“And now, Twilight,” Princess Celestia said, her eyes glowing with pride. “You finally see everything we worked for.”
Twilight grit her teeth. A tear, brought on in equal parts frustration and fury, rolled down her cheek. Her body shook, knees weak. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Princess, don’t make me do it. Please, don’t make me do it.” Her aura tightened around the shaft (giggity) of the halberd pressed to her former mentor's neck. The blade drew small beads of blood, standing out as rosebuds in the pure white snow. "I'm begging you."
“For fuck’s sake, Celestia!” Marilyn Manson shouted. “Just listen to her! We can still get out of this alive!”
Celestia’s horn lit, mana dancing along the smooth contours and slightly asymmetrical spiral ridging. Easily overpowering Twilight’s aura, she collapsed the halberd into a small, incredibly dense metal ball. Clang. It fell to the floor as she released it from her magic grip.
The Princess chuckled, casting Marilyn a knowing glanceson. She took a step over acclaimed rapper Dababy’s still warm corpse, horseshoes pitter-pattering in the musician’s pooling blood. “Oh, my poor dear Marilyn. You truly underestimate how much I love cocaine.”
Three weeks earlier...
“Well, Twilight,” Princess Celestia said, taking a demure yet regal sip from her teacup. This was one of her favorite teacups. It had been a gift from Sombra, all those years ago. Before Nightmare Moon. Before the war. Back when things were innocent and simple. Celestia held on to the teacup for that exact reason. She knew it wasn’t going to bring those days back. She knew it wasn’t even particularly helpful to hold on to it. Still, she could not bring herself to discard it. What the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah right celestia was talking to twilight or some shit “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here.”
“I—what?” Twilight narrowed her eyes at Celestia. “I called you here. We need to talk about some stuff I found while I was cleaning your room.” Now that she’s moved into the palace officially, Twilight had been doing some spring cleaning, despite the fact that it was March. The Equestrian landmass is in its planet’s southern hemisphere.
“Now that I’ve officially moved into the royal palace, I’ve been doing some spring cleaning,” Twilight stated superfluously, completely ignoring I’d already detailed this in the narrative like the insensitive jackass she is. “Jackass” is a very intense racial slur in Equestria, by the way. “Despite the fact that it’s March.”
Celestia took another dainty sip from her teacup, memories of The Shadow Rebellion and the best sex she’d ever had flooding her mind like a cheaply animated Studio Gynax flashback. “My dear Twilight, are you aware of the works of acclaimed Chicago musician Kanye West?”
Twilight groaned. “Oh great, here we go again.”
Meanwhile, In Quahog...
“Oh boy, time to masturbate!” Peter Griffin announced loudly in his classic Rhode Island subaccent of the New English accent (itself a subaccent of the Eastern Canadian accent). He slithered out of his clothes like a snake in a blender, hopped into his Gamer Chair 3000™, and spun around the room like a stupid lil baby. He came to a rest in front of his 55’’ HD wrap-around screen, which he had purchased two days before the first consumer-brand VR Headset hit the market. Talk about poor timing!
Peter loaded up Derpibooru.ru, forgetting to set his proxy and immediately corrupting his entire computer with slavic viruses. Shouldn’t have uninstalled McAfee antivirus, Peter! Oh well; as you (the audience) will soon come to find out, this would hardly be the worst thing to happen to poor Mister Griffin today.
“Time to download some new stuff from my favorite tags to add to my Flutterfolder and then the fappening can commence!” Peter cracked his knuckles and slammed in his three favorite keywords into the search bar.
“I-n-c-e-s-t...” Peter spelled out loud as he typed each key. “F-o-a-l-c-o-n... F-l-u-t-t-e-r-s-h-y...”
“Hey dad,” Chris said, walking into the room through the door Peter had precariously left ajar. He was looking down at a tub of margarine he held in his hand, thus momentarily spared from the horrendous sight of his father’s crimes against the divine. “Do you think there might be something wrong with me if I still can’t believe it’s not butter—AAAAAH!”
