Foot and Fat
Equestria is blessed with a bounty of sapient creatures among its fauna, and while this guide certainly does not promote the morally repugnant idea of the superiority of one sapient species over another, it does note that one can ascertain a great deal about a culture by its people’s language. For example, the griffons of Griffonia have a word that specifically means, ‘The feeling in your stomach when you have eaten too many rabbits and your family has brought home a basket of fresh fish for dinner.’ The minotaur nation’s language has fifteen words that mean ‘punch’, and none that mean ‘sorry.’ With this in mind, it should be noted that the changelings’ language has eighteen words for ‘cheat’ and no less than one hundred and twelve for various forms of shirking responsibility.
~Excerpt From The Audubon Guide to Equestrian Fauna
The first warning sign that Derpy, the mailmare, noticed upon arriving at Princess Twilight’s abode was the mailbox, packed full of scrolls, each unevenly rolled and tied with red string. She frowned and cocked her head, uncertain what to make of it. Rarely did Princess Twilight need to use the normal post service—after all, she had that little dragon who usually sent her mail for her. However, somebody had crammed at least a dozen letters into the library’s mailbox.
“Well, if the princess wants to mail a letter the normal way,” Derpy said, shrugging away her misgivings, “then who am I to argue?”
She leaned in and took hold of a few letters and tugged, but they wouldn’t come free. Digging her heels in, she pulled harder, even flapping her wings to provide extra power. Finally, with a sudden yank, the mailbox relinquished its contents, sending Derpy tumbling backwards with the abrupt lack of resistance.
Just then, as Derpy laid there on her back with a dazed look, the second sign indicating that something was wrong made itself known. Deafening music ripped through the air, coming from an open window on the library’s second floor. Derpy’s frown deepened. The polite, considerate, reserved Princess Twilight Sparkle did not have a reputation as a public nuisance.
Derpy sat up and shook the stars from her vision, then turned back to the scrolls. To her chagrin, one had unravelled when she had yanked it free. She reached down to roll it back up when a single word—the third sign that something had gone terribly, terribly awry—inked in jagged, harsh hoofwriting, caught her eye—ass. Twilight was not the type of pony to even think a word like that, let alone write it in a letter to (Derpy glanced at the address to confirm the intended recipient) her beloved Princess Celestia.
She stared at the word in disbelief for a long moment, then tore her gaze away, rerolling the letter and tying the string around it. “Can’t be reading other ponies’ mail,” she muttered with a shudder. “And now I have to let the princess know that her letter came open.”
At first thinking to knock on the front door, Derpy realized that Twilight would never hear that over the blaring music. So, she spread her wings and flew to the open window to see if she could spot the princess.
Glancing past the curtains, which wafted dreamily in the warm afternoon breeze, she caught glimpses of Twilight, doing… something. After a moment of staring, Derpy saw that she was dancing.
“Well, I don’t know why I came here tonight...”
And, apparently, singing.
For some reason that Derpy couldn’t fathom, Twilight held a pair of large eggs aloft in her magical grasp, floating in the air behind her as she shuffle-stepped across the room and back. She crushed them, then dropped the remains—shell, yolk, and all—into an open drawer full of clothing and accessories.
“I’m so scared in case I fall off my chair—”
Suddenly, the princess caught sight of herself in a large mirror and stopped, gazing intently at her reflection. A somber expression crossed her face, and she began to speak to herself. What she said, Derpy couldn’t hear due to the music. However, when the song hit a soft section, she could have sworn she heard Twilight say, “What am I doing with my life?”
Then, Twilight’s eyes glinted, and she grinned manically. “Oh, that’s right—rubbing Miss Pretty Princess’s toothbrushes in my nethers.” The song crescendoed, accompanied by Twilight’s wicked laugh, and she lifted one of her hind legs as her magic snagged a toothbrush from the nearby dresser.
Wide eyed, Derpy ducked out of sight before she saw something that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She landed and fixed her eyes on the previously opened scroll. After seeing the princess’s odd behavior, her curiosity to see what was in it piqued. The string came off easily, and she unrolled the letter to read what was in it:
Dear Princess Cel-ass-tia,
Today I learned how to clop to the oldies—who knew chronic masturbation could be so fun (picture enclosed)? Still super glad you sent me to this hick burg. Seriously, thanks for that.
Your faithful student
Stick it up your fat, cake-munching ass,
Twilight Sparkle
P.S. Could you tell Luna that the test came back positive?
P.P.S. Because we totally did it the other night. We did it on your bed.
P.P.P.S. You should know that we are in the “L-word” with each other.
