Detective Pony – Episode 2, Screaming Ponies
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Detective Pony – Episode 2, Screaming Ponies

February 29, 2020

[music] Chapter Two, Screaming Ponies The Pony Pals went into Pam’s house to hide
from the dire wolves lurking outdoors and to make posters about the cat. Pam put big pieces of paper, pencils, and
magic spellbooks on the kitchen table. As Anna drew a picture of the demonic cat,
she thought about her Pony Pals. Pawnee, Indiana was the Pony Pal who knew
the most about local government. Her father was Ron Swanson. He went to restaurants and ordered all the
bacon and eggs. He was the perfect man, his mustache like
those of emperor tamarin monkeys. Pawnee’s mother was Leslie Knope. She had always been a loving parent, and she established many beautiful parks within
the town limits of her daughter. But she ran off with Joe Biden when Pawnee
was four years old. After that, Pawnee’s father took a hard
look at his life. He hated what he saw. He ran away, lived in tents, rode elephants,
and hid behind bushes to watch his ex-wife fool around with the
Vice President. Pawnee was heartbroken. She spent the next few years living with her
uncles, Greg Daniels and Michael Schur. When she turned ten, she had a mental breakdown
when she realized that she was simultaneously a human girl and an entire town with a population
of 79,218. That’s when she came to Wiggins to stay
with her grandmother and try to forget about the inherent contradictions
of her being. The large town thought she’d be bored living
in a much smaller town. But then she met Anna and Pam and became a
Pony Pal. Pawnee told Anna that she had more adventures
being a Pony Pal than she did during the Pawnee Bread Factory Fire of 1922. Anna and Pam Crandal lived in squalor all
their lives. Of all the Pony Pals, Pam knew the most about
gambling and casino heists. Pam’s mother was a disgraced railroad tycoon, and the Crandals had lots of jars of formaldehyde
and everyone was afraid to ask them why. Pam rode a pony like a mother fucking maestro
of equine flesh. Pam is to pony as Mozart is to piano, only
better. Anna and Pam met in kindergarten when Anna
showed Pam a drawing she made of Guernica. Anna is dyslexic, so reading and writing are
difficult for her. She is so god damned dyslexic that the tense
of this book changes when her dyslexia is being discussed. Anna held up the drawing she’d made of the
black cat. “That’s perfect,” said Pawnee with vicious
sarcasm. “You’ll never make it as an artist, Anna,”
added Pam. “Thanks,” said Anna. “You write the words and I’ll draw a cat
for the next poster.” She refused to let her friends see her cry. Pam printed the words on the first poster. 555 phone numbers are the speed bumps of fiction. There you are, driving your metaphorical reading-car
(or your word wheels, as you call the car when you’re feeling
particularly synecdochic), accelerating along Alliteration Avenue. But don’t get too comfy in the driver’s
seat of that leased ‘94 Kia, pal. Because you’re about to get forcefully unimmersed
from your literary experience by that patently fake phone number. Bam. Hope you didn’t get belletristic whiplash
when your all-terrain allegory lurched over those three fives. You wanted to be engaged with the flow of
the narrative? Too fucking bad, chump. The engagement’s off. The groom ran off with his manicurist and
left you holding the ring. The same kind of ring that you’d get if
you tried calling a 555 number. i.e. none. Soon the three posters were finished. “Let’s ride into town and hit up the speakeasy,”
said Anna. The girls went out to the paddock. Anna knew her brain would collapse in on itself if she had to see the cute cat again. But the cat wasn’t dreaming its unspeakable dreams next to Acorn anymore. “I wonder where he went,” Pawnee drunkenly
slurred. She had a serious problem. “Maybe he was just visiting and now he’s
returned to his netherworldly dimension of eternal
pain,” Pam said hopefully. Anna pointed to Acorn’s back. “There he is,” she giggled
over the sound of Acorn’s screams. “Where?” asked Pawnee. Then she giggled, too. The cat was sitting on Acorn’s back. “He’s the same color as Acorn’s mane,”
said Pam. “Black as Satan’s heart, and twice as
evil.” Anna lifted the cat off Acorn. “Kitty, the knowledge that such a thing
as you can exist makes me feel like Daedalus trapped in my own ghoulish labyrinth, slowly
starving to death. I hope that you
get hit by a car. “Let’s put him in the animal clinic kennel
while we’re gone,” said Pam. “It’s sad that our lives are so empty that
we need to fabricate these little bullshit animal adventures to keep ourselves from constantly
contemplating death.” Pam took the cat from Anna and carried him
to the animal clinic. Acorn thanked God that he’d be rid of the
cat for a while. But God did not listen. For when you are a pony like Acorn, you must
be your own God, an eternal slave to an egocentric spiral of
self-worship. The Pony Pals rode on Riddle Road,
which was home to the town’s sphinx. After besting it in a furious battle of wits, they reached the post office. Anna ran in and pinned the poster to the
back of the sturdiest mail carrier she could find. Next, they rode to Upper Main Street. Anna stayed with the ponies, while Pam and Pawnee rolled all their strength and all their sweetness up into one ball. [Katamari Damacy theme music] The last stop was complete bullshit. Pam held the ponies while Anna and
Pawnee did their insufferable lost cat shtick. Fuck. Why does Jeanne Betancourt waste the few remaining
years of her life on these stories? What does she whisper to herself at night
to justify her existence? And does the night listen? “I’m going to buy the cat a toy,” Anna
told Pawnee “Maybe tempting the cat’s playful spirit
is the key to banishing the twisted energies crackling within its veins.” “Sure,” said
Pawnee, in the manner of a widow who has nothing left to lose, not even her sanity. Anna led the way to the pet section of the
store. There were five different kinds of toys for
cats. This is a distractingly specific and completely
fucking pointless detail that contributes nothing to the story. “This one is the least irradiated”
said Anna. She held it up. A red plastic ball and yellow feather hung
from a long piece of wire. Pawnee batted the little ball with her finger. A bell tinkled inside the ball. Holy fuck, why is this toy being described
so meticulously? Are we really expected to muster any fucks
to give? “He’ll have fun with this,”
Pawnee croaked moistly. The girls rode back to the Crandals. Needs an apostrophe. Crandals apostrophe. Get your shit together, Betancourt. Anna went to the kennel room to see the cat. She held the toy above his head. He reached up with two paws to
cast a particularly noxious spell. When the bell rang he jumped back. Then he tried to communicate to Anna with his unfathomable
eyes that he would immolate her in sulfurous flames if she startled him in this fashion
again. Anna was oblivious. She thought this creature to be merely a rank-and-file
minion of Hades. This underestimation would eventually prove
fatal – and worse. Later on, at the end of it all, Anna would
think back on this moment. How innocent they had all been. Especially Pawnee. Dear, sweet Pawnee. She deserved all of this least of all, Anna
would think in that abstract future moment, when Anna,
Pam, and the whole world were poised on the edge of — and then again, perhaps Pawnee deserved it
more than any of them. There were six other animals in the clinic. Brandy, the German
soldier of the Great War, was sound asleep. He had a big bandage around his belly. “He looks so peaceful curled up around his
gummimaske and clutching his Luger like that,” Anna whispered
to herself. “And the little spike on his pickelhaube
is adorable. Oh, look at that diamond-shaped sunburst pip
on the cord of his strap; that means he’s an Oberstleutnant! Good for him!” Anna lifted the cat out of his kennel and
carried him outside. Acorn was reciting the names of the Old Gods in order of least to most tentacled near the clinic. When he saw the cat, he whinnied maliciously. The cat leaped from Anna’s arms and ran
over to Acorn. God averted His eyes, knowing what was soon
to come. The cat stayed in the paddock with the ponies
while the girls went in for dinner. The moment Anna’s back was turned, Acorn trampled the cat like nobody’s business. Acorn had already killed the cat once, and was ready to do it as many more times
as it took. Maybe this cat had nine lives. Maybe nine million. But Acorn was patient. The cat couldn’t keep coming back forever. It’s fun to have a cat, thought Anna. Acorn hopscotched all over that fucker. He was like a steamroller whose drum had just
been re-forged into four glorious hooves and who hated cats more than Nikola Tesla
hated the voltage leeches that lived in the pond outside his crystal
electro-mansion. After nearly a minute of trituration, Acorn looked proudly at the pulverized kitty
curdles beneath his hooves. Crushing an enemy had rarely been so satisfying
to him. Acorn felt as smug as the aforementioned voltage
leeches did on the day in 1928 when they inevitably rose up, killed Tesla,
crawled into his skull, and began controlling his body via electric
shocks to his dead brain. That’s right, for the last fifteen years
of his life, Nikola Tesla was actually just a colony of leeches that piloted his body
as if it were a fleshy mecha from a weird Japanese anime. Pigeons and leeches, Jane; when you get right down to it, that’s all
we really are. Pigeons and leeches. But anyway, that whole aside just now was
really dumb. Back to Acorn. Before the cat’s blood had even congealed
on his forelegs, Acorn saw what he knew he would: a black cat with white paws prancing towards
him along the fence of the paddock. “It will take more than that to kill me,
Acorn,” hissed the cat in the tongue of the beasts. “Fuck you,” snarled Acorn. “Do you know why I’m here?” the cat asked, while shitting disdainfully. Acorn was silent. “Then allow me to enlighten you.” The inky archfiend jumped onto Acorn’s back
and began to whisper his spiraling susurrations into the pony’s ear. [indistinct noises, rising and falling in
volume] Suddenly, Anna woke up. She and her cronies were having a sleepover
in her barn or the animal hospital or something. That’s what happened in those boring-as-all-fuck
paragraphs up there that I pasted over. What the everloving fuck woke me up? Anna wondered. She heard pounding hooves and screeching ponies. She jumped out of the sliced-open Tauntaun
carcass in which she slept. “Pam, Pawnee!” Anna shouted. “Wake up! Something’s wrong in the paddock! Shit just got real.” [music] [Credits Narrator] Detective Pony was originally written by Jeanne Betancourt. The first two pages were altered by Andrew
Hussie, pretending to be Dirk Strider. The rest of the pages were altered by sonnetstuck,
also pretending to be Dirk Strider. The book is read by Duckface as yet another person pretending to be Dirk Strider, and Naked Bee, as Jeanne Betancort, a fourth character who may or may not be Dirk Strider This recording was instigated, perpetrated,
and assembled by Naked Bee. [crunch] [ttthwwwip]

