“Ok,” Mike Dirnt told a sweating Billie Joe with a stern grimace. “Now, I know kicking your drug habit will be difficult, but we’ve got to break it through to you somehow or another.”
“Mike, c’mon...” Billie said with an eyebrow waggle. “You can let me go. Seriously. Just untie me from this chair, and we can get on our way.”
“No, Billie. I’ll untie you from the chair once we’ve locked the doors. You need to be able to conquer your addiction!” Mike tapped Billie on his spiky black hair, and the lead singer growled. He hated when Mike touched his hair.
“Mike, goddammit. Don’t touch the hair!” Billie Joe was currently trying to use rage to power his way through the ropes that bound him, but so far it was to little use. He was stuck there, completely at Mike’s mercy.
“Now,” Mike pulled up a large bag of sugar-white powder. “I am going to dump this bag in front of you on the table, and untie you. If you can go two minutes without snorting any of it, I’ll let you go.”
Billie Joe lit up. “Really? I’ll be cured? Just like that?”
“Yup,” Mike reassured him. “I read it on the internet!”
“And to think this entire time we’ve been fucking around with rehab centers.”
Billie Joe watched as Mike poured the drug out all over the table, small clouds of it rising up and wafting agonizingly around the room. He could feel his longing need to snort the powder rise up in his soul.
Mike turned headed for the door. “Ok, Billie. You can do this. It’s only a day.”
“A day? You said two minutes!”
Mike frowned. “I did? Oh. Well, sucks to be you then!” He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Billie heard a lock being slid shut, a padlock being placed, a few loud hammering sounds, something that sounded like a grand piano being dragged in front of the door, and a full symphony playing Mozart’s Third.
The disgruntled rock star pulled his vision away from the door, and stared down at the seductive pile of cocaine. He took a deep breath, and muttered to himself: “I don’t need it.”
The premium drug tantalized him. It agonized Billie Joe as he stared into it, the glorious drug that he needed to live. His ears were watering, his eyes were sandpapery, and his throat was pounding.
Billie Joe Armstrong truly was in a rough spot. So, he called upon the wisdom of his favorite cartoon to help himself get through this horrible ordeal.
“I don’t need it,” he told himself, licking his lips. If Spongebob could get away with not needing any water in Sandy’s house, he could get away with not needing cocaine.
“I don’t need it.” A bead of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“I don’t need it.” The bead of sweat slowly began to travel down Billie’s forehead.
“I don’t need it.” The sweat bead slid into Billie’s eye, making it slightly less sandpapery.
“I don’t need it.” Billie Joe then began to recollect just how that one particular episode of Spongebob ended up ending.
“I NEED IT!” The rock star smashed his face into the pile of cocaine, inhaling like there was no tomorrow. A small moth that had the misfortune to be in the cyclone zone was inhaled by Billie’s mighty nostrils, never to been seen again.
The door opened with a click. “Just kidding, Billie!” Mike said cheerfully. “You can come out now— oh god dammit.”
Billie Joe Armstrong was floating down a river of good cocaine feels. Feeling as though his entire life had finally achieved meaning, he soared through the grand open sky of emotion and feeling, observing the floral print background as his body moved through space.
Now, you may be saying “But wait! Cocaine isn’t a hallucinogen!”. Well, my friends, shut up. It’s rude to interrupt someone while they are telling you a story.
Below Billie, in the infinite wonder of his happy land, lay a small planet encased in a small box. He fell through the air, and landed on the top of the box. Producing a guitar from thin air, he smashed it against the box, where it shattered, and he fell into the surface of the planet below in a shower of glowing rainbow glass.
Landing on the ground with a hard splaf, Billie Joe pulled himself from out of the dirt. Looking around, he concluded that he had finally lost it, as there was a tiny cartoon pony sitting in front of him.
“What in the hay are you?” the tiny equine said, making an annoying horse pun in a southern accent.
“I’m Billie Joe Fucking Armstrong,” Billie Joe Fucking Armstrong said. “What the hell are you?”
“I’m Apple Bloom,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah live near here, Ah was just out looking for my sister. What are you doing?”
“I fell from the sky after consuming large amounts of drugs,” Billie Joe explained. “It was pretty fucking sweet.”
“Oh,” Apple Bloom said, somewhat uninterested in this. “That’s neat, I suppose.”
“So, where am I?” asked the Green Day frontman.
“You’re near Ponyville, of course,” Apple Bloom explained. “Which is in Equestria.”
“Sounds gay as fuck,” Billie Joe said crassly. “I’m from America, but I wish I wasn’t. They’re pretty much all idiots there.”
“Really?” asked Apple Bloom.
“Well, except for St. Jimmy and the Jesus of Suburbia and Ol’ Whatsername...” Billie said confusingly. “You know what, it’ll all make sense if you listen to my album, American Idiot.” Billie pulled out his iPod, which contained all of Green Day’s music and one abba song. Clicking on “American Idiot”, he and the small yellow pony listened to the album together.