P.P.P.P.S. The “L-word” is lesbians. We are so in lesbians with each other that you don’t even know.
The scroll fell from Derpy’s slack grasp as her lower jaw trembled. She couldn’t help the tears that spilled from her eyes as, image of Princess Twilight forever shattered, she turned and ran off, wondering if enough alcohol existed in all of Equestria to make her forget what she had just read.
Amidst a field of blooming flowers, a large, ivy-covered rock shifted, then rolled away to reveal a hole. “Brah, so, like, these guys you know,” Drax said as he climbed out, blinking in the bright sunlight, “like, how do you know them, yo?”
“Y’know, like, they’re old friends and shit,” Slisk answered. As soon as his hind legs had cleared the tunnel exit, he rolled the concealing rock back into place. “Good dudes.” The two pushed through the chest-high foliage, moving towards a nearby dirt path.
“Yeah, but, like, how?” Drax asked with a frown.
They reached the road and followed it up a small hill. “They’re in my rock club, all fellow rock-ologists and shit.” Slisk wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. The sun beat down on them mercilessly.
“You mean there’s, like, more than just you that’s all into digging holes, brah?” Drax said, breath coming in labored puffs. He turned a scowl up at their tormentor.
“Hells to the yeah, doggie,” Slisk said with a toothy grin, “there’s a shit ton of us.” His steps halted for a brief moment. “Well, like, all around the world, they told me, I guess, but like in our little club it’s just the three of us.”
Finally, they crested the hill, taking the chance to catch their breaths. Down the hill the path continued to wind until it became lost to sight in the nearby Everfree Forest. Right outside the treeline sat a large, rickety-seeming shack, made from sloppily placed boards and painted in different shades of red, green, and blue with neither rhyme nor reason. Over the door, which wasn’t quite large enough to properly fit the frame, hung a sign that creaked as it swayed in the wind. Neither changeling was close enough to read it.
Drax pointed down towards what an optimistic person might call a building. “Is this the place they chill at?”
“Yeah, man, they hang there all the time,” Slisk said, finally finding his second wind. He led the way down the hill. “The Griff-Inn. It’s where we hold our rock meetings. Pretty alright place so long as nobody’s having a fight or whatever.”
“Brah, yo.” Drax eyed the Griff-Inn askance. “Like, so they’re gonna be all cool with just two changelings rolling up in there?” His eyes darted around as though expecting an attack at any moment. “Like, they’re that cool about shit? I don’t want to get jumped or nothin’, yo.”
Slisk waved a hoof disarmingly. “S’all good, dude. There’s, like, all kinds here. Ain’t all predigious up ins.”
As the two neared the front door, they could make out the low rumble of garbled conversation and soft music coming from within. Leaning against the outer wall, a minotaur wearing an eyepatch looked them both over and stared long at the bag over Slisk’s shoulder before he nodded and glanced away, all interest lost. Slisk pushed the door open and they both crossed the threshold to the bar’s shady interior.
Drax immediately sighed from the relief of leaving the glaring sunlight behind. The air smelled of stale drink, smoke, and sweat, a combination of odors that most would find mildly offensive unless one was accustomed to a far more putrid smell, such as that of a changeling hive. After a few moments, Drax’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he glanced around.
He had expected the place to be full of ponies, but while a few sat here or there, the room was a veritable menagerie of different races. A gryphon sat in the corner singing sea shanties and pulling deep draughts of his drink between lines. Two minotaurs arm-wrestled each other over a table in the center of the room. At a worn piano against the far wall, a trio of swarthy squirrels danced around on the keys and played a surprisingly coherent tune. Drax noticed that one of the squirrels had a peg leg. A zebra, dirty rag in hoof, stood behind the bar while a haggard pony barmaid darted back and forth across the room.
Slisk, who had been casting his eyes around for the past minute, finally spotted his target. “Oh shit, there they are— yo, my crazy sales brothas, what’s the happens, dudes?” He pulled Drax towards a pair of ponies, nearly identical in their blue-and-white striped shirts and straw hats; they sat at a rickety, round table, well away from the rest of the patrons. “What’re you drinking?”
The two stallions glanced over, and Drax saw that one of them bore a bushy mustache. “Slips, m’boy! How great to see you!” no-mustache said in greeting. “Guess we’re drinking whatever you’re buying, am I right, brother?”
“Haha, you guys crack me up,” Slisk said. He reached out to pat them each on the back. “Nah, doggie, it’s Slisk, not Slips.” He pointed to Drax, who watched on silently, eyes scrunched-up. “And this be my boy, Drax.”
