Fifty Shades of Neigh - A parody

by Anna Roberts

  I look over at Neigh and he already looks like he’s about to explode. This must be his personal idea of hell – not being allowed to talk about My Little fucking Pony.

  The big guys at the back are looking antsier than ever, so I take a gulp of water and get ready to deal the coup de grace. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with bronies,” I say. “That’s what they call themselves – bronies, adult male fans of My Little Pony. If you are familiar with them them you’ll know that they are some of the most committed people on earth. Some of the most loyal too.

  “It doesn’t matter to them that their precious show is a shitty little Flash-style animation that anyone with a laptop could put together in five minutes – they love it all the same.”

  His nostrils flare. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff.

  “They don’t give a dancing pink shit that the scripts are juvenile, the characterisation is shoddy and the voice acting is annoying...”

  He’s getting properly fucking pissed now. Come on, you big manbaby – you just gonna sit there and sulk while I talk shit about your favourite TV show?

  “...they don’t even care that the pony characters are shallow, shrill and dumber than a sack of backwards rocks. They love it unconditionally. And that’s a beautiful thing, especially when you consider that Fluttershy is a passive-aggressive asshole, Twilight Sparkle is a stuck-up nerd, Applejack is probably the product of incest...”

  Oh fuck yeah. He’s nearly there. This is almost better than sex.

  “...and Pinkie Pie is a slut.”

  Crispian Neigh’s chair clatters off the edge of the stage. The next thing I see is a couple of hundred pounds of enraged neckbeard diving in my general direction. The audience are on their feet just as I’m knocked off mine.

  “You take that back,” yells Crispian Neigh. “You skanky little lying whore!”

  He has hold of my gown, so I slide out of it and get away, just as one of the bulky guys takes hold of Crispian Neigh from behind.

  “Naylor?” shrieks Hanna.

  Crispian Neigh is cuffed and jerked upright. “Agent Naylor, ma’am,” says the big guy, and I recognise him as Neigh’s chauffeur and dogsbody. “And I wouldn’t advise trying to skip out on us, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I don’t think Hanna understands what’s going on or the implications of what he’s saying, but quite frankly nobody – perhaps not even Hanna herself – knows what goes on in that girl’s strange, triangular mind.

  “Pinkie Pie is a LADY!” screams Crispian Neigh, pony-pink in the face. “SHE’S A FUCKING LADY, OKAY?”

  Hanna stares at him with a weird mix of disgust and belligerence. You can say one thing for Hanna – while she’s misguided in almost every single way ever, she’s not a quitter. “She’s a fucking cartoon horse, Crispian,” she says, with a sigh. “I thought we were over this.”

  Jesús reaches down and helps Teresa and Professor Jarrett up onto the stage. “Kate, what the fuck is going on?”

  The hall is filled with shouting, cheers, jeers and catcalls, but we can still hear Hanna’s molars grinding. “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” she says, hands on her hips. “Someone was faking amnesia so I’d think he’d given up his pony porn habit.”

  “...Hanna...”

  “...no, look at me, Cris – isn’t this what it’s all about? You knew I didn’t like it. You knew I’d never like it, so wasn’t it convenient that you happened to lose your memory?”

  Agent Naylor sighs. “I know I shouldn’t say this,” he says. “But you two are both as bad as each other. Eesh.” He leads Neigh towards the door.

  “Wait!” squeaks Hanna, and goes to follow, but just like that there’s a bulky guy behind her too. It’s weird how they move as silent as clouds, even though even the smallest one is built like a brick shithouse.

  She’s all eyes and mouth as they put the cuffs on her. By the time she realises she’s being arrested she looks like she’s trying to impersonate The Scream. “Mooommy!...” she wails.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” calls Teresa. “It’s just for questioning. I’ve called my attorney...”

  She frowns as the crowd closes behind her daughter. “Oh shit. I’d better go after her. Excuse me, guys.”

  “No, no problem,” says Professor Jarrett. “Go and see to her.”

  “Okay, does someone want to explain to me what just happened?” asks Jesús.

  “It was very simple,” says Professor Jarrett. “He was faking it, but not to hide his pony porn habit from Hanna. He was faking it because he knew the government was onto him.”

