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It was a dark and grim day as Trixie awoke, darkly and grimly, pondering how dark, grim and pointless existence was. Because it was dark and grim.

 

Toiling pointlessly onwards through life's depressive domain, she slouched to the kitchen, and was faced with the heart of ennui herself: She was out of both peanutbutter and cereal. With a sigh heaved from pure despair, she forged a meal of self-loathing: Beer and bread, it was consumed as she reflected on the loneliness of the universe.

 

She glanced out of the window, where things were grim and dark, where ponies were dragging themselves meaninglessly on to meaningless duties that were enforced from above by the grim tyranny of biological needs and desires, or by the political whims of the "princesses." Briefly, Trixie fantasized about overturning the entire system in a bloody revolution and forging a state of hope ruled by a meritocracy... but then discarded it. In a universe as grim, dark and pointless as this, surely it would be sabotaged by the most basic laws of reality.

 

Grimly, fighting the futility of life itself, Trixie marched into the bathroom, every step almost causing her legs to surrender and collapse her into a pile of weeping blue pony.

 

She drew forth from the pointless spatial hollow of the closet a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, she almost lacked the energy to brush her teeth, but then... but then... she saw her salvation. A chance glance in the mirror showed her what every pony needed to see: Trixie herself.

 

In a universe where she existed, it couldn't be all bad.