Hello everybronie, it is I, Posh, actor, writer, philosopher, creator of the hit series “Big Octopi in Little Delphi,” inventor, writer, occasional male escort, deposed vice-regent of Luxembourg, writer, actor, critic, writer, and overall tall drink of water. I’m here today to discuss a new trend I’ve seen in the MLP fan fiction community: Reaction stories.

What is a reaction story?

Read More

The real chapter eight. What was originally labeled as chapter eight, “Pasta al Forno,” was an April Fool’s joke that sprang from a ficlet Dubs wrote me for Jesus Day. The chapter titles and order have been rearranged to reflect this.

This chapter eight has less pasta, but a lot more parental abandonment issues. You also get the return of Cringeflower Bloob. But did she ever truly leave us?

Read More

Billy Kametz has passed away.

For those of you who don’t know who that is, he is Ferdinand von Aegir. For those of you who don’t know who that is, first of all, shame on you. Second, he was also someone named Jotaro. In English.

Or Josuke. I don’t watch that show. He was someone named Jojo; I don’t know which one.

Read More

Awoooo, awaaaaa, amooooooooo. I’ve finished communing with the Elder Spirits, those phantom deities which lend me their neurons to write these glorious literary critiques. They’ve guided me to two more stories, to add onto my previous blog. In exchange, they are slowly siphoning my lymphatic fluids for their own purposes (I think they carbonate it and use it as a mixer in cocktails).

Read More

I just returned from a place called Seven Elevenths, which serves a chilled beverage known as a Slappie. I wished to purchase one, but my Madness Meter exceeded one hundred percent when I tried to reduce the fraction in the store’s name. Both seven and eleven are prime numbers, and such reduction was impossible. madness. madness. inescapable.

Read More

I’m going to put this on my wall, in a prominent spot, so that people who try to visit me will see it, and immediately leave.

ty scampy

I, Posh, have been inactive of late. Astonishingly inactive. The speed at which my fingers, so nimble and dexterous they, have flown across my board of letters has diminished significantly in recent days. Am I to blame the stars for my declining output? Arthritis? The vile social justice warriors injecting their odious “””politicseses”””””””””” into the media I consume?

The answer... is yes.

To all of them.

Read More

Are you riding his baloney pony~?!

Come look for me! Bet you’ll never find me.

Read More