I live my life, one day at a time. Most of the idiots in my town live life three days at a time, morons. I choose to take life by the horns and ride it like a bull, only worrying about the scratches and bruises that I get each time I mount it. Living life one day at a time meant making the most of what I had, and that wasn't much.

Where I live, my job, and my lack of sufficient amounts of friends all attributed to the lack of substance that marked each day that I so sorrowfully trudged through. Get my shoes muddy walking through puddles just to get to work, be greeted by fake smiles and insincere compliments, enjoy the scenery of the rundown neighborhood that surrounds me, and then go back home and wait for it all to happen again. Sometimes I actually wished I could go bull riding instead of living my dull life one day at a time. I worked at a fast food joint, dishing out artificial meat and fries covered in enough salt to make a colony of slugs beg for mercy. I knew the regulars, much too well at that. There wasn't much else to do at my minimum wage job, I hated all my coworkers. They just stared at me, shooting compliments whenever appropriate just to seem agreeable, and acting as though having a job at a fast food joint wasn't the result of dropping out of college. I wasn't a dropout, I was just dumb.

I guess I can't put all the blame on myself, my parents were awful influences. They always said,"When you grow up, I hope you drop out of high school."

What kind of advice was that? It got to my head, and eventually when I got to college I didn't care enough about school to bother with grades or an education. I was just there for the booze and the girls, but I didn't drink any alcohol because I feared blacking out and I didn't get any girls because they don't appreciate my skewed intellect and stellar personality.

I say skewed intellect because as much as I didn't care for the education opportunities that college presented to me, I was an undiscovered genius. I knew everything pointless there was to know, and I was proud of it. Who needs math anyway, you never used it in the real world. I spent my college days ignoring the professor and drawing in my notebook, solving the enigmas of the world and theorizing about ways I could invent something or propose a thesis that would gain me the recognition that my genius deserved.

I pretty much lived alone, pets take way too much work and I'm too lazy to bother to take care of one. Most of my evenings were spent watching the television to see if anything good was finally being produced, flipping aimlessly through the channels looking for some unknown show. Sometimes I found a show, and sometimes I didn't. Such is the way of life. I surfed the web often, browsing popular forums and other websites that appealed to me. I made sandwiches with only one slice of bread, because that's how you do it.

My life was dull. So normal, in fact, that I could literally be ANYONE. I lack any sort of personality. If I was to write a autobiography, almost anyone would fit the description I could give of myself.

There was, however, one thing that brought my gray, mundane life out from the dumps. After work, almost every day, I visited a specific alleyway. It was littered with magazines and ripped papers, stray plastic bags from the supermarket, and puddles of liquid that I could only hope were water. It just smelled like AIDS. Needless to say, nobody but me went into that alleyway. It wasn't like there were many other people around the area that would raise the possibility. My neighborhood was small, on the edge of being run into the ground. Many people had either moved somewhere else or died.

But in this alleyway was my one gateway into happiness, my one release from the humdrum life I led. Drugs. I kept a stash of drugs in a small cardboard box that I hid behind a dumpster. Nobody knew about my stash, and I wasn't counting on anybody to find out any time soon. My friends were oblivious too; I was the only one who knew about the stash. I had been adding to it for years, occasionally making a withdrawal on a particularly bad day, and it had grown over time. I called it "my little stashie," mostly because it was a small stash of drugs, and it was all mine.

Today, at the fast food joint, I was feeling particularly down in the dumps. I had woken up a little late for work, forcing me to rush out of the house and throw on the first pair of pants that looked me in the eyes. The ones I picked up had a hole in the back. I wasn't even sure why I still owned them. Needless to say my coworkers got a big laugh out of that, with insults like,"Hey, is that where your boyfriend's dick goes in?"

I ignored them, they were worthless to me anyway. All my job required me to do was make burgers for the lowlifes who, for a reason I couldn't identify, bought the obeseifying junk that our establishment made. Work seemed to go on forever, and every time I shot a glance to the clock it would only have moved two or three minutes, even though I was positive I had been there for at least five solid hours. I almost singed my hand twice while making burgers and staring at the clock, and somehow managed to botch up three orders.

The customers were never pleasant when that happened. It was never,"Oh, you messed up my order, could you please switch this out for the order that I placed, I think you mixed it up."

