This WAS Your Host, The Man They Once Called Ghost
"And it's your favorite time of the broadcast! RADIO GRAFFITIIIII, HAHAHAHHHHHH!" Ghost cheered on as he sat in his broadcasting studio, knee deep in empty beer cans, cracking open another cold one. The wooden surface of his desk was littered with more cans, and the mic sat at the edge, where he could see it.
"It's Baller Friday, I got me a beer, and hey! We got some calls coming in, isn't that right Engineer?" He looked over at the weird man child that he referred to as 'Engineer,' who had steel shackles locked around his ankles as he sat at a computer, keeping him bound to it. He looked back at Ghost, and his left eye blinked just before his right.
"NAAAAAAAAAAAA OOOOOOO NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"That's right, so let's get started RIGHT NOW!" He took a brief moment of silence before continuing. "990, you're on the horn."
A calm, male voice started speaking. "Sick kids. Dying kids. Dead kids. Underfed kids. Beaten kids. Molested kids. Lost kids. Crying kids. Homeless kids. Hit n' Run kids. Broken arm kids. Broken leg kids. Br-"
"Shut up with this crap again!" Ghost shouted after ending the call. Suspiciously, he took his time doing it. He looked at the screen to his computer, reading the next caller. "Another Wizard, Radio Graffiti."
A nasally voice spoke on the line. "MMMMMMMAGIC MISSILE! MMMMMMAGIC MISSILE! LIGHTNING BOL-"
"God damn it, NO!" Ghost cried out in anger as he shut the call down, almost hearing himself say 'Lightning bolt' through more audio splicing. He took a moment to collect himself, then resumed. "Tango Whiskey, Radio Graffiti."
Ghost's voice spoke back to him, followed by a series of quick slapping. "GOOD GOD, IT FEELS GREAT IN RAINBOW DASH! HAHAHA, WOOOOOOOOOOO!"
He cut the line.
"... Stupid son of a bitch..." He shook his head as he glared down at his mic. He leaned forward - his neck touching said mic - as he grabbed his can of beer, taking a big gulp off it. The foul sounds of his gulping traveled across the globe through the radio station based in Austin, Texas, known as Radio Graffiti. A.k.a., True Capitalist Radio.
He leaned back in his beer drenched, piss-scented seat, still irritated with his last caller. "Don't you God damn bronies have something better to do? Aren't you supposed to be watching My Little Pony or something? I mean, Jesus Christ..." He looked at his screen, trying to suppress his anger. "Renegade Bloodhedge, Radio Graffiti."
A pre-recorded audio file started to play. "Ghost? You're racist! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH-"
"I AM NOT A RACIST!" Ghost screamed as he ended the call, slamming his greasy, oily sausage finger down on the button. "I'M A MELTING POT OF FRIENDSHIP! I'M A NICE GUY! I HAVE FRIENDS THAT JUST HAPPEN TO BE BLACK! I HAVE FRIENDS THAT JUST HAPPEN TO BE MEXICAN! I HAVE FRIENDS THAT JUST HAPPEN TO BE ORIENTAL! I HAVE FRIENDS THAT ARE CAMEL JOCKIES, TEA SUCKERS, I AM. NOT. A RACIST! GAAAAAAAAWD DERRRRRRRRRRRRMERRRRRRRRRT!" His body trembled with anger, rage coursing through the veins that bulged through his sweaty forehead. "314, you're on the horn..."
Ghost's voice spoke back to him. "I am a man of fleshlight ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh OHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-"
"SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS, I NEVER SAID THAT! STUPID AUDIO SPLICERS, MAN! I'M TIRED OF YOU PEOPLE CONSTANTLY TAKING MY VOICE AND MAKING ME SAY SHIT I'M NOT SAYIN'!" His eye twitched uncontrollably before he closed them, shook his head, and returned to his normal volume. "Jesus Christ... 513, Radio Graffiti."
Yet again, did his voice speak back to him. "I mean, in my personal opinion, Rainbow Dash has a nice piece of ass..."
"GOD... DERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" He launched himself out of his seat as he squealed, tossing empty cans around in the process. Engineer cowered in the corner, unable to leave due to the shackles that were chained up to the floor and his ankles.
A flurry of cans swept around the room as he ran around screaming in a sexually frustrated, pent up rage. He didn't want to admit it on live broadcast, but he had caught his wife sleeping with someone that was worthy of being with, and he had no choice but to sign the divorce papers yesterday. Through his violent outburst against the cans that covered his floor, drops of beer flew out occasionally, landing on his fat form.
He stood in the corner of the room, panting in his husky, Texas accent. When his senses came back to him, he felt the drops of beer on the hairs of his arms and the rolls of his fat. The alcoholic he was, he lapped them up with his tongue; a salty, piss taste filling his mouth. Next was the rolls. His fat was as stretchy as silly putty, that he was able to stretch it up to eye level and bury his face in the beer coated fat and proceeded to motorboat himself.
Just the way he liked it.
To his listeners, it sounded as if he were still screaming in rage. But he was on vacation.
He started to walk through the field of cans after putting his fat rolls back in place. "Gimme the mic!" He grabbed a hold of the mic and brought it to his lips. " Gimme the God damn mic! I am sick of you bronies, man! I am SICK of you bronies! I mean... I'M DEPRESSED! Drop dead! All of you! You sick fuckers!" He proceeded to start mocking the theme song to Friendship is Magic in a poorly constructed girly tone. "My Little Pony, My Little Pony, Myyyyyyyy little GOD DAMN PONY! GO WATCH YOUR STUPID SHOW AND LEAVE ME ALONE! I'M A CAPITALIST, AND I DESERVE MORE RESPECT THAN WHAT YOU'RE ALL GIVING ME! I SWEAR TO GOD, I'M GONNA FIND WHERE YOU ARE, I'M GONNA GO TO YOUR HOUSE, I'M GONNA BEAT YOUR ASS, I'M GONNA BANG YOUR SKANKASAURUS OF A WIFE, I'M GONNA BEAT YOUR DOG, AND I'M GONNA DROWN YOUR GOD. DAMN. GOLDFISH!" He wheezed and coughed like a malfunctioning tea kettle as he sat down in his seat, rattling a few cans in the process. Then came the retching and hacking of what could easily be mistaken as a Smoker from Left For Dead 2. The only thing missing was the suspenseful acoustic guitar that came with it. "Butter Flutter, you're on the horn..."
The voice of a nerdy male that played too much Yu-Gi-Oh in his free time spoke. "How does one drown a goldfish?"
"FU- NEVERMIND THAT, YOU INBRED DICKWAD! GET HIM OFF THE LINE, ENGINEER!"
Engineer secretly enjoyed watching his master suffer, and so, after kicking him off the call, behind Ghost's back, did he start to rub one out to his misery.
Ghost cleared his throat and started speaking again. "You know... let me tell you something. If you were down on Sixth Street... If you were down on fucking Sixth Street, I would come over there and I would beat the everliving snot right outta you! This would be your face!" He proceeded to start punching the empty cans around him and throwing them around the room in an undying fit of anger. It lasted for minutes, before he gave in. "Jesus Christ... I need a drink, GIVE ME A DRINK!" He snatched a can off the table, only to discover it was empty.
There were all empty.
"WHERE'S MY GOD DAMN BEER!?" He looked around frantically for his crutch, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Engineer knew what was coming next, so he quickly tucked his mutated penis back into his shit stained peasant clothing.
Ghost swung around and looked at him, grimacing as his eyes started to turn in opposite directions, looking at two walls across from each other. "ENGINEER, GET ME A BEER! I can't find it!"
Engineer stood up, took a beer off the six pack, and stumbled over to him, holding it out. The chains that rattled were drowned out by the movement of the empty can orgy on the studio floor.
Ghost snatched the beer out of Engineer's hand, pulled the tab, and orgasmed to the sound of carbonated piss.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh yeah... That's the stuff right there. HahaHAHHHHH!" He held the mic up to his lips, wrapped his piss coated lips around the instrument, deepthroating it as he gulped down half of the can; Letting all his listeners get the auditory details of his drinking process. Every gulp. Every moan. Every breath.
"Mmmm... fuck, that's good..." He set down the beer on the corner of the desk, satisfied as he looked at the computer screen before him. He took the mic out of his mouth and set it back down on the table, drenched in his saliva. "214, you're on the horn."
"Dude, dude! Ponies are here man! Frickin' Rainbow Da-"
"Enough about Rainbow Dash, God damn it! Stupid fucking bronies! 360, you're on the horn."
"Princess Celestia and Luna are here, man! A portal or something opened up to Eque-"
"Oh shove it up your ass, you piece of garbage. Juicy Fruity Fruitbowl, Radio Graffiti."
A twelve year old squeaker answered. "Check the news if you don't believe them. Gotta get out there and fuck some Rainbo-"
"I'll check my boot up your ass if you don't stop with this crap, you stupid cloppers! I am not on board with bronies! I'll tell you again and again, that GHOST! From True Capitalist Radio, is NOT A GOD. DAMN. BRONY! WHERE ARE THE PARENTS FOR THESE SICK KIDS!? WHERE ARE THE PARENTS!?" He grabbed an empty can off his desk and threw it at the window ahead of him.
It bent the blinds for a brief second, before the can fell back down on the desk. But that sliver of a second was all he needed...
Now, with curiosity on mind, he stood up and bent the blinds, peeking through to the outside.
"Oh no..."
Low and behold, the trolls were right.
A portal had opened up in the sky...
And pegasi leaked through.
Pegasi, chariots, and airships.
He spun around, making his way to the door as cans rattled uncontrollably around his feet. "STICK A FORK IN ME, I'M DONE! ENGINEER, BOARD UP THE WINDOWS AND GET READY TO BARRICADE THE DOOR! I gotta get down to Sixth Street and get the beer!" He grabbed a sniper rifle hoisted up on the wall next to the door and opened a file cabinet. "I'll be damned before I let those pony loving fruit bowls win!" He pulled out a box of ammo and started loading in the rounds. "I'll be right back! And if you see any Canadians trying to get in, lock the doors and DON'T LET THEM IN!"
He swung open the door while Engineer sat there in the corner, still shackled to the floor, unable to escape.
To this day, no one knows what happened to Ghost. Some say they last saw him stealing beer out of the bars. Others say he hopped into the Honda he claimed he never owned and drove up to what he referred to as 'Canadia,' for some unfinished business.
No one knew where he went, or what happened to him.
Nor did anyone fucking care.
One thing is for sure, though.
The windows were never boarded up, and the doors remained unlocked. But no one dared enter, as the stench of piss, shit, and rotted meat was much too strong to deal with. The nations of Earth and the E.U.P., along with the princesses of Equestria, which came to terms and agreements to let Equus citizens and Humans live in harmony, which went to form the E.U.P.H., had fenced off the building several blocks away, due to the horrid scent.
But some say that late in the middle of the night, the deformed and unintelligible wails of the Engineer can be heard beyond the fence... Inside the building that once provided the broadcasts of the hilariously stupid Ghost and his love for capitalism.
Radio Graffiti.
Author's Note
So funny thing about this...
I was at work, tired of listening to music day after day (shocker, right?), so I changed it up a little. For the past two days, I've been listening to Radio Graffiti again, and I got the wonderful idea to make a fan fic out of it. I hope you all like it. It was definitely fun to make.