57 minutes later, the album ended, and Billie turned his iPod off. “So, what did you think?”
“That was terrible,” Apple Bloom said honestly.
“What?” Billie was completely confused. No one had ever insulted his music before, at least as well as he could remember. “Wait, the album will make more sense if you listen to 21st Century Breakdown, the part two to it.”
70 minutes later, Billie Joe turned off his iPod once more. “There, what do you think of it now?”
“It was still awful.”
Billie Joe continued to wear his befuddled look, before finally reaching a conclusion. “Ah, you must have retardism. My apologies.”
The pony sighed, and flopped down into Billie Joe’s lap. The sudden pressure caused Billie to feel somewhat uncomfortable, and fire synapses in his brain that he would have prefered stay unfired.
“Ooh, what’s this?” Apple Bloom asked, and hurriedly began removing Billie Joe’s pants to free the hard-on trapped inside.
“Woah, the fuck,” Billie Joe said. “I don’t do little ponies. Weren’t you listening to American Idiot, specifically ‘Homecoming?’ I explicitly stated that I got a rock n roll girlfriend and another ex-wife! There’s no room for you.”
“Ah ain’t got anything better to do,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah’ve literally tried everything else to get my cutie mark!”
“The fuck is a...” Billie Joe started to say, but then came to the realization that he didn’t give a shit. “Alright fine, but make it quick.”
Apple Bloom nodded, and the pulled down the rock star’s boxers, which had tiny replicas of Billie Joe’s face printed on them, and took a look at the rod she would be riding. It wasn’t the biggest around, but it wasn’t that small either. Looked around average, and her friend Twist said that average was best for the first time, so...
Apple Bloom crawled up Billie Joe’s chest, and hovered her cooter right above the head of his penis. Gently, she lowered herself downward, feeling the head slowly enter. She had experimented before with phallus shaped objects, but had never went deep enough to break her hymen, so the slow descent was stopped by the thin barrier.
“Fuck, this isn’t any good, guess you have to get off now,” Billie Joe said, “Nice while it lasted. Well, bye!”
“Nope,” Apple Bloom said, bracing herself as she pushed downward quickly, and winced as her hymen tore. A small trickle of blood leaked from her pussy, but other then that, everything was ready for go-time.
“Wait, don’t horses not have hymens?” Billie Joe said, recalling a fact he had read after stealing a book about horses from a little girl.
Apple Bloom ignored this, and thrusted downward. Billie Joe made a rather feminine noise, and Apple Bloom sighed in contentment.
This process repeated itself in a rather boring way that serves no purpose in describing. Eventually, however, this pattern of noises coming from them managed to work its way into a harmony of sorts, and since all the animals in Equestria are of the same species of those found in distributing large amounts in Disney Movies, they began to create a song out of it. A nearby pervert who was watching the sex taped the resulting song, and sold it to Canterlot Radiowaves, going double platinum and earning millions. However, this story is not about that, although it would probably be way more interesting if it were.
Back to the sex. The revolting, monotone sex. After being completely uninteresting and viginy, Apple Bloom finally managed to coax a small orgasm from Billie Joe. Apple Bloom slid off of his dick, and landed on the ground, panting.
“Wow, that was.. sex?” Apple Bloom said. “That was kinda weird.”
Billie Joe just stared down at the pony below him. He was beginning to feel... emotion for this little pony. I mean, one can’t just have really mediocre sex with a minor without falling at least partially in love with them.
“Oh, Apple-Sama...” Billie Joe said, his eyes shining in an anime-like light, leaning in slowly to get a kiss. He closed his eyes, ready for it...
“Oh god, Billie, what the fuck are you doing?”
Billie opened his eyes, and saw that Apple Bloom’s head had been replaced with Mike’s. What was that faggot doing here? Trying to steal Apple bloom from him? God, what a poser.
“Billie!” Billie blinked once more, and found that he was laying on the carpet of the room in which he had first consumed the cocaine. His pants were missing, and his dick was slimey. Looking down, he saw that a toad was fellating him. Too lazy to remove it, he looked up, and saw Mike staring down at him.
“God dammit, man!” Mike yelled. “You can’t even go three minutes without it? Fuck, that wasn’t even cocaine, it was just some sugar!”
Billie gazed up into Mike’s eyes, tears beginning to form in the frontman’s observation orbs. “Did you know that small ponies in a different dimension don’t like my music?”
“What the fuck are you— wait, don’t you mean ‘our’ music?” Mike asked.
Billie Joe laughed pretentiously. “Pretty sure I’m the only one who ever made any music out of us three. Hell, most of the fans don’t even know your name, and I don’t even know the name of that fag who plays bass.”
Mike ground his teeth. “I’m the bassist.”
Billie Joe looked genuinely surprised. “What? I thought you played drums!”
“Fuck you, Billie.”