Instead it was always people who screamed insults at me, demanding that I give them the correct order. I would have to reluctantly make them another meal, and if they were particularly mean to me I'd leave out a condiment or spit in their burger. Not like anybody was watching me, or the boss really cared what people thought of the joint that I worked at. In such a rundown neighborhood business was slow anyway, and there wasn't nearly enough revenue coming in for the boss to care.

Work trudged on like it always did, and when the clock hit six I bolted out. I had dealt with enough that day, it was time to indulge. I rushed through the streets, avoiding the one or two cars that were actually driving around, and maneuvered my way through the faintly colored buildings and broken street signs. Eventually, I made it to the alleyway and slowed my pace. This was it.

Every time I visited my little stashie, it was an adventure. I liked to mix it up, try different types of drugs every time I found myself kneeling in front of the brown cardboard box and sifting through whatever I had thrown in there the days before. I got most of my drugs, or maybe I should call it "candy", from the dealer on the street across from the fast food "restaurant". It wasn't that much of a hassle to get the drugs from him, there were never any police around. I could walk up to him screaming,"WHAT DRUGS ARE YOU ILLEGALLY SELLING ME TODAY?" and nobody would bat an eyelash.

I liked to save everything, be it money, drugs, paper, toasters, saving things was basically my hobby. But when the cardboard box was full, it was time to make some more room. I had been saving drugs for the past week now, and the box was almost overflowing. It was time to get rid of some. The alleyway was dark, unidentified liquids dripping from the gutters above and hitting the ground with a splat. It was a normal alleyway, dumpsters to the side and all. The garbage men were lazy assholes and managed to get all the trash bags outside of the dumpsters rather than in them.

With a shake of my head and a deep breath, I was ready. I took gentle steps into the alleyway, approaching cautiously and looking from side to side. I kept low, pulling my jacket next to my head so that I could keep my identity safe and make a run for it if anybody saw me going to my stash. Each step had to be careful, I didn't want to make too much noise and awaken the cranky old lady that lived in one of the buildings that formed the alleyway.

I chuckled and stood up straight, strolling to my stash while whistling. Nobody was going to see me, I was just messing around with the whole "stealth" thing. I pranced right over to the cardboard box. It was worn down from a few months of use, the edges were smushed and no longer sharp, and there were a couple of rips in the flaps. The box was closed, so it just looked like a normal, everyday cardboard box that had been abandoned in an alleyway. One of my biggest fears was that a hobo would come and steal all my drugs and make the box his new home, but there weren't any hobos around.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up into the sky and then back at the box. There it was, my little stashie, all nice and brown and box-ish. I smiled wide, kneeling down and reaching for one of the flaps.

I pulled it open.

"What the hell is this."

I looked into the box, blinking multiple times to make sure I wasn't already tripping and what I saw was real. Sure enough, the image didn't disappear. Sleeping inside the cardboard box was some messed up dog, or... or some sort of animal. The owner must have been an asshat because the thing's hair was all brightly rainbow colored, and the body was an unnaturally bright shade of sky blue. Something only spray paint and abuse could do.

I didn't know what to do. It just sat there, its eyes closed and its chest rising and falling. Picking the thing up meant risking getting bitten, and anything could have rabies now-a-days. I tried to look past it. My face fell into sheer horror, and I had to struggle to stifle the cuss words and blood-curdling death cries that welled up inside of me. All that remained in the box were the remnants of what had once been a pile of the best drugs four dollars and thirty four cents could buy. All of it was gone. Either the little dog thing had eaten all of them, or it had done all of them, and eating sounded more likely.

How is this thing not dead yet. All of my drugs, gone. I felt fury build up inside of me, and with total disregard for rabies I turned over the box and dumped out the dog thing.

"Shoo!" I yelled, waving my hand at it. Like most startled animals, the thing shook its head and made a quick survey of its surroundings, blinking multiple times. I yelled at it some more, only wanting for it to go away as soon as possible lest I unleash the anger that built up inside of me.

It didn't budge, it just stared at me with its wide eyes. In fact, its eyes were enormous, gargantuan, unnatural. They would be the size of dinner plates on a larger scale. I stared back. Maybe some scientists screwed up an experiment and mixed an ostrich with a dog, and then gave it to some homeless man with lots of spray paint.

The logic was undeniable, there were plenty of mad scientists in my area, and plenty of hobos who loved to spray paint things the colors of the rainbow. The thing had a pretty big tail and long legs for its size, so I added a donkey or a horse to the list of animals that had to be morphed together. It also had wings, but the ostrich covered that.

