watched as the little blokes in my fingernails pranced around holding a pair of shallots each like they were a set of fucking castanets. This went on for about half an hour, at which point I returned to reality and had to drag Bill along with me due to his having snorted far more Geoff than I had. I don't know what he saw during that trip he had, but what I do know is that now I don't half fancy a fucking shallot. I'll be back in a sec.
The bit that actually is part 2 this time: Hacking is a thingRight, I'm back. Don't know what I did there, I don't even like shallots. Anyway, once Bill had come out of his Geoff induced trip, we decided to head in the direction that both of our barely functioning minds had decided to call "The right way" and, lo and behold, we soon reached civilization. Well, the closest thing that the artstyle that dimension happened to be rendered in could call civilization. I mean, compared to basically any form of civilization in human history it looked just a bit shit to be honest. Anyway, we arrived there before realising that this was the same town that we'd, erm, spawned(?) in about 2 bits of the story ago and we felt a dark reprise of the bollock receding performance that had so terrified us previously ensuing, and from the looks of the place, every single multicoloured grand national reject sensed it too. They all crowded around us in what on reflection was probably curiosity but at the time registered as the sort of emotion that Hannibal Lecter felt when he got his liver and beans. it then transpired that our feeling about the whole dark reprise thing wasn't entirely off, by which I mean that it couldn't have been more on the mark if it was aimbotting. We got out of that town as fast as our legs would carry us and then a bit faster because we were speedhacking or something(I'm sensing a theme here), ran back into another forest, or maybe it was the same forest, who the fuck knows or cares? Punched another unicorn(I'm going to just call them unicorns now) Nicked another caravan, did some more Geoff, I went and got another shallot in the time it would've taken to tell all that, we went back into the town and this process was repeated about 17 times before we both realised that it'd be easier on just about every single part of our bodies if we just went somewhere else. So we did. I don't know how far we walked to get to where we eventually got to, partly because your brain tends to tune out after walking for a long time and instead try to find a cloud in the sky that looks a bit like a cock, and partly because Bill realised that he had some more Geoff stuck to the back of his neck, which we snorted like we were out trainspotting before we eventually reached another city. Also, I'd just like to point out that I finally managed to produce a segment of this that isn't longer than the queue at an apple store. How's that for pacing? Anyway, the first thing we noticed upon arriving in this majestic city of castles and phallic symbols was a sign that we later learned said something along the lines of,"Welcome to Canterlot, city of royals." but may as well have said,"The English saw the dining table and saw the opportunity to play Wiff-Waff with The King's bollocks" For all the sense it made. it was written in some sort of language that seemed like a cross between klingon and Anthony Burgess tongue. Anyway, after spending a good few hours or two trying to make sense of the sign, we realised that, due to what we later learned had to do with some insecure goddess going off to have a sandwich, it had only just turned night. Upon noticing this, we decided that we may as well just fucking sleep right there because if this is a world full of multicoloured horses then I reckoned I could get away with sleeping wherever I damn well pleased. Which at this point is going to be my bed because I've just realised that it's half past bloody eleven and I'm fucking tired. Good night. Oh, before I go, I've only just realised that I named the Geoff after myself. Subconscious attempt at fame, or the word Geoff being inherently funny? You lot decide, I'm going to bed.
