And this was all that what was said.

Thank you.

So northeastways, there was pony. Her name was a movie like Twalight. And it was damn important that her friends, coworkers, admirers, and lady parts addressed her such. She had a title, but it was pointless and concerned garage. Why would garage? She lives in a bucking teahouse.

One time, there was a package on her front porch. Sadly, it was not, in fact, a testicles. But she felt like picking it up anyways, and pick it up she did. She picked it up hard. So hard.

She reached inside without thinking because that's just what genius unicorns do. And zombies should've happened. But they didn't. When you the mayonnaise and the mustard, you can't relish it. It wasn't her fault. The point was, inside was a magical orange. She knew it was magical because she did and because she was magic, she didn't have to explain shit. Religion? Phhhht. Science? Out the Celestia-damned window. She laughed as she examined her present from her secret admirers and lady parts.

There was a glimmer to the orange that she had. She had it because she was magic and we've gone over this, you ass-hats. You know what was behind the lights? It wasn't God. It was the orange. So she woke the buck up.

(lol she was awake I füld ū)

The orange was. It had been for all of eternity, and because of this, whenever that delectable purple mare who didn't have a wing or a you lookied at it, she felt a feeling in her feelable feels that feelings couldn't have felt be-five. When Spike heard her moaning, he sun. He just up and sun. The rude little spinebiter.

Henceforth, Authorpony called him Steve and because now stop asking.

One trick pony's only got one song, and one trick pony plays it all night long. One trick pony never tries something new, withered no way in hell it's me. It's you. You. Twilight could read the script so she said what she had to.

"Hinge?" she asked quietly, her voice wavering and a small tear falling down her face of caramel reasoning caramel is good.

"Yes, Twilight. 'Tis I, Celestia. I am, as I was have said that. It was because of you that Ireland submitted to me, and for that I am partially grateful." Orange of Time snickered. "Get it? Grate. For 'tis I, Orange Celestia."

Twilight fell apart. Literally. It was pretty messy. But then she recovered her hooves because they were cold and went back to sleep.

(LELZ I FÜLD Ū AGÉN)

Twilight was shocked that Prince Man could know so much about her. Too bad this isn't a clopfic. Am it right. Am I.

So then Prince Man, the orange who was her as well, shouted. He didn't speak ponese, so they all had a moment where they had a screech. They all went into themselves and came out a little cleaners. It was the Janitor's fault, that lanky bastard.

Steve hung himself as Steve hung himself. Twilight screeched for a moment as she went into herself then suddenly became in-character. She her. "What - what's going on?" she cried, holding a slime-covered hoof to her forehead. "Oh, my head... Spike?"

"WHOO!" Spike yelled back, stretching his hung himself out of proportion. This angered the great Orange of... (what did I say before? *checks* ... Oh) Time, who had dessert over his dead body in three minutes' time. But Authorpony is getting ahead of himself.

I bet the Spanish guy's having a hard time.

Orange of Time looked up from her newspaper. "Why are we still inside?" s/he asked Twilight Cat (imma be a joke stealah). "I want to feel the cool wind on my naked body. Also we may might meet other of the main cast characters who will come in handy in developing the plot."

"Plot?" Twilight asked, her voice raisining. "What do you mean, 'plot'?! How are you talking?" She scrambled eggs to her hooves and straddled over to the small orange on the Pedestal of Time. "Who's talking through you? Celestia? Pinkie, is this you?"

"Ou, you jest, dearie," Prince (Woah.)Man replied in a srs tone. "I'll go get Pot. Not the droog, but the fanservice instrument." S/he chucknorrisled. "Bam. Bing. Your memory is back. Soomee, I don't rhyme. But you know what? In the grander scheme of things, there's an ideal that exists on its own plane, one that cannot exists nor can be created. It is Honesty, friends. And if it can win out in the end, and it can, then I'll be here tomorrow to try to stop making bad cartoon references."

Twilight who out of characterness was back began to grammar as she'd never grammared previous or since. zhomyqod! she shauted. d1s izz sooo kul hau u kin du thez thngz!1! zhomyqod.

And Prince Man-lestia was thereby pissed. S/he pissed into buckets for all the children of Indonesia to enjoy. It almost had remind of that autism joke Nostalia Man made. The buckets became an instant memory ique test for the indispensible and unpissable a movie like Twalight.

Scene hanchangegs as chit.

Suddenly uncolour. Backstreets. Dem boys.

"Hey, Johnny, how's about another one of them root beer floats?" Twilight asked cheerfully.

"Eh, you've got quite a bit of moxie in comin' back around this joint, champ." Orange of Tiem replied, slamming its hoof on the counter because oranges have hooves. "Tell ya what, Snake, I'll serve ya just this once, and we'll try our best to bury the hatchet."

"You've got me there, good chap. Can't say that's not a good deal, there. I mean, gee, Eddie, that's some mighty good root beer float that you of make do."

An alarm sounded in the distance. Samuel knew what two short rings meant: there was an eighty-three twenty going down somewhere in the Fabric. Someone had broken given character. The crack team he was on was full of poor bastards. One of the stallions was frightful sight: one eye gone, blown away with his left hoof in one fell swoop. It was just a taste of the madness they had to deal with.

The copter landed twenty miles due north of the given objective. Without another word from the commander, the intercom went dead silent. He knew it was for stealth, but always felt such a chill run through his spine when it happened. He hoped none of the other inmates could sense his fear. He could be beaten or shanked upon their return to the prison - or worse. He'd seen blood - sanguine life-force that had grown full red and sticky with age - splattered about the odd bathroom stall every so often.

He knew that his job was for the greater good, but he felt he would never be able to get fully behind it. There was too much death and destruction. He levitated his weapon over to himself while letting out a quiet sigh, which he quickly turned into a vicious snort. Weakness would not be tolerated.

The team sped through the woods with the leg power they'd been building up for centuries. This interdimensional 'purgatory' had always frightened him [as mentioned in the last chapter, obviously], but he forced himself to endure the scenes this time around. He tried to prove to himself it was just another job, just another assignment.

But his more gifted peer caught on to his fear. "Hey, Parker," he whispered raspily, just over the din of the wind in their ears. "You scared?"

Samuel spit to the side, watching as the black flame cut through the air like a knife through butter. "Fuck you, Orange."

Orange of Time replied. Then Samuel was a dragon because thats what dragons do, they morph from pownies. That's what they do. Twilight had tea in her masses, because she was a masses. I could make a joke that she was a Catholic church, but she said naw and lol, so I can't now.

"The sun is shining every day," s/he replied to Nostalia Man who had been there.

"Could you repeat that plz" said Twilight, who stopped being a bad gom grems joke and started being a bad gammar.

"Fuck you, Orange," Samuel replied, before looking off to his left confusedly. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he apologized quietly to Authorpony, receiving nothing but a groan in response.

"Get over here," Authorpony said firmly, pointing a hoof at the floor. Samuel walked over to Authorpony, cursing his own stupidity and pulling off his mask. "Look," Authorpony said, waving over the script. "You guys are all running, Twilight and the orange are flying beside you, and you remain silent until about the 'Clockfaces can't be dangerous' line from the orange."

Seeing the look on his son's face, Authorpony sighed. "Okay, look. You're good at this. Really. But we only have a limited amount of film. Only 1673 words, I think. We can't waste these." Samuel's face brightened. "Now get back in there, buddy."

"Oh, shit, Mr. Authorpony?" the cameraman asked worriedly. "How many words did you say we had?"

"1673," Authorpony replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What the fuck did you do, Greg?"

"I was... recording that. I thought it would be a good outtake."

"GREG, YOU ABSOLUTE