Horsebuckers, Inc.

by SoundofRecordScratch

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 2938

A nerdy fellow and his best friend pony seek to find a portal between Earth and Equestria while battling off the mob.

A nerdy fellow and his best friend pony seek to find a portal between Earth and Equestria while battling off the mob.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-15 01:10:41 UTC

The Kind Gentleman, Misirlou, and Half a Pack of Cigarettes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGBDWER-wUI

 “When did it all fall apart, Dan?”

            “I guess about a week ago.”

“Man, we could’ve been happy, with our outfits that cost ten bucks max, and we had to choose fame and fortune instead.”

“That’s some odd music they’re playing.”

A gruff voice spoke out of nowhere. “Apparently, they take requests.”

I turned from my double cheeseburger combo meal thing ($6.50) and found myself staring down a gun barrel. ‘Desert Eagle .50’ was etched along the cold metal. Some way away, the cashier behind the counter had an Uzi pointed at him. There were seven men in all, minimum, and all were armed, with firearms, and pointing them straight at us, while standing in front of the door and any windows. We didn’t stand a chance, but then again, we never did.

“Look, what the hell do you even want with us. We’re just a bunch of losers and I don’t even know why the Don hired us.”

The kind gentleman with his best friend, the Desert Eagle, replied. “Because you two turds can weasel your way out of anything, and know shit about the Ultimate Portal. Now, give me your gun.”

Normally, this is where it’d go all to pieces and the air around us would be replaced with bullets, but this was probably the only chance I’d get to find out why this gentleman was following us for the past week. However, if I talked any more, they’d shoot me in the face like the annoying prick that I was, so I let Star do the talking, while I gave the gentleman my gun.

 “And why exactly are you interested in the Ultimate Portal? I mean, my partner and I are experts, but why do you care?”

“I don’t care, but my employer does. He wants you to stop doing… whatever it is you do, and hopefully not die not doing it.”

“And the two don’t coincide very well.” Star finished.

My eyes wandered around the stale fast food place. There was one window which wasn’t guarded, and that was the one we were sitting next to in our booth. Weapons? We only had a few weapons left, and the knives and other sharp things would have to be ruled out because they were too slow for seven men with guns. The only things left, then, was the table we were sitting at, and the puny little pistol with three bullets left that was in my left pocket, entirely by accident. We’d need to move soon, because the gentleman was squaring us up and sooner or later would notice the outline.

“Yeah, you got that right, so don’t tempt me to settle for one out of two.”

I took it out of my pocket, the gesture disguised as resting my head on my left hand, and dropped it onto my shoe, and very gently rested it on the ground. Two taps on the table to get Star’s attention. Two taps with the middle finger.

“Man, you and whoever sent you have no fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into. So BACK THE FUCK OFF before you run home and cry to your mommy!”

While she was busy creating a ruckus, I kicked it to her side of the booth. She was a much better shot than me, and a lot better at sounding badass.

“Calm down before you hurt yourself, in case you didn’t notice, there’s two of you and seven of us, and just take a look at who has the firearms!”

One tap with index finger.

Commotion.

Table.

Gun.

Window.

One-word sentences.

I flipped the table in the gentleman’s face. Star nabbed the gun and fired three times. I didn’t notice where, because I was already lunging through the window. Before I even registered that I was hit, I remembered there was a doctor in this city who didn’t ask questions, two blocks from here. Star darted out in front of me, and man, we must have looked pretty damn awesome, jumping out of a window while being perforated with bullets. Or pretty goofy, either one.

“And the two don’t coincide very well.” Star finished.

My eyes wandered around the stale fast food place. There was one window which wasn’t guarded, and that was the one we were sitting next to in our booth. Weapons? We only had a few weapons left, and the knives and other sharp things would have to be ruled out because they were too slow for seven men with guns. The only things left, then, was the table we were sitting at, and the puny little pistol with three bullets left that was in my left pocket, entirely by accident. We’d need to move soon, because the gentleman was squaring us up and sooner or later would notice the outline.

“Yeah, you got that right, so don’t tempt me to settle for one out of two.”

I took it out of my pocket, the gesture disguised as resting my head on my left hand, and dropped it onto my shoe, and very gently rested it on the ground. Two taps on the table to get Star’s attention. Two taps with the middle finger.

“Man, you and whoever sent you have no fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into. So BACK THE FUCK OFF before you run home and cry to your mommy!”

While she was busy creating a ruckus, I kicked it to her side of the booth. She was a much better shot than me, and a lot better at sounding badass.

“Calm down before you hurt yourself, in case you didn’t notice, there’s two of you and seven of us, and just take a look at who has the firearms!”

One tap with index finger.

Commotion.

