And Then Green Shit was Falling From the Sky!
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George Carlin Bitches and Moans About Life in Equestria
And Then Green Shit was Falling From the Sky!
It was another sunny day in the small town of Ponyville, not that there's a day where it isn't sunny at twelve in the afternoon. Seriously, where's the fucking weather in this place? It's like they could maybe arrange a good hail storm every once in a while to add a bit of adventure to the day, but no! Of course if I were in charge of the weather there'd be four forms of precipitation; rain, snow, hail, and FIRE! Nobody gives a shit about sleet. Or better yet, how about some acid rain, hm? C'mon, take a goddamn chance for once in your life!
Anywho, it was a typically sunny day in Ponyville with typical birds singing and the typical sun shining. Ya know, as much as I love the sun, I mean shit I worship the sun which means a whole lot more to you weird little fucks than it did back where I came from, but damn can it be boring sometimes! So the marketplace is crowded with ponies, who are mostly earth ponies, buying shit from other earth ponies. Why is it that only earth ponies can be farmers anyways? Are unicorns not quite good enough for the job because they carry the misfortune of having erections on their foreheads? A certain orange mare who, judging from her southern accent even though she isn't from the south, is a farmer and is selling apple products at her shitty little store she has set up in the middle of other shitty little stores.
"Please come again, and remember; Sweet Apple Acres is the best place to buy all your apple cider, apple pies, apple soup-" The blonde hick rambles on as another customer leaves after he has made his purchase. The hick's name is Applejack . . . I should've known better than to expect a name that doesn't have to do with apples. No, I am not reading the dialogue out loud! If I were to do that I would have to try to imitate the speech patterns of an inbred person. Fuck that shit! So this Applejack- ah fuck it I'll just call her AJ, continues with her business before she returns to her farm to help out her big brother, who also happens to be hung like a horse, but that's because he is a horse. Yeah, she'll 'buck' all day Iwith that guy, if you know what I mean.
So then there's this bat-shit crazy pink pony bouncing up and down like she's on a goddamn pogostick past the marketplace and to her humble abode- is that a fucking gingerbread house?! Holy fucking shitballs she lives in a big-ass gingerbread house! Nevermind diabetes, you gotta watch out for the fat kids in case they see it as being a good afternoon snack! It also turns out that this pink mare, who's so pink that I feel like my eyeballs are about to crawl out of their sockets in hopes of escaping from the massive amount of pinkness, happens to work at the same exact place as a baker of weapons of mass diabetes.
Why the fuck does she work at the same place she lives in? At least the smart one, who kinda smells like lavender for some reason, has to live at her workplace, but it looks like Pinkie Pie here is just a bum. Either that or she might be a hippie, or both a bum and a hippie. If I was any younger I'd ask her to pass over a blunt because she's probably a stoner. Then again, she really shouldn't be allowed near sharp objects if she is a stoner, she might confuse a cake with some poor bastard's ribcage.
Who's idea was it to write this with their mouth?! I can't fucking read some of this garbage, it's like an autistic chimpanzee wrote this while having a seizure! Do I really have to continue reading this? Okay fine, but only because you're the other smart one if you want to take that as a compliment. And who the fuck wrote this again? One of your students? Well, tell them that they can kiss my wrinkly ass if they think this is decent literature!
Anyways, not very far from the candy land factory is an airborne house made of clouds . . . seems legit. The owner of this crime against logic is a cyan pegasus who- what is up with her mane? Is that, like, dyed or is it natural? I mean, I've seen a few prideful homosexuals in my time but holy hell does this take first fucking prize! This pegasus, named Rainbow Dash . . . really? REALLY GUYS?! Fuck it, I'm gonna call her Rainbow Bitch, how do ya like that? So Rainbow Bitch is cruising over the rooftops of the town as she heads towards her afternoon napping spot.
This spot also happens to be one of the many overgrown apple trees at Sweet Apple Acres. Normally the rainbow colored cunt would be shooed off the property, or at least given a good lecturing, by AJ. She doesn't listen of course, and doesn't understand why AJ would be so pissed off by her lounging around the farm. I mean, it's not like AJ talks to the trees, right? . . . She does, doesn't she? OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!
The grumpy old human throws the pile of pages that he was reading, scattering them throughout the classroom. He flips the table that he was leaning his elbows on and begins to walk out the door in a fit of frustration. Cheerilee, who had been patient with the human elder, looks on in shock and awe at the old man's vulgarity.
"George! GEORGE! If you could please come back here, we could finish this submission!" The teacher tries her best to be as controlled and patient with the raging human as she could, mostly due to her respect for elders in general, but it was in vain. "You're not going to leave me with all this work, are you?"
The comedian looks over his slumped shoulder with a disgruntled stare. "Look Cheerilee, I know that this is something ya have to do for those kids of yours, but for fuck's sake don't have me do all the work! If you're going to critique those pieces of raw sewage that you gave me, you're gonna have to do them yourself this time around." With that said, the wise comic exits the schoolhouse, leaving Cheerilee to finish her work on her own.
With nothing else to do for the day until his routine at the nightclub next week, George sits down on a bench and observes the activities of the town. For an old fuck, the man was quite energetic and his wit was as sharp as it had ever been, so he decides to take some notes for his next big routine. Equestria was by no means the United States, or any place on Earth for that matter, in the sense that it was harder to find good comedic material.
In a sense it forced the stand up comic to really analyze his surroundings. Mr. Carlin pulls out a pen and notepad that he always keeps in his jeans and gets to work. Actually, work is not quite the right word; his profession is more like a hobby. The biggest problem with being a comedian that rants on the problems of the world in Equestria is the place is so damn perfect, too damn perfect.
"Stupid technicolored ponies . . ."