Peter quickly moved to cover his crotch, an unnecessary maneuver as anyone who has watched Family Guy as much as I have will know, considering Peter’s paunch covers his genitals. “Oh god Chris I’m sorry. Please, just don’t tell your mothe—”
“MOM! GET IN HERE! LOOK AT WHAT DAD’S DOING!”
Peter’s face sank like a glob of my semen down the side of a Rainbow Dash figurine inside of a mason jar. “Aw crap.”
Lois noclipped through the wall like a shitty Gary’s Mod animation. “This bettah be good,” The Rhode Island Redhead clucked. (get it? because rhode island reds are a type of chicken? it’s farm humor. i wouldnt expect some bougie city slicker like you to understand. get the fuck off my story and go sip your soy boba latte and drive the property values of some inner city ghetto up you GENTRIFIER)
“It’s worse than good!” Chris said, shaking his head in distraught disgust, or as I like to call it, disgraughst. “It’s BAD!”
Lois turned to see her husband sat naked in front of the vast array of foal Fluttershy familial fiddling on his screen.
“Okay, Lois, honey, I know this looks bad,” Peter said. I would like to remind all of you reading at home that he was, in fact, still completely naked and erect. “But I swear, this is only partially what it looks like.”
Lois shook her head. Her expression was blank. Her rage and sorrow was immeasurable—and she was far beyond tears. “Petah, it’d be one thing to be a cloppah. It’s 2021. It’d be easier to count the people who don’t masturbate to cartoon horse porn at this point. But the exclusive library of Fluttershy pornography is just... just...”
“You have a shit-tier waifu, dad!” Chris shouted.
“Beautifully blunt, Chris,” Brian, the family cat, chimed in. He’d entered from off-screen at some point I am far too lazy to elucidate.
“Whatever Brian, you probably want to fuck Winona or something. Sick fuck.” Lois shook her head yet again, those gorgeous ginger locks bobbing too and fro in the most sexful of ways that only Seth McFarlane could have dreamt of in his wildest cocaine-frenzies. “Petah. I don’t know what to say. You’ve done a lot of horrible and disgusting things. I’ve let you get away with a lot of horrible and disgusting things. But this? This is just... pathetic.”
“Well, at least this can’t get any worse,” Peter said, turning to look directly at the camera while a Loony-Toons sad trombone noise that I had pitch-shifted up by 15Hz to avoid copyright claim played in the background.
Kanye West groaned. His eyes opened, vision still blurry from the night before. Slapping his big ol’ meaty hand-like claw onto the bedside table, he fumbled for his phone.
“26 new texts? Damn. Guess Drake really wants to throw down,” Kanye said with a sleepy chuckle. However, upon opening his lock screen, he discovered that merely one of those texts was from Drake. The other 25 were from someone named “Lois”.
“‘Lois’? Fuck’s Lois?” He rolled over, shaking the still-sleeping Kid Cudi (who was curled up on the other side of the queen-sized bed with his very own Dropout Teddy-Bear—hand-crafted by Kanye himself at a most delightful excursion the two had taken with Pusha T, Bon Iver, Kim, and the kids to the Build-a-Bear Kanye had installed in his Wyoming mansion) to the waking world with only the vigor Kanye can bestow. “Yo! Cudi! Do I know some red-head named ‘Lois’?”
Cudi grunted, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His comical Hannah Barbara-esque nightcap bobbed slightly to-and-fro. “Uh... I think so? That’s the one from Family Guy, isn’t she?”
“Do I look like I watch Family Guy?” Kanye scoffed.
Cudi pursed his lips. “Out of respect for you, Ye, I politely decline to comment on that.”
Kanye pouted like I used to when I was about to suck cock for heroin money and I’d be shortchanged by a couple twenties. “Come to think of it, I do seem to remember having some off-the-wall nasty-ass sex with a ‘Lois’ a few years back. Her husband was this fatass who stood in the corner making out with their talking dog while they both sobbed and made weird pop-culture references I didn’t get because I was too busy getting all up in parts of pussy town with his wife he ain’t never been before.”
“Yeah, that was fucked up,” Cudi agreed. “Anyway, did you pull a Drake? You got a kid with her or something you need to worry about now?”
“The only kid I need to worry about is right here,” Kanye said, giving Cudi a playful lil pinch on the cheek. Cudi blushed.