“Two of whatever’s coldest, barkeep!” the other pony shouted towards the bar, reaching out and smacking the flank of the passing barmaid. She immediately turned and belted him across the face.
As the stunned, unapologetic pony rubbed his cheek, Drax’s eyes widened. “Wait, yo, wait wait,” he said slowly. “I know you two. Y’all them salesponies that came around that one time trying to trade shit near the hive. Foot and Fat, or some shit like that.”
“Y-yes, good sir,” said “Foot” with a nervous chuckle. He glanced at “Fat”. “I am Flim, and this is my dear brother, Flam.”
Drax nodded emphatically. “Yeah, yo! Yeah!” He loomed tall over the sitting Flim and Flam. “You sold me some shit to make my wings bigger. And let me tell you what— “
“Now now, friend,” Flam said, breaking into a sweat, “you have to understand that our products are guaranteed to work only if you follow the instructions to the letter—”
“Brah, yo, that shit totally worked like champ!” Drax said. Flim and Flam’s faces went blank. “Holy shit, my wings felt, like, so big on that shit I had to be all careful going through tunnels and all.” He plopped himself onto a stool across the table. “Yo, you guys are, like, straight up magicians and shit— oh, my Queen, y’all gimme a hoofbump. Right now. Bump them hooves.”
“Uh, well, we’re always surprised to meet fans,” Flim said as he reached across to shakily bump Drax’s proffered hoof, “uh—Draft?”
“Drax.” He turned to Slisk, who had pulled up a stool of his own, and said, “Brah, well, shit, yo, why ain’t you tell me it was these two?”
Slisk shrugged helplessly. “Dude, I thought you didn’t like rocks.”
“Well, I can’t say as I too much give a shit for rocks, brah,” Drax said with a grin, “but these dudes do sell the raddest of shit.”
The barmaid stomped up and slammed a pair of foaming mugs of cider onto the table with enough force that some of the brew sloshed over the rims of the mugs, then she gave Flame a withering glare and flounced away. He grinned at her back before turning to Slisk. “Speaking of which, Splish—”
“I’m Slisk, dude,” Slisk cut in.
“—right you are, Slosh.” Flam paused to take a swig of his drink. “You wouldn’t happen to have brought any, er, rocks with you, would you?”
Slisk’s eyes lit up, and he pulled up the sack and dropped it onto the table. “Oh, hells yes, dudes, but they’re pretty much the same shiny colory ones I always bring.” Flim upended the bag, out of which tumbled dozens of small diamonds and other precious stones. “That’s still cool, right?”
Reaching over, Flam wiped from his brother’s face a line of drool that was trailing down his chin. “Well,” he said, “I suppose they’ll do, but they just don’t trade well, isn’t that right, brother?”
After a moment, Flim’s eyes focused and he returned to the conversation. “Oh yes, brother mine, Why, just last weekend we were in Canterlot, and the princess, herself, came down to see the fine river rocks we brought to trade.”
“The princess, herself,” Flam repeated, waggling his eyebrows.
As the conversation on rocks gained momentum, Drax laid his head on the table and watched the mice to keep from falling asleep.
“So,” Zubzuk said, pacing in front of the seated Blizik and Phillip, “those two plan to kidnap a princess.”
“Er, that’s what I said.” Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Why are you repeating it?”
“No reason, no reason at all.” Zubzuk stopped in front of his model soldiers and loomed over them as he pondered. “I find myself asking… well, asking myself, I suppose”—He chuckled at his joke —“‘why?’ Why would they decide upon such a course of action? What tactical advantage do they achieve by this?”
Blizik, who cradled a massive jar of jelly in his lap, cocked his head. “Tankical whatsis?”
“Tactical advantage, my jelly-loving friend,” Zubzuk corrected absently. “What do they seek to gain? What, pray tell, is their motivation?”
“Well, um…” Phillip coughed into his hoof. “Aren’t they just trying to suck up?”
Zubzuk’s eyes widened, and he spun around, grinning. “Of course!” he said softly. “You know, sometimes it takes a simple mind to discover a simple explanation.”
“Hey, who are you calling simple—”
“Quiet! Can’t you see I’m planning, here?” Zubzuk barked. Phillip’s mouth snapped shut. “By our Queen’s chitinous backside, do you suppose General Buzzinhower had to deal with such nonsense?” He returned to his pacing.
Blizik swallowed a mouthful of jelly. “Why don’t you just do whatever they’re doing before they do?” he said, smacking his lips.
Zubzuk turned on him. “Did you not just hear what I said—wait!” His eyes shone with glorious epiphany. “By hive, I’ve got it!