It looked pretty cold in the brisk city air. It was shivering and whimpering. I sighed, my moral compass going off like crazy.

"I hate doing the morally right thing," I muttered, picking up the creature. Surprisingly it didn't fight back. It just laid in my arms and snuggled up against my jacket. I was prepared to to wrangle with it and get all Steve Irwin on it, wrestling it to the ground until it couldn't fight back anymore and then teabag it in a flurry of victory.

Sadly that did not happen, and I dropped my guard as it nuzzled my chest, curling itself up into a ball in my arms. It was damn cute for a messed up science experiment spray painted by a homeless man with an affinity for bright colors and the rainbow. It wasn't long before we reached my house, the thing still sleeping while I struggled to walk without both my arms. I probably looked like a complete idiot, but then again I was holding a brightly colored science experiment, so looking like a complete weirdo was already in the bag, adding idiot to it didn't really change anything.

Using one hand while cradling the thing in the other, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. The warm air of my dingy little house swept over me. I walked in and tossed the thing onto the couch. It was startled for a second but just went right back to sleeping, curling up on my couch. I figured it was born house-trained or something.

My house consisted of three rooms: the kitchen, the living room, and my bedroom. In the living room I had the TV, the couch, and a couple chairs. That room was coupled with kitchen, which was garnished with a stove and an oven, along with a microwave and a counter that housed a plethora of cabinets along with another island in the middle. My bedroom consisted of a small bed and a wooden desk that sported one lamp, my laptop, and nothing else, save a couple of pens, pencils, and paper. It was the most frugal living quarters possible, and was basically all I could afford.

I walked up to my laptop and flipped it open, the screen lighting up and showing me my previous activities on the web. I closed out of Facebook and Twitter and x'ed out of all my porn tabs. I opened up Google Chrome and went straight to Craigslist. Whipping out my phone from my pocket, I ran into the living room, snapped a picture of the dog-horse-bird and emailed it to myself. I ran back into my bedroom. Within five minutes the animal thing was up for sale.

I didn't know what to expect, I was bargaining for about seven dollars, maybe more. There was a noise from the kitchen.

The thing was up and about, it was rummaging through the kitchen, grabbing at cabinet handles with its mouth and pulling them open. I rubbed my eyes with one hand and walked toward it.

"Come here... thing." I reached out for it, but it jumped away, its small, mutant wings fluttering. It was obviously off-balance, crashing into things and falling over when it walked.

Must be the drugs.

I let the thing have its fun, watching it jump from the counter in the middle of the kitchen to the one lining the sides, and with each successful jump puffing out its chest with pride. I rolled my eyes and went into the living room. Personalities bored me. The TV screen flashed on and I sat onto the couch, remote control in hand. I flipped through the channels looking for something worthy of my time. Like always, there was nothing.

After wasting a good hour watching the television flash colors into my pupils, I walked back into my bedroom to check my computer. Without even thinking, I went to my email.

My mind exploded, there were four hundred new emails in my inbox, and more were coming by the moment. I clicked on random ones, reading the contents aloud.

The first one said: "OMG IS THAT REALLY RAINBOW DASH? IS IT REAL?"

I clicked on another one. "Nice plushie, looks realistic."

They kept on coming.

"I'll give you four hundred dollars for Rainbow Dash."

"I'll give you seven thousand dollars for Rainbow Dash if that is real."

"My house and car keys are yours for Rainbow Dash."

I kept reading through the emails, hundreds of offers for this "Rainbow Dash". I pulled up Google images and typed it in. There was a moment where my eyes almost blew out like a light bulb, but I forced myself to look at all the colors and rainbows. Sure enough, the little dog-horse-bird thing that was portrayed in every single picture. It was creepy. She was drawn hundreds of different ways by hundreds of different artists. I clicked through the pages, one by one, my eyes taking in the colors.

"My eyes!" I screamed out, pushing myself away from the computer screen. I felt the colors eating away at my eyes, sucking away my manhood. I just couldn't handle it.

It was worse than I thought, the thing was famous. I slammed my laptop shut and walked into the kitchen. The thing, or "Rainbow Dash", was rolling around on the kitchen floor. I had to admit, the thing was adorable, nowhere near heart-exploding adorable, but still adorable. And weird. It was like the puppy from Candy Land, with wings attached.