Table.

Gun.

Window.

One-word sentences.

I flipped the table in the gentleman’s face. Star nabbed the gun and fired three times. I didn’t notice where, because I was already lunging through the window. Before I even registered that I was hit, I remembered there was a doctor in this city who didn’t ask questions, two blocks from here. Star darted out in front of me, and man, we must have looked pretty damn awesome, jumping out of a window while being perforated with bullets. Or pretty goofy, either one.

Did I forget to mention my partner Star is a talking cartoon pony?

*        *        *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFrDSFzlKwE

Let me tell you what we’re all about. We’re about being at the bottom of the ladder, but wanted at the top. No one expects the pony and the geek to be badasses, and that’s why we’re the best. No one knows us, but we can do any job, any delivery, anything, and get out of any trouble. In the town we’re in now, we were completely invisible until about a week ago, when suddenly it seemed every gang either randomly helped us out of nowhere, or was actively trying to kill us, from the stereotypical Italian guys in suits that run that pizza place (32 West Berkfield Street) where occasionally the food tastes a bit weird, to the idiots trying to smoke oregano on street corners.

We’re fashion gurus (those tacky dark-tinted 3D glasses from the movie theatre, $0 each, stolen, pinstripe fedoras, $5 each, Comic-Con, for me, top half of a suit, $5, thrift shop, comes with complimentary lice, Levi jeans, $0, birthday present), we have that whole Blues Brothers/Reservoir Dogs thing going for us, and pioneers in our field (whatever it’d be called). We’re great friends, better partners, and judging by the fact that we’re not dead yet, we’re invincible. We’re Horsefuckers, Incorporated.

*        *        *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvKXt3Surlk

Let me get something straight. The Don would never, ever call us. We don’t work for him, we work for everyone else, since he’s the biggest operation on this city, and everyone pays very good money to undermine him. Besides, he’s a traditional type of guy. Dan looks like someone  who’d be better off at Comic-Con, and me? A cartoon pony literally named Stardust Sprinkles? Don’t make me laugh. He’d never hire the two of us. Yet here we were.

For now, my only worries were what was happening on the other side of the door. The Don was talking smoothly and calmly, and from what I’ve heard, that’s the worst possible tone for the Don to be talking in. Our names were mentioned several times, and “liability” and “insane” and “beyond retarded”. This would make more sense in a week, when we’d find ourselves jumping out of the window of a fast food place with seven pretty accurate gunmen and a kind gentleman shooting at us.

After what seemed like forever, the Don called us in. Also in the room was a familiar man in a suit and a facial expression that looked like a permanent trollface.

            “Dr. Duhas?”

The suited man merely replied, “Sit down.”

The Don looked at us with utter hatred. We were in was the Don’s super secret headquarters, a dark place with a pool table in the middle. There weren’t any windows or furniture, the only light was a lamp hanging from the ceiling, making it look like the Don’s under-eye bags covered his whole face, nicely accenting the whole “please kill me” look.

“Now,” he said with the same tone of voice a father would us upon finding his house blown to pieces and his kids in the middle of it all after popping down to the grocery store to get some milk, “Dr Duhas has just told me-“

Dan interrupted. “Oh, so that’s Dr. Duhas?”

God dammit, Dan, you have a natural talent for pissing people off.

The Don continued, “No shit, Sherlock. Dr Duhas has told me you boys are good for business.”

“Damn right we are. The only reason you haven’t herd of us yet is that we haven’t had enough time to stir up trouble,” I said, always the one to brag. Well, it was kind of true. The reason we moved here was that we were run out of the previous city by a combination of street toughs out to tan our hides and forward-thinking Ku Klux Klan members.

Dr. Duhas spoke up. “Do you know about this thing called the, uh, Ultimate Portal?”

Dan and I facepalmed/facehoofed simultaneously. Dan answered, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like the only reason we exist is that one day we’re going to fucking find it.”

“Well,” Duhas said, “A few hours ago, I got a tip from someone who calls himself Anon about a suitcase for setting one of those up. Your job is to find where he is located, get the suitcase, and set it up somewhere, hopefully out of view, and bring me there IMMEDIATELY.”

There was a silence lasting at least several minutes. It was like someone dangled the Holy Grail in front of your face, then told you you had to build a nuclear reactor out of watch parts using only your teeth in a dark room to get it.

“So, uh,” Dan asked, “Where is Anon.”

Duhas replied, “About that. You see, apparently opening up a portal like that is the subject of federal attention. Now, I’m part of a federal organization, but I’m as interested as he is in not attracting the government’s attention. He didn’t tell me where he was, as the government has ways of, uh, … finding out about these things. He did, however, say that you are going to be quite close to his location one day, and it is there that you will find out where he lives.”