“Oh stop it, baka~”
“Well, also my own kids too, I guess.” Kanye looked down at his texts from Lois. “No, actually, it seems like her husband got caught masturbating to My Little Pony porn and killed himself."
Cudi cocked his head like one of my kawaii anime waifus. "What? Why'd he do that? It's 2021. Everyone and their grandmother masturbates to clop. It's the highest quality cartoon pornography there is!"
Kanye checked the texts from Lois. "It was almost exclusively Fluttershy pictures."
"Oh." Cudi shuddered.
Kanye nodded solemnly. "So in addition to being single, she’s wondering if I’ve noticed any disturbances in the memetic energies of the multiverse.”
“Have you?” Cudi asked.
“Nigga hold up, I just woke up.” Kanye rolled his eyes, effortlessly dropping bars like the rap god he is. Typical Kid Cudi; always so eager to jump the gun. Still, it was precisely this moxy that made their friendship so strong, and Cudi so resourceful when shit got real. Kanye admired that about him. Almost as much as he admired himself. “Let’s go downstairs and see if Jay-Z’s made breakfast yet, and we can all mull this over some top-quality Peruvian shit-bean coffee. You know, the kind of coffee they feed to rats or whatever in Peru that they then shit out so the coffee is all sweet and shit.”
Cudi sighed. “Yeah, Ye. I know. I’m the one who showed you Uchunari.”
Kanye shuddered. “Gross. Keep that to yourself, man. They make a pill for that now you know.”
With that, the two all-stars of 21st Century hip-hop hip-hopped out of bed and linked arms, skipping out of their bedroom and towards the grand ballroom where breakfast was customarily held in Jay-Z and Beyonce’s gigantic floating Illuminati fortress currently in orbit around Mars.
“...tragically, that’s when his mother passed,” Celestia said. Her teacup sat on the flagstone beside her. It was long empty. “As if that weren’t enough for poor Mister West, his fiance and lover of eight years—”
Twilight groaned, dragging her hooves down her face.
Squelch. Kanye dragged his fork through the syrup pool that currently submerged his smiley-face pancakes. Normally, they would have been prepared by one of the numerous five-star chefs the gigantic floating Illuminati fortress (currently in orbit around Mars) employed, but this morning Jay-Z had made them himself.
Cudi wolfed down his breakfast beside Ye. In the way only a best friend could truly know, he could tell something was eating away at Kanye like Cudi himself was eating away at the delicious buttermilk pancakes.
“What’s up, man?” Cudi asked, voice slightly muffled and cheeks bulged out like a chipmunk ~~soul~~. “You’ve hardly touched your delicious buttermilk pancakes.”
Kanye sighed dramatically. “I know what he’s gonna ask us to do. Hova only makes breakfast himself when he’s about to ask me to do one thing.”
Cudi, having entered the game some time after his two contemporaries had a strongly established relationship with one another, knew that there were some things Kanye had done for Jay-Z in the past that he didn't talk about. Cudi had never brought the question forth about these past deeds out of respect, but it seemed pertinent now.
“Ye, what—”
Jay-Z chose this exact moment to slam open the double doors to the dining room, and strut down along the length of the cartoonishly-long dining table to join Kanye and Cudi at the far end of it. “I’m supposing the two of you are wondering why I’ve chosen to make these delicious buttermilk pancakes for you instead of getting one of my highly-skilled artisan chefs to do it,” Jay-Z said without even bothering to say hello to either of his guests. “Allow me to explain.”
Jay-Z stood in silence for a full thirty seconds, an arm settled on the back of Cudi and Kanye’s chairs alike.
“Are you going to tell us, or—”
“I need you guys to move 300 pounds of cocaine for me,” Jay-Z said, cutting off Cudi yet again mid-sentence.
“I knew this was coming.” Kanye sighed. “Hova, my brotha, I know I’m one of the only dudes who can do this for you, but I’m a different man. I’ve given myself and my life up to Christ! I’m pretty sure there’s like, an entire chapter in the bible about not moving cocaine across interdimensional boundaries.”
“Wait. Who said anything about interdimensional boundaries?” Cudi said as he frowned.