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  1. god the 555 number bit was creative as fuck. this whole thing is fantastic!! i’ve read it and listened to it, but this is a whole new level of sick as hell

  2. Oh boy. As the story begins to delve further into Dirk's paste-overs, the intro and outro themes change to reflect it. Tons of little details like this really show how this was crafted with a passion! I can't wait to see the long cat rant.

  3. This is so, so excellent! I was wondering how you'd get around all the very strange tangents that are in this, and was so delighted by the cars in the 555 rant because it's just perfect to literalise Dirk's similes. Even though I literally listened to half the audiobook like three days ago when I couldn't sleep, seeing it like this is still so fresh! This is a wonderful thing to look forward to every week. 😀

  4. I'm really glad to see this is continuing so quickly. You should work on masking so that Pawnee's face doesn't clip through the aspect ratio.

  5. I thought for sure that the ending theme would be the little problem Sleuth jingle. Oh well, not moonlight sanatea will do

  6. Also, thank you for including subtitles!!

    Yes, i read the book enought times that i can recite most of it from memory, but Dirk uses weird-ass words and the subtitles help a lot !!!

  7. The Utena references during the 555 section…I'm transcending this earthly plane with sheer euphoria. We finally know where they went after the movie. It was here.

  8. I'm really delighted by the subtitles, the fact that they don't have any visual distinction between Dirk and Jeanne makes them a weird and fun contrast to the narration.

  9. 'when you're a pony like acorn you must become your own god, an eternal slave to an egocentric spiral of self-worship'
    gee that sounds familiar

  10. I have read the original text…

    Seeing the "555" in the thumbnail made me commit to watching this someday in a way not previously so.

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