There were pots and pans on the ground, and the cabinet doors were open. I grabbed Rainbow Dash and brought her into my bedroom where I could keep a close eye on her. I opened my computer screen, closing the current tab as soon as it came up.

I looked up the things name, and sure enough there was a wiki about it. There was a wiki for everything nowadays.

"Rainbow Dash, one of the pegasus characters from... My Little Pony?" I looked over at the thing. Sure enough it looked like a little pegasus.

I kept reading. "Lives in Equestria, blah blah blah, likes to fly, skip this part, element of loyalty."

The paragraphs just kept growing and growing. By the time that I was done with her page, I needed to find out who "Twilight Sparkle" and "Rarity" and all the other names that were mentioned were. Within an hour, I was engulfed in information about the show. I even knew the names of the supporting characters that didn't even matter at all.

Of course, "Rainbow Dash" was a fictional character, and the thing that was in my house was obviously not. It could be an elaborate joke that my friends were playing on me, but the wings looked legit.

I looked over at the bed, and sure enough Rainbow Dash was curled up into a ball and asleep. She looked so adorable like that; I could see why so many people were emailing me.

My stomach growled.

"It's hot pocket time." I strolled into the kitchen and whipped open my refrigerator, my hand flying into the fridge and out with the dexterity of a true champ. Inside my hand were the God-given gifts that were the peak of mankind's inventions: hot pockets.

I did a sweet spin and cracked open the box of hot pockets, shaking two out of the box. At this point I knew it was time. I no longer had control over my arm. It quickly found my ipod from within my pocket and started playing the only song that I had on it. With the music blaring and my hand wiggling to the music, I popped open the microwave door and tossed the hot pockets into it.

Unluckily for the hot pockets, they didn't land on the planned object.

I stared at Rainbow Dash, who was now asleep on my couch. It had never occurred to me that a baby pegasus wouldn't be... trained.

With two hot pockets ruined and a lot of napkins shot into the trash can, I still considered just tossing the entire microwave out. Keeping the little pegasus thing would be a lot of work, and I wasn't sure if it was even legal to keep pets that randomly appeared from other universes, especially imagined ones, without notifying the government or animal control.

I didn't have and friends I could ask to take care of it, and I had never had a dog before so I was pretty much clueless on how to own a pet. More importantly, I had no idea what to feed it. The wiki said the ponies of "ponyville", my manhood shivered at the word, said that the ponies ate apples and hay, along with different types of flowers.

What didn't make sense was that all my drugs were missing when I found the thing inside my box. There was no way that the pony ate all of the drugs, considering that I would have found it dead or nearing death. Then again, the thing was from a cartoon, and anything could happen in cartoons.

I tried to remember exactly what I had in the box, but gave up. I had a good assortment of drugs in that box, and drugs don't just turn into blue pegasi from a TV show. My mind connected the dots; Rainbow Dash must have eaten them.

Rainbow Dash was on drugs, some of them weren't even consumable. She didn't seem like she had from what I had seen, but then again, I was on the computer for most of the time she was prancing around my kitchen, and the only remnants of her little adventure was the surprise she left me in the microwave. Of course, that was what I thought. I checked the sink. It was clean. I checked the toaster. It was clean. I checked the fridge.

I had only a split second to react, and I didn't. Rainbow Dash jumped out of the fridge and latched onto my face like a parasite. I stumbled around the kitchen grasping at her and trying to tear her off my face. She didn't budge. After dancing around the kitchen for a few moments, Rainbow Dash sprung off of my face and jumped onto my toaster. She proceeded to fall off of it and onto the counter. I scooped her up, making sure to have an arm around her wings so she couldn't fly away, and brought her to the couch in front of the TV. I quickly turned on the TV, and sure enough, the cartoon that was displayed had lots of pretty colors. Rainbow Dash sat there, mesmerized by the colors.

After she had sat still for a couple minutes, I knew it was safe and walked away, leaving her to stare at the TV while the effects of the drugs wore off.

In fact, the TV worked so effectively at keeping Rainbow Dash busy that she spent the rest of the night in front of the TV, just staring at the screen. She probably wasn't even seeing what the TV showed, just wavy lines and other hallucinations. When it was bedtime, I picked her peaceful, limp body off of the couch and brought her to my bedroom. I didn't have anywhere for her to sleep, so I just laid her down in my bed and watched her curl up on the blanket. I flicked off of the lights and got into the bed myself, slipping under the blanket and resting my head on the pillow. There was a full moon that night. I felt myself drifting away, and could feel the light breaths Rainbow Dash took in her sleep brushing the back side of my head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There she is. I fidgeted on the park bench as she walks toward me. It was her, the girl of my dreams. She is beautiful in the starlight. I fix my collar and sit up straight. She walks over and sits down right next to me. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.

"Hey George," she says. I smile and try to respond, but no words come out. I just dumbly stare at her.

"I have something I want to ask you," she says. She puts her hand on mine. My heart stops. I can't stop smiling even if I want to.

She opens her mouth. The sound of pots and pans crashing on the ground comes out. I stare at her, the smile wiped from my face. She opens her mouth again and another crash comes out.

My eyes shoot open. I feel around myself and sure enough, I'm in my bed. There's another crash of pans from the kitchen. Reluctantly, I pull myself out of bed and walk over to the kitchen to see what exactly is going on. Sure enough, Rainbow Dash is rummaging through the cabinets and tossing metal pots all about.

"What are you doing," I ask.

"Looking for a damn pan, that's what," she responds. I walk over and push her pony ass aside, rummaging through the cabinet for less then a second and producing a perfectly clean pan.

"You woke me up," I say, hinting at my annoyance through my tone. She just stares up at me and laughs, as if my sleep means nothing to her. She takes the pan out of my hand and flies over to the stove, dropping the pan onto it. Then she flies for the fridge, grabbing the handle with her mouth and pulling it open. I make my way to the coffeemaker, still half asleep, and prepare some coffee for myself.

I watch as Rainbow Dash takes a carton of eggs out of the fridge and attempts to prepare one for herself. It takes her about ten minutes to even get the egg out of the carton without either breaking it or dropping it the second she grabs hold of it in her mouth. Finally, she is able to hold one in her mouth.

"Hey," I yell.

"What?" she responds instinctively. The egg is released from her mouth and smashes on the ground. I have a laughing fit for just a moment before the raging lump of blue pony is in my face, pushing me to the ground and wrestling me. We wrestle for a few moments and as always, I come out on top. I let her go and she sulks back to the stove, attempting to pick up another egg. My coffee finally finishes and I go to the kitchen table. A couple minutes and multiple sips later, Rainbow Dash joins me.

"Any luck finding a job?" she asks, smirking. She knows I haven't found a job yet, she just wants to rub it into my face. And as deeply as possible. Like get it into my pores and shit.

"No."

"Why not."

"Because you're a fucking pegasus and getting a job that doesn't consume my life so that I can watch over you is hard to find. Especially one that pays well."

"I'm, like, seventeen now, you can leave me home alone, I'll be fine."

"No. Not after what happened last time." I point toward our toaster to jog her memory. At least, where the toaster would have been, if we had one.

Leaving Rainbow Dash unattended at home was like asking for something to be destroyed when I got back. I stared at her, awaiting her response, or a new toaster. She provided neither. We ate our breakfasts like champions and I got ready for a day of interviews. I hadn't moved in seventeen years, and as the town got more broken, the jobs left, and so did mine. I had to look pretty far to find a new one, and with my budget there wasn't much of a chance that we could move anyway. Rainbow Dash is a high-maintenance pet. Some people have horses, some people have ponies, but I have a talking, walking, critically-thinking pegasus who thinks it's okay to fly around outside where the public could see her.

"Well good luck finding a job, George," she calls as I walked out the door.

"Good luck losing all that weight," I yell back. I chuckle as I slam the door shut, imagining Rainbow Dash looking down to make sure she wasn't actually obese. Although she acted like a guy, she was still female, and conscious of her weight. It was better for me that she acted like a guy, as I could never live with a froo-froo, girly girl type... pony...

The idea of it was still kind of mind-blowing. I hadn't put much thought into it, and I didn't really want to anyway. I figured if I pushed all the abnormalities of the situation to the side for the next thirty years or so the problem of keeping her in my house would just go away. By then we'd have teleportation and shit, so a flying, talking pony from a television show wouldn't be too much for people to handle.

"Excuse me sir."

I look up, my thoughts suddenly falling apart as I try to comprehend who is talking to me.

It's a police officer.

"Hello officer, can I help you."

He's just a standard, run-of-the-mill, police officer, wearing sunglasses even though it isn't sunny out.

