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"Blurg... I don't feel so good," Martin groaned as he crawled out of the wreckage of the once-wonderful diner.
"Well, maybe you'd feel -hic!- better if you didn't always -hic!- try drinking the most. I mean, sherioushly," Gabriel Iglesias slurred as he reclined in the only remaining plastic booth that [i]hadn't[/i] been utterly demolished by the rampaging buffalo, which was now munching peacefully on a few blades of grass outside. "Haven't - haven't I shaid shomething -hic!- about butt chugging before? You know -hic!-" Gabriel paused, thinking. "You know, I don't know. I don't know, man. You… you know?"
Martin passed out.
"I'll drink to that!" Fluffy proclaimed, raising an empty glass to the partial ceiling.
… Wait, empty glass. Empty.
He stared at it forlornly, wishing that the glass would magically fill itself with the wonderful liquid meaning of life.
Which, of course, merely lead to a heavy sigh of sadness when it did not.
Gabriel scratched an itch that had begun to form on his side, his bright red and black Hawaiian shirt tickling it slightly. Being incredibly heavy set didn't help matters much. Plus, it was so much harder to scratch an itch on the same side as the arm you're trying to use! It was a pain in the rear, trying to scratch evenly and keep the glass raised so that he could-
"Oh, wait. I don't –hic! – need to do that," he wondered aloud, and a very small part of his brain reminded him that he tended to be slightly less logically reactive than is usually expected when under the influence of alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol.
Lots and lots of alcohol.
Gabriel, waiting for his drunken friend to awaken, stared about in search of miracle fluid; or, at the very least, something decent to eat. Peanuts just weren't very filling.
No, wait… I have –hic! - an idea! He thought to himself as he slowly drew away from the plastic seating, watching as it collapsed behind him.
… That was probably – hic! – the buffalo's fault.
Two thoughts then occurred to him simultaneously. The first one was slightly less curious than the second one, and he thought them both as he rubbed a hand over his nearly shaven head, feeling the stubbly growth of black hair.
Where did we even – hic! – get a buffalo?
Which was promptly followed by Why am I –hic! – hiccupping inside my head?
Oddly enough, Gabriel found that his hiccups had stopped. And if Martin had been awake to realize it, he'd have discovered that Gabriel found this hilarious.
One could usually tell if Gabriel found something hilarious, most often by the bouts of hysterical, high pitched laughter.
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Gabriel was having a little difficulty pulling himself out of his alcohol haze. He'd tried everything he could think of. He'd tried drinking coffee, he'd tried walking –
Actually, that's all I could think of, he thought as he strolled awkwardly down the streets of Chicago, friendly people passing him by.
Or, at least, they looked friendly to Gabriel. Everyone looks friendlier when you're drunk.
"Spare a dollar, mister?" an old man asked feebly, holding out an open palm towards Gabriel. He was elderly; that much was plain by the white hair, mottled skin and yellowed eyes. He must have been drinking, too, because his irises had become unevenly sized and grown puffy and red. A half-empty whisky bottle lay in one hand, slightly cracked near the bottom.
"Aw, dude. You look worse –hic! – than me, even!" Gabriel exclaimed, staring at him. The suit the poor old man had cobbled together just made him stand out as homeless even more; dashes of yellow, brown and white stood starkly against the brick wall he sat against.
Gabe thought for a moment, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small plastic package, glaring at them in confusion.
Wait, no, that's the peanuts.
He wriggled his large arm into the pocket on his opposite side, drawing out a couple of twenty dollar bills. The homeless man looked slightly offended that Fluffy hadn't bothered sharing the peanuts, too.
"Here'y'go, hombre!" Fluffy yelled happily, stuffing the bills into the man's hands.
"… You're fine with just giving this to me?" the homeless man asked with much more clarity than he had been speaking with moments before.
"Shure, pal!" Gabe said, shaking his hand. "Alwaysh ready to help shomebody – beshides, I make way more'n that," he bragged absentmindedly, patting the wallet in his back pocket.
What he had conveniently forgotten to mention was that most of his money had also gone into producing and working on the show, which meant he didn't necessarily have a lot left. That didn't stop the homeless man's yellowed eyes from narrowing dangerously, and a small smile played across his lips. One of his teeth must have been misshapen, because it was much larger than the others. Almost like a fang.
Oh, my God, I'm talking to Homeless-ula! Gabriel thought excitedly, before realizing that alcohol was probably having a much larger effect on him than he had previously anticipated. He'd suddenly become very aware that driving would be a bad idea, and he was momentarily glad he'd walked.
After a couple of awkward moments of Gabriel not realizing that he was still shaking Homeless Hombre's hand, he eventually stumbled off, presumably to inform Martin that getting drunk was way more costly than it was before he had so many bills.
He barely registered the dull thunk! of glass on flesh as the bottle hit his head, and the ground rushed up to meet him.
Hey, I'll bet I can make a joke about that!
…
Hic.
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"Nose twerk, left eyebrow jiggle, itchy hoof, craving for pancakes, and twitchy tail!" Pinkie Pie squealed in excitement, bouncing happily around Twilight Sparkle.
"And, what does that mean, precisely?" the violet unicorn asked as she sat at her kitchen table, carefully collecting notes on the logical anomaly that was Pinkie Pie. They'd been at it for nearly an hour now, and Twilight felt that if she didn't wrap things up quickly, her mind was going to disintegrate just from Pinkie's presence.
"It means, I want some pancakes! Silly filly," Pinkie chirruped happily as she bounced, as if she were explaining something to somepony much younger. Twilight sighed, dropping her pencil and pinching the bridge of her nose.
Which was pretty difficult, considering the fact that she could only use her hooves.
"I think it's time we call it a day, Pinkie Pie."
"But Twi!" she wailed, stopping mid bounce. Meaning, unfortunately, that she'd also stopped in mid-air.
"… How are you doing that?" Twilight asked, deadpanning. It was like Pinkie had a new surprise, every time she thought she nearly had her figured out.
"You aren't even gonna ask? Really?" Pinkie looked down at her friend curiously, blowing a lock of bubblegum pink mane out of her way.
"Okay, I'll play along," Twilight agreed slowly. "Ask what?"
"Nose twerk, left eyebrow jiggle, itchy hoof, craving for pancakes, and twitchy tail!" Pinkie repeated, annoyed. "I thought you were taking notes!"
Twilight sighed. It seemed it was happening to her more often these days.
Maybe, just maybe, someday I'll learn to stop trying to figure out how Pinkie Pie works.
"I was taking notes, Pinkie." Twilight said flatly, eyeing a rather bulky collection of scrolls in the corner that had slowly grown over the last hour, right through lunch.
"If you were taking good notes," Pinkie said, dropping out of the air and planting her hoof between Twilight's eyes, "you'd know that particular Pinkie-Combo means that there's a very special somepony on the way that we haven't met yet!"
"… Really?" Twilight asked as her eyes widened ever so slightly. Her curiosity had been piqued a bit by that.
"Yuppie duppie guppie! Also, you're out of pancake batter. You should use regular cake batter – ooh! I know! We can throw a big 'Welcome to-' uhh… ehermm…" Pinkie slowly began stepping away from her friend, watching the ceiling anxiously.
"… What now, Pinkie?" Twilight asked, picking up her pencil.
"… Twitcha-twitch."
And that's when three hundred and fifty pounds of hot and fluffy violently penetrated Twilight Sparkle's roof, landing directly on top of her.
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