Bars, guns, welfare, and caddy's
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to the First Bank of Ponyville. How may I help you?” the clerk pony from behind the counter asked. Ice Cube stepped up in line, realizing he was up to make a withdrawal.
“Yeah, I wanna make a withdrawal, if you wouldn’t mind.” the gangsta rapper said, noticing the pony behind him breathing down his neck. He didn’t know why banks had the tendency to transform normal people into assholes so easily. And this was coming from a guy who sang about shooting cops for a living.
“Okay, would you like to see how much you have in savings, sir?” the clerk pony asked. Ice Cube could swear she was the definition of clerk stereotypes. The poofy hair, the hoof-file, the headset, the overly Jewish-sounding accent she had. God damn, she sounded like a female Jerry Seinfeld.
“Yep, and I need it in Equestrian coins.”
“Okay, let me just calculate...” the clerk didn’t make eye contact and went straight for her calculator.
“Mhmm... yep... drag the one... and I’m don.... holy hell.” the clerk looked up at Ice Cube with a nervous expression.
“What?” Ice Cube asked frustratedly.
“Well, it seems that your savings is in completely American dollars.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well, it seems your country’s economy is extremely inflated, and therefore your dollars are near worthless in Equestrian currency.”
“What?! Damn. Then what the hell have I been paying my rent with for the past two months?” Ice Cube’s anger now reflected everyone elses in the banking establishment.
“Unfortunately, you’ve basically been living off welfare.” the clerk looked sympathetically at the disgruntled human.
“Damn it. So I’ve been living on welfare, and I didn’t even know it? How does that even happen?”
“Well, sir, what happens is...” the clerk went on, but Ice Cube drowned out the boring pony’s lecture with his own thoughts.
Fuck bitches, get money, shoot police, bring Eazy back from the dead, …, profit. Ice Cube went on like this for a little while longer until the clerk finished her rambling.
“Sir, do you understand?” asked the clerk, shaking the Human from his day-dream.
“Huh? Yeah, sure. Interesting. So what you’re saying is, I got put on welfare, and now Uncle Sam is fucking me up the ass?”
The clerk looked at him oddly before pulling out what looked like a ‘Human Slang for Dummies’ type of book. After a brief moment of page-flipping, the clerk looked back up at Ice Cube.
“Yes. You pretty much got fucked up the ass by Uncle Sam.”
“So how much money do I have right now?”
“About... 5 bits.”
Ice Cube’s anger was building up and the pony behind him was getting angsty. The rapper could feel the unpatient pony breathing down his neck.
“I wanna make a withdrawal.” he growled through clenched teeth. Five bits were placed in his hand and Ice Cube stormed out of the bank in search of something to take his frustrations out on. Just then, like a glorious bronzed warrior who graces all with his presence, a bar could be seen almost glistening on the horizon.
Perfect. the gangster rapper thought, walking closer to the drinking establishment. His five dollars would be spent well.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
A few shots of Jack Daniels was all the five bits got him, but it was still better than nothing, and he was still about to be homeless in Equestria. Ice Cube would worry about it later, but for now, liquor was his problem-solver.
After taking another shot, he could hear another voice coming from further down the bar. Ice Cube didn’t see the pony in ownership of the voice, but he could tell that the pony wasn’t doing too good.
“Those bitches had the audacity to throw me out on the streets, and for what, you might ask?!” the voice asked no one in particular.
“No one cares!” somepony shouted back.
The down and out pony ignored the other pony’s answer and continued with his rant.
“They threw me out for backtalking that asshole prince! What was his name... Prince Blueballs? No, Prince Blueblood! That was his name. He had the nerve to talk to me, and I responded. And the bitches throw me out. Fuck the princesses!”
“Wait, what about Luna?” one pony asked.
The pony remained silent for a moment as he formulated a response. “Actually... Luna’s alright with me. She’s got a nice flank.”
A few sounds of approval rang out from the crowd of ponies in the bar. Baby most certainly had back.
“And they took my special edition of Playcolt with Luna on the cover! The bastards!”
“Luna on the cover of Playcolt? Nuh uh.” another pony gave his two cents.
“He’s not lying. Issue number 284 had Luna on the cover.” some nerdy pony said.
“That’s oddly specific...” somepony commented.
“Bite me.” the nerdy pony grunted.
“That’s a lie. Everypony knows that picture was photoclopped.” a pony in the crowd retorted.
As the ponies among the crowd started to argue over whether Luna was in an issue of Playcolt or not, Ice Cube stood up and made his way over to depressed pony sitting at the bar. The rapper sat in the empty bar seat next to the pony and tried to speak over the crowd.
“You caused a shit storm.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” the pony grunted, looking up from his glass of scotch and turning his attention to the rapper.
“What’s your name?” Ice Cube asked.
“Backdraft. Yourself?”
“O’Shea. But you can call me Ice Cube. What the hell kind of name is Backdraft?” Ice Cube wasn’t originally looking for a fight, but the booze was taking affect on his reasoning.
“Fuck, don’t ask me. I didn’t make my name. Also, you’re named after a fucking block of frozen water. What kind of name is that?”
“The kind of name you scream before you die of gunshot wounds.” Ice Cube yelled back.
“Are you trying to intimidate me?” Backdraft asked, “Because you’re not doing a very good job of it.”
“You know what, Fagshaft?”
“What, Dick Lube?”
“You and me, outside.” Ice Cube said, getting out of his barstool.
“Fine.” Backdraft responded, finishing off his scotch and placing a hoofful of bits on the bar, before hopping off of his stool.
The two drunken idiots stumbled outside, where the crowd gathered to see the fight. The two idiots in question stood in fighting stances in front of each other. Both of them looked barely able to stand.
“You picked the wrong fight, dumbass.” Backdraft yelled cockily.
“You serious? I’ve fought 10 year olds tougher than you.”
“You make that guy over there look like John Wayne.” Backdraft said, pointing at the nerdy pony from before.
“What?! You make him look like Rambo and Rocky Balboa had a kid.”
“If I wanted my comeback, I’d wipe it off your moms chin!”
“WHAT? You never talk about a black man’s mama! Those are fightin’ words!” Ice Cube pulled out his 9 millimeter from his holster and pointed it at the offending pony.
Then, much to the rapper’s surprise, the pony pulled his own handgun out and aimed it at him.
“Wait. How the fuck? How are you holding that?” Ice Cube asked confusedly.
“Magic. Every pony has it. Earth ponies and pegasi can use it to grip things.” the nerd explained.
“Well that sounds real gay and all, but if this fool doesn’t put his gun back, I might go Compton crazy on this motherfucker.”
“Bitch please. You’ve got a puny little nine millimeter. I’ve got a forty-five.”
“I don’t need a big gun, because I don’t need to compensate for anything. Besides, I left my AK at home.”
"And the Guard confiscated my M4 when I was discharged.”
“Looks like someone has a big ol’ Uncle Sam boot lodged firmly up their ass.”
“Bet you wouldn’t know anything about that. Oh, and by the way, your safety is still on, dipshit.”
Ice Cube checked his safety, and surely enough, it was on. Ice Cube flipped it off and proceeded to mock Backdraft.
“Well, you’re gun isn’t loaded.” Ice Cube said.
Backdraft checked to see if his clip was in, but was interrupted by gunshots buzzing past his head. He dove to the ground and brought up his forty-five, aiming for the rapper’s leg. The pony opened fire, expending the forty-five’s entire clip. Ice Cube couldn’t keep his boozed hand steady and missed every shot he had fired. Luckily for the rapper, the case was the same for Backdraft. Both had wasted their shots, and neither were injured.
“Fuck!” cursed the pony.
“Okay, I’m done.” the exhausted Ice Cube grunted.
“Same. Why the fuck are we fighting again?”
“Something about shafts and lube.”
“We were fighting over masturbating?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“That’s fucking stupid.”
“I’m pretty sure you started it.” Ice Cube hobbled over to where Backdraft was getting up.
“I may be hot headed, but I wouldn’t start something over something as ridiculous as masturbation.”
“Well, nobody got hurt, so that went alright in my book.” Ice Cube said, not noticing that at least eight members of the crowd that had surrounded them had been hit in the crossfire. Ice Cube wasn’t sure how the Equestrian penal system handled collateral damage, but he knew it probably wasn’t lightly. None of the ponies seemed fatally injured, but Ice Cube’s natural instinct kicked in.
“Run like fuck!”
“Fuck!” Backdraft exclaimed, as he and the rapper drunkenly ran away from the scene. It was starting to get dark and they wouldn’t have long before the cops were on their asses.
The pair ran until they reached an alleyway near the center of town, where they would be momentarily safe from the authorities and the angry mob that was sure to be amassing soon. To Ice Cube’s surprise, there was no fellatio taking place in the dark alley. That was a nice change of pace from his urban paradise he called South Central LA.
After a bit of looking around, the two fugitives creeped from alley to alley, cover to cover, trying to lay as low as possible.
“Yo, do you know any place we can keep down for a few days?” Ice Cube asked Backdraft from behind a carriage.
“Don’t worry about it. The Royal Guard are fucking useless. They won’t find us. We could just waltz out of here if we wished.” Backdraft stated.
“Sounds good. Know anyone anywhere we could go to for a while?”
“Nope.”
“No cousin or friend or anything?”
Backdraft pondered on this for a few moments. “Now that you mention it... I do have a friend that lives in Canterlot.”
“Sounds good. How’s the fastest way we can get there?”
“Do you have a ride?”
Ice Cube eyes widened, followed by his smile. “Follow me, bitch.”
Ice Cube led a confused Backdraft to a small patch of land where no building stood and a blue tarp covered a large object in the middle of the patch.
“I call her H.E.R.” Ice Cube said, pulling the blue tarp off of what was revealed to be a car.
“What the fuck is that?” Backdraft asked.
“She’s a 1978 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham with purple paint, gold Dayton rims, and three wheel motion. She’ll get us there.” the proud rapper replied, rubbing the hood with a finger.
“It looks like it can’t even run.”
“Well, if you ponies had gasoline, that wouldn’t be a goddam problem. Now get in H.E.R.”
Backdraft approached the Caddy cautiously, as if he were expecting it to transform into a giant robot and stomp him into the dirt. Feeling that it was safe, he climbed inside and sat in the front passenger seat.
“So what kind of stupid name is H.E.R.?”
“It’s from a song. And don’t get me started on names again.”
“What song?”
“I Used To Love H.E.R. It’s a song by Common. It’s kinda... just look it up.”
“On what? I don’t use your internet.”
“Well, that’s too damn bad. You might disapprove, but I’ll always love H.E.R.” Ice Cube retorted, stroking the steering wheel with his hand.
“Do you have a carriage fetish or something?” Backdraft asked innocently.
“Car, dipshit. It’s called a car.” the rapper inserted his key into the ignition of the car, which gave a loud roar as Ice Cube revved the engine. After turning on the headlights, he then pressed another button on the panel with the buttons and dials on it. Suddenly, sounds began coming from the speakers on the side. Backdraft could tell it was music
Backdraft listened to the song for a few moments, before recognizing it. “Hey... I know this song!”
“It’s gonna be a good day.” Ice Cube said, riding off towards Canterlot with his newfound companion.
“Exactly. Dear Celestia, I love this song.”
“Celestia’s a bitch.” Ice Cube informed with a straight face.
“Agreed.”
And so the two rap-loving, Celestia-hating, caddy-fondling, Luna flank-looking duo of fugitives rode off into the sunset bumping to the beat of the song. After a minute, they passed by a sign on the road.
It read, “Canterlot: 20 miles”.
“More like Cunterlot.” said Backdraft.
“Nice.”