Kanye rolled his eyes. “I know you came to the game late so I’ll excuse your ignorance here. The only place we can reliably get enough cocaine is Equestria. This coupled with that whole Lois chick asking me about disturbances in the memetic energies of the universe earlier... it’s not hard to put two and two together.”
“Memetic energy still is the most reliable way to traverse dimensions,” Jay-Z mused for the benefit of the audience at home. “At least, it will be until I complete my Illuminati-funded child-tear powered wormhole generator.”
Cudi held up his hands, shaking his head slightly. “Woah, slow down. Why does Equestria of all places have that much coke?”
Jay-Z and Kanye exchanged glances.
“We’re gonna be here for a second,” Jay-Z said.
“—but I could go on about My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy forever,” Celestia said with a chuckle. “And as good as it is, it’s still not the apex of his work.”
“Princess, I need to go set the sun. We’ve been here for four and a half hours,” Twilight droned, the life long crushed out of her fragile, once-mortal soul.
Celestia continued without a care in the world—which, considering she’d foisted all her cares in this world upon Twilight several months ago when her former student had ascended the throne in her and Luna’s stead, was quite easy for her to do. “This brings us to Yeezus, which I personally find to be where he truly shines; this is not to say that the rest of his work before and the rest after isn’t amazing, but Yeezus is truly something unique, and honestly? It is Kanye at his most Kanye.”
I wonder if I could break my own neck with my magic. Twilight’s suicidal thoughts were interrupted by the disgusting flap of leathery wings beating against an equally-revolting scaled body.
“Twilight!” Spike shouted as he soared like a dying eagle into the throne room. “This is urgent!”
“Oh wow, this is the first time I’ve actually been glad to see you, Spike,” Twilight said, relief flooding her body like water flooded the German valleys and cities earlier this year due to apocalyptic levels of rain brought on by catastrophic climate change. “What’s wrong?”
“Starlight just told me there’s been a strange creature that no one has ever seen before rescued from the Everfree by Fluttershy!” Spike gasped, his horrid little chest heaving to and fro.
“You checked to make sure it wasn’t just a human, right? I don’t have time to deal with another mundane human encounter. That’s what the manticores in the Everfree are for.”
Spike nodded, his wretched little dragon-scale-mane-thing bobbing about in a most upsetting fashion. God I fucking hate Spike. Actually, that’s not even true. I quite like Spike a lot, the miserable piece of shit that he is. This ravenous abuse of him is an obsessive compulsive tic I developed from the tremendously abusive relationship I had as a teenage author with one of my writing idols. She hated Spike, and so to impress her I began to insert wanton Spike abuse into everything I wrote. The habit became so ingrained within me that now any attempt to stop doing it, even though I now desire to do quite the opposite of impress that terrible bitch who ruined my life, seems an affront to what is now a fundamental part of my prose. I fear even in death I will not escape her. If Hell is real, I am going there. And she will be waiting for me when I do.
Anyway, Spike nodded. “I double checked with Starlight. She said, and I quote, ‘Whatever it is this thing is, it’s definitely not human.’”
Twilight scratched one of the long, curly, thick hairs on her chinny-chin-chin. “Hrmst. Well! Sounds like we’ve got some work to do, Celestia!”
“Now, The Life of Pablo was definitely a polarizing album on release,” Celestia said. She’d completely ignored everything that had happened and steamrolled on with her pleb-tier takes on Kanye West and his body of work. Come on down to my neighborhood (get it? because horses neigh? what a talented and clever wordsmith I am. God I hope Hell isn’t real), Celestia, and we’ll see who’s opinion on Watch the Throne is “pedestrian” when I’m punching your dumb stupid muzzle in. “But no one can truly say that its rollout wasn’t unique!”
Twilight turned to Spike. “Let’s get out of here before I kill her or myself.”
Peter Griffin had never felt so low.
“Aw, c’mon guys,” Peter pled as stones and rusty bits of metal and Rainbow Dash-Cum-Jars were lobbed at him by the citizens of Quahog. “Is it really that bad?”
