Birb: Peep and the Cult of Bread (updated 9-30)

(AKA "My Autism on Proud Display")

Writing prompt:

and now I just want anon to wear a giant loaf of bread as a hat and cause all the birdpones to fear and worship him as a god

>Be Peep.
>For reasons that escape you, Anon is now wearing a hat made to look like a gargantuan loaf of bread.
>And it is the single most terrifying, yet awe-inspiring thing you've ever seen.
>"So, what do you think of my idea for a Nightmare Night costume? I was thinking of going as a--"
"MY LIFE FOR YOU! MY LIFE FOR YOU!" you scream, bowing and scraping. "Your will is mine, o bread lord! COMMAND ME!"
>Anon looks uncertain. "Uh..." he says intelligently. You understand your Lord is all-knowing, but may take time to formulate just the perfect response. "I...uh..."
>"I will bring all of bird-ponies to your worship, o lord from whom all the 7 grains flow! EVEN THAT BITCHY TITBIRD WHO HANGS OUT IN THE PARK!"
>He looks suitably impressed. Your heart swells with pride. He will set you first among his priestesses!
>"Uhhhh..'kay?"
>"Command me!" you beg. "Command me!"
>"Yeah, so...how about a can of soda? I'll just be...over here. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll be over here." He places himself near the kitchen door. Such wisdom, to locate near an exit. You will build his throne there if he wills it!
>With reverence, you open the door to the refrigerator and fetch the sacred can of ginger ale. You bring it to him with proper reverence, bowing low as you present it to Lord Anon.
>"All will bow, to my Bread Lord, He Who Walks Behind the Bakery! THIS WORLD WILL BE YOUR GRANARY!" you vow.
>"Uhh....'kay."

>be Anon.
>Be Anon, who Princess Twilight Sparkle is upset with for unwittingly founding a bird-pony religion because of your poor choice for Nightmare Night costume.
>How the hell were you supposed to know that they held bread in such high regard?
>Right now, said princess is at the door, hammering impatiently. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, ANONYMOUS! OPEN THE LUNA-DAMNED DOOR!"
>She COULD teleport in, but she's polite that way. Which is nice--oh, wait, there she is. Okay.
>"Hi, Twi," you say. "I was...uh, just coming out of the bathroom."
>"Don't 'hi, Twi' ME, buster," she snarls. She's holding a richly-robed Peep in her magic, along with a thick sheath of literature and several wooden signs.
>Peep smiles and waves sheepishly.
>"She's recruited half of the wild bird-pony population to distribute Anonymous Witness literature and pester ponies. The other half is building a giant golden temple to you ON MY FRONT LAWN!"
>"Twilight...okay, first, I didn't tell them to do that, and second, you DID tell them that they could use part of your front yard, remember?"
>"They said it was for an art project. NOT FOR A GIANT HOUSE OF WORSHIP! With penises, Anon! IT'S A CHURCH WITH GIANT STONE PENISES!"
>"Uh...those were supposed to be loaves of bread," says Peep.
>She presents one of the Anonymous Witnesses publications. How did they manage to throw together a newsletter so quickly?
>You look at the cover art, and while it DOES look like a loaf of bread, you could see how you could possibly mistake it for a penis if you were a little myopic.
>"The BAKERY: Announcing Anonymous' Kingdom." Beneath it were listings for articles like, "The Staling: What is it, and when will it come?" and "Baked Again: What Does it Mean?"
>"Uh...Twilight, have you ever had your vision checked?" you ask curiously.
>Twilight HMMPHS and disappears in a flash of light.

>Suddenly you hear ANOTHER knocking at your door.
>High Priestess Peep trailing along behind you, you cross your living room to the front door and open it.
>Lyra Heartstrings is sitting there in the rich brown-and -burgundy robes of the Anonymous Witnesses with a bag of literature and some cleaning products on the porch beside her.
>"Good morning, sir! Would you mind spending a few moments talking about our whole-grain lord and savior, Anony...oh. "
>Lyra looks at you curiously. "Wow, I didn't know this was your house," she says. "When did you move in here?"
>"Last year, remember? I hired you to play at my housewarming?"
>"Oh. Right. Small world, isn't it?" she laughs. "So, ummm...that makes this just a little bit awkward, doesn't it?"
>"Well...maybe just a little." You bend down. "I'm kind of curious, actually. How did you, like, get mixed up with...y'know..."
>OH! You mean why I converted?" she says. "Well, High Priestess Peep talked to me a few days ago, and at the time I was experiencing what you'd call a crisis of faith, I guess, and what she said made a lot of sense, so I joined up."
>She indicates the bag. "Also, we're doing multi-level marketing and she's my upline. I don't suppose you'd be interested in any cleaning products? They're all-natural!"
>"Thanks, but no," you say and start to close the door, but she stops you.
>"This may sound a little weird, but...can you tell me?" she says.
>"Tell you what?"
>She looks at you desperately and grabs your shoulders. "WHAT'S THE BAKERY LIKE? PLEASE TELL ME!"
>You rip yourself out of Lyra's grip and slam the door in her face. "PEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

>You stop.
>You stop, because there's a golden throne in your living room, where the recliner used to be. You got it from Rory's Recliners & Paper store in downtown Ponyville when you moved in.
>It was right across the street from Davenport's Quills & Sofas. Word was that Rory and Davenport absolutely hated each other.
>Most comfortable recliner you'd ever sat in though.
>You're pretty sure it wasn't a throne when you bought it and moved it in. Applejack had helped. Nice lady, you'd never had a friend who volunteered to help you move before. It was nice.
"Do you like it, o lord?" asks Peep. She's bowing to you in front of it. "I had it custom-made for you."
>"Uh...is that gold?"
>"24-karat, milord.'
>"And...emeralds?"
> "And jasper, chalcedony, sapphires and amethysts and-' You raise a hand before she can go any further and she obediently stops.
>"Ummm...okay, leaving aside any of the other 10,000 questions I have for the moment, HOW did you manage to afford...this?"
>"Temple tithings have been very generous lately," she says, looking just a bit smug.
>"Right. Didn't you build it like, two days ago? Stone penises included?"
>"Yesterday, milord. The faithful are VERY generous, praise be unto You," she says. "Also, our marketing division is most profitable. That was yesterday too." She looks even more smug, if that's even possible.
>You stare at your giant golden throne. It is, in fact, giant. You realize that the floor had to have been reinforced to hold it.
>Fuck it, drive on. You've got a throne now, you guess. You might as well sit on it.
>Not only does it recline, it's got a built-in back and neck massager, and it's self-heating.
>Mother of God.
"Did I do well, milord?" asks Peep, sitting at your feet beside you.
>What else can you say at this point but "yes?"

