The Elements of Harmony Write Clopfics

by DismantledAccount

Chapter One

Excellent Prose cleared his throat. He brushed his unruly dark mane behind his ear and straightened his tie. “Excuse me? Boss?”

His boss, affectionately known to the unskilled laborers as “My Lord,” “Master of My Soul,” or “The Supreme Overlord In Charge of Everything,” looked up from his writings. “Come in, come in, Prose.”

“Thank you, sir.” Prose walked inside the spacious office and sat down in the single chair.

Boss glanced at him. “I assume you are here to give me news on the contest?” Boss continued to write.

“That’s right, sir. But I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Boss paused, the quill in his hoof hovering over the page. “What kind of bad news, exactly?”

“Well—” Prose licked his lips “—it turns out that the Elements of Harmony are terrible smut writers.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. As per your orders, I made sure to only give the submission forms to the Elements, and I even received each of their submissions, but unlike your original plan, posting any of these stories would actually completely destroy our ratings.”

Boss gently set down his quill. “Can you show me an example?”

“Certainly, Boss. I have the letters right here.” Prose reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a stack of papers. Another stack soon followed.

“What is all of this?” asked Boss.

“This”—Prose pulled out another two stacks of paper—“is what they submitted. The first story is by Twilight Sparkle.” Prose set three of the stacks in front of Boss. Here is her story.”

Boss blinked. He picked up the first page and began reading.

In order to have sexual intercourse. Two ponies must have an intimate bond, an intense desire, or be completely drugged to the point that their mental facilities are no longer working as they properly should. There are other cases, but for now, we’ll work with those.

Now that you know the causes, lets dive into the mindset behind the causes.

The urge to have sex stems from the need to procreate. If ponies found the very act that caused their prolongment and continuation as a species dull, boring, or painful, then we would not continue to exist.

This is probably a safety mechanism from the era of the cavepony days, where they wouldn’t know any better, so they did what they liked or found enjoyable. Fortunately, since sexual intercourse was enjoyable we, as a species, were able to—

Boss quickly put the paper down and slid Twilight’s story into the trashcan. “How much of that did you read.”

“All of it, Boss. It’s my job.”

“You poor thing. How is your groin doing?”

“It’s still in shock, sir.”

Boss grunted. “What’s next?”

Well, ummmm, you see… I’m too good at writing, so I’ll just write really small. And then maybe you won’t notice this. And, ummmm… please don’t publish this. The only reason you have this letter is because my friends wouldn’t let me not do it. Also my little Angel bunny made me do it. He said it for my own good, but I don’t think so. That’s why I’m only giving this note asking you to not publish this. Oh yeah, and, ummmm, here’s my story.

When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, they . . . ummm . . . and then, ummm . . . and then babies!

Anonymous pony

“Hm.”

“Yes. You can see why I can’t approve that one.”

A pony walked in a house an met some other pony, they had been dating for a long time. First pony says “I love ya,” and second one replies with “Ah love ya too,” then things git all warm and steamy in th room. They move closer an kiss a bunch, and hug a bunch, but then the daddy of the mare walks down and sees the two o them together. “I love him!” Cried the mare. “Don’t hurt him daddy!” The stallion nodded, “I love her too, with all mah heart!” so the daddy nods and says “Then what are you waitin for? Git down to the chapel!”

So the two git married and go to their room, she giggles as he helps her out o her weddin dress.

But then she pulls down his pants only to find that he is a Celsetia-damned eunuch! “Why didn’t ya tell me,” I ask, staring blankly. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he replies. “Ah thought our love was stronger than that.” I fell down and cried.

I DIDN’T WANT TO MARRY A EUNUCH! I WANTED TO BE RUTTED LIKE A PROPER MARE! IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK? BUT NO. I GET A EUNUCH. WHY, CELESTIA, WHY? I’VE BEEN A GOOD LITTLE MARE. PLEASE, WHY COULDN’T THE PERFECT STALLION HAVE HAD THE PERFECT—

Boss dumped it in the trashcan with the other stories. “Who wrote that one?”

“I don’t really know,” Prose said. “The name was blotted out by tear stains.” He sighed. “I almost feel bad for this Big Mac fellow. His life, from what I read, went from happily dating to forced labor.”

“He really should have said something, though,” Boss said.

“Definitely.”

“What’s next?”

“This one is next.”

There is a mare, and a stallion. They banged. It was awesome, but it would have been better if I was there. I’d be all like, unf, and they’d be all like, ohh, and I’d do them both at the same time. Actually no. Make that ten stallions and me. The stallions are just standing and minding their own business when I step in. “Hey,” I call sexily. My voice is so sexy that two of the stallions start banging eachother right then (but then they leave and they’re are still 10 because there used to be 12). I flip my mane out of my eyes and blink once. 5 seconds later I’m surrounded my stallions. They bow down and ask, “Oh, please, goddess of love, may we, mere mortals, all have glorious sex with you at the same time?” I majestically nod my head. “You may,” I say.—

“Who wrote this one?” asked Boss.

“‘Rainbow Dash, The Winner of the Contest,’ evidently,” said Prose. “It wasn’t completely bad, actually—blasphemy against Cadance and subpar grammar notwithstanding—but I can only read this line once without feeling a particular numbness.” Prose pointed down to the page.

And they thanked me because I am so awesome and they are so unworthy to even be touching me, but I am so awesome that I let them go again. So they switched places and we banged again.

“My tally is 269. Give or take a few dozen.”

“Right then. Next.”

So there I was, strolling along: my beautiful mane bouncing in the perfect breeze, my dainty hooves gliding over the ground. My coat was groomed, and my clothing was modest. I was the perfect lady.

So there he was, standing still. His cropped mane waving—beckoning me closer. His solid body stood firm, promising stability and strength. His mane was a gently gold, and his coat, a soft blue, but his eyes were bright and kind.

Our eyes met, and I felt a connection. He was the one for me. I was the one for him.

Fin

Rarity~

“. . . That’s it?”

“No, actually. There’s about twenty more pages to go along with it.”

“But it just started! I want to read the end of it!” Boss thumped his hoof on the desk. “This is the first story that might actually be good.”

“Boss, that is the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would not have thought it possible to write a romance novel without even meeting the other pony, but she did it. She wrote the best romance novel I have ever read, and the raunchiest act was looking at the other pony’s eyes. And that happened at the end of the story.”

“That was only five, right? Where’s the last story? Do you have it?”

“Well, yes and no.”

“Show it to me.”

“I don’t think that’s wise, sir.” Prose glanced to the side. “I haven’t actually even read it yet.”

“Why is that?” Boss asked.

Prose sighed. He lifted a steel envelope out of his saddlebag and placed it on the table. He entered the combination into the lock and slid the letter toward Boss, who cocked his eyebrow.

Boss opened the top of the envelope.

The lights dimmed, though no order had been given.

He reached his hoof forward.

The air chilled.

Boss swallowed and grasped the page.

A cold gust of wind blew over the pair, but the windows were closed.

He tugged the page free of its case.

“This is the end,” a demonic voice whispered.

Boss cleared his throat and hastily stuffed the page back into the envelope.

He pressed the call button on his desk, and not ten seconds later, a blue pony with a green mane walked in.

“You summoned me, Master of My Soul?” said the unimportant peon.

Boss nodded. “Take this letter and read it for me.” As the unimportant peon took the letter, Boss added, “In the other room.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Master of My Soul, sir! It is my pleasure, sir!” he said, saluting. He nearly sprinted out of the room.

Prose quietly tapped his hooves together and Boss folded hooves over his desk as the lights flickered above their heads.

“Oh sweet Lunar buttocks defending Heaven from Celestial conquest!” the unimportant peon screamed. “Why?!”

The unimportant peon stumbled back in the room and set the letter on Boss' desk. He was completely white. His throat convulsed for a full minute before he could even open his mouth. He whispered, “Miss Pie has a message for you. She says, ‘Gotcha,’ sir.”

Boss nodded and dismissed him.

The albino, unimportant peon nodded thankfully and walked out of the room on unsteady hooves.

Boss sighed deeply. He pushed the last of the papers into the garbage. “That was all six of the Elements?”

“Yes, Boss,” Prose said, nodding slowly.

“I can’t publish any of those.”

“I know.”

“But we have to pick a winner. Our reputation will suffer if we don’t.” Boss put his head in his hooves and massaged his temples.

Prose grimaced. He reluctantly pulled another sheet out of his bag and placed it in front of Boss. “We did receive a seventh submission, but it’s not from the Elements.”

Boss looked up. “Oh? I thought you said you only told the Elements about this.”

“Yes, I did. And I don’t know how this pony got his hooves on a submission form, but you should probably read this.”

Boss’ eyes flew down the page.

“Even though they knew were were in Ponyville, we never told anypony the contest was intended only for the Elements, did we? So if I choose this story, no pony will be any the wiser?”

“No, Boss.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but this is the winner. Hurry up and send this down. Get the radio interview done and over with. I want this whole thing over with by tonight.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“And we shall never speak of this again.” Boss struck a cluster of matches, lit the rest of the box, and dropped the fire into his trash can. He sighed contentedly in the light of the burning pages.

Comments

[Half Dime]

That was hilarious! You've really got the voices of the elements down pat. Great job!

[Shamrock95]

*sniff* This would put a tear right in Tara Gilesbie's eye!

[ferret]

I liked Applejack's the best. So frustrated that Mac wouldn't clean out her pipes that she made him a eunuch and got him wedded to her self insert to show how she can't score a date with him around the house.

[ferret]

“My tally is 269. Give or take a few dozen.”

Tally of what? You wrote that he was just referring to one single line. Should have said that the line was repeated 269 times, or that the tally was a stallion count, or that it was how many times she used the word 'awesome' or something. That last one is impossible though, because 269 is way too low a number for that.

[Appl3dashie]

Is this a copy of Proof reading Clopfics sucks? Or did you just get the idea from there?

[JennaShinx]

I just came here for the clop!