“Peter, I’m a literal rapist and I find what you’ve done to be deplorable,” Quagmire said with a shake of his head. “If Joe hadn’t died in that skiing accident I’m guessing he’d arrest you on the spot—that is, if he could restrain himself from shooting you.”
Peter sank to his knees, a cum-jar smashed across his face. “I really am the lowest of the low—a filthy Flutterfriend.”
When he looked up, Lois was standing beside him. She threw a length of rope down at his feet. “Take it, Petah. You know what to do.”
Peter slowly got to his feet, and immediately the ravenous horde of enraged Quahogians shouldered forth a massive crucifix, thrusting it onto Peter’s back.
“Ah, God! This thing weighs a ton!”
“We had to build one sturdy enough to support you!” Someone shouted from the mob.
Peter shook his head at the tasteless fat-shaming, bits of glass and flecks of cum showering about him in 4k super-slo-mo, the glint of the torches from the mob sending a bedazzling shine through the glass shards and semen alike. He trudged forward, beginning his long and slow drag of the cross towards the ceremonial Quahog Crucifixion Hill (est 2001).
Once atop the hill, Peter planted the cross and climbed it. It was a good nine-feet high, easily enough to accomplish what he was meant to do. Slowly, he took the length of rope Lois had thrust at him in utter disgust and tied it skillfully into a noose knot.
Peter’s belly shook like a big bowl of jelly with the force of his sobs. He balanced precariously atop the cross, staring into the loop of the noose. He could swear he could almost see them there—the bright shining, shimmering world of Equestria, filled with the lovable characters he knew so well and fapped to all so often.
“Come, Peter!” Fluttershy waved her hoof, beckoning him through the noose. “And not in the way you usually do! Equestria awaits, my sweet prince.”
“She would definitely say that,” Peter said, sniffling as a bittersweet smile adorned his battered and baby-batter splattered mug.
And with that, Peter slipped the noose around his neck, tied it to the top of the cross, and hopped off the side.
“So, the creature is in here?” Twilight asked, pulling aside the thicket before her. She, Starlight, Spike, and Princess Celestia were in the—well, it wasn’t exactly the deepest part of The Everfree, but it was still deeper than any of them had planned to be at this hour. It was the middle of the day and it wasn’t like they had anywhere else to be, but sometimes you just wanna like, not do anything with your Sunday afternoon? Starlight honestly was being kind of a selfish bitch to drag everyone out here.
“I unno,” Starlight said, shrugging her suspiciously shoulder-like horse shoulders.
A strange rustling came from the very underbrush that Twilight had been pulling aside. She leapt back, horn humming, ready to atomize any potential spook, specter, or sprite that might be a-lurkin’ in the leafy depths (truth be told, Twilight had been itching for some sort of outlet to vent her pent-up fury from being forced to listen to Celestia’s Kanye-rants, so even if it were but an unsuspecting field mouse she was likely going to vaporize whatever it was.)
But, nay! ‘Twas naught an unsuspecting field mouse at all! Completely naked, covered in scratches, bruises, bite-marks—various dirt and mud and twigs staining his body—was none other than the man himself: Peter Griffin.
“Oh, come on!” Twilight smacked her hoof across her face, causing her head to reverberate like a gong (much in a similar manner to the hollow moon that orbits Earth). “Starlight, I thought you said that this was a creature no one has ever seen before! This is just a regular old human! You’ve seen humans before, haven’t you?”
Starlight looked Peter Griffin up and down. “That’s a human?”
Twilight nodded. “Albeit a grotesquely overweight one, but yes. That’s a human.”
“Rude,” Peter said. “I’m right here. Fat shamin’ is on its way out as a form of humah too, by the way. Trust me, I would know.”
A growl emanated from the very underbrush that Peter had just crawled forth from. “Ah great, this jokah,” Peter grunted, rolling his eyes.
A Manticore sprung out from behind the bushes, growling and bearing its teeth with all the intent in the world to dine on Peter McNuggets. Peter would have none of that. This ain’t his first rodeo, after all—as I’m sure you’ll recall from Family Guy season 14 episode 2 “Papa has a rolling stone”, Peter worked as a break-up rodeo clown which has no relation to this except for an aesthetic similarity. Anyway, Peter did a sick spin and slammed the manticore with his big ol’ belly, breaking its neck and sending the corpse flying into a nearby tree where it exploded into a shower of bone, blood, and viscera that rained down on all parties present in a display of egregious gore that would put Kentaro Miura to shame, God rest his soul.
“So wait,” Peter said, pushing himself up from his trademark laying-on-the-ground-after-falling position, wiping manticore fur and an eyeball from his front. “You guys were used to seein’ humans before me?”
“Yes,” Twilight said. “Every time a human being on Earth commits suicide, they end up being transported here to the Everfree Forest.”
Peter’s eyes went wide with a mix of awe and terror. “Wow. Wait, every human? Not just the true believers such as myself?”
Twilight nodded solemnly. Or it could have been a nod of vaguely disinterested disgust. The two are very similar in expression.
“It’s precisely the reason I introduced the noble manticore to the Everfree Forest,” Princess Celestia chimed in. “Well, more like ‘a few hundred noble manticores’. It has completely devastated the Everfree’s native ecosystem. But! It keeps me from having to do damage control on every sadsack who shows up after they off themselves.”
Peter stroked his ball-chin thoughtfully. “Huh. So that explains the half-eaten Robin Williams corpse I teleported in on. Why does everyone who kills themselves end up here?”
Twilight and Starlight both turned in unison to look at Princess Celestia, who smiled sheepishly. “Oh, you know. You dabble with some Blood Magic, you bring horrible curses upon yourself, your bloodline, the land you hold dear... I’m sure you understand, we were all foolish teenagers who thought the Gods were our fleshlights at one time or another.”
There was a moment of awkward silence that hung heavy in the air until Peter let out a triumphant fart, the force and stench of which reduced a poor field mouse who had the misfortune of being behind him to little more than a steaming skeleton.
“I trust that you two will behave with respect when heading to pick up the package,” Jay-Z said as he led Kanye and Cudi to the teleportation bay. “My contact is very esteemed. They won’t take to any shenanigans, tomfoolery, or hijinks.”
“How about skylarking?” Cudi asked.
Jay-Z shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Capering?”
“No.”
“Harlequinading?”
Jay-Z opened his phone and googled “harlequinade definition”. “No.”
Kanye had been mysteriously silent the entire time.
“Oh, I got it! We gotta at least be allowed to get up to some monkey business.”
“No! No, none of that. No escapades, no hootinanies, no buddy-cop-parodies, no NOTHING. Get the coke and get out. What is so fucking hard to understand about that?”
“How about horseplay?” Cudi meekly suggested.
Jay-Z’s face went dark. “If you ever say something like that again, they’ll have to invent new words for what I will do to you.”
“Oh God!” Cudi and Jay-Z both whipped around to see Kanye displaying a horrified grimace not unlike as if he’d just been pounced upon by a ghost or one of the Kardashians he was less fond of.
“K-Kanye?”
“So, like, do you ponies swear?” Peter asked as Twilight lead him, Starlight, and Celestia out from the foliage that formed the barrier between the Everfree and Fluttershy’s Animal Sanctuary (trademark pending; if you think whatever country your from has some kafkaesque nightmare of governmental bureaucracy, don’t even get me started on Equestria’s). “‘cause it seems like every time there would be a perfect opportunity to in response to a situation or even just to use it as general punctuation, you guys don’t or use some fruity horse-specific substitute.”
“No. I mean, we can, but trust me. You don’t want to find out what happens when we do.”
“But you can reference things like fleshlights with no repercussions.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Of course. We walk around flashing one another every time we move our tails slightly in any direction. Do you really think we’d be as prudish as your world?”
“Again, not entirely certain where this attitude of hostility is coming from,” Peter said. “I mean, it’s not like I want to be here! Obviously, it’s all I dreamed of every since that time I walked in on Chris clopping, but—”
“Hey, Chris,” Peter said, opening his teenage son’s closed bedroom door without even so much as a courtesy knock. “Do you think there might be something wrong with me if I still can’t believe it’s not butter—AAAAAH!”
Chris, completely naked before his computer, covered the screen with one hand and his crotch with the other. “Dad!”