    >Might as well go with this, for as long as it lasts.
    >You remember the time you introduced the Sham-WOW to Equestria. It sold well for a little while, but the novelty eventually faded.
    >the Turnip-Twaddler fared much worse.
    >You gesture, and Peep flutters up on the arm of your new recliner-throne-thing. Gold recliner-throne. "So, uh...the bathroom?"
    >"Solid-gold bidet and self-heating toilet seat." she claps her hooves proudly. "Also, there's a Bengal tiger in your bedroom. Tame."
    >"Oh. Albino?
    >"Of course."
    >"Right. Of course it would be."
    >She pulls a manilla folder out of a pocket of her robe and hands it to you.
    >You look at it--apparently it's a temple financial statement for the quarter. Which is interesting, because as far as you knew, the quarter is like three days old.
    >You stare. "That's...a lot of zeroes."
    >Peep smiles. "ALL the zeroes, milord!"
    >"So, uh...there's a lot of bird-ponies, I take it."
    >"You should see what your new carriage looks like after I had it repainted!"
    >"Uh...I didn't have a new carriage."
    >She preens, hops up from the throne arm, flutters into the kitchen, and brings you back a hard lemonade on a silver tray.
    >Maybe having your own religion isn't so bad after all.

>Be Twilight Sparkle.
>A few days ago, the bird-ponies built what is essentially a massive megachurch on your front lawn.
>Granted, you'd told them they had permission, and that it was fine. Cultural outreach and all that.
>Peep had told you it was basically a giant art project. Which, technically, wasn't a lie.
>It was reasonably artistic. And you hadn't SPECIFIED it couldn't be made of brick and stone, and you still didn't know how they'd managed to get so much so fast, much less how they'd managed to build it in like a week.
>Peep had just muttered something about contract labor.
>It was even up to Equestrian building codes. You'd checked, with tape measure and disgruntled assistants Spike and Owowiscious.
>And no, Equestria had freedom of religion. You'd checked THAT, too. Just in case there was an angle there you could use to get them to go the hell away.
>granted, most ponies worshiped Celestia and Luna, but it wasn't written in stone or anything, and a few years ago, you'd even went to bat for that weird cult that worshiped semi-soft cheeses and durians.
>Not that you were obligated to allow the rites of the Limburger God to be conducted in the city limits, because you'd smelled that stuff and screw that.
>Or at least upwind of the town.
>But you'd finally resorted to going to Canterlot in person to beg Celestia for help personally.
>What you HADN'T been prepared for was several minutes of hysterical laughter, and a "Can't you lighten up JUST a little, Twi?"
>No, Princess, because their weird little doomsday bread-cult revolves around statues of stone dicks. DICKS, Princess!
>And yes, you knew they said the ones outside were supposed to be bread loaves. But bread loves didn't have a flare OR a preputial ring, and they had actual statues INSIDE that looked like bread.
>So the only sane explanation was that the little terrorists had had them made to look like penises out of sheer spite.

>You refused to believe High Priestess Peep's lies that those were actually the sacred Weeping Cheese Breads of St. Sorghum.
>Seriously...eww. Just eww.
>And the FINAL nail in the coffin...was that they had actually succeeded in converting some of Ponyville's more softheaded denizens to their religion.
>You could see some of them now, from the uppermost terraces of your tree-castle, where they were polishing Anonymous' new gold and silver carriage.
>He was out there now, sitting in front of his newly-renovated house in a throne wearing that ridiculous-looking crown-of-bread and holding a golden breadloaf scepter while two pegasi and two bird-ponies fanned him.
>You also weren't sure who those mares were who were mud-wrestling in front of him. Seriously, what in Tartarus happened to self-respect?
>He catches sight of you looking at him. he smiles and raises his drink. Peep waves.
>NGH. You slam the door and stalk back into your castle, your teeth grinding so hard you crack two of them.
>"Spike," you hiss. "Take a letter."
>He's sitting upside down in front of the sofa in the main sitting room, reading a comic. "Sure thing, Twi," he sighs. "Not like I haven't sent nineteen today alone. So what did the bird-ponies do today, make your hay fries too greasy? Just give me something different for number twenty."
>"I don't need the commentary," you snap. "Just...maybe if I do this enough, she'll eventually care enough to do something. ANYTHING. This is intolerable."
>"Has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, the princess is right and the problem is YOU here?" he says. "I mean, they're harmless. More or less. Except for the multi-level marketing thing, which isn't technically illegal..."
>You ignore the chatter. "Dear Princess Celestia: as of five minutes ago, Anonymous has corrupted several mares for licentious public displays--to wit, he's convinced them to mud-wrestle for his twisted pleasure..."

>"Twi...that isn't technically illegal, either.," he says.
>"...and I refuse to believe that he isn't exploiting them for his own nefarious purposes, or using some sort of mind-controlling magic. I mean, seriously...ugh."
>"He is. It's called 'money,'" says Spike. "I talked to him like an hour ago? He rented some strippers from HoJo's House of Mojitos. Look, they're legal adults, okay? Not everyone is a victim."
>You glare at him. Your number one assistant is collaborating with the enemy? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE.
>He shrugs and rolls his eyes. "C'mon, he borrowed my Daring Do omnibus last month. I went to get it back. We have the same taste in comics, okay?"
"Just...write...the damned...letter," you hiss.
>"Fiiiiine. Okay, there, nefarious purposes, mind-controlling magic, corruption of youth. There, anything else?"
>You stare at him. He sighs, blows, and the scroll disappears in a burst of green fire. Just like the last nineteen.
>"What makes you think she's even reading them at this--URRRP!"
>You both stare at the scroll for a few seconds. Okay, this was encouraging. Maybe she was finally beginning to take this seriously...
>Spike unrolls it and stares for several seconds before bursting out in lauighter. He falls to the floor, laughing like a hyena.
>You pick up the scroll and unroll it...