"Yes, I was getting some complaints from your neighbors about your use of drugs."

"I don't have neighbors."

"Likely story, then I guess you wouldn't mind showing me around your house."

"Like I said, I don't have any neighbors and even if I did I don't have any drugs."

"Sure you don't boss, now come with me we'll have a little looksy."

I'm starting to get pissed off, but the law is the last thing I want to get involved with.

"No, you can't search my house, that's against the law, so have a nice day officer."

"Look bro," he says. His voice loses its authoritative tone. He pulls down his sunglasses and looks me directly in the eyes. "I know you have Rainbow Dash, bro, let me see her and I'll give you twenty bucks."

He pulls out a twenty and starts slipping it into my hand.

I roll my eyes. "If you want to see her that badly than you can. Just come into my house and I'll show you her." This wasn't the first time somebody approached me claiming to know that I have Rainbow Dash. I lead him to the door and open it.

"Rainbow Dash, we have a visitor," I yell. The police officer starts to get all sweaty and excited, obviously a brony. I had read all about bronies online, and sure enough every once in awhile they would track me down so they could get a look at Rainbow Dash. Of course, Rainbow Dash and I had made a secret code. Whenever I yell that we have a visitor, Rainbow Dash knows we're about to beat the living shit out of somebody and make sure he forgets all about the existence of her in the real world.

We stand at the doorway for about three seconds, me closing the door slowly so he doesn't. In all honesty, his enthusiasm about seeing Rainbow Dash is so full that I could have slammed the door and he wouldn't have noticed. Once the door is fully closed I call Rainbow Dash once again. This is the signal for attack mode.

Out of nowhere, Rainbow Dash zips out of my bedroom at mach 3, smashing into the police officer. She slams him into the ground and pounds her hoof into his stomach. She then bites his leg and takes his pistol out of his holster. She proceeds to beat him senseless, jabbing her hooves into every part of his body. I then grab the chloroform out of a nearby vase I keep near the door and put him to sleep. We proceed to pick him up once he is completely out and toss him into the basement, adjusting him onto the bed afterwards. After about a year of hard work, Rainbow Dash and I had built a tunnel that led out of our basement and all the way to the outskirts of town. Inside our basement was an old bed that the brony would wake up on. The rest solved itself, especially since we lock the basement door.

Three hours pass and we hear nothing of the police officer. Eventually, we start to hear a lot of groaning, a lot of banging on the basement door, which is reinforced, and then a lot of yelling. Rainbow Dash and I stay perfectly quiet, waiting for him to give up and go out the tunnel. Eventually it becomes silent so we come out of stealth mode and start to resume our lives.

The aftermath isn't of any concern, either. If he was to tell anybody, they'd call him crazy for saying that a multi-colored pegasus beat him up. And if he came back, we'd just beat the shit out of him again. No biggie. Most of them just thought it was a dream anyway.

After we are sure he is gone, I brush my hair once again and head out for job interviews.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a long day of searching for jobs to no avail, I open the door to my house and step in. Sure enough, Rainbow Dash is on the couch watching Jersey Shore with beer in her hooves. The beer reminds me that she's seventeen, but the 'her' reminds me that she's a cartoon character brought to life. I don't even say anything and walk right by, letting her enjoy the show. I open the fridge and all the beer is gone. My bad mood spirals into pure rage.

Trying to save the anger for later, I calmly call out to Rainbow Dash,"Yo Dash, can you come here for a second."

"Sure thing dad."

I stop breathing for a moment. "Did you just call me dad?" I ask as she comes out from the living room. She doesn't respond.

"Don't ever call me dad again. Understand?"

"Yes dad."

"Don't do this to me."

"Why does it bother you dad?" She starts to smirk. I hate it when she does this. She knows I hate being called "dad", and always calls me it to get on my nerves. I let it slide by.

"Where are all the drinks?"

"In ma' belly," she says, patting it with a hoof. I sigh and try to find an ample punishment, but I remember that I only had three left anyway, so I let it go.

"Just, don't do it again."

"Whatever dad, YOLO."

"What did you just say? Did you just say YOLO? Since when were you connected to the female preteen community of the world?"

"I got a twitter, dad."

"Okay, first off, stop calling me dad, second off, why do you have a twitter?"

"Because everybody else has one."

I almost face-palmed. "Do you even realize the dangers of having a twitter?"

