Fimfic Authors Are In Your Bed

by Admiral Biscuit

Bulk Biceps is Bench Pressing Your Bed (Level Dasher)

Bulk Biceps is Bench Pressing Your Bed
Level Dasher

So, what kind of catastrophe awaits me tonight? you wonder to yourself as you close your front door. You’ve come to grips with the fact that it’s likely not going to stop. Ever. You can kiss a good night’s sleep goodbye.

You walk straight towards the bedroom. You don’t even bother going anywhere else. Well, except the bathroom. Gotta do that first…

Your bodily functions now having run their course, now you proceed to the bedroom. You may as well just get it over with.

As you open your bedroom door, you find your bed hanging in midair, just below the ceiling.

No, wait, about two feet off the floor.

Now it’s back at the ceiling.

At this point, your bed floating up and down in midair isn’t a complete surprise. Any of these magical ponies could be playing with it like a child’s toy. That isn’t exactly the case, though. This time, a sheet-white—you don’t think you can really call it a pony... it’s too big for that, so you decide on horse—a sheet-white horse is laying on the floor underneath the bed.

The horse— dammit, you’re too used to calling them ponies… just call it a damn pony. The pony is lifting your bed up like it’s nothing. As you get a closer look, you confirm that it’s male. Muscles bulge around his entire body. He looks like he’s on steroids. There are veins popping out of his head, but he doesn’t seem to be challenged by your bed’s weight at all.

As he continues lifting your bed, you start to ask him, “Dude, are you—” You flinch slightly as he quickly glares at you, his teeth bared and a brow cocked, but he doesn’t stop. You try again. “Are you bench pressing my bed?”

He looks back up at the bed and shouts, “YEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

You stagger back for just a second— the shout wasn’t expected… but considering what was happening, it probably should have been. The pony just continues bench pressing your bed.

“You know, you don’t look like you’re having that much trouble,” you tell him calmly. A ‘roided-out body-builder pony. You admit to yourself, despite all the characters you’ve had visit you so far, this was actually a bit surprising. “You could probably put a little more weight on there.”

“YEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” the pony responds.

You stare at him while your bed continues to get bench pressed over and over. By now, you feel more sorry for your bed than yourself. You attempt to put it out of its misery. “You know, there’s a gym down the street. You’d probably get a better challenge over there. You want me to show you where it is?”

The pony stops mid-bench, holding the bed straight up with his forelegs fully extended. You think you’ve got a chance at actually solving your pony problem early for once. He then tosses the bed into the air, bounds to his feet, and punches the bed in the center from the bottom, splitting it in half, all while simultaneously shouting, “YEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” He then stomps out your bedroom door and heads for the exit.

You smack your forehead with your palm. So close… SO close. You decide to follow the pony out, since you might actually be able to get a night’s sleep on the couch without a pony in your place of residence. As you walk outside and close the door behind you, he stands there staring at you, still panting from his ‘workout.’ You sigh, then point down the street and say, “About three blocks down, make a left, another two blocks, and it’s on the right. It’s called ‘Roy’s Gym.’”

In a split second, the pony grabs you by the scruff of your neck and screams, “I’M NOT ON ‘ROIDS!” He then throws you toward your front door; you break through it and slam into the wall, then fall to the floor.

You lift yourself up and rub the back of your head, noticing a red streak on your hand when you look at it. Through the splinters of your door, you notice the bulky, clearly-not-on-steroids pony stomping down the street.

Well, that certainly could have gone better… but it could have been worse…

Comments

[Chicago Ted]

. . .you notice the bulky, clearly-not-on-steroids pony stomping down the street.

I would imagine him driving a Rolls-Roids instead.

[MythrilMoth]

Roid rage is an ugly, ugly thing to behold...

[Maxes Altho]

It's probably for the best to not leave Bulk in a broidling rage

[kooarbiter]

5741784

you lovely bastard

[run4thing57]

Hey,this is Arnold.Your instructor.