>You briefly have visions of sitting down to have a quiet talk with Anonymous and Peep both.
>Preferably in a place where no one can hear their screams.
>You dismiss them. Confound that...that...
>No. It had to be...maybe he had some sort of Svengali-like influence that was slowly spreading. Corrupting everything. Except why didn't it happen years ago?
>Discord? No, you'd spoken with him already today. He thought it was the most hilarious thing he'd seen in the last thousand years.
>Fluttershy vouched for him. You trusted Flutters implicitly, but...she DID have that habit of chasing Anonymous around trying to play "Guess the Fetish" for years. Maybe she'd been corrupted?
>Okay, you know you're reaching here.
>But at this point, you're left with a handful of ideas, none of which are palatable:
>(1) Nothing Anon was doing was actually against the law
>(2) Celestia wasn't doing anything to stop this nonsense, because she didn't care one way or another, or was actually taking some sort of twisted pleasure in your discomfort
>(3) At least a fair number of ponies were greedy whorses.
>Corollary to (3): at least a fair number of your fellow ponies were gullible nitwits to boot.
(4) Anything you did was going to make you look like a giant flankhole, other than nothing, and that wasn't acceptable.
>thanks to some sort of primitive religious response involving bread and hats and one human's unfortunate choice for a Nightmare Night costume, you...were...
>Your eyes widen. Religious...response.
>Suddenly, you understand what you have to do. "Fire," you murmur. "Fire."
>Spike looks at you. "Are we REALLY going to stoop to arson over THIS? Because I'm drawing a line right here--"
>You shake him. "NO! I mean...NO, I have it. CAKE! FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE! CAKE IS LIKE BREAD!"
>You run from the room. "Spike, find Pinkie, I need to know everything she knows about cake. And Rarity. I NEED HATS! Because WE'RE FOUNDING A RELIGION!"

>Rarity stares at the three of you.
>"Okay, I'm...let's see if I'm following your logic here, okay dear?" she says, slowly. "Just so we're clear."
>"Okay, that's fair enough.," you say.
>"You're...upset because the land you gave the bird ponies free and clear to use is now the site of a church and that your friend Anonymous accidentally founded a cult.'
>"Check, and check."
>"Right. Also, you can't do anything. Legally. Soooo...you're planning to start your own religion. Around...cakes."
>"Check, but also doughnuts. We're going to be ecumenical."
>"This is a journey I've been preparing for for my entire life," whispers Pinkie Pie, her voice hushed. Her eyes shine like stars. "It's like I've been waiting for this moment..."
>You worry that maybe, just maybe, the stress of this whole situation is taking its toll on your friend. You know the pink party pony isn't as good at handling crisis situations as you are.
>"Aaaaand...for some reason, you need me to make you a chapeau. Shaped like a cake of some sort..."
>"Because my religion will need a hat. I understand that. Bird ponies will respond best to a hat." Stated that way, it makes perfect sense to you. "And it has to look like cake--the biggest, grandest cake you can possibly imagine. Pinkie, show her the pictures."
>Pinkie whips out a very, very, VERY large book of designs from...somewhere, filled with what have to be thousands of different cakes of various sizes, shapes and constituents. She's been busy. Or, somehow...
>"Uhh...Pinkie, that's...an amazing collection. As if you--"
>"From the time I was a filly, I knew this day would come. Somehow, I always knew..."
>You're pretty sure you see a Klein Bottle-shaped cake in there somewhere.
>You also distinctly remember glimpsing the phrases "linear magnetic accelerator," antideuterium slush" and "non-baryonic matter" in there.
>"Right. So, you're founding a religion, based on cake hats," says Rarity.

>"YEEEEEEESSS!" you screech. What was so hard to get here? You'd already gone over this, what was the problem?
>Okay, I just wanted to be sure," she says. >"Excuse me for just one second."
>She turns to the door of her workshop and opens it. "Oh Sweetie Belle?" she calls out. "You remember that moment we talked about once? It's finally here."
>"Already got the special tea brewing," you hear her yell back. "Do you need the 'hug-me' jacket too?"
>"I'll, ah...let you know," she says. She closes the door and turns back to you.
>Spike nods at her frantically and mouths the word YES.
You nicker impatiently.
>"We've got no time for tea, and we HAVE to stop them from corrupting anymore ponies. We have to stop them NOW!" You levitate a very, very heavy bag of bits--probably half your castle's budget for the next six months, but this is important. IMPORTANT.
>"Here --if you need more, I can get it along with any materials you need. Just BUILD ME THE HAT. As soon as you can. And make ti as grand as you can."
>She stares at the bag, biting her lip. Finally she facehoofs and sighs. "Just...oh damn. Damn. Fine, just...let me see what I can do, dear. And...maybe we'll just hang onto just the amount needed for materials..."
>"And my High EPopt willl need one too," you say, pointing at Pinkie. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get busy writing some doctrine..."
>"Uh...what's an epopt?" Pinkie asks.
>Before she can ask anything else, you teleport away.

>You're Spike
>And you're knocking on Anon's door, because you figure that he deserves a heads-up over the coming insanity, at least
>Or, as you've come to call it, "Tuesday."
>He's kind of a bro, really.
>The door opens. "Oh, hey, Spike. Everything okay? Come on in."
>You come in and whistle. "I LIKE what you've done with this place," you say. And you do.
>The foyer is pretty much a work of art at this point. "Hey, fountains based on Aloe and Lotus. That's pretty much awesome, right there."
>He smiles. "Yeah, I paid them to pose. I've got a standing massage appointment with them. Hey, want a beer or something?"
>Two bird-pony acolytes flutter off to get the drink. You wave them off, a little sadly.
>"Thanks, bro-ham, but I can't stay very long. I've gotta get back Sperg Central--but..."
>"Ah, let me guess...Twi's doing The Thing."
again."
>"Yep. Level 4, this time. Over the church-thing." Neither of you have to specify what The Thing is by this point--you just have to specify the level. "And, as usual, somepony's going to have to be there for her when the inevitable backlash hits."
>You love the mare like your own mother--heck,she IS your mother--but you're also familiar with these fits of hers.
>You remember the want It/Need It fiasco
>Heck, you remember the time she read the phrase "The Sleeping Ones stir at Midnight" in some old tome and forced herself to stay awake for a month straight.
>Ooooooor, the weeks she spent trying to figure out how the Pinkie Sense worked
>Or the months spent trying to find her own place among the princesses.
>Ooooor, the six months after Anon's arrival spent trying to figure out what he was, where he came from and how to get him home, until she literally started shedding her mane out of stress.
>In each and every case, Twi went OCD batshit.
>Anon smiles, a little sadly. "She's lucky to have somepony like you, then."
>You bump fists.

