Gay Parade Getting Cray-Cray
“Well, that failed miserably,” Trey said, opening the door with one of his talons. Trey was a griffmingo, a subspecies of griffon native to San Maresisco. The griffmingo was an interesting case in the world of biology, as the ratio of heterosexual and homosexual in most species was flipped. For those of you who are fucking retarded, that means that there were far more gays than straights. Trey was a proud member of the homosexuals of his race, and is currently on the market, for any of you sleek sexy griffons out there. He’s also dead, but you might be into that kind of thing; I don’t know, I don’t judge.
Sprawled out on the couch in the living room of Trey’s home in the griffon capitol city, eating some of Big Daddy’s Jerked Beef, was his friend Rolawdo. Rolawndo was an interesting case, as he was one of the few griffmingos that was straight. He was often held as a novelty in the griffon community, and as such often had hordes of griffmingo babes throwing themselves at him. He never payed attention to them, however; he was way too chill for that.
“Oh sweet pony jesus, I love having Big Daddy’s meat in my mouth,” Rolawdo moaned in his very campy voice, closing his eyes in ecstasy. He looked over at Trey, who was giving a dirty look, and he swallowed like a good little boy. “Sorry. What’s eatin’ at you?”
“The Council decided to let the Westboro Baptist Church continue protests,” Trey said with a scowl. “As long as they aren’t attacking anyone, they can’t be asked to stop. Impedes free speech or some shit. I swear, ever since that dimensional portal dropped them into Equus, they have done nothing but piss me off!”
Rolawdo hopped to his paws, and fluttered over to Trey petitely. “Shush honey, they ain’t gonna hurt you. Now, I’ve got something that will cheer you right up!”
Trey rolled his eyes. “What?”
Rolawndo grinned and reached between the couch cushions. After unearthing several dildos, buttplugs, anal beads, and plungers (all with his name engraved on them in gold), Rolawndo pulled out some papers. Trey’s eyes widened in delight. “Are those—” Trey started, but Rolawndo cut him off.
“Yup!” the griffmingo proudly proclaimed. “These are the deeds to our very own gay bar!”
“Oh, I thought those were our morgage papers,” Trey said, severely disheartened. “The landlord’s not too happy that we haven’t got those to him after we bought the house out on a loan.”
“Oh please, what’s the guy gonna do?” Rolawndo said, rolling his eyes.
“He said, and I quote, that he will ‘Chop off our balls, scoop out our eyes with a spoon, and then replace our eyes with our balls and our balls with our eyes.’”
Rolawndo shrugged. “That’s just a fancy metaphor he used. Don’t worry your little head, silly goose!” The griffmingo fell back into the couch, diving back into the jerked beef. “Aw, it goes straight to my thighs, but I just can’t help myself!”
Trey took the papers from Rolawndo’s talons, and looked them over. “These don’t look very... professional. Where did you get these?”
Rolawndo looked up, a particularly large, log shaped piece of jerky sliding in and out of his beak in rhythmic time. Swallowing it whole, he asked, “What? What do you mean, they don’t look professional?”
Trey looked over the papers once more. “Well, for one, it’s written on some bar napkins in crayon...”
Rolawndo sighed. “Look, Trey. You’ve got to let go of your preconceived ideas about the business world! This is how all their work is done now! This is the professional way!”
Trey rolled his eyes again. “Anyway, I’ll repeat myself once more. Where did you get these?”
“From some unicorn bitch in an alleyway,” Rolawndo said. “She was selling her body for bits so she could by pinecones for whatever reason. I’m not into that kind of thing though, so I cleverly cheated her out of this great business deal! Man, what a dumbass!”
Trey opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Well, I’ve got nothing better to do while the council remains to be pushovers. Let’s go start up a gay bar!”
Two hours and three erotic appletinis later...
“Mmmm, I love me a good appletini!” Rolawndo said, running his tongue across his beak. He then giggled and added “Or three.”
“Why the fuck were you drinking them through your anus?” Trey asked, his virgin eyes bleeding slightly.
“That’s the only way the nutrients gets through!” Rolawndo told his friend, as if it were the most obvious thing in the entire world.
