Stories Written During Fifth Period Because This Is What My Education Has Amounted To

Lyra awoke, disoriented and shivering. She had no idea where she was or what had happened, she barely remembered who she was. Her eyes stared out at the cold dark room that lay before her.

She was encased in a massive tube of glass. Or, at least, what seemed to be glass. The dead steel floor beneath her hooves, clear of all but drops of moister and her own reflection, made Lyra feel as if she were an abysmal insect. She arose and began pacing around the tube, just wide enough for a short walk.

As she finished her inspection of her completely barren quarters, Lyra came to the realization that she was not at all afraid.

It all came back to her now; Sweet Apple Acres, the eerie glowing light, Bonbon’s flowing whisper. She knew now where she was. She knew that she was in Rush Limbaugh’s bathroom.

She knew from the very beginning that today was special, she knew humans existed. The joy she felt overcame her and she began to prance around the damp glass caged. She could think of nothing but the stories she’s read of Rush’s adventures with Glen Beck, Lyra's one true pairing.

As Lyra began to recall Rush’s view on the horrors that were happening in a mystical land known as “Afghanistan” she slammed her muzzle straight into the glass. The inertia carried the rest of her body upwards into the rest of the frigid, moist wall. She slowly slid down, her coat making high pitched squeak has she made her descent. Lyra’s head made gentle contact with the bottom of her imprisonment. As she stared upwards she became dumbfounded. Lyra had yet to notice the absence of a ceiling, but, in place of it, staring down at her from between her dangling hooves and plump rump, was Jerry Seinfeld, shining light like Celestia’s sun.

“What’s the deal with these ponies?!” He said to no one in particular. “All this ‘everypony’ and ‘no pony’ business, frankly, to me it all seems a bit racist. They’ve got farms filled with all other types of animals, cows, sheep, and they all work for the ponies! And don’t even get me started on their ruler, who’s basically Obama-Jesus.”

“What’re you talking about, Jerry?” said Rush Limbaugh, stepping out of his solid gold shower in a monogrammed towel.

“You guys are friggin’ idiots.” said the ghost of Truman Copete.

Jerry pointed towards Rush’s Cup; the 2016 sequel to Rush’s 1974 album “Rush”. Rush rushed to see how the hell Geddy Lee rushed Rush’s final Rush.

But before Rush could sample the sweet sounds of Neil Pert and Alex Townsend, in cooperation with Geezer Butler and Buckethead, he slipped on a bar of soap and slammed his face into the glass containing Lyra.

The last thing she heard before the blinding white face pulverized her every being was Cosmo Kramer bursting through the bathroom door.