>Be Apple--
>"Hi! Have you heard the good news about our Whole-Grain Lord and Savior, Anon--"
>SLAM.
>Be Apple-
>"HI-SIR-OR-MA'AM-WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUY ANY CLEANING PRODU--"
>PUNCH. SLAM.
>Be Apple--
>"Hi, I represent the Church of the One True Cake, would you like to donaAAAAYAAAAAAAHAAAAAHAAAA--"
>"EAT PEPPERSPRAY!'" SLAM.
>Oh fucking hell, you're Applejack, you're a good adherent of the Golden Sun
>not that you care what anyone else wants to buy, Tartarus-bound fools or not
>and you just want to get through the day without being pestered.
>That's all.
>Granny comes from the front porch chuckling. "Hey, we got anymore full fire extinguishers? Haven't had this much fun since th' Buffaler Migration of '06!"
>"Eeeeyup." Big Mac, bless his heart, comes out with two more. You don't mind, honestly, but you're running out of fire extinguishers.
>You look out the window. Sure enough, Lyra's chasing the Cake Cultists down the road with the "NO PEDDLERS/WE ALREADY GAVE/DON'T TREAD ON ME/I SWEAR ON CELESTIA'S TITS THAT I'LL FUCKING KILL ALL OF US IF YOU DON'T ALL GO AWAY" sign you hastily painted and put up.
>And it's on fire. Just like last time.
>Okay, she was always a couple apples short of a cobbler, but that's a little excessive, ain't it?
>Oh, wait, there's some sort of cake-shaped tank out there, and they're attacking it. "Look at 'em go!" shrieks Applebloom.
>Yeah, what bird-ponies can do to vehicles is nothing short of terrifying. What in tarnation do they feed them?

>You hear shouting from far down the road.
>"BREAD IS SUPREME! BREAD IS SUPERIOR!"
>"IT'S CAKE, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! SKY-CAKE!"
>"OH CELESTIA THE BEES! NOT THE BEES!
>"WAIT, THERE'S SKY-BREAD AND SKY-BAKLAVA AND SKY-COOKIES AND WHY THE HELL ARE WE FIGHTING???"
>"NAIL THAT ASSHOLE TO A FUCKIN' CROSS!"
>"WE'RE OUTTA NAILS--ALL WE'VE GOT IS HOT GLUE!"
>You stare. Then you hide Applebloom's eyes.
>The horror...the horror.
>The things a glue gun could do to pony fur were not meant for the eyes of young filllies.
>For the first time since this moronothon started you feel like you should be doing something, but what?
>Oh, good, the bird-ponies finally put Lyra out. That's nice, you guess.
>You don't really know who you should be supporting here, but it's sure nice to know that some ponies can still think on their feet. So to speak.
>"Hey, was Big Mac ever on fire?" Applebloom asks. "Because they did the same thing to put her out that I saw you doing back in March--"
>You shove a hoof in her mouth, laughing nervously and looking at Granny. "Here's twenty bits--why dontcha get yer little friends and go see a movie? Maybe that new pirate movie playin' at the Rialto?"
>"But this is a school night--"
>You throw twenty more at her. "NO SCHOOL TOMORROW!"
>"Uh...okaaaaay." She trots off, and you hear the back door open and close.

>Right now, you know exactly what you need to clear your head.
>Focus your thoughts.
>You head outside for a couple of hours of applebucking! A little hard work has always done you wonders!
>You've never really understood why other ponies don't get a thrill out of work that you do.
>Or apples, because those are...buckin' awesome.
>You know for a fact that apples from an Apple's farm saved Ponyville from starvation during the famines of the age of Tirek, the blizzard of '09, and the parasprite invsasion of..
>Okay, that one never happened.
>But it COULD have, and that was the whole point, wasn't it?
>Even if it had, the Apples and their apples would have been there to save their flanks.
>(Yeah, they grew other things besides apples, but dammit, apples are so IMPORTANT).
>Basically you need to think this thing through.
>An afternoon spent bucking apples seems like just the ticket to clear your head and focus on what really mattered.
>Namely, apples.
>The spa twins called it "Active Meditation" or some such hooey.
>You just called it "work."
>THWACK. And another tree gives up its precious gift of fruit.
>You've been around Anonymous. A nice-enough guy, even if he did come off as a little weird-looking at first.
>And a meat-eater. Which was...a little peculiar
>Okay, VERY peculiar.
>You remembered what he'd told Applebloom when that part of his nature got out--"Food that talks isn't food."
>Which was reassuring, you guess.
>THWACK
>Didn't think the consarned critter would go and start his own religion. Around BREAD. I mean, what the HELL, man?
>Apples were way better than bread.
>THWACK
>And your best friend? Well, one of them, anyway.
>She has to go and start her OWN cult.
>Hats? Seriously? That's more Rarity's thing, right? Or Pinkie's, since they've got this cake-theme going.
>You could see Pinkie forming a cult. Probably around parties. You liked her and all, but that girl just wasn't right.
>THWACK.

>THWACK.
>Yeah, that's the ticket.
>MOAR APPLES. Can you buck all these buckin' apples?
>YOU BUCKIN' BET I CAN.
>Watch me put a lil' English on this one!
>THWACK!
>Ever see apples fall at a 45 degree angle? I think not.
>THWACK.
>I'm PONY LEE, watch me put some NEIGHPON NATUREHOOF into this one!
>"HIYAAA!" THWACK!
>"I KNOW KUNG FU!" THWACK!
>"Damn I'm good!' THWACK.
>You've done half of this orchard. That's...a lot of apples. At this point, if apples were bits, you'd...well, you'd have a lot of bits.
>Yeah, that seemed a lot more profound in your head. You could probably have done better.
>What would you do with those bits?
>Buy more apples, probably. So you could plant more trees. So you could buck more apples. So you could get more bits.
>It's a vicious cycle, really.
>THWACK.
>Because first, you get the apples...
>Then you gets the powah...
>Then you gets the SHTALLIONS..
>THWACK.
>Before you know it, you're at Madame Stumpy. She's old, but damn she's reliable.
>You've mended her a hundred times, and she's older than Granny.
>Probably the oldest tree in Ponyville, maybe even the oldest tree on the continent. You've got a special touch with her though.
>She's certainly the biggest. You could build a town in her branches, and some of her lowest branches are as big around as your barn.
>Half your stock came from her progeny.
>THWACK.
>Predictably, nothing happened. She's a stubborn old biddy.
>Sometimes, she just needed a couple good whacks to bring out her best, and she's got the best-tasting stock in all the western orchards .
>Tough love. That's all she needs.
>THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK.
>THUD.