“An appletini is literally nothing except vodka and apple schnapps, neither of which have any significant nutritional value!” Trey pointed out exasperatedly.
“Hey, I made them with apple slices!” Rolawndo retorted, in a defensive tone.
Trey slapped his talon across his face. “But you ATE those! You even shoved your whole talon down your throat, very slowly, and very erotica—”
Rolawndo waved Trey silent, and the pointed up at the building they were now standing in front of. It was a small building, nestled in between two warehouses that stocked extremely questionable items, not that Trey had anyway of knowing that.
“There it is!” Rolawndo saigh giddily. “Our very own gay bar!”
“Alright, what were you thinking of names?” Trey asked. “I was hoping to go for something classy, yet clever, like ‘Boys Will Be Boys’, or—”
Rolawndo cut him off. “Listen, sweetie, I already got it taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”
Trey looked over to see two burly griffons lifting up a large neon sign that read “The Glory Hole”, positioning it up on top of the doorway that would let patrons in and out.
“Shall we?” Rolawndo asked, gesturing elegantly to the drab building with the fancy sign.
Once inside, the first thing that shocked Trey was the amount of ponies and griffons that were already in the bar. There were about twenty of them, from arctic griffons with their penguin upper halves, to unicorns and filthy mud ponies converting together. The second thing that shocked him was the loose wire hanging from the ceiling.
“FUCK!” he screamed, landing on the floor, his skelton still shivering from the electric
volts. A group of males of assorted species started advancing towards him.
“Figuratively!” he corrected himself, and the horny males skulked away, muttering amongst themselves. He turned around, still laying down on the ground, towards Rolawndo, only to find out that he was no longer next to him. Instead, he already behind the bar, mixing up drinks.
Crawling over to his friend, Trey weakly picked himself off the floor. “Why the hell are there so many ponies and griffons here already?”
“I told a few girlfriends about this place,” Rolawndo said, shaking his drink about. Trey leaned over and checked the drinks Rolawndo was mixing. It as a strange assortment he had never seen before, something orange and green being connected into a horrible bile looking thing.
“Dear fuck, what is that?” asked Trey.
“My special secret!” Rolawndo said, pouring the drink into a few shot glasses, where some green smoke drifted off of the tops of them, compiling together in the air to form a series of small skulls. A bat pony swooped down, and grabbed one of the shots.
“Thanks, Rolando.”
Rolawndo flung himself over the bar, his talons around the bat pony’s neck. “IT’S PRONOUNCED ‘RO-AWN-DO!’ AWN! AWN, YOU FREAKY BAT MOTHERFUCKER!”
“Holy shit, Rolawndo, calm down!” Trey said, rushing over to pry the claws off of the bat pony’s neck. The bat pony scuttled away, crying slightly.
“Sometimes you gotta be rough with the unruly customers,” Rolawndo told Trey, who groaned and went off to take the order of a griffon at the far end of the bar.
After about an hour or two, Trey started to notice that Rolawndo was thronged with customers. Making his way over, Trey shoved his way through two filthy mud ponies who had fallen behind the bar in an effort to get some of whatever Rolawndo was making.
“What’s going on over here?” he asked, looking over at Rolawdo, who was somewhat sweaty.
“Oh, I’m...” he paused, moaning slightly. “Just whipping up some Salty Griffon Cream. House favorite.”
“Salty Griffon...” Trey shoved the bat pony from early off of the counter, and got a good look at what Rolawndo was doing. The griffon was jacking it into a mug, sighing in ecstasy as he splattered the inside contents with his seed. He added some vodka, peppermint schnapps, and whipped cream on top, and served it to a large minotaur, who must have made his way in some time after the initial crowd.
“That is fucking nasty,” Trey said, watching as Rolawndo did this to another mug. He couldn’t help but admire the tenacity of his partner. “Damn, how long can you go?”
“They don’t call me ‘Bottomless Balls’ for nothing!”
“Who calls you that?”
“I do,” he admitted, serving the freshly made drink to a pegasus, and then rushing to make another one. Trey shook his head, and walked back down to the end of the bar to sever drinks to less pervy customers.
