A single flickering light bulb hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the surroundings of a small dingy room. Heaps of garbage litter the room; were it not for the small bed, computer and various pony merchandise scattered around, the place would look like any other dump. Out of this hell hole you could call a home, a single man lies sitting on his bed, fiddling with his computer.
He is the reason that his father must work two jobs, well past his retirement age. He is the reason why heated arguments can be heard long through the night. His only noteworthy accomplishment was graduating high school at the top of his class, but contrary to his academic success he lives in his parent’s basement. This embodiment of epic failure just so happens to be you.
You work a dead end job touching coins all day long as a toll booth operator and making minimum wage. Well, that would be the case if you were actually doing your job, but most if not all of your time is spent writing self insert My Little Pony fan fiction. Once in a blue moon during those rare instances where you actually do your job, you ruin everyone’s day by only accepting bills and giving back change in pennies. Everyone hates you.
So after a long day of sitting on your ass, you are both mentally and physically exhausted. The soothing sounds of your parent’s arguing resonate throughout your tiny living quarters, so you decide to put on your headphones and crank up your terrible music before the subject eventually changes to you. Your headphones blast earsplitting crap into your eardrums; it’s a surprise how you still retain any sense of hearing, but it seems the music is doing its job. Not a single word can be heard from your parent’s loving conversation.
Armed with your crappy music, you brave the infamous board of 4chan known only as /redacted/. Because everyone knows that /redacted/ is the only board on 4chan, you have no choice but to spread your message of love and tolerance to its respectable and orderly community. Ignoring the countless furfags and “You raff you lose” threads littering the front page, you create a new thread dedicated solely to My Little Pony.
Unsurprisingly your thread is quickly bombarded by gore, Spiderman pictures and the word n*gger. Undeterred by these feeble attempts against your resolve, you begin to have an intelligent debate with whoever may be watching about who is best pony; which is obviously Rainbow Dash. Out of the corner of your eye you notice a single reply not flooded with the word n*gger, but instead a single exquisitely drawn rule 34 shipping fan art of Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash gracing the otherwise desolate space.
Under normal circumstances you would archive the picture for later use, but every single pixel of this masterpiece screamed for attention. In one fluid motion you tear off your trusty pair of sweatpants and grab the miniature Lyra plushie resting on your nightstand. With the tenacity of a dying warrior, you begin to furiously pleasure yourself to the assortment of colorful pixels on your screen. Several minutes pass with you having your sick way with the unfortunate plushie.
You feel the pressure quickly building in your loins; you’re going to blow your load any second now! With a will of iron, you stop yourself from blowing your crusty load inside the Lyra plushie. Unfortunately for you your seed instead ends up splattered on the keyboard of your newly bought laptop. Hoping to clean up the mess you made before it solidifies and gets sticky, you vigorously attempt to scrub away the skeet with a tissue. For some physics defying reason, the second you touch your manly juices, an arc of electricity springs from the keyboard striking you on the hand. The electric shock fills your body with an indescribable ecstasy, oddly enough you now feel yourself stranded in an immense, empty space. Slowly losing consciousness you feel your body drift off into the dark void.
You awake in the middle of a sunny meadow with your penis clenched firmly in your hand, and an insatiable hunger to get it on with the various equine species, your typical morning routine. You quickly realize the world around you is rendered in flash, and bears a striking resemblance to the sick porn you get your rocks off to. For once in your entire life your brain begins to function, and deduces you must be in Equestria. In order to celebrate your unexplained relocation to Equestria you wave your magic school bus around in the air while singing a horrible rendition of the Smile song. Your wild antics disgust, and scare off Fluttershy unfortunately wandering nearby. While the prospect of ravaging Fluttershy with your one eyed monster is an opportunity that most could only hope to achieve, you abandon the effort in order to continue your quest to find best pony, which is obviously Rainbow Dash.
With your expert knowledge on the geography of the Equestrian landscape you easily find your way to Ponyville, much to the dismay of its inhabitants. Unsurprisingly the majority if not all of the ponies in Ponyville actively avoid your neckbeard, cheeto encrusted form. Being the brain dead atrocity of a person you are, a good deal of your time is spent, it’s worthless anyway, terrorizing the good samareitans of Ponyville with your grotesque meaty thighs that emit an ear splitting sound comparable to a thunderclap as you push your body to the limit in the lame excuse of movement you call walking before you notice your severe lack of pants. That might explain why every pony was staring and avoiding the miserable excuse of a human being, i.e you.
