A Happy Blog About Ponies

25 03 2011

I am extremely sleep-deprived. My friend told me to write a happy blog about ponies. So I am.

There once was a pony named Sam. Sam was a bit of a depressed pony. The other bits of him were from more mentally stable ponies. Cause, you see, Sam was a Frankenstein pony.

Long long (which probably means about 4 – 5 years) ago, Dr. Frankenstein was almost on his deathbed. He knew he’d failed miserably at creating a Frankenstein monster, and his whole life since then had been filled with loneliness and regret. He wished he’d created something better. Something that would actually make a difference.

So that’s when he sewed together the parts of dead tiny horses and made Sam – the Frankenstein pony. Sam ended up being pretty much the same as the doctor’s first experiment, minus all the murders, so Frankenstein basically died of a lonely heart and a sense that his whole life had been completely fucked up and pointless.

But anyway, Sam lived in a field.

He didn’t particularly enjoy being in the field, and not just because his depressed bit was constantly depressed about everything. Mostly just because fields were BORING.

So one day he began to dig a hole in the ground.

He dug all the way to China, because I’ve always been told that if you dig a hole through the earth, you’ll get to China.

Sam LOVED China. It was big and full of buildings and people. Like the opposite of a field.

He liked clomping through the streets and looking at stuff. Cause, really, what else a pony going to do? It’s a freakin’ pony. Sure, he ate food and pooped a lot too, but who cares?


So after a while, the people of China became a little concerned that there was an undead pony running loose in their streets. Several tried to capture him, but Sam had this little quirk about him where if you touched him, he’d bite your face off. It was a little unfortunate if someone tried to touch him who he quite liked from a distance, but there was really nothing he could do about it; it was just a reflex.

After about two or three months, Sam succeeded in single-handedly driving everyone of the small Chinese town he’d inhabited.

This made Sam sad. China was starting to remind him of a field.

THEN ONE DAY, Sam’s dreams came true.

Well, not really. Cause he didn’t really have any dreams or aspirations. It’s just a figure of speech, you know what I mean.

This girl horse came into town. Apparently she’d dug a hole up from the other side of the United States and was coming to China for a better life for her family. It kind of didn’t make sense because she’d belonged to a really rich couple in New Mexico and she hadn’t seen any member of her family since she was like one and sold at an auction. But still, it’s the thought that counts.

Oh, and her name was Penelope.

Sam loved her instantly. Penelope thought he smelled terrible and was scared of him.

Sam chased her around the deserted streets of Topaz (this is the name of the made up Chinese town they both now lived in), asking for her hoof in marriage. Penelope repeatedly informed him that ponies don’t get married and he should go die. Sam never replied to this statement because he was afraid of telling her the truth – he was undead and could never die.

One day though, Sam just couldn’t take it anymore and he told her the truth. Penelope said, “Wow. Seriously? I know. Your ass is eroding.”

Sam looked at his ass. It was indeed eroding.

“Fuddlesticks,” Sam said to himself.

After about ten more years of their bantering back and forth, Penelope finally agreed to go on a date. It was awkward and ended with Penelope tripping and falling down some stairs. Sam spent the next two years learning how to lock a door, then locked himself in a closet and waited for his body and broken, broken pony-heart to completely erode to death.

But suddenly, a fairy appeared on the ceiling of the closet. She informed him that everything he’d done with Penelope was just a test to see if he could handle real life and its hardships. She said he lost a couple points for chosing to live the rest of his live in a closet instead of move on after she’d died, but that the Fairy King was a pretty laid-back guy and was willing to let that slide.

The fairy jabbed him in the side with her wand and he magically turned into a normal, pretty pony who would never ever bite your face off if you touched him.

Unless you were being a real asshole.

Sam lived a long and happy life and died with over a hundred and twenty-six grandchildren.

The end.


Captain Douchebag

10 11 2008

I’m currently talking to a friend online and our conversation somehow veered to Flavor Flav and how much of a douchebag he is because there is no point to him being in the public eye. He’s just some old ex-rapper who wants lovin’.

