Chapter 3: The One Where Changes Actually Happen

Okay so it wasn’t really ‘me’ per say, since I was a human at the time. But in all my current glory, a plush ‘me’ was sitting there in this box staring at me. Yelling into the distance I had asked if anyone was there. No response, other than the barking of the neighborhood dogs of course.

 

It sat there with the cold look of a serial murderer. I guess plushies don’t really and shouldn’t really have any sort of feelings attached to them. But if looks could kill, then this plushie was the entire series of Dexter. Huh, damn. I just realized that’s another thing I won’t be able to get back to. So many of my friends suggested that I get into Dexter and Breaking Bad but I never really seemed to have the opportunity or desire to. Do ponies have television shows? Wait, do ponies have television shows aimed at little fillies that young stallions have taken adore to? If so that’d be funny. My Little Human, heh.

 

No but seriously, I just stared at this plush version of me for what seemed like hours on end. Until I realized there was a note at the bottom. I had thought to myself what a silly person I was not noticing a simple note, and then I realized that I was still drunk as all hell being back from the bar. I checked back at my phone clock, 1:10 AM. Now that doesn’t even make any sense if you’re paying attention to details. That’s because it shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t make sense, I have no idea how this happened in the first place. I remember one time being 1:11 AM and the second being just a minute behind. Shit’s weird yo.

But otherwise, that’s all that happened that night.

 

Oh, it’s not the end of the story. But this is where it begins to get interesting, ladies.

 

See, after waking up the next day and every day after. I had begun to notice a few ‘oddities’ in my appearance. Every day my hair seemed to get just a tad bit longer that week. Nothing ever significant, but enough to make me think I needed a new haircut, every single god damn day.  God? Oh well back when I was a human, people worshiped gods or well a god of their specific religion. They were to have said to created humans, the universe, control everything yada yada yada. How would it go here, every Celestia damn day? No, that doesn’t make too much sense; you don’t really damn people you send them to the moon. Although could that be seen as a sort of damnation if you will? Sorry, off topic again.

 

See, I had issues in the past with feeling my hair was too long, but I would always chalk it off and give a little, “Oh well it’s not that long, I’ve just gotten used to short hair”. Normally I would be right, I did get used to short hair and anything past a five or a six cut would begin to freak me out. I did not want a mullet. A mullet? A mullet is where a human, how do I put this. A mullet is where a human grows out a shaggy mane, to the point where there is more hair in the back than in the front. You’ve seen humans. That’s not normal.

 

So, my hair got longer, no big deal right? Plus that weekend I had friends coming up from my college to go bar-hopping in my hometown. Technically they were here for their internship, but they wanted to hang out before they went back to being adults. I wasn’t going to refuse their company considering I had done jack shit all summer and I wasn’t planning on doing anything less than jack shit this next weekend.

 

However, I had come to quite the conundrum. My friends, they’re bar hoppers. One bar was never enough for them and I found that I was at the end of my current paycheck. Oh I had worked at a local mom and pop video store in my hometown. Considering most of the employees were high schoolers, they would often have me work the graveyard shift. Which worked perfectly since every weekend my sleep schedule would ‘accidentally’ shift itself such that I would be awake from 5PM to the wee hours of the morning. During that Monday night shift I decided to problem solve my small monetary situation.

I remember making a big pro and cons list for my current hair situation as the hours and the shifts went by. Monday it began with, starting to look like a hippy on one side, and beer money on the other. As Thursday rolled around, it was more, look like a redneck or beer money. Whatever they’d understand or they’d give me shit all fucking night long. Come Saturday night I had found that I regret my decision not to cut my hair.

 

The first words I would hear from Matt and Pam, were each, “Holy shit you have gone downhill.”

 

At the time, I was regretting everything and trying to explain all of my financial troubles. They disregarded anything I was trying to say, and just looked at me with the stupidest grins. Somehow they ended up getting me to downtown Ponyville. Wait, Ponyville? Shit, that’s another thing that’s been changed in my mind. Yeah, that’s a weird thing I’ve noticed, I’ve slowly had my memories ‘enhanced’ and changed a bit. I’m Cloud Charmer now for one, and I guess I refer to my old hometown as Ponyville. Damnit, this is all too confusing.

 

So I’m at this bar, one of my favorite bars at the time. I loved it because I could get some delicious ass beers and delicious ass food. They’d have great hamburgers and stouts and… hamburgers? Eh… I’m not so sure you want to know. Regardless, we’re at this bar, the Ales, Burgers and Crafts brewery and the instant I had a sip of alcohol, I black out.

 

Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a lightweight at all. In fact, I prided myself in being unable to black out. But this time, I just wasn’t there I was running on autopilot and my conscious seemed to disappear. All I know, the next morning I had a splitting headache, mostly due to the alcohol but also due to the screams at my face.

 

“SO THIS IS WHAT YOU’RE GONNA DO WHEN WE LET YOU LIVE UNDER OUR ROOF?”

“YOU’RE JUST GOING TO GET TATTOOS AND PUNK OUT YOUR HAIR?”

“WHAT IS THAT EVEN A TATTOO OF ANYWAY? ARE YOU GAY?”

 

After a minute or so of this, I tried to regain my composure, the first thing I noticed was that I was naked; the second thing I noticed was that my mother and father were screaming at me.

“THAT’S IT, PACK UP, FIND YOUR OWN HOME, WE’RE THROUGH WITH YOU”

 

See whenever I said it always started with a hangover, I wasn’t lying. All of my problems, they all seemed to just pop out of nowhere at 8:00 am. I felt a scratchy feeling coming from my outer thigh.  My response to the screams from my parents?

 

“Huh, ain’t that something.”