My Little Bronies

I was at a party last night, theme of "Sweaters and nog". It was a packed house, half creatives and half church people. This sounds a tiny bit bizarre, but I should point out that despite being a godless heathen with multiple unproven felonies under his belt, I approve of this particular church because they themselves are zany enough that the IRS is STILL trying to yank their non-profit status from an incident way back when they pissed off Bush the Junior. And they have a lesbian priestess.

My friend May hooked her arm around my waist and guided me to a new group, the fourth or fifth one that had demanded my presence to tell them about My Little Pony.

Not that it matters, but everything that follows is true.

Some time ago in that period of my life I can't clearly remember, probably six months ago, I was having dinner with a friend named George. I had met George through Evan. Remember Evan, he comes into the story later. George and I were having a long, involved discussion when he invited me to a gathering with Evan and some of their other friends at the campus they attended. "It'll be great," he was saying, "we're just going to hang out, have some beers, watch My Little Pony, play some video games. Evan has some good lager..."

"Pause. Rewind. Did you say My Little Pony?"

George said yes, and played it perfectly straight. That's the thing about George, is that he's probably the most hetero guy I know in Los Angeles. I know that's not saying much, since everybody here is either gay, effeminate, or really really angrily repressed, but it must be noted he's so straight you could take most of his humor seriously. So it took me a few minutes to realize that he was DEAD FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK FUCK SERIOUS. This was a group of grown men, two of whom I knew, getting together to drink dark beer and watch a girly cartoon.

I don't know these people. I feel just super-compelled to point that out.

Well, there was a new series I wasn't aware of. I'm aware of it now, because despite the fact that I didn't make it to the event, mentions of the show kept popping up. A comic I read referenced its popularity... amongst men... and a friend online responded to a joke I made by linking to a Youtube clip of a Pony's shocked reaction.

The best part? No woman I've spoken to is even aware there's a new show.


Two days ago:

I'm hanging out with Evan. Evan is wearing a DJ Pony t-shirt. I think I've seen the extent of this thing and am beyond being shocked, which shows how much I underestimate life's ability to stick two fingers up my ass when I least expect it. We're walking along when we run into one of the scariest human beings I've seen outside of any film that stars Dennis Hopper. Big, mean, cholo-looking motherfucker with a cut-off shirt and a bandanna. Total gang material. And he stops in front of us, crosses his arms, and leans forward to pointedly glare at Evan's shirt.

Evan and I shift uneasily and glance at each other. After what feels like half a minute, we decide to chance it and sidle around the human beef flank standing before us. He uncrosses his arms, takes a step forward, and we freeze. He raises his fist to Evan for a fist bump and says "Dude, bro hoof."

Part of me died and sunk into that sidewalk, but part of me was also fairly delighted. Whoever says there is truly nothing new under the sun? That person is a doofus.

And that wasn't all. We ran into yet another specimen with long, unkempt hair and an 80s heavy metal shirt who pointed and said "Great shirt, man!" Evan was a superstar that day.

And last night, telling the same story over and over, I had gone from knowing only one person at the party I had entered to being the center of attention. A few men at least knew of the phenomenon, and none of the women had even heard of it. But every single one was fascinated by this unlikely lightning bolt of a pop culture landing.

Lest ye think I'm joking, click here.