  Jesús gawps. “For what?”

  “Piracy,” I say. “That torrent site of his has been infringing copyright for years. Media companies have been consistently lobbying to have something done about him but you saw how the last round of attempted copyright legislation went down.”

  “A clusterfuck,” agrees Professor Jarrett. “The law’s so full of loopholes that trying to pin down Crispian Neigh was like trying to nail jelly to a wall. Fortunately he got a little bit careless when he was trying to get me deported, and bribed an official whose staff were slightly more honest than the average civil servant. The bribery charge gave them something to hang the case on.”

  Jesús stares at her. “And he knew about this?”

  “He knew enough,” says Professor Jarrett. “Enough to worry when Teresa raised the subject and enough to know he could get some mileage out of memory loss.”

  I nod. “Except everyone sensible knows that amnesia is not a thing that happens outside of soap opera plots.”

  “Or marvellously cheesy novels with Fabio on the cover,” says Professor Jarrett.

  Jesús raises his eyebrow at her and she turns slightly pink. “What?” she says, defensive. “You didn’t think I read nothing but nineteenth century novels, did you?”

  “What’s going to happen to Hanna?” he asks. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I think so,” says Professor Jarrett. “I don’t think she’s done anything illegal – at least, not knowingly, and Teresa has an excellent attorney.”

  “Actually she’s probably enjoying herself,” I say. “She’s the centre of attention and she’ll get to suffer and pine while he’s in the pokey. You know, it’s funny – I can kind of picture her as one of those weird women who end up writing love letters to Death Row prisoners and shit.”

  Professor Jarrett nods. “I think you might be right there. I daresay she’ll be as happy as a clam providing they don’t let him watch My Little Pony.” She runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “Right, I must leave you kids. This has been an interesting afternoon but I must get home and surprise the wife.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re back in the country?” asks Jesús.

  “No. Although strictly speaking I never left it – the diplomatic corps recruits rather heavily from Oxford, so luckily I knew people who could get me to an Embassy while the mess was sorted out.”

  “Ha,” says Jesús. “And they said a degree in Literature was useless.”

  “It has its uses,” says Professor Jarrett. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  She gets halfway into wings before turning back to us. “Oh, and congratulations! I keep forgetting it’s a graduation!” She laughs and carries on walking.

  “Certainly a memorable day,” I say.

  “I’m not likely to forget it either,” says Jesús. “It’s not often you see a grown man go crazy because someone called a cartoon pony a slut.”

  “Yeah. On reflection I was a little harsh on Pinkie Pie. She likes to party but she’s not trashy about it.”

  He laughs but not that convincingly. We look out over the hall, at the caps that got discarded and the chairs that were overturned in the crush when everyone went outside to rubberneck at Crispian Neigh’s arrest. It looks like the aftermath of a disaster, or a party – a really wild party that went on for four whole years while we pretended we didn’t care what would happen when it was over.

/>   There just aren’t enough billionaires to go around in this economy.

  Jesús takes my hand. “What’s the matter? You look sad.”

  “No. Not really. A little. Maybe.” I sigh. “We’re going to have to get jobs, Jesús. Be grown ups.”

  “Only as much as we need to. Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you.”

  "Dude, I'll pick your bone any time - you know that."

  He laughs and puts his arms around my waist. "Did you call me your boyfriend? I heard you - when you were talking to Hanna this morning."

  Oops. This wasn't supposed to happen. I have a lousy degree because I spent senior year sitting around on my ass thinking that if I did enough drugs I'd turn into Hunter S. Thompson. Obviously I didn't - I just got the munchies, gained ten pounds and Jesús started making remarks about 'junk in the trunk', which might explain why we're here right now.

  I have no idea how to turn that degree into a real job - I might have to move across the country while Jesús sits around in Seattle figuring out what to do with his degree - which will probably involve flipping burgers and dreaming of becoming the next Junot Diaz.

  This could not have come at a worse time in my life. On the other hand, every time he smiles it's like my heart does the lambada and every time I touch him I turn into a raging horny beast who wants to do him in every way humanly possible. And then some.

  "Yeah," I say. "I kinda did."

  The End

  No, really. It’s the end.

  Well, for now.

  We hear there’s money in this dirty book thing.

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