Another few hours went by, and the demand for Rolawndo’s drinks died down. Business was as smooth as ever, and Trey was beginning to think that Rolawndo wasn’t as big of an idiot as he initially was lead to believe.
“Wow, I can’t believe how well this is working,” Trey said, moving up next to Rolawndo, who was shaking up a Grasshopper for a couple of unicorn stallions.
“Told you that this would pay off,” Rolawndo said with a smug grin.
“What, no you didn’t?”
Rolawndo stopped shaking the cocktail, and put a talon to his chin in thought. “Pretty sure I did so in the two hours it took for us to find this place.”
“No, all you did was spend a half-hour singing Mike and Kim’s ‘Daylight’ while mixing up appletinis, and then spent the next hour and fifteen minutes draining the appletinis into your anus, and shoving apples down your gullet,” Trey corrected.
“What about the fifteen minutes it took to get here?”
“I was too horrified to speak after witnessing such an event, and you were still humming that song,” Trey said, but before the argument could go on any longer, a figure entered the building that changed everything.
“Hey, dweebs,” Gilda the griffon said sadly, plopping down on a bar stool.
“Hey...” Rolawndo said uncomfortably. “Gilda... sweety... honey... baby... girl...”
“Oh hell, let me take care of this,” Trey said, shoving Rolawndo aside. “Gilda. We fucking hate you. Everyone here does. There is a reason we chased you out of our country and sent you to Equestria to go and hang out with that pegasus you wouldn’t stop talking about banging uncomfortably and awkwardly for your first time. Why the fuck are you even back?”
“Because I blew my chances there too!” Gilda said, sobbing a bit. “Now I’m crying like some sort of pussy, but... oh for fuck’s sake, why am I such a screw-up?”
“Also honey,” Rolawndo said, interjecting. “This is a gay bar; not a lesbo pit. You’re gonna have to take it elsewhere.”
“There are two lesbian chicks over there though!” Gilda pointed out, gesturing to two mares wearing sports jerseys and jeans.
“Those are just two very feminine colts!” Rolawndo said, right as the pants of one of the mares fell down, giving them a nice shot of her pussy. Gilda gave Rolawndo a smirk. Rolawndo sighed.
“Just get the fuck out.”
Gilda sighed, and walked away. Trey gave a concerned look after her.
“You think we were too hard on her?”
“Nah, we did fine,” Rolawndo reassured him. A gunshot followed soon after these words, and the sound of a roughly Gilda-sized body could be heard falling to the ground outside. “We did fine.”
However, not ten minutes later, more intruders appeared. This time, they were ponies and griffons alike, donned in white hoods and robes, almost every one of them holding a burning torch.
“Ah, the torch wielding ghosts I requested have arrived!” Rolawndo said. The hooded beings glared angrily back at him. Suddenly, a look of realisation dawned on Rolawndo’s face.
“Wait, I didn’t order any torch wielding ghosts!”
Trey gave Rolawndo a look of pure evil, and shoved himself and his friend under the counter just before the massacre began.
The sounds of screaming gay couples and burning furniture soon met their ears. The whole time as they cowered in fear under the bar, Trey gave Rolawndo a look of absolute lividness.
“Okay, we can still make it out alive and with our earnings,” Rolawndo reasoned, holding the large sack of bits the two had earned from their escapades. “We just gotta make a break for it!”
The two rolled out from under the bar, and scrambled for the exit. Before either of them could even take a single step, a large, flaming ceiling beam landed on top of Rolawndo. Trey took a look at the exit, which was engulfed in flames and barricaded by burning tables and chairs, and then looked down at his pinned friend.
Rolawndo coughed, the pressure from the beam and the heat searing him brining his life to a swift end. Before he died, he uttered one last sentence.
“Trey...” he croacked.
“Yeah?” Trey asked, leaning down, a tear in his eye as his best friend struggled to speak.
“I...” He gave another cough. “I’m gay.”
Rolawndo died.
Trey stared down at his friend’s burning carcase. “I fucking hate you.”
The ceiling collapsed in on the entire establishment, burning Trey and his friend’s body under two tons of burning timbers.