Ponyfag in Equestria, part 1

>Ugh. Sunlight.
>The way your brain sloshes in your skull when you try to roll over and block out the light tells you more about last night than you could remember on your own.
>That's when you feel the bottle still in your hands. YESSS.
>Gotta love it when the best cure is more of the poison that got you here.
>Eyes still slammed shut, blocking the blinding rays of the sun through your window, you fumble the cap loose and brace yourself before taking a swig.
>It goes down like water, or soda at worst. So very vanilla.
>Your eyes slide open just far enough to look at the bottle. Vanilla vodka, low proof, your favorite local brand.
>No wonder you were so damn trashed. You never took liqueurs seriously, but always paid the price.
>You reach out to put the bottle on your bedside table. The bottle sits at a slight slant, and is silent as you put it down.
>That's when you notice the problem.
>Still so bright.
>Why isn't your room darker?
>Why is there so much grass on your floor?
>Grass.
>FUCK.

>Ok, calm down. You know yourself well enough to know you won't drive while drunk. You're stubborn, not suicidal.
>You must have tried to walk home, gotten tired, and layed down on someone's lawn. Just be thankful you woke up there and not in the county jail, like some folks.
>You run through your "I'm fucking lost" Checklist.
>1: OXYGEN
>You breathe as deeply as you’re able, only stopping your inhale when you simply can't stretch your lungs any farther.
>Then you do it again.
>And again.
>5 deep breaths, and then you sit bolt upright.
>You congratulate yourself on not vomiting.
>2: STATUS
>A quick but gentle patdown reveals a heavy bruise on your left thigh, soreness in the collarbone area and a bandaged left hand.
>The bandage is taped tightly to the back of your hand, but doesn't appear to be bloody at all. If anything, it just feels really really chafed.
>You leave the gauze in place for now, not wanting to make whatever it is worse.
>Affliction: Hangover. Level: OHFUCKTHESUN.


>3: LANDMARKS
>The light is excruciating. You squint in defiance for a good three minutes before you can look around and see...
>Nothing.
>Rolling grassy hills.
>Trees.
>Trees.
>More trees.
>Scary trees.
>Blinding Hydrogen Orb.
>No road.
>No signs.
>No fences.
>Not even a water tower in the distance.
>You have no memory of this place.
>...FINE.

>4: CHECK INVENTORY
>one (1) 750 ml bottle of vanilla liqueur, 40 proof, 75% full. Equipped.
>one (1) ballpoint ink pen, cheap bic. Front left pocket.
>assorted coins, US currency, approx. value $3.50. Front left pocket.
>one (1) set of house/car keys with keychains, approx. weight .5 lbs. Left cargo pocket.
>one (1) utility knife, off brand. ...minor blood stains on blade and handle.
>Wat.
>NO.
>Finish inventory. Questions later.
>Utility knife, used. Right front pocket.
>Polaroid picture, crumpled. Shows self, long-time girlfriend, and very young son...
>(...not yourssss...)
>...
>Polaroid picture, very crumpled. Front right pocket.
>one (1) Lego minifig, from castle set. Front right pocket.
>one (1) clear blue lighter, off brand. Right cargo pocket.
>one (1) blue aluminum flashlight. Functional. Estimated charge: 66%. Right cargo pocket.
>five (5) red 6-sided dice with white spots. Right cargo pocket.
>Missing: one (1) wallet. Contents include cash(?), credit cards, identification, lottery tickets, reciepts, and photos.
>Balls.

>5: FIND PEOPLE, RECIEVE DIRECTIONS
>Now comes the fun part. You're in a completely rural area, and need help to get home.
>First option: yell.
>Nah. The chances of anyone finding you out here by following your voice are slim.
>Second option: enter the spooky woods.
>LOL NOPE
>Leaving option three: head into the less spooky woods.
>The much less spooky, curiously straight lines of trees.
>The precisely aligned, heavy with fruit, blatant orchard set of trees.
>Hell yes, fruit farm.

>Walking is rough. You still feel like you're trying to navigate a ship's top deck on rough seas, but the furiously red apples on the tree closest to you are like a laser targeting system.
>These trees, man.
>They look so weird. All short and stout with low-hanging fruit.
>Not a complaint though. The way your mouth feels right now, a ripe apple would taste like ambrosia, and a climb is all but out of the question.
>As you reach the apple tree, you think clearly long enough to look around for anyone nearby.
>The last thing you need in your state is to have to run from some crazed shotgun-toting farmer.
>You fish a dollar coin from your pocket.
"I'm taking an apple, but I want to buy it! I have a dollar right here if you can hear me!"
>The lack of response as your voice fades into the depths of the orchard is all the answer you need.

>The pathetic hop you do as you swipe the lowest fruit feels like an Olympic effort.
>But oh how it pays off.
>Juice runs down your chin as you practically inhale the heavenly sweetness of a smallish apple.
>It's over all too quickly.
>You consider taking another, but think better of it, promising yourself you'll buy a few from the farmer when you find him.
>Speaking of the farmer, now is the time to find help. The longer you're here, the longer it will take you to get back to your apartment.
>You push the thought of what is probably waiting for you there out of your mind.
"HELLO?"
>Oh hell that's better. Just the juice from that single apple took the tone of your voice from "Abused rock golem" to "exhausted human."

>You wander down the line of dwarfy trees, keeping a mostly straight line.
>The vodka has been remanded to a cargo pocket, to free both hands, and to appear less like a threat/utter drunkard.
"HELLO?"
>You worry less as the minutes pass. Orchards mean farmhouses, farmhouses mean roads, and roads mean a way home.
>Even if the farmer was in town or something, you could hitchhike back to town.
>Well, probably.
>Assuming you didn't get further lost finding a main highway.
>Hey brain, let's try yelling again, yeah?
>Yeeeaaahh.
"HELLOOOOOOO!?"

>Movement catches your eye a few rows into the orchard
>Oh thank fuck for hardworking farmers.
"Hey! Hi, I'm so sorry to bother you, I got lost somehow, and..."
>Fuck. Nevermind, it’s just a loose horse.
>Well, a pony.
>A very very red pony.
>With a half-apple cutie mark on his flank.
>Big Macintosh's eyes narrow slightly as he turns to face you.
>Quoth the stallion, “Hay.”
>You feel the bottle of vodka laughing silently at you from your pocket.


>You watch My Little Pony.
>You've lurked AiE threads.
>You are anonymous.
>And at long last you understand what it truly means for your brain to be full of fuck.