But don’t worry, this entry is not all about Flavor Flav.
It’s about another douchebag who has no point to being in existence – Captain Planet.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a soft place in my heart for superheroes. They’re quite awesome. And pretty to look at. Probably nice to huggle as well. But Captain Planet…not so much.

In fact, not at all.

First of all, the man is the color of toothpaste for no reason. And he styles his seaweed-colored hair into a mullet, also for no reason. And not even a good mullet, either. It’s the kind of mullet that looks like he let his hair grow out, then accidentally fell asleep on the front lawn while his dad mowed over it.

I guess maybe he’s suppose to look like earth? Cause that’s all he saves?

But does Batman only save bats? Does Spider-Man only save spiders? NO. They dress up they way they do to induce fear.

Toothpaste skin and a seaweed mullet does not induce fear. It induces laughter. Lots of it.

I suppose we can look past his horrid appearance, though. What if he had no control over it? That’s just the way he looks. I mean, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

So let’s delve a little deeper into the mind of this douchebag. How about his motto. The words he lives by:

“The power…is YOURS!”



If the power is mine…WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?! I could freaking do it myself! Is your sole purpose in this world just to remind me that the power you supposedly possess is actually mine?

I think it is. Which is why I think you’re a douchebag, Captain Planet.

And I’m not done yet. This is probably my most solid proof of the captain’s douche-ness.

The man is apparently working to save the earth, keep it clean and such (as I already said, his appearance pretty much gives that completely way). He fights (or goes floatin’ around, telling us WE have the power to fight) pollution.

And what’s the “superhero’s” only weakness?

That’s right. POLLUTION.

How in the CRAP do you expect to defeat something…when it is your WEAKNESS?! That’s like Superman devoting his life to collecting kryptonite or Aquaman being a mountain climber.

So, my dear Captain Planet, I hope you can see how lame you are. I mean…first you give yourself a terrible makeover, then you admit to people that you really don’t have much power at all, and that you have even LESS power against the one thing you’ve devoted your life to eliminating.

I’m almost positive a simple billboard on a highway that says “DON’T POLLUTE” could replace you at this point.

You should probably consider a new approach at crimefighting if you’re really dead set on being a superhero. Maybe one that actually includes…you know…CRIME…and FIGHTING.

I know I can pick up my own trash without you weakly hovering overhead, reminding me that I can.

Automatically Flush The Automatic Flush!

23 06 2008

So, I just started thinking (as I usually do) about something completely random that has absolutely nothing to do with my current life whatsoever.

Automatic. Flushing. Toilets.

What in the world compelled someone to invent these? Oh, I know what you’re thinking – “What do you have against those, Sarah?! It makes bathroom time more efficient! Our technology is growing!”


Let’s just admit one thing: those things NEVER go off at the right time. Ever. Either too early or too late. And if it’s too late, they make people look 100% incompetent because they stand up, wonder why it didn’t go off, and then proceed to wave their arm around the black dot that they’re guessing is the sensor. It doesn’t help at all, but they do it anyway. And the toilet, I’m sure, motionlessly waves back in appreciation instead of just doing the ONE thing that a toilet is MADE to DO!

I mean, I suppose one could say, “But what about the disabled people of the world, Sarah? Who don’t have hands with which to flush their toilet?”

Ok. So then here’s a question: how did the handless person close and lock the stall in first place?! Why don’t we have automatic toilet stall close-and-lock-ers then, hm?! (On behalf of the many cleithrophobics in the world, I beg you never to invent these or I will be forced to kill you).

And if those two aspects weren’t enough to change your mind, how about I add a little (mostly male) common sense: If a (usually male) person doesn’t need to touch the nasty toilet handle, what are the chances the said (usually male) person is going to wash their (usually his) hands?

I rest my case.

What the crap, world? Why not invent a way to make the plastic automatically come off of CD cases or have junk food automatically appear in my kitchen?

I can flush my own toilet, thanks.