>Be Buff Butt,
>You're an Elephant Bird pone
>You're not much of a flier. Actually, scratch that, you're not a flier. Like, at all.
>It's just not your thing, man.
>You can climb okay though.
>And, of course, you'd thought that that really big apple tree in the field looked like an awesome place to hang out for a while.
>Maybe toke up a little. You had that baggie of dank-ass herb you'd bought off that bitchin' babe zebra in the forest. And the 'shrooms.
>Nice legs on her. They went all the way up.
>She was really nice too. And hot.
>So you climbed the tree, lots of cool stuff up there when you inevitably got the munchies.
>Apples n' stuff. You liked apples. And sour cream and onion potato chips.
>You had some with you. And some beer.
>You ate half of your dried shrooms. Smoked half of your herb. The tree started talking, which was pretty normal.
>You had a good conversation. Couldn't remember half of it, but what you DID remember, oh MAN.
>You dozed off, and you had some dank-ass dreams. Then you had the one where you dreamed you were falling--oh, there you are on the ground, that wasn't a dream, was it?
>Whuzzat? Something under your flank.
>You roll off the lump there. Oh, yeah, its' onna dem little pones. Cute lil' bugger.
>She's got an apple on her butt.
>You shake her just a little bit. She's still out cold, just drooling away.
>A thought, cold and lonely, wanders through your head in search of something to connect with.
>All you can remember is something the tree said about frogs. Fukken frogs, man. That shit was WILD.
>Maybe you need to call somepony? Oh, okay, she's breathing. That's good, right? Ponies did that. that seemed important. You did that too, so it was probably important.
>You need to do something here.
>Hmm...you look at your stash, A good ten grams or so of dried shrooms left. Primo shit, man.
>Ehh...what the hell.
>You empty the whole bag over in her mouth.

>If that shit don't fix it, it ain't something that can be fixed.
>Oh yeah, your bong was still...yeah. You light it up and inhale. Oh maaaaaaaaaaaaaan...
>You apologize to both the tree and the dinosaur gunslingers who just showed up. >"Yeah, tryin'...tryin' to help my friend here. Dunno who she is, man. Like I tell my ol' lady, I hope y' dog gits the sugar-shits all over y' carpet..."
>"It's okay," says the swiss cheese. "Happens to me all the time."
>"Man, I dunno where to start or where to begin, man..."
>You feel like you're forgetting something.
>Probably nothing really important. You walk off into the woods talking to your swiss cheese friend. It's gonna be pretty cool when the rush finally hits.
>You'll think of it later, probably.

>Be applejack
>Be appel jack
>Be apple jack
>Be jack appel
>Be jack apple
>Be jack pepla
>Be jackal pep
>Be jalap peck
>Be jape plack
>Be peck jalap
>Be pep jackal
>Be pepla jack
>Be plack jape
>Be apple..
>...and you've seen God
>Be jack...
>And she's an apple. You knew it. You always knew it.
>Apple is LOVE.
>And Apple is in you and you are in Her and both of you are in each other, forever.
>And suddenly, you understand exactly what you must do. What must be done.

>be Applebloom.
>You're pretty sure Applejack isn't dead, but you're also pretty sure that things aren't quite right in the Kingdom of Apple either, since the three of you have been poking her with a stick for an hour and a half now and nothing appears to be happening.
>Well, two. Sweetie Belle's gone to find some help. Or something. You're not really clear on that point.
>"Is she dead?" Scootaloo asks. Again. You swat her.
>"She's NOT dead. Dead ponies don't spasm and drool," you point out. "Unless they're zomponies. And I don't think she's a zompony, since she hasn't started trying to eat our brains yet."
>"She'd probably starve with you two around, anyway," said Sweetie, coming up behind them. She opens the saddlebag and starts pulling out items. "I take it she hasn't snapped out of it yet."
>"Nope, nothin' yet," you say.
>Sweetie holds up a rod. "Uh....we don't need a lightsaber," says Scoots. "We want to wake her up, not kill her."
>Sweetie's face scrunches into an expression of disgust, and she presses a switch on the side of the thing with her magic. A loud vibrating hum fills the orchard.
>the three of you stare at it in some fascination. "Well, I once overheard Sis telling Fluttershy that this woke her up pretty quick," she said.
>"Okay, I...don't know how that's goin' to help us here," you say. You make a mental note to have a closer look at that thing later, because reasons. "What else ya got?"
>She pulls out a tennis racket. "Not sure how sports equipment helps us either," says Scoots.
>"It's not a tennis racket. It's one of those portable bug zappers Anon was selling a couple of years ago, remember? I made some modifications. See, I remember reading in one of his books that you could use electricity to jolt people with brain damage. Or something..."
>"Let's test it first," you say.

>"Yeah, let's see..." you both spy a horsefly buzzing near an apple seedling near Madame Stumpy at the same time. "target...ACQUIRED!"
>Sweetie swings the bug zapper and it connects...
>BOOOOOOOOOM
>You pick yourselves up, spots dancing in front of your eyes. A bright fireball is arcing through the heavens toward Ponyville, and the racket is smoking.
>A few seconds later, you hear a distant explosion and then the Ponyville emergency sirens coming online. And barking dogs. A whole lot of barking dogs.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIos0ya-yss&list=PLhDrTix3j_BRny1IK3Gh-PfhELTHkTVwD&index=5 [Embed]
>the three of you stare at the zapper in surprise.
>"Soooo...uh...how did you say you modified that thing again?" Scoots asks.
>"K, full disclosure?  I didn't. I just sort of asked Time Turner if he'd have a look at it. He just mumbled something about homicidal pepperpots and worked on it for an hour," says Sweetie.
>"We're gonna get blamed for this. Somehow. I know it," mutters Scootaloo. You smack her.
>"I'm--not sure how explodin' my sister or settin' her on fire is going to help us here," you say, slowly. "So what else've you got there?"
>"Maybe we should just..pony up and call somepony?" Scootaloo suggests. "Y'know, like sane ponies?"
>You smack her.
>But before any of you can say anything else you hear a sound behind you.
>"...applesssss..."
>You whirl around. Applejack is sitting up in the depression you found her lying in--which bears an uncanny resemblance to a very, very large flank print.
>You know there's a lot of bird-ponies around Ponyville right now. Is it remotely possible that there's orca-ponies? Or elephant-ponies? Because...that was one humongous flank.
>One of her pupils is very large. The other is very, very small. Both eyes are incredibly bloodshot. She's still twitching and drooling, but she's obviously awake, so you've all got that going for you. None of you are medics, but it seems like being awake is probably a good sign.