Surprisingly you feel a pang of shame at your pantless form, and decide to add find pants to your to do list, right up above find best pony. You make your way to the Carousel Boutique in hopes of acquiring pants, which is highly unlikely because well, ponies don’t wear pants, only to be greeted by an exquisitely designed pony shaped mailbox that bears a striking resemblance to that lyra plushie you bought off of ebay. The pressure quickly building up in your loins, you realize that it must have been hours since you last enjoyed the pleasure of diddling your doodle with your lyra plushie. Seeking release, your only option is to plow the nearest pony/pony shaped object in your vicinity, which just happens to be that tantalizing mailbox standing next to you.
With surprising strength, you yank the puny mailbox door off its hinges and proceed to repeatedly jam your miniscule johnson into the opening. Being the sick, twisted, son of a bitch you are, you feel immense pleasure from the added resistance of the rolled up newspaper and brick contained within. Grasping the mailbox with both arms, pure ecstasy washes over your entire body as you nearly reach climax. As if on cue, Rarity, oblivious to the mysterious sounds coming from outside her window, comes waltzing out seeking her morning paper; Only to be greeted by your massive, sweaty form pounding her hoofcrafted mailbox.
“In the name of Celestia and all that is holy, what in the tartarus do you think you’re doing?” Rarity barked, her face covered in a deep shade of crimson. Slowly withdrawing your still throbbing banana from the mailbox, you quickly turn to face Rarity with a hideous smile plastered on your face.
“Hey there little filly,” you say in your most seductive voice, swaying your hips as you slowly walk toward her. “you wanna have a good time?”. Rarity did what any sensible mare would do to a pantless glob of fat making sexual advances; with the force of a heavy duty jackhammer, Rarity bucks you straight in the chest, leaving you sprawled across the ground. Being terrible at accepting rejection, you retrieve the conviently placed brick inside of Rarity’s violated mailbox and proceed to violently pound on her door. After hearing you violently knock at her door for several minutes, Rarity throws open the door with a visibly angry expression on her face.
Taking the initiative, you muster all the strength in your fat, pathetic arms and smash the brick against the side of her head. Normally such a violent action would either lead to serious injury or death, but due to you having the upper body strength of a prepubescent child Rarity is only slightly injured and unconscious. Taking precautions to hide your dastardly deed, you drag Rarity’s now unconscious body inside and close the door behind you, making sure to flip the sign to closed. Unfortunately for the now unconscious Rarity, your hedonistic impulses begin to surface, turning Rarity’s now limp body into the closest thing you will ever have to a consenting female in your life. Due to Rarity’s current state, she has an inability to either complain or protest making her an easy target for your perverted desires.
“Rarity,” you begin to speak in your loudest voice possible. “Do you mind if I fuck your brains out?” A soft audible wheeze can be heard coming from Rarity, but otherwise no form of protest can be heard. Taking the silence as just another way of saying yes, you begin to slowly thrust your keyblade into her eye socket . Mother always said the most beautiful part of a lady, or in this case mare is her eyes, so it was just the natural course of action to fully “appreciate” her beauty.
The warm, mushy properties of her brain against your throbbing member fills your body with an indescribable ecstasy, nearly causing you to prematurely blow your load in Rarity’s skull. Rarity’s previously limp body begins to convulse wildly, this merely enhances your pleasurable experience causing you to increase the ferocity and speed of your thrusts. At this point, blood curdling screams can be heard throughout the building, begging for mercy.
“I can’t take it anymore!” Rarity begged using the remainder of what little strength she still had for one final plea. “ Please just end it, I don’t want to live anymore; Kill me, KILL ME NOW!
“Shut your whore mouth, are you trying to get me caught you stupid bitch?” you shout as you repeatedly slam your trusty brick into Rarity’s skull in hopes to silence her, permanently. Rarity’s body reverts back to its previously limp state, but instead the soft wheeze from earlier has now been replaced by a bone chilling gurgle. Defying all odds, the remnants of Rarity’s fragile form still cling to life. You rise the brick high above your head for one final blow, but just as you’re about to end the mares suffering you notice your still throbbing willy still lodged deep within her eye socket.You resume your thrusting with a clear conscience, what harm can be had with having a little fun?
