Monty Python's Flying Circus is Magic
The waiter cleared his throat. “Well, there’s eggs and hay; eggs, daffodils and hay; eggs, muffins, daffodils, and hay; hay, daffodils, muffins, and hay; hay, hay, muffins, eggs, and hay; hay, hay, hay, daffodils, muffins, and hay; hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, baked beans, hay, hay, hay and hay -”
As the waiter recited the morning specials, a strangely-dressed group of minotaurs at a nearby table began singing a mystic chant:
“Hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay
Lovely hay, wonderful hay (hay, hay, hay, hay)
The waiter did his best to ignore them. “- and Apples Thermidor aux crevettes with a morneigh sauce served in a provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and a fried egg on top and hay,” he finished.
“Do you have anything without hay?” asked Twilight.
“Well... eggs, muffins, daffodils, and hay only has a little bit of hay,” said the waiter.
“It still has hay in it,” Twilight said with exaggerated patience.
“Not as much as hay, daffodils, muffins, and hay,” Spike pointed out.
“I don't want any hay,” Twilight insisted.
The singing at the nearby table was getting noticeably louder and more enthusiastic.
“Could I get the eggs, muffins, daffodils, and hay, but without the hay?” Twilight asked the waiter hopefully.
“What?” the waiter asked, his jaw agape. “No, of course not! How can you have eggs, muffins, daffodils and hay, without the hay?”
Twilight could feel her left eye starting to twitch. “What's wrong with that?”
“Because then it wouldn't be eggs, muffins, daffodils and hay, would it?” The waiter seemed quite insistent on that point.
“I don't like hay!” she shouted in exasperation. A few strands of her mane went sproing!, prompting several nearby patrons who remembered the infamous “Smarty-Pants Incident” to hastily abandon their tables and ask for the cheque.
The strangely-dressed minotaurs were singing quite loudly by now. “Lovely ha-a-a-ay, wonderful hay!”
Exasperated, the waiter snatched up a menu and threw it at them. “SHUT UP!”
Undaunted, the minotaurs' chanting continued, but they did at least lower the volume.
“It’s alright, Twilight; I’ll take your hay,” Spike said, unfazed. It said much about the dragonling's life up to that point that minotaurs singing the virtues of hay didn't even register on his weirdness scale anymore. “As for me, I’ll take the hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, baked beans, hay, hay, hay and hay.”
“I'm afraid the baked beans are off,” the waiter replied.
“Well, could I have her hay instead of the baked beans, then?”
“You mean, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay and hay-”
“Hay, hay, hay, hay! Lovely ha-a-a-ay, wonderful hay!”
“SHUT UP!” the waiter yelled, throwing another menu. “Bloody minotaurs...”
Twilight groaned and smacked her forehead against the table. The waiter jotted down Spike's order and left, muttering something uncomplimentary about how silly this scene was getting.
As the waiter recited the morning specials, a strangely-dressed group of minotaurs at a nearby table began singing a mystic chant:
“Hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay
Lovely hay, wonderful hay (hay, hay, hay, hay)
The waiter did his best to ignore them. “- and Apples Thermidor aux crevettes with a morneigh sauce served in a provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and a fried egg on top and hay,” he finished.
“Do you have anything without hay?” asked Twilight.
“Well... eggs, muffins, daffodils, and hay only has a little bit of hay,” said the waiter.
“It still has hay in it,” Twilight said with exaggerated patience.
“Not as much as hay, daffodils, muffins, and hay,” Spike pointed out.
“I don't want any hay,” Twilight insisted.
The singing at the nearby table was getting noticeably louder and more enthusiastic.
“Could I get the eggs, muffins, daffodils, and hay, but without the hay?” Twilight asked the waiter hopefully.
“What?” the waiter asked, his jaw agape. “No, of course not! How can you have eggs, muffins, daffodils and hay, without the hay?”
Twilight could feel her left eye starting to twitch. “What's wrong with that?”
“Because then it wouldn't be eggs, muffins, daffodils and hay, would it?” The waiter seemed quite insistent on that point.
“I don't like hay!” she shouted in exasperation. A few strands of her mane went sproing!, prompting several nearby patrons who remembered the infamous “Smarty-Pants Incident” to hastily abandon their tables and ask for the cheque.
The strangely-dressed minotaurs were singing quite loudly by now. “Lovely ha-a-a-ay, wonderful hay!”
Exasperated, the waiter snatched up a menu and threw it at them. “SHUT UP!”
Undaunted, the minotaurs' chanting continued, but they did at least lower the volume.
“It’s alright, Twilight; I’ll take your hay,” Spike said, unfazed. It said much about the dragonling's life up to that point that minotaurs singing the virtues of hay didn't even register on his weirdness scale anymore. “As for me, I’ll take the hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, baked beans, hay, hay, hay and hay.”
“I'm afraid the baked beans are off,” the waiter replied.
“Well, could I have her hay instead of the baked beans, then?”
“You mean, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay, hay and hay-”
“Hay, hay, hay, hay! Lovely ha-a-a-ay, wonderful hay!”
“SHUT UP!” the waiter yelled, throwing another menu. “Bloody minotaurs...”
Twilight groaned and smacked her forehead against the table. The waiter jotted down Spike's order and left, muttering something uncomplimentary about how silly this scene was getting.