>"Applesh....she mumbles. "Applesh...God..."
>She staggers out of the depression and onto her hooves. "Must...apples....tell...apples..." she says, her mouth moving. She collides head-first with a tree, turns around and starts in another direction. "I know, Mister Skunk," she says to thin air, "I'm kinda excited t-too. Cn' get some ice cream later though?"
>She pats her head. her hat is missing. She randomly grabs a nearby birds' nest that was lying on the ground and puts it on her head, then staggers off in the vague direction of the Apple family farmhouse.
>The baby birds in the nest seem less than concerned. Mama lights on the nest and after a moment of confusion, she proceeds to enjoy the ride. Still mumbling, she wanders out of sight.
>You pick up her slightly squashed hat. "She'll want this later, I bet," you say.
>In the distance, you hear more sirens and explosions. You look at the Sweetie's racket. "Yeah, maybe we need to keep that. Y'know, for safekeeping."
>"I was thinking the same thing. Wanna go see a movie?" she sticks the racket in her saddlebag.
"You know, maybe we should keep an eye on Applejack. She doesn't seem to be doing too well right now..." says Scootaloo, pointing at her.
>In the far distance, Applejack is having a screaming one-sided argument with a frog and a stump. They appear to reach some sort of accommodation. She attempts to shake the frog's hand with her hoof and proceeds slowly on her way home.
>You smack her.
>"She's fine, let's just go see that movie."
>You get out of there.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2CliA8PuRM

>Be Peep, High Priestess of Anon, Lord of All Bread.
>So far, your little cul-...err, growing religion--is going incredibly splendidly.  Mostly
>You feel as if you're actually giving something back to the community--and not just to bird pones, but to ponies of ALL races, colors and creeds
>Also, you're making some hella dank dosh in the process.  Which is nice.
>The MLM scheme was paying off dividends, and while a bit...well, overpriced...the cleaning products and snacks n' such you were selling were pretty nice.  Also, you prided yourself on quality.
>except for the lemon-scented cleaning fluid that somehow animated chocolate cake.  And dead bodies.  But mostly chocolate cake. It worked well otherwise.  Still, you probably needed to slap a warning on it or something.
>Bread--in more than one sense of the word--doesn't grow on trees.  At least not here, anyway.  One revelation or another ago, you DID see that bread trees grew at the Bakery
>Not everyone gets to see that.  Well, not at once.  You have to be Twice Baked for that.
>You wrote that one down.  Right after the parable of the chicken and the tennis ball, and right before the one about beating false prophets with a loaf of moldy rye bread and making them carry the Loaf of Shame around for a few days.
>You'd tried the rye thing yourself.  The moldy smell took days to get out of your feathers, and you don't even like rye bread that much, unless it's the dark rye stuff made with good molasses.  But you needed to know.
>In any event, that seemed like enough punishment for the Half Baked.  It was pretty severe overall.
>Lyra comes limping in, absent most of her hair.  She was a good acolyte, broke most of her quotas, and she was always upbeat.  Which annoyed you a little, but you were willing to overlook it, because damn was she a go-getter. >Seriously, the girl needed a promotion or something.

>You had to show her your collection of bread hat drawings, which might be nice for temple services.
>"Lyra Heartstrings, Baker 3, reporting, High Priestess Peep," she says formally and genuflects by the Stations of the Breadline.
>"We are all equal before the Great Baker and His Lord, Anon, my daughter," you say.  Which was more or less true because all ponies were equal, but some ponies were more equal than others.
>That's what that donkey had said to you yesterday at the market.  Yeah, that asshole was sooooo gonna get his house coated, since he "happened" live near a bird pone migration route.
>She bows once.  "I was captured by the Cake Cultists near the Apple Farm.  They..." she pauses.  Her chest hitches in a sob.  "THEY CRUCIFIED ME!  THE BASTARDS HUNG ME ON A CROSS! WITH HOT GLUE!" she bawls.
>Your jaw drops.
>Those....barbarians.  You pull her into an embrace, mindful of the smell of burned horsefur and glue sticks.
>You guess that they didnt' have nails.  Anon had told you about his old world's idea of what to do about prophets.  Granted that your only experience with humans was Anon, who was pretty awesome, but they really didn't seem to fuck around, did they?
>Figures that the damned Cakeists would stumble on the idea independently.
>"You escaped.  And You're safe now," you say soothingly.  "We'll get those blisters bandaged up, and then we can maybe find some wigs or something for you until your fur--"
>WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
>The floor beneath your hooves rattles as something nearby explodes.  Several of the stained-glass windows in the temple shatter inward under the force, and suddenly the air is filled with the noise of screams, barking dogs and the Ponyville emergency sirens.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkpHTJwUmgY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-m16sM2LAo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAVeUPEIKfs


>A fews seconds later, Tweet flies in.  "Mooooooom, the sonofabitches BLEW UP THE MEDIA ANNEX!"
>You and Lyra look at each other in horror.  "Okay, that's IT!" Lyra finally screeches.  "Sparkle is OFF my Hearth's Warming Eve card list!"