Part 2 and a bit, maybe 3. Honestly it's a bit hard to tell and yes we're using this joke again: whiningRight, I'm awake and I'm ready to do shit. Now what time is i-Oh bloody hell, has it been that long? I was supposed to have the next bit out ages ago! Sorry about that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. So we were both sleeping outside that city, only now realising how long it had been since we jumped dimensions and how much running, snorting and punching unicorns in the face we'd been doing when we were suddenly awoken by one of these horse-y looking things. Well, I say 'we'. I was the one who woke Bill up and probably broke his ears while I was at it. by the way, quick warning before I go on, the bit you're about to read is the closest I can give you to my speech at the time, so that's why it probably makes no sense. Anyway, I heard the clop-clop-clopping of one of them walking up to us, which caused me to slowly wake up. then it spoke, and this was how I reacted. "Oh god, I just need a few more minutes in be-" "Um, excuse me?" "FUCKING HELL! WAYATRINASEEFUGGINFUGGINERE? IGOTHECINEMAANIFUGGINSCAREH!" I then paused for a moment as I felt an odd sensation in my trousers. "ANNOWISHATMESELFYABASTEH!" Multiply that by two once Bill woke up and you've a pretty good idea of how my morning went that day. I'm sorry I sounded so whiny, but if you woke up and there was a fucking talking yellow horse with wings in your face you'd temporarily have the speech capacity of a five year old as well. Anyway, it sort of backed away from us, like we'd frightened it(I can't imagine how) and it seemed like it almost started crying. Bill ran over and tried to comfort it. Calling it 'fluttershy' which sounds like a name you'd give your daughter if you had a compulsive habit of wanking over your My Little Pony toys or something. No offense, retards. But yeah, While bill was doing that, I'd gone off in search of something to clean out my trousers, theorising that a world of horses probably didn't have Calvin Klein. It was doing this that not only made the problem with my pants worse, but probably gave me a mini heart attack as well. There was just about every single horse that we'd seen before, but they were all fucking running at me! Had i not been so terrified I'd have been at the sidelines screaming "Run, Forrest, run!" However, once I'd fainted again, woken up in a tree library(libratree?) repeated the whiny part from before, fainted again, done all that 17 times and given my trousers a thorough scrubbing, I was told that the horse-y motherfuckers, or ponies as they were called, were running in that general direction because it was the one we were in. Like we were some sort of equine versions of the last two surviving Beatles(or the last two surviving members of The Who, depending on your music preference). Why? Well, I was told by a purple-is looking one with decent hair(for a horse) that, and I quote,"A dark force is descending over Equestria, only you can save us." At which point I took one look at Bill and knew instantly that they were talking out their arses. Oh, I'm sorry, "Flanks". And boom! We finally end on something resembling a hook and not just me being hungry! My obligation for a small update is filled, I'm leaving again.
Part one and a bit: The bit where the fic starts to get a tad disappointingI don't really know quite how long I stood there in the freezing fucking rain waiting for the bloody cone faced monstrosity that vaguely resembled a pony to stop talking about how she was the best thing since sliced Jesus and simultaneously raping the entire concept of referring to yourself in the third person up the arse with a hedgehog, but it felt like approximately 7 years and a few days so in the end I thought to myself,"Right, sod this for a game of soldiers." And punched the bitch, at least I think it was a female, straight in the goddamned face, knocking her right out. Only then did it occur to me that we probably could have gotten some information out of her as to where we are. I would normally just tell you where we were right now, seeing as how this all happened a good few weeks ago, but I realised once I'd burned down half the place and missed the fucking Krypton Factor(By the way, spoiler alert) that I still didn't know what the place was called, so until one of you self righteous brony anuses scrolls down to the comment box and writes,"It's called rarararara you retarded faggot also I have never kissed a girl." Let's just agree to call it Skegness, because it was probably just as shit as Skegness. Anyway, Bill reacted to my slugging the pony right in the chops seemed to be mild concern. oh wait, I've been reading the paper wrong, What I meant to say was if he had a knife or a gun or a fucking tesco bag for life he'd probably have used it to kill me right there and then, such was his horror and fury. He ran over to her side like the love interest in a Hollywood movie who brings Shia LeBouf back to life by crying and kissing him. while whispering,"I love you..." Then, once he'd made sure that I wasn't superman and couldn't kill a horse with one punch, he launched into some ridiculous tirade about me attacking,"The best pony." and condemning me for failing to,"Love and tolerate." In that instant I went through the 7 stages of grief in about 2 minutes before telling Bill, in a polite and calm voice that if he ever said something even vaguely related to that outburst I'd shove a croissant down his ears. At this point we both realised that there was now a caravan sitting in the forest doing absolutely nothing. We went inside and discovered that the caravan was capable of driving itself because goddamnit there's unicorns in this world so I'm not questioning a caravan that drives itself. At this point we both rode out of the forest gleefully reciting a typical opening to an episode of Top gear, or Fifth Gear if you're one of those tossers who's a nonocnformist just for the sake of it. Normally I'd break off at this point and detail some more of our exploit in quadruple bypass-land, but I'm afraid the pizza delivery bloke's just turned up and things just have to go on hold when there's a margherita waiting at your door. I'll try not to take too long.