You feel the pressure steadily building between your loins, in just a matter of seconds Rarity’s skull will now be filled with your crusty seed.
“IMMA FIRING MAH LAZER!” you scream at the top of your lungs in an effort to forever immortalize this moment within your limited mental faculties. With the force of an erupting volcano, you blow your load into Rarity’s cranium. The sheer force of the skeet rips apart her body like a rag doll, splattering the bloody remnants of her body across the walls. Surprisingly you sit at the epicenter of all this gore and destruction unscathed by a single drop of blood.
Unbeknownst to you Spike was hiding behind a nearby doorway all along, pleasuring himself to your wild antics. Witnessing the bloody scene before him, a single tear is shed to mourn Rarity’s loss, just as Spike finishes polishing his pole.
“You fat, revolting monster!”
Slowly, you turn your head to the source of the sudden disturbance, only to see Spike with his junk clenched firmly between his claw. With no other sensible option in sight, you quickly grab Rarity’s bloody horn and hurl it at him with all your strength. The projectile lands about a yard in front of him, doing nothing but leaving the dragon visibly horrified and confused. With your ultimate attack seemingly ineffective, you have no other choice but to eliminate the witness with your own fat, meaty hands.
With your trusty brick in tow, you begin the difficult five foot trudge to the doorway. The journey proves to be immensely difficult for your cellulite infested legs, but you press on; gasping for air due to physical exertion. Spike is frozen in place, an expression of absolute horror and amusement on his face. Even with your colossal shadow inching closer and closer, Spike breaks into a fit of laughter at the pitiful display happening before him. Flustered by his odd display of fear, you pick up your pace to that of a dying slug. Nearly within striking distance, you use the remainder of what little strength you have to lift the brick high above your head. Unfortunately for both you and Spike, you slip on Rarity’s bloodied horn and lurch forward. Spike’s laughing fit comes to an abrupt end, and is instead replaced by a blood curdling scream of pure terror at the sight of your falling colossal form.
Your body impacts the ground with the force of a meteorite, shaking the very foundation of Ponyville itself. You now rest in a small crater of your own making, muffled screams can be heard below your many thick layers of fat. To physically exhausted to stand up, you roll over and examine the bloody mess below. Spike’s body lied beneath, broken and battered yet very much alive. Several of his ribs now protruded from the thin layer of scales on his chest; creating a large cavity the size of a baseball.
The mere sight of the cavity reawoke the hidden dark, morbid side of you; locked away by hundreds of hours of therapy and anger management. With a sudden burst of energy, you jump to your feet and scavenge around the boutique for the materials necessary for the completion of your creation. After several minutes of scavenging, a modest pile of string, zippers, and needles now lay before you. With a wide toothed smile, you set off to create your masterpiece.
Picking a needle and some string from the pile, you quickly jab a needle through the relatively thin flesh of his eyelid and proceed to sew it to the flesh just above his eye socket. Though Spike’s screams and helpless pleas for help was music to your ears, your full concentration was required for the delicate procedure. Grasping one of the protruding ribs with both hands, you yank with all your strength; breaking the rib clean off and further enlarging the cavity. Fortunately for Spike, the immense pain knocked him out cold. With relative peace, you easily sew the remaining eyelid with the masterful touch of an artisan.
With the hardest part out of the way, you quickly move on to the large cavity on his chest. With your bare hands, you rip and tear away at the dangling flesh surrounding the cavity in preparation for the next procedure. The immense pain of the process must have snapped Spike back to his senses as he now stared at you with an expression of pure horror. With his eyes sewn open and too fatigued to even scream, Spike had no choice but to helplessly watch with panic stricken eyes as his own body was mutilated before him. Smiling at the now conscious Spike, you then proceeded to sew the two flaps of flesh together with a zipper; creating a nifty storage compartment out of his abdominal cavity.
