My dear, dear friend Princess Celestia,

Today I learned that friendship is a little bird tweeting in a meadow on a giant tuba. Friendship is a wreath of pretty flowers that smells like monkey feet, if the monkeys have been wearing socks, for twelve million years. Which they have.

Also, the true meaning of friendship is arglpfsjouiotwnjov. Don't try to pronounce it, you'll just strain yourself. See, that was an act of friendship. If I was still feeling hostile, perhaps if maybe you had turned me into stone and left me that way for a thousand years or something, I might have told you to pronounce it and then if you did it three times, Arglpfsjouiotwnjov would appear and believe you me, you don't want that. Let's just say that when we were tiny little tots going to Chaos Day Care together he always got the award for Most Seriously Disruptive To A Productive Day. (But I got the award for Most Cookies Eaten In Five Minutes, which is actually a much better prize as it consists of a peanut butter and cotton candy sandwich on rye covered in chocolate sauce. Delicious!) Now aren't you glad that I'm your friend, so I warned you before you did something you'd regret?

Fluttershy tells me that friendship truly means bzzzzzzzzzz excuse me I think I might have just started snoring. I realize how unusual this is for me because I'm incapable of needing sleep, but after a thousand years on my feet being stuck singing the same Klingon opera I find that I actually get tired now and again, particularly when people try to tell me about butter. Wait, I mean friendship. Come on, isn't this one of the things you're not supposed to explain, you're just supposed to feel it? Do you make people fill out reports on the true meaning of the color orange? I think that would be a better use of my time, to wit:


Orange means many things. It means a color, and also a fruit! Also it doesn't rhyme with anything except sporange, and you can't say that in polite company. Orange is also a positively hideous color on you so frankly I am utterly bewildered as to why I thought it was a good idea to turn you that color. Why, it totally clashes with your cutie mark. And your rainbow mane. Which is why the grape juice, but don't worry, I am sure it will wash out with some lemon juice, which I thoughtfully provided for you all over your bathchambers. Now aren't you glad we're friends again? I am sure you're looking forward to humiliating me by using Fluttershy as your catspaw to make me write you more of these reports in the future, and I admit, my little heart goes pitter-pat at the thought of the very, very interesting shades of tablesauce I could turn your mane next week, just to prove how much we are friends, because friends don't turn each other into giant rocks anymore, right? Just like friends do not turn each other's castles upside down and then start shaking them for loose change. And that is why I would never do such a thing! Because we're pals now, right? Just like the old days!

There! I am now done with my report on the color orange! And I promise you that the castle's entire population of foals are not singing "The Song That Doesn't End" because I mind-controlled them or warped them from their usual personalities. It may possibly have something to do with bribery, and spells that turn spinach candy-cane flavored for whichever lucky and long-winded foal manages to keep the song up the longest, but I wouldn't know anything about that because I've suffered terrible headaches ever since being a rock for a thousand years and now anytime I try to remember anything, wait, Fluttershy asked me to pick up pears at the store for her! I remembered something! Aren't you happy that I'm overcoming this terrible disability that was inflicted on me by a friend who promises she will never ever do it again unless I'm bad, which, honestly, isn't blackmail against the law? I'm ashamed of you, Celestia. One law for the common ponies and one law for the royalty. I see how it is.

In conclusion, there is a serious lack of cayenne pepper on this book, and I am distressed at how badly Twilight's cooking is coming out, because when you serve someone a book on friendship for dinner, you really need to spice it up with some cayenne. I think you should have words with your student. I suggest "eidolon", "psychedelic", and "triskadekaphobia", because those are much more interesting words than any of the ones in this book. She couldn't even be bothered with salt! Let alone a nice sprinkling of chili cinnamon sugar.


Your dear friend who is not a rock anymore and is also not teleporting any of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony to the middle of the ocean without a life jacket, wings or horns because that would be just mean and mean people don't have any friends, and friends don't do things like make veiled threats to their friends about things like not writing moronic reports on friendship being tantamount to un-reforming (deforming? Wait, am I not allowed to deform anymore? Because being silly putty is one of my greatest pleasures in life, surely you wouldn't deny me that), which is why I am absolutely certain that you didn't really mean that a failure to send you a report on friendship would be proof that I didn't care about or understand friendship and therefore I had to be pretending to be reformed, and all of this is simply the kind of crap that comes out of Twilight Sparkle's mouth when she's trying to get me to do something because somehow she thinks it might work on me, but I certainly know better, because you only turn your friends into statues for singing badly and not for failing to turn in their friendship reports on time,

Former Grand High Poobah and Now Merely Ordinary Though Indeed Exceptionally Handsome Citizen,


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