“If I seized the initiative, I could take advantage of their lack of situational awareness! I could—I could exploit my knowledge of their plans, and interrupt their ability to further influence the field of battle! Then, I could adapt their very own strategy to ends of my choosing, thus turning the tides against them and seizing victory! Yes, it’s perfect!”
“Wait just a minute,” Phillip cut in. “Didn’t Blizik just say tha—”
“Silence, minion!” Zubzuk roared. He marched to the door and threw it open. “Just this once, I shall allow you two to join me in this glorious action! Now, go and prepare yourselves! We leave in an hour!”
Phillip crossed his forelegs. “No, I don’t want—” Zubzuk’s hoof whipped out and slapped the back of his head. “Fine, fine! I guess I don’t have anything else to do today.” Followed by a happily humming Blizik, he slouched out into the corridor, leaving Zubzuk all alone.
“Yes, yes,” Zubzuk said, rubbing his hooves together and cackling. “Soon.”
He stared down the hallways for a moment longer before he shut the door, then returned to finish painting his model.
Drax’s hoof batted an acorn as he gazed on, eyes half-lidded. Each time the nut neared the table’s edge, he would catch it and send it rolling the other way. His jaw opened wide and he yawned. The brothers and Slisk were already an hour into their conversation about acquiring rocks, but they seemed only to be picking up speed. The piano-playing squirrels had gone out back on break, so Drax couldn’t watch them to keep himself entertained, either. Finally allowing the acorn to fall from the table’s edge, he coughed loudly.
“So yo, brah,” he said to Slisk, cutting him off in the middle of a story concerning the digging of holes, “like, this is interesting and shit, but tell them about the special shit we need, yo.”
Slisk, thrown-off by the sudden change in topic, nodded slowly. “Dudes, we’re in some need of some gear.”
“Gear, you say?” After glancing at each other, the brothers simultaneously leaned in and lowered their voices. “What’ve you got in mind, friend? Crowbars and masks? We call that one our ‘Property Acquisition Set’—”
“Man, naw,” Slisk interrupted, “we need some stuff for hauling, yo. Like a cart.”
“Yeah, we got, like, a list, brohams,” Drax added, passing over a grubby scrap of paper.
Flim and Flam looked the list over, whispering to each other as they did, until Flim finally glanced up. “This is kind of a tall order, gents, but we can get most of this. Bag, paint, cart—by the way, you don’t plan to take that cart through the city of Des Manes, right?”
Drax waved the question away. “Yeah yeah, that’s great, yo,” he said, “but what about the special shit? We need that special shit, brah.”
“I assume you mean the glassware and photographs,” Flim said, poking his brother, who had his nose buried in his drink.
Flam sighed in satisfaction, then rejoined the conversation. “Beakers and flasks we can procure with ease,” he said with a nod. “Pictures, though? No sale.”
“Don’t have ‘em,” Flim said.
“No profit in pictures, boys.”
“Completely unprofitable.”
Thrown off by their rapid speaking, Drax held out a hoof to interject. “Brah, it’s not just like any pictures, yo. We need pictures of, like, that one princess’s friends.”
Flim had his mouth open and a response ready, but he snapped it shut with a loud click and pulled Flam close to whisper hurriedly in his ear. Only a second later, the two sat forward once more. “And which princess might you be talking about, hm?”
“Like, that one in Ponyville,” Drax said. “Her name sounds like toilet—”
“Princess Twilight, dude,” Slisk offered.
Drax’s face lit up. “Yeah, Princess Twilight!”
“Yes, yes, I see,” muttered Flim, again pulling Flam close to have a hushed conversation.
Drax watched them whisper for a few seconds more before a scowl spread across his face. “Brosephs, like, you gonna fill us in, or what?”
Flam glanced at him shrewdly. “So, you gents need pictures of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s friends, eh?” he said. “Suppose we did have something like that. What, might I ask, do you two plan to do with them?”
“Yo, we’re gonna straight up—” Slisk began, but Drax cut his words shut with his hoof.
“Naw, brah, we can’t just yell it out, yo,” he said knowingly. “Like, someone’s gonna hear, and shit!”
“Now that he mentions it, brother,” Flim said, “the less they say, the better, eh?” He gave an exaggerated wink. “What we don’t know can’t get us labelled as accomplices.”
“Right you are, brother mine!” Flam answered with a feral grin, then turned back to Drax and Slisk. “Shall we assume that the pictured ponies are going to meet with some sort of… rough stuff, perhaps?”
“A little bit of wet work, maybe?” Flim added.
“They’ll be... taken care of?”
“Without prejudice?”
“Uh… yeah, yo,” Drax said slowly, frowning. