I know too much. That’s my problem.
Don’t you think I know that we’re being filmed? You’ve seen me shake the camera, haven’t you? And break the fourth wall. Well, not really “break,” because that would hurt a lot lot, and punching into walls means you go into anger management. Which is, like, the total opposite of fun.
Okay, so I know about the filming. I know about those interdimensional Canadian puppeteers. And I know about those DeviantArt pictures you drew of me and OTP. But that’s not even half of what I know. Or even ten percent.
…I know about the toys.
The millions of them.
Ten thousand plastic figurines of me, spitting out of some factory machine in China. (Ah, the Mirror Pool. Memories.) Discontinued pink plastic Celestia, lying in a landfill somewhere (where I come from, that’s called defacement and treason). I know about all that. I know about the little girls, playing with little plastic-me and little plastic-Mrs. Cake in the plastic Sugarcube Corner dollhouse. And sometimes dudes. Sometimes grown dudes buy little pony toys.
Dudes, seriously though. What’s up with that? Grow a set of balls already.
Which is also why Lyra is the awesomest pony ever (other than Cheese Sandwich), ‘cause she knows that humans exist too! I wonder if she knows about the toys. Not that I’ve confided in her about what I know. This has GOT to be a secret. Total complete, absolute, security-secure secret. Pinkie Promise myself.
But you all already know how GREAT I am at keeping a secret, right? I mean, you saw how well I kept the secret about Princess Cadence and Shining Armor’s baby.
(Okay, maybe I popped a few blood vessels and had three heart attacks in the process. But still, I kept the secret!)
But that was different, that was a fun secret! This secret is serious! I can’t just let this get out! Abso-positivetupilupively not! I mean, Twilight tries to act humble and all as a fancy Princess, but it would totally crush her if she knew her very existence in the time-space continuum was controlled by a few sweaty men in suits in an alternate dimension called…Hasbro.
…Hasbro.
That's a bad word. A really, really, bad word. Not supposed to say that word. I should know.
I’m sorry, I made a mistake! I couldn’t help myself! I’m sorry!
Waaaaa!
That’s me, pretending to cry like Pound Cake. I’m a big filly, I don’t cry.
…
…waaaaa!
Waaaa…wait! Back up! I haven’t told you the story! I’ve gotta tell you the story first!
I hate telling the story though.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love babysitting the Cake Twins. I mean, they’re quite the hoof-ful, but they’re like little bite-sized bundles of joy, and who doesn’t love that!? Except they’re the ones biting me. Pumpkin Cake’s got teeth now, and girl, she’s gonna be eating some thick carrots as a grown up!
And finally, they can talk after SEVEN whole years (which makes them more autistic than most of our grownup human fans, and that’s saying a lot). I wish I could say I’m relieved—Mrs. Cake is of course totally relieved that “they” finally let her foals grow up—but I guess the twins now are like “what took ya so long!?” cause now, they just can’t STOP moving their little mouths!
I mean, they’re in that stage they just talk on and on and on in phrases that don’t make any sense given the context. I mean, have you ever even met a pony that just yammers on and on in a screechingly high-pitched voice about stupid stuff, I mean like, oatmeal, are you crazy? I always add sugar to it, because when I eat it plain for breakfast it’s just so blEGh, and you know when I was at the doctor yesterday she asked me to open my mouth and say AAAAH for a popsicle stick with NO popsicle on it and there was like NO flavor and I was like, BLEgh…!?!?
But I mean, I totally don’t yammer on. I mean, how old do you think I am? (The better question is, how old do I think I am?)
So. The story is: I was babysitting the Cake Twins the other day. And Pound Cake was saying to his sister, “Wass se sawid fowks!”
And she said back. “Was ze sawid folks!”
Now, I could’ve told them “Quiet down, you two!”, but both Mrs. Cake and I know that would’ve made things worse. Just before Mrs. Cake left for that dinner date with Mr. Cake, all that she said to me was “Make sure you wash the salad forks, Pinkie,” and after Mr. and Mrs. Cake left, the twins just started repeating that, over and over again.
“Wass ze sawid folks!”
“Wazz se sawid fowks!”
You can already see how bad this is gonna turn out. I mean, it could’ve been worse, I could’ve accidentally said a really DIRTY word…
…like “mud”!
And they would’ve been repeating that all night long! Mud! Mud! Mud~~briar~~! Oh, what would Mrs. Cake say!?
Well, anyway, it was almost their bedtime, and I thought I could quiet them down with this new Hasbro castle playset toy that I’ve got. Hey, it’s not the best quality, but on a baker’s salary what else can you afford?
Anyway, I was trying to open up the packaging, but those things are really hard to open especially with hooves! Serves me right for trying to bring an alternate dimension into this, huh? (Maybe Lyra could get me in touch with some legit hand sellers.)