All that now remained was the finishing touches. Using your full strength, you then proceeded to stomp on both his arms and legs; further fragmenting his already broken bones. With little difficulty, you bend and warp his arms and legs into loops behind his back and proceed to sew them together into conventional carrying straps. Taking a step back, you marvel at your handiwork and shed a tear due to its sheer magnificence. You affectionately name your new mobile storage compartment ‘Backpack’.
With Spike the Backpack in tow, you head into the kitchen to pack a healthy snack. After several minutes of searching, you finally find a jar of Nutella and an apple, which you promptly stick several needles into. With pure delight, you stuff your trusty brick and new found food items into Spike the Backpack; cackling madly as he squirmed and screamed in pain.
Still lacking any form of clothing below the torso, you continue to further loot Rarity’s house in an attempt to find something matching your high fashion standard. Digging through Rarity’s pile of discarded projects, you find an elegant pair of grey sweat pants. The sweat pants fits comfortably around your bulging form, completing your formal attire consisting of a hot pink tank top and a pair of puke green crocs.
No longer possessing a reason to stay, you happily skip out the front door with a screaming Spike the Backpack in tow. Heading through the very center of Ponyville itself, whole streets are deserted at the very sight of your neckbeard, bloodied, cheeto encrusted form. Except for the occasional screams of agony from Spike the Backpack and cries of terror from the occasional passerby, you make your way out of Ponyville in relative peace.
Several minutes go by as you aimlessly wander the various roads surrounding Ponyville. Before you know it, you find yourself at the edge of the Everfree Forest. A single lighted cottage dots the otherwise desolate forest edge. Muttering curses at Hasbro for once again changing the geography, you make your way to the cottage in hopes of acquiring directions back to Ponyville.
You gently rap at the door several times; minutes pass, but still no response. Enraged that whoever inside was ignoring you, you prepare to execute the only logical course of action for such a situation. You sling Spike the Backpack off your shoulders and lift him above your head with both arms. With all your strength, you hurl the small green and purple dragon/backpack at the door. The forty pound projectile easily shatters the simple wooden door; terrifying the yellow pegasus mare and her pet bunny inside.
“Run. . .” Spike the Backpack weakly mumbled, shortly losing consciousness after delivering said message.
“Ding dong!” you bark as you enter the cottage through its now ruined door frame. Glancing around the modest abode, you immediately notice that you just broke into the very home of Fluttershy herself. Feeling no remorse for your righteous actions, you nonchalantly attempt to engage in conversation with cutest pony. “Why hello there Fluttershy. I’m awfully sorry for breaking down your door, but Spike over here just wanted to fly so badly. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t help a friend accomplish their dreams?” You casually walk across the room to Spike the Backpack’s now limp body and jam your entire arm into his chest cavity. Rummaging around his innards for several moments, you finally withdraw your arm with a bloodied jar of Nutella in tow. “If it’s any consolation for breaking down your door, would you like to have some Nutella?” you suggest, offering her the bloodied jar.
With a quiet shriek, Fluttershy quickly declines your offer with a simple nod of her head. “Um. . . thank you for the offer, but no thanks. And if you don’t mind that is, could you please leave?”
“Of course not! I haven’t even been welcomed in yet. Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be showing out your guest?”
“I’m terribly sorry for doing this, but you forced my hoof.” With little hesitation, Fluttershy gives you her famous soul breaking stare. The glare has no effect. Thankfully for you, you have a severe lack of the aforementioned object; rendering you completely impervious to her otherwise soul crushing stare. With a hearty laugh, you poke fun at her fruitless attempt at trying to stop you.
“Haha, that was a nice try, but that won’t be working on me,” you manage to spit out, still laughing before you sudden switch to a much more serious tone. “While this conversation was interesting, I now grow bored of it. Normally, at this point I would be fornicating with your cold, stiff body, but-”
“Excuse me for interrupting, but I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t do any of that.”
Ignoring her polite request, you finish what you had to say, unfazed. “I’m still awfully tired from ravaging your friend Rarity. So instead of shagging you in the eye, I’m going to pleasure myself with your bunny.”
An expression of pure shock and confusion now lay frozen on both the faces of Fluttershy and Angel bunny. Rendered speechless by the sheer absurdity of the comment, Fluttershy mumbled but a single word: why.