“Oh God!” Peter recoiled in horror, dropping the margarin. He turned and faced the camera, shrugging and smiling smugly. “Ah well! At least it wasn’t Chris walkin’ in on me!”
“What was that?” Twilight gasped as Starlight fell on her side and began to projectile vomit.
Princess Celestia smirked. “First cutaway, my dear former student?”
Twilight shuddered. Starlight had ceased vomiting, her face laying in a pool of her half-digested lunch.
“Oh my gawd, I am so sorry,” Peter said. His face was blushing brighter than a fresh summer strawberry in a Massachussettes spring field. “I completely forgot I could do that. Half of da time when I end up in a different IP my cutaways don’t even work! Good to know that now, though, I’ll be more careful.”
Starlight hacked up a chunk of phlegm-laden, stomach-acid stained carrot, tears streaming down her face. “U-Ugh... why...”
“Oh, grow up, Starlight,” Twilight deadpanned. “You’ve been to the zoo before, I know you’ve seen a monkey masturbating.”
Starlight groaned. “I-I... I saw what was on his screen...”
Peter chuckled an embarrassed lil chuckle. “Oh yeah. Yeah, my son’s into some weird shit.”
“I. I was on the screen. With my dad.”
Peter nodded solemnly (or perhaps it was a nod of vaguely disinterested disgust). “Yup. Kid’s a sick fuck. That’s on Lois though, Lord knows I didn’t raise ‘im.”
“You know, I should introduce you to my friend Applejack,” Twilight said. “You two both talk with accents that affect how the words you say are spelled in a narrative.”
Princess Celestia had been ignoring the conversation entirely, humming to herself and muttering under her breath. “I’m off the grid, grid, grid...”
Twilight scowled. “Princess!”
“Hm?” Celestia turned to Twilight, popping one of her Baets by Dray™ (trademark pending) wireless earbuds from one of her gigantic floppy horse ears. “Oh, my apologies. I was doing my 53rd listen of DONDA as to fully appreciate all of its subtle nuances and sonic textures.
“Heh,” Peter chuckled. “DONDA? More like YAWNDA!”
A terrible silence fell over the group. Celestia looked like she’d just watched Sombra betray her all over again, all those hundreds of years ago in the throne room of the Crystal Empire Palace. Her face was completely drained of color, which isn’t really saying much, but she looked aghast and mortified nonetheless.
“Get it? ‘cause it’s borin’?”
“You know, I suddenly like you a whole lot more,” Twilight said, grinning bashfully at Peter, her cheeks tinged with a blush that unmistakably betrayed arousal.
It felt as if time had stopped.
Kanye tumbled to the floor of the teleportation bay, clutching his chest. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. His eyes bulged, ears ringing as his vision grew dim. Cudi was beside his fallen friend in a matter of several hundred-million nanoseconds (an unforgivable delay Kanye still to this day has not forgiven him for), cradling him in his arms.
“Ye!” he cried, eyes brimming with tears. “H-Hova! Do something!”
Jay-Z rolled his eyes, pulled out his phone, and opened Tidal. “I Love Kanye” began to play softly—dare I say, perhaps even sensually—over his shitty iphone 5 speakers. Trust me, I’m just as shocked as you are that the dude with a floating illuminati fortress currently in orbit around Mars is still using an iphone 5 in whatever year you’re reading this in (probably 2021 or 2022). The inner machinations of his mind are an enigma.
Slowly, Kanye stabilized, his breathing steadying, and the color returning to his cheeks but not in, like, a racist way or anything.
“Ye!” Cudi cried again, eyes brimming with tears of joy.
“This happens every time someone out there disses his music,” Jay-Z said. “Fortunately, it’s easy enough to snap him out of it. He was nearly catatonic after 808s came out. He’s since built quite the tolerance—it must have been someone wielding massive amounts of memetic power to make him respond that way.”
Kanye's eyes narrowed as he snarled the name:
“Peter Griffin.”
“Wait, you had no idea who Peter was—“ Kanye slapped his hand over Cudi’s mouth.
“You ain’t got any sense of dramatic pacing, do you?”
Kid Cudi hung his head in shame.