Well, I tore through the packaging with my teeth, and the plastic film made this really sharp point, and I got a cut on my hoof. It started bleeding.
“Oh no!” I said out loud. I couldn’t help it. I’d stopped speaking for six-hundred whole seconds in an effort to get the Twins to stop talking. I mean, who could stand NOT talking for so long!? I know I couldn't.
It was too late. “O no!” I heard Pound Cake’s voice say.
“Where’s a bandage?” I looked in one of the kitchen drawers.
“Wayuhs a bandij?” Pound Cake copied.
“Sigh. Why did this have to happen again?”
“Wy di dis hapto hapn agin?”
“Oh…screw you, Hasbro!”
“Scwewyu Hasbro!”
…uh-oh.
“Scwewyu Hasbro!” Pumpkin Cake also said.
Good news? They stopped saying “Wash the salad forks.” (On that note, I’m not eating salad for a whole month.)
Bad news…? Everything else.
“Listen to me, you little Cakes. Don’t ever, ever, say the word 'Hasbro' in front of anypony, you hear me!?” I gave the two of them the Death Boop. That’s like the Death Stare, except with a boop for extra intimidation points. It wasn’t very effective though. Geez, where’s Fluttershy when you need her?
“Pinkee Pie! Scwuyu Hasbro! Scwewyu Hasbro!” that little foal even dared to giggle. I’m the Element of LAUGHTER…and nopony LAUGHS if I tell ‘em not to.
Nopony.
“NO! NO! Don’t you two point at me like that! You did NOT learn that word from me, you hear!? This MUST stay within these four walls! If this gets out, we’re ALL gone! Ponyville, Equestria, the Elements of Harmony, EVERYTHING! Gone, you hear me!?”
Did I mention that foals in the chatty phase are also really naughty? I told ‘em to Pinkie Promise not to say that word EVER again, but they ran off before they could even cross their heart!
“You two get back here…THIS INSTANT!”
Geez, I didn’t know my head was that combustible, ‘cause I was blowing a whole lot of smoke! I chased them down the stairs, into the kitchen, down the hall, into the living room…and the whole time, they were shouting “Scwewyu Hasbro! Scwewyu Hasbro!” but then they decided to hide in that little corner of the room next to the sofa, where I can’t squeeze in! (The animators didn’t have enough budget to fit me in there.)
It was too little too late, and I was exhausted. I just sat and cried two rivers in the corner next to the sofa (oh, so NOW the animators have the budget to draw me in there!?), while the Cake Twins sat on the opposite of the room and kept pointing at each other and shouting “Scwuyu Hasbro! Scwuyu Hasbro!” and giggling at each other.
Oh, I can see it all now. Hasbro’s gonna punish us by firing their magic Cease and Desist lasers all over Equestria—even Discord won’t be able to fix it, he can’t beat Legal Magic. They’re gonna march into Twilight’s Castle wearing big and scary defamation suits and drag Twilight off her royal throne, and turn her totally boujee castle into a cheap plastic playset! And then they’re going to punish us by mangling the very fabric of our existence and turning all of us into some horrid, chibi-ized monstrosity of ourselves! And it’s ALL MY FAULT!
(…maybe I’m overreacting, though.)
There was a knock at the door.
Sigh. Might as well get used to our new existence.
I mopped up my tears with my Super Speedy Sauce-y Squeegee (coming to a ~~Toys-R-Us~~ some other toy store that’s not bankrupt near you). The twins had finally shut up, thank ~~Celestia~~ Hasbro, and they were playing with a coloring book of Twilight’s royal castle (now available on Amazon).
I opened the door. It was Mrs. Cake. “Hi, Pinkie, we’re back. How were the twins tonight?”
“MOMMY!” They ran to her.
“Mommy mommy!”
Calm. Calm down, Pinkie. It’s fine. Everything’s okey-dokey-lokey fine. They just called for their Mommy. Nothing wrong with that at all. All foals do that. Of course...foals also don’t keep secrets well.
Ooh, just please don’t say it. Please. Please, don’t say "Hasbro"!
“Mommy, we wearn new word today fwom Pinkie!”
…uh-oh.
I pulled a pencil out of my mane and scribbled down my last will and testament. I needed to fight Legal Magic with Legal Magic, after all. Even my Hasbro-given magical shrinking storage mane wasn’t going to save me now…
“Oh, really?” I heard Mrs. Cake say to her children. “And what word did you all learn, dears?”
“Scwewyou!”
The twins said it in unison, pointing at their mom’s face and giggling.
Mrs. Cake gave me the (real) Death Stare.
But screw her. I was so relieved.
Author's Note
poo-ny life
