Scootaloo walked past the Sbubby's building, a bag of chicky nuggies in hoof. Actually, now that I think of it, doing that would result in her stepping on the food over and over and-- aight back to the story, boi. No distractions!
"Hey, hey kid," a pony in a sandwich suit tumbled out the front door of the Sbubby's, looming over the filly. "You should go get a sandwich. We've got an amazing discount on our signature Sammich Collection for the next two days!"
"Hmmm... I don't know... I've already got some chi--"
"Tut--" the sandwich pone cut in, "--might I mention that these are chicken sandwiches?"
Scootaloo's eyes glimmered in a way that could only be expressed as a cumulation of thirty-six diamonds crushed to dust and sprinkled over a mirror during a laser rave party run by an overly-drunk Celestia.
"Chicken?" she salivated, "SANDWICHES?!"
"Yes, yes!" sammich pony nodded, "Chicken. Sandwiches."
"I SHALL VENTURE FAR AND WIDE TO ACQUIRE THESE SANDWICHES," the filly announced, her now long-forgotten bag of chicky nuggies falling to the ground. "I THANK YOU FOR YOUR WISE WORDS, SANDWICH BEING."
Scootaloo took off, racing down the street as fast as her little legs could take her. As for the pony in the sandwich suit, calls for a facehoof were rightly justified and fulfilled.
...
...
Oh, wait-- didn't I write in the description that cuccos would be involved? Boom! Scoots now has a pet cucco for no reason beyond being a plot device. Maybe.
"AWAY, NOBLE STEED!" the filly shouted, riding on the back of her noble steed cucco. More than one stallion glanced on in complete and utter confusion as Scootaloo fluttered away on something that had wings even smaller than her own.
Scoots stood at the edge of the cliffs of oblivion. According to the totally-real map she'd acquired from that shifty-lookin' shop owner three and a half years ago, the sandwiches should be just at the bottom of this pit. And so, logically, she'd make like a badly-executed story concept and nosedive!
"GERONIMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" the filly shouted, leaping from the cliff. Her pet cucco, who she ended up naming Jerry, cackled silently at her apparent demise.
So. It's been a hot few months since I last touched this here dang heckin' story. Don't remember all too much about what was going on except that Scoots and Jerry are on a quest to acquire chicken sandwiches.
So anyway...
Scootaloo divebombed into the ocean of bad fanfiction. All around her were edgy OCs, badly-executed love triangles, piles upon piles of Sonic OCs, and much, much more. Jerry landed softly on her head, still trying to stifle his cackling.
She pointed a hoof at an oncoming wave. "Watch out, Jerry, it's a Mary Sue!"
And a Mary Sue it indeed was. Riding high on the backs of the enemies she'd crushed just in the past five minutes, Mary Sue landed gracefully on the surface of the water in front of Scootaloo. She flipped her silky, golden hair in a way that would make even hair product actresses blush. Of course, she's also standing on the water she just landed on as well, 'cause, 'yknow, she's the second coming and all or something. Idunno.
"Come with me, and you'll be, in a wor--"
"COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT!" Scootaloo smacked Mary Sue across the face as she held out a hand. "Look, I see that you're quite literally a Mary Sue and all, but corporate lawyers are scary, you hear me? And I definitely don't know that because I recently pirated fifty-three and a half Disney movies as part of a school project to learn how deep in debt I can get before the age of twenty purely from legal fees."
Mary Sue slowly backed away. Every step backward she took blessed the oceans just a little bit more, replenishing the vitality of the seas around her. The dwindling fish stocks soared to their former heights, the corals blossomed across the seafloor, and Craig the octopus grew a ninth arm for whatever reason.
Jerry the Cucco seemed to be equally confused, for he was a Cucco. Mortal affairs such as piracy lawsuits were below him.
Don't bring up Flim and Flam don't bring up Flim and Flam don't bring up Flim and Flam don't bring up Flim and Flam don't bring up--
In the distance, Flim threw Flam off a luxury yacht.
Really.
Scootaloo turned away from the faraway commotion back to Mary Sue. "Anyway, I know this isn't exactly the best time to be asking something like this, but have you seen any chi--"
Mary Sue blessed Scoots with a Popeyes chicken sandwich because she is a Mary Sue and nothing bad ever happens to Mary Sue or her friends, no matter how annoying they may be.
Scoots looked down at her newly-acquired chicken sandwich as a whale proceeded to swallow Mary Sue whole. "Huh. Neat. Well, I guess my quest from the Sandwich Being is now complete."
Sammich Poner emerged from the blowhole of the whale. Or at least, a hologram of him, complete with sandwich costume and spinny sign and $7/hour wage. "Congratulations, Scootaloo. You have acquired the sacred Popeyes chicken sandwich--a blessing on this green planet that many have come to attempt to imitate. With the return of the One True Sandwich, world peace can now finally be achie--"
Scootaloo burped, handing Jerry the Cucco a piece of the bun. Or is it hoofing? Idunno, I'm really bad at this 'write ponies' business these days. Whatever. The sacred sandvich has been c͕o̺̙̤̖͈͡n̶s̵͖u̫m͇̤͉̹̦̠͢ȩ̬ḑ̘̪͔̪͕. Maybe that's why 2020 has been so awful. As for Jerry, he thoroughly enjoyed the taste of freshly fried chicken.
As for Sandwich Pony, his hologram was long-gone now 'cause the projector it came from was blown sky-high by the whale. The muffled sounds of Mary Sue echoed from within it.
"How about we head back home now, Jerry?" Scootaloo pat the cucco on the head. "Before this story can get any worse. We already narrowly avoided another Flim and Flam ad as it is, at the cost of world peace. I'm sure we'll be able to get home safely now!"
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...
Scootaloo and Jerry got back home safely and enjoyed a nice plate of dino nuggies for breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack, second midnight snack, breakfast 1.5: the kinda-sequel, second breakfast, fourth breakfast, and every meal in between. The author totally didn't blank out 500 words ago and began throwing stuff at the wall for the sole purpose of getting the story across the finish line.
Trust me.
Maybe.