At least we had time on our side.

“Oh, and you two have about a week before somehow the wretched fingers of the government find their way into this mess. And believe me, we do NOT want that to happen.”

I decided to point something out. “So why are we here, at the Don’s?”

We looked at the weary and tired Italian, having a Mexican standoff with a bottle of scotch. He looked up at us, defeated by some federal agent person, a cartoon horse, and a geek who watches a show for little girls.

“Duhas has discovered some, uh, sensitive info, and what I’m supposed to-“

“Going to-“ Duhas corrected.

“Going to do, is do everything I can to help you guys get… whatever it is you want.”

I piped up. An impossible job needed- “A reward that’ll make us able to buy private islands, though?”

Duhas and the Don both gave a huge belly laugh.

“Look,” the Don said, “You idiots watch a little girl’s show about a pretty and perfect world filled with sunshine and kindness and whatever else.”

“A portal,” Duhas interrupted, “from this world to that one, will make a new epoch in history. You will be the creators of a new age!”

“Not to mention,” continued the Don, “You’ll be able to live in your super duper happy land.”

Duhas laughed. “Success is reward enough. Now, the government will do everything in its power to stop you, since they tend to think that establishing contact with a species like ponies takes time, effort, and paperwork.” He shuddered. “I tend to have a more… direct approach.”

“Does that answer your questions? Good,” The Don finished.

“Yeah, just one more,-”

“Nope, just fuck off and I never want to see you two’s stupid-ass faces again.”

Dr. Duhas hustled out of the room, and after a few moments, we were pushed out. I took a cigarette out of my saddlebags with my teeth, and beckoned Dan to light it.

“Jesus Star, that’s like the fifth cigarette you’re smoking since we got here. What’s the matter with you, chain-smoking in there?”

“Were you not listening to anything that was fucking said in there?”

“What, about finally accomplishing what we originally came together to do, to unify pony- and humankind?”

“Oh yeah, and don’t forget finding a guy who doesn’t want to be found, who we know nothing about, besides the most unoriginal nickname ever created, then setting up a goddamn transuniversal portal, which is a fucking mission in itself, somewhere where no one will notice a fucking transuniversal portal, then waiting until Duhas’s fucking ass gets there, while beating off the countless followers we’ve probably attracted, all in a week’s time! Oh yeah, but I guess the reward makes it nothing to worry about!”

Dan was fuming, but he couldn’t come up with a response to that. On the street corner outside the Don’s offices, we ran into Duhas, and meeting someone in a meeting after the meeting is over is probably the first no-no beginners learn. People out on the street, where you need to fight to survive, and people behind closed doors, safe and sound, are quite different.

He didn’t maul us to death, just bumped into Dan while walking away, then turned around and winked. Reaching into his coat pocket, Dan took out a business card.

“John Lock, People Finder,” He read from the card.

“That’s fucking great. This magical John Lock is gonna tell us where a guy lives just from his nickname. How deus ex machina of Duhas to help us like that.”

“Look,” Dan said, “Were you expecting the Ultimate Portal to just fall out of the sky, just like that? It’s our life goal, it’s not gonna be easy. In fact, it’s gonna be the hardest fucking thing we’ve ever done.”

This was why I teamed up with Dan. He made sense. He knew what to say when things didn’t click. This was our Grand MacGuffin, it was the greatest thing we could ever give to mankind. It was what I wanted most for everyone, but in order to know why, or to figure out why I’m a pony who turns heads wherever I go, I guess you’ll just have to know more about me.

The Story of Stardust Sprinkles

You know the story. You’ve heard it a million times. I’m a cliche, an overused trope, a boring character. I’m a guy who was poor, then became even more poor and watched as his life spiraled out of control and crashed and burned.

As a kid, the best times of my life were probably when my mom hid well enough from my alcoholic dad that he couldn’t find her and she held me close and fell asleep, and in her dreams she held me so tight I had trouble breathing, but it made me feel like the most important person on this earth.

Anywhen else, I was a menace, or an underprivileged statistic, or a little shit who ran like hell when you saw him shoplifting your spray cans.

But other than that, the best moment of my life was when I climbed on the top level of the Brooklyn Bridge, (I’m not fucking kidding you), and tagged my name, big and bold, on the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge, with one of my friends. The next morning, there was a newspaper article about it. You could see it for miles. The City of New York sued me and my buddy for three million dollars.

But then my buddy drowned, and the suit was dropped, and it just didn’t have the same flair anymore. I tried to get with some other dude to write, but it was all of a sudden bland and unexciting. I guess when you learn how to avoid the police, writing just gets boring. Or maybe it was... something else.