Enraged by Fluttershy questioning the inner workings of your great mind, you hurl the bloodied jar of Nutella at Angel; severely injuring and stunning the small bunny. “Do not stifle my creativity!” you bellow as you dash to the bloodied lump of flesh and grasp it with both hands.
With tear filled eyes, Fluttershy grasped at your cellulite infested legs and gave you a look that could melt the coldest of hearts. “Please. Please don’t hurt him,” she begged. Unfortunately for her, the plea fell on deaf ears. Still grasping the defenseless bunny in both hands, you slowly wiggle out of your sweatpants; albeit with great difficulty. With your miniscule johnson now exposed, a wide toothed smile along with a promiscuous look creeps onto your face. With a swift kick to the muzzle, Fluttershy loosens her grip on your leg; leaving you free to do whatever you wished to the helpless animal now in your grasp.
With a single fluid motion, you jam the poor defenseless animal onto your level three dickspenser; resulting in yelps of pain from the bloodied bunny. Taking a deep breath, you bark but a simple seven words. “Bunny fuck! Bunny fuck! It’sss aww-right!” you say as you repeatedly jam the now dead animal onto your throbbing manhood. The feeling of Angel’s tight rectum is pleasurable beyond words; nearly causing you to blow your skeet prematurely.
“Stop that this instant you . . . you . . . pervert! Just because you’re bigger than me doesn’t mean you can pick on my friends!” Fluttershy bellowed, her shroud of cowardice ripped away revealing the brave pegasus beneath.
You momentarily halt your session of bunny fucking to address the brave mare in front of you. “Oh yes it does my sweet Fluttershy. The strong take from the weak; always have, always will.” Slowly you spread your arms out beside you, leaving you open and unguarded. “I’m standing right in front of you. Aren’t you going to stop me?” Fearful of any physical confrontation, Fluttershy cowers in your presence. “I thought so,” you spit out, your voice dripping with venom. With no further resistance, you continue the bunny fornication with a slightly faster pace.
Horrified by your actions, Fluttershy retreats to the safety of the corner; weeping softly at the loss of her pet bunny. Satisfied by your quick fling with the hare, you now have an insatiable lust for sweet pony plot. With Angel’s lifeless corpse still jammed on your dingus, you make your way over to Fluttershy and attempt to console her with your loving words. “There, There.” you say to the grief stricken pegasus cowering in the corner. “If it makes you feel any better, this experience was just wonderful. Being the kind hearted person I am, I shall now share that experience with you.” Before she even has time to respond, you grab her by the mane and jam your fur covered wang into her mouth. “The more the merrier!” you scream at the top of your lungs as you viciously ravage the orifice known as her mouth.
Groaning in pain, Fluttershy struggles to free herself from your grip only to be met by yet another swift blow to the muzzle. Battered and bleeding, any resistance the mare previously had was now wiped away along with any hopes of coming out of this in one piece.
Slowly, you began to feel the pressure build up in your loins. The exquisite mixture of blood, crying, and Nutella further fueling your endeavors. Unable to handle the escalating pressure in your loins, you have no choice but to blow your crusty load inside of her mouth. With the force of a miniature rocket, the resulting skeet launches Angel’s corpse off of your dong. Unfortunately for Fluttershy, the ‘bunny rocket’ lodges itself deep into her throat; blocking off her unneeded, inessential supply of oxygen. Writhing on the ground and slowly choking to death, she has no choice but to beg you for help. “Don’t worry Fluttershy, I’ll save you,” you exclaim with your most heroic voice possible. Fearful of the cute mare kicking the bucket before you got a piece of her sweet pony plot, you have no choice but to employ your mother’s tried and tested method to cure you of choking as a child.
Using all your strength, you deliver several swift kicks to the thankful mare’s head; each following kick resulting in the mare’s gasps for air to grow fainter and fainter. A deathly silence now permeated the room. “No need to thank me,” you utter with a wide toothed smile on your face, totally oblivious to the damage you have just caused. “Just doing my job.” Fluttershy’s now limb body refuses to reply like a stubborn child. Taking the silence as just another way of saying thanks, you prepare to leave with Spike the Backpack in tow. Just as you're about to get up and leave, a single elaborate poster draws your attention. The magnificent poster solicits but a single simple two worded reaction from its observer: holy crap.