"Er ma gurd dad, chill. Everybody will just think I'm some human pretending to be myself."

"Look, I want you off Twitter right now. Go delete your account." I watch as she reluctantly trots into the bedroom where my computer is and follow her. She pulls up her twitter page. I look at some of the things she has tweeted. To my surprise, or lack thereof, all her tweets were incomprehensible jumbles of letters.

"Hooves?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Carry on."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks went by without too much going on. I got a job at another fast food restaurant and was barely able to get by. My drug dealer died from overdose so there weren't any more drugs for Rainbow Dash and I.

At the end of the week, I walk home from a long day at work. I insert the key into the door and open it. Inside Rainbow Dash is on the couch, obviously high, watching Jersey Shore.

As I walk by I hear her voice. "I bet I could kick your ass at ping-pong."

I look over. I don't even own a ping-pong table. Of course, I don't turn down challenges. Without a response I walk out of the door and out into town. I look all over the place and find a ping-pong table. I purchase the thing like a champion and walk out of the store dragging the thing behind me. Luckily it has wheels. When I arrive back home I kick the door open and throw the ping-pong table into the living room.

"Saddle up, bitch," I say, whipping out a paddle from behind my back and tossing her one. She grabs it in her mouth and flies over to the table.

"I'm going to whoop you harder than you've ever been whooped before assnugget," she says through the paddle in her mouth. I can barely make out anything besides "assnugget" and prepare to serve. I swing my paddle, smashing the ball as hard as I can onto her side of the court. She returns it, her wings keeping her suspended in the air with their constant flapping.

We return volleys for a couple minutes, neither of us good enough at ping-pong to score. Finally, I get an idea. I toss the paddle at Rainbow Dash and nail her in the face. While she recovers I slam the ball with my hand and get the first point.

"You cheated!" she yells.

"You're a pegasus I can do what I want," I respond. She looks angry but doesn't say anything. We go back to playing and volley it back and forth. A couple volleys pass and she lightly taps it onto my side.

"Earthquake!" she yells. She quickly flies underneath the table and violently shakes it, causing the ping-pong ball to bounce around and make me miss.

"I see how it is," I say. We continue to play, throwing the paddle at each other and breaking all the rules of ping-pong. By the end I had a bloody nose, a cut arm, and a gash on my cheek. She only had a bruise on her forehead from getting the paddle thrown at her.

Needless to say, I won. Dash was so busy maiming me that she forgot to play, so it was easy points from then on.

But, because I won, Rainbow Dash became angry with me. She left the house with a defined slam of the door.

"Oh no," I say. "This must be the conflict."

I chase after her and we make amends. We laugh about our lives together and skip merrily back to my house.

"Oh boy, good thing I resolved the conflict," I say.

We enter the house like good pals and sit on the couch to watch some cartoons.

Just as our bond as friends was reaching it's peak, I hear a knock on the door.

"Oh, who could possibly be knocking at this most convenient moment where Rainbow Dash and my relationship is at the point where we are most connected."

I open the door and it's Celestia.

"Hello, I am here to take Rainbow Dash back. I know this may be hard for you but-"

"You don't have to take Rainbow Dash back," I say.

"Yes I do," Celestia responds.

"No. You can stay here on earth. With me."

She stares back at me. We hold our gazes for a moment and she looks as if she's about to say something but she doesn't.

And then we fucked the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr. George, could you come to the front of the class please.

I stand up and walk to the teacher.

"What can I help you with?" I ask.

"About your short story. I asked you to write a short story about a real life experience, and it needed to include a conflict, falling action, and resolution."

"What's the problem then?"

"Your story has none of those qualities."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Jones."

"Yes, well, unless you can turn in a different story in the next five minutes I'm afraid I'll have to fail you."

"Actually, I do have a different story. It's at my house but you'll have to come with me because it's five minutes away and making the round trip to hand it in would make the assignment late."

"Very well. Let's go then." Mr. Jones stands up and we walk to my house. I open the door.

"Rainbow Dash, we have a visitor!" I yell. Mr. Jones looks at me like I'm crazy, but the door is already closed. Rainbow Dash comes out of my bedroom and tackles Mr. Jones. I start to punch him in the face while Rainbow Dash literally eats his shirt.

"How's that for falling action, bitch."

We throw him into the basement and live happily ever after.

Celestia is knocks on the door and I say hi.

And then we fucked again the end.