>Be Anon, prophet of...bread, you guess.  Peep actually knows more about the religion you accidentally started than you do at this point. You're going to need to sit down sometime and figure out exactly WHAT you stand for now, although she's been good about working general messages of peace, altruism and nonviolence into the thing
>So you bought out your neighbors.  They got waaaaaay more than the market value for their yards.
>Who knew the religion business was so lucrative?  And you honestly think that this has the potential to make pone lives better.
>Also, yourself, rich, because that's important here too.  As long as it wasn't too terribly difficult.
>Last you heard, Davenport was on vacay with his family in Manehattan, and you'd loaned him a condo for their use until they could find some local digs they liked.
>You were out playing polo with a group of ponies and a couple of servants when you heard the explosion and saw the fireball.
>Well, it would be more accurate to say you saw a blue-glowing fireball streaking across the sky in the direction of the Temple, then you saw a mushroom cloud, THEN you heard the explosion.
>Overall, the order of things seems to be irrelevant, since there was a gigantic explosion involved at some point, it probably involved the Temple, and that was the important thing to remember, really.
>Hopefully no one was hurt.
>And then a bird-pone runner flew up, to tell you what you'd pretty much already figured out--that about a third of the Temple had been blown into smithereens.  With, thankfully, no serious injuries, beyond something involing Lyra and glue
>Across from your new Polo lawn on the other side of the street, Twilight Sparkle is doing her "manic street preacher" routine.  Well, maybe it's not a routine.  She really IS that manic, generally.
>The alicorn princess is at a portable lectern, wearing an ornate pink robe with a pair of eyes on the back and a stylized FOREVER written beneath it, and on her head is a gargantuan, incredibly gaudy hat shaped like a gigantic wedding cake--nine levels, at least.  You haven't counted, and she seems to have several of them
>It looks like it's made of gold and silver, and good god it has to weigh a ton, judging by how hunched she looks.
>Apparently alicornization doesn't automatically increased neck and back muscle strength.
>She's delivering a screaming, spit-slobberin', fire-and-brimstone hell-and-damnation sermon about the evils of Bread, and the virtues of Cake.  Several ponies are nearby, holding "CELESTIA HATES BREAD" signs.
>there's a fair number of ponies, and even a few bird pones. Not many of them, but yeah, a few.  The pony with the rainbow hair waving a "Luna 3:16" sign is sort of familiar, but you can't place him.
>She stops when an earth pony comes running up and frantically tells her something, pointing in the same general direction of the Temple.  She looks stunned, but after a few seconds, she starts to laugh hysterically.
>You fume.  Okay.  This has gone waaaaay too fucking far.
>Several of her shitnoodle acolytes see you coming, and leap in front of you with signs or weapons based on cake designs of some sort.  You make eye contact with one of them.
>"A bundt cake?"
>"Yeah," she says, a dappled mare.  You vaguely recognize her.  "It's a Throwing Bundt. You know, for throwing.  I invented it."
>Now that you look at it, it does resemble a chakram. "Does it cut pony's heads off or something?"
>She blanches.  "Ewww...no, it just knocks them off their feet.  Maybe it knocks the wind out of them, you know?"
>"Yeah," you say, impressed.  It looks way more aerodynamic than the average cake.
>"I'm still trying to get it to come back," she says.  "I'm not sure if it's a design flaw, or maybe if I'm simply not using it right.  I need more practice with it."
>"That's pretty original.  it's really cool.  I've got some books on old weapons you can borrow if you want to try to figure it out," you say.
>She beams.  "Thanks!"
>One of her fellow cakeist acolytes smacks her across the head.  "Hey!"
>"No making nice with the enemy!" he snaps
>"Yeah, well, he brought me a casserole when I had the flu last winter," she snaps back.  "I can cut him a little slack!"
>You sigh.  "It's okay, guys, I just want to speak with Twilight Sperg--uh, Sparkle," you say.  "Who's, like, ten feet away."  And staring daggers at you the entire time. Seriously, could you aim those bitch-lights somewhere else? Jeez.
>"It's okay, guys," Sparkle says.  "Let him through."
>"Mighty decent of you," you say as you step up.  She twists her lip in distaste.  "Okay, I just got a message that half of my temple is on fire.  I don't suppose you might have had something to do with that, did you?"
>She cocks her head at you.  "That depends.  Do you know why three of my missionary teams are missing and two more were dragged back covered with guano and bludgeoned into unconscious?"
>You think.  "Nope.  can't say I know anything about that," you say, truthfully.  You decided as a general policy to know as little of what's going on around you as you possibly could a long time ago.  It really cut down on stress.
>"Then unless you'd like to apologize for the GIANT STONE DICKS around your temple--which is built on MY LAND--and provide me a timetable for their removal, then I'd say we have nothing further to discuss."  She goes back to screaming about heretics and cake, and ignores you entirely.
>Okay.  You turn around and head back across the road.
>When you arrive, Tweet is on the other side, with a few of your servants.  "My lord, that was dangerous.  What are your orders?"
>You draw them in close.  "First...we drink until the room spins."
>You think to yourself.  Yeah, that seems like a good place to start.  Every new endeavor needs a good foundation to start.
>"Then we figure out what to do about Queen Shit of Turd Mountain there, because this crap has gone way too far."

>Be Twilight Sparkle
>And you're watching half of the damned bird-pony's church burn to the ground while cackling like a lunatic
>...after making sure there were no deaths or serious injuries.
>Because you're better than them. You know it because you don't go around putting giant stone penises in other peoples' yards.  Or the new sculptures of St. Breadwicke defeating the Learnean Hydra, said monster bearing an amazing resemblance to you.
>You'd sat on your castle's observation deck with your jaw hanging around your fetlocks staring at the tacky display, until you'd finally screamed, "THAT'S NOT EVEN A REAL MYTH, YOU MORONS! THEY MADE IT UP LIKE LAST WEDNESDAY!"
>"AND IT DOESN'T EVEN LOOK LIKE ME!" you'd screamed, slamming the doors behind you.
>Sure they SAID St. breadwicke was taming it to ride, but it LOOKED like he was just rogering it
>With his lance, shaped like a giant stone dick.
>There was no way that it was coincidental.  No. Bucking. Way.
>Honestly, you don't hold Anon responsible for this.  You've met him, he's...nice.  A little gullible. He's a little slow upstairs, maybe, but then again, most ponies are.  Compared to you, anyway.  Not that you like to toot your own horn.
>Okay, maybe he's REALLY slow upstairs and alcoholic to boot.  And he thinks that the planet is supposed to orbit the SUN and not the other way around, which is pretty weird.  But he's an extremely decent sort, for a primate-descended, interdimensional alien from a species that evolved on a literal Deathworld that apparently regards violent murder as an alternate way to say "hello."
>No, the one you know is responsible for ALL of these shenanigans is that feathered twat Peep, you know she's just using Anon and the credulity of her fellow bird ponies for money and power.
>the credulity of her fellow bird-ponies AND your fellow non-bird ponies.
>And those diamond dogs you saw yesterday in saffron cultist-robes, selling breads and assorted edibles at a booth on the street.
>Colgate had told you that they were absolteuly delicious, but YOU knew better.
>That's just how they got you.  One jalapeno-cheddar-infused loaf at a time.
>And besides you were doing this solely to save civilization itself.  Okay, you've made some money in the process. That's purely a distant side benefit.  You're going to donate it to charity.
>Yeah, that's the ticket.  Charity.
>Some of the bird pones are trying to save various bread-related artifacts from the blaze, and the Ponyville volunteer fire department is doing everything they can, but...wow, did someone use white phosphorus on it or what?
>Some of the witnesses had said the fireball came in from the direction of Whitetail Woods.  You wonder if the Apples or Applejack herself had seen anything.  You're a little worried about them, since you haven't heard from Applejack since before this ongoing disaster had started
>Some of your missionary teams disappeared over there, too.
>You're going to have to go over there sooner rather than later.  Besides, maybe you can convince Applejack that cake is something worthy of adoration.
>there's even apple-flavored variants of it. They make apple cake and sell it and stuff, and it's delicious!  You're absolutely made for each other!  An alliance is perfectly logical!
>"Spike, take a letter," you say, finally stifling your chuckles.  This will be letter #31 today.  While none of them have met with a response after the ridiculous picture she sent you a few days ago, you still feel as if doing it makes things clearer for you, and besides, you want your teacher and mentor to have a record of events here.
>Celestia loves cake, after all.  "Dear Princess Celestia:  This is day 7 of the New Era.  Enclosed please find a copy of the new calendar and the enclyclical to be sent to all new branches of our church.  Also, today, an event occured which I may consider classifying as a miracle, since it's made things much, much harder for those blasted bird ponies--"
>"Twi," says Spike.
>You notice he's not writing.  "Err...what are you doing?"
>Your number 1 assistant/foster brother is standing there, looking at you sourly. He's no longer taking dictation, and he's putting the quill and the parchment back in his bag. "You're, uh, supposed to be writing down what I say here," you say.
>"I know," he says.  "Believe me, I know.  You've officially jumped from level 4 to 7, which makes this a perfect storm of OCD."
>You snort and roll your eyes.  "No, Spike, I DO NOT have OCD.  I don't spend hours washing my hooves, I don't climb stairs a specific number of times and flip light switches by prime numbers before I leave a room.  I promise you, I'm psychologically sound and neurotypically normal--"
>"But you ARE incredibly literal minded, you spend all of your spare time organizing your book collection and you always insist that I cut your toast into these little jigsaw-puzzle pieces so you can put them back together and eat the pieces in order...which I don't mind, I might add..."
>"I'm sure LOTS of ponies like Puzzle Toast--it's fun to dip in my softboiled eggs."
>"..AND you go absolutely, verifiably batshit-bonkers whenever something happens outside of whatever carefully-crafted outline you happen to have for whatever the week is supposed to be like" he finishes.
>"Spike, LANGUAGE!" you snap.
>he sighs.  "Look, I'm...just gonna go over to Rarity's for a few days, okay?  Just until this blows over. I left you a bunch of those white-chocolate macadamia cookies you like so much in the kitchen, okay?  And some almond milk.  Your castle staff can take care of anything else, I made sure they knew what you like.  I'll...be back when it's over, okay?"
>Without warning, he hugs you, and then he trots off.  "Spike?"  SPIKE?"
>"IT'LL BE OKAY!" he calls behind him.  "WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T DO **ANYTHING** THAT INVOLVES INSTANT PURPLE GRAPE DRINK!"
>"Spike!" he keeps running.
>You stare after him.  "YOU LITTLE TRAITOR! FINE! I'LL DO THIS MYSELF!! RUN AWAY LIKE THE SNIVELING COWARD YOU ARE! I DON'T NEED YOU! I DON'T NEED ANYPONY!"
>he keeps running.
>"AND I CAN MAKE MY OWN DAMNED PUZZLE TOAST! SO THERE!!!"
>You stare after him until you finally force yourself to think about more important things.  Like meeting with your advisors to hash out some potential attack strategies, in case things went even worse with the fucking Breadists.
>Also, white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.  It suddenly dawns on you what he said. FUCK YEAR, WHITE CHOCOLATE MACADAMIA NUT COOKIES!
>At least one thing's going to go right today.  You can plan strategies while munching the food of the gods themselves.  You trot back toward the castle, when you suddenly stop
>The ground is shaking underfoot. "An earthquake?"  you say out loud
>Wait, Ponyville isn't in any major seismic zone. The last recorded earthquake was over a thousand years ago--
>Wait, wasn't your castle taller once? LIke, just this morning?
>Suddenly it hits you.  You castle, your beautiful crystal castle of friendship and harmony and knowledge and the triumph of reason over superstition and chaos. Is. Sinking.  It's falling straight down into the ground.  Castle staff are jumping from the windows as it slowly subsides into a pit in the ground in slow motion.
>You count.  Yep, thirty-one ponies.  All of your staff seem to be okay.  That's probably good, yeah.
>The tips of the tallest branches finally disappear into the sinkhole which you're pretty sure wasn't there this morning, with a crack and a cloud of dust.
>A pair of diamond dogs in saffron robes peek over the edge of the hole.  Your eyes lock for a second, across the greensward. They wave at you sheepishly and duck back into the hole.
>You wave forlornly back at them.
>Your lord chamberlain, Sharpie Hooves, ambles over, swilling from a bottle of wine from your wine cellar.  He stands there for a few seconds staring at you.
>"Well, that...was a thing that happened." he says.  he takes another drink from the bottle and passes it over to you.  Wordlessly you accept.
>He hoofs over a hoofwritten letter a few seconds later.  You open it up.
>"Dear Twilight. Effective immediately, I quit.  Signed, Sharpie Hooves.
PS:  You are the most annoying pony to walk the soil of Equus.  You need meds."
>"I think that should be self explanatory," he says, staggering off.  "Have a nice life."
>"Uh...we can still use you as a reference, right?" one of the junior cooks asks.  You stare at her as if she'd grown a third ear.
>Yeah, probably not a good time," she says.  "I'll just come back later."  She trots off with the rest of the group.
>You hear the sound of gleeful, high-pitched laughter.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpIqSxFJ9co
>Across the greensward, in a tree, you see Peep and several other bird-ponies sitting laughing like lunatics.
>They're pointing.  And laughing.  AT YOU.
>Suddenly you see blood red.  You'd always wondered who came up with that as a cliche, and now you understand.  You understand all too well.  THIS SHALL NOT STAND.
>With a scream of raw, equine fury, you telekinetically rip a chunk of earth roughly the size of a small factory out of the ground and throw it with all of your considerable might at the tree.
>They see the oncoming projectile just in time to evacuate into the air before it smashes their tree into splinters.  Your teeth are grinding so hard your enamel is powdering.  You're not completely sure, but you think you might have caught on fire.
>It's hard to tell, really.   There's no other explanation for the patch of fused silica and scorched earth beneath your hooves though.
>You sit back on your haunches and wave your forehooves in the air.  "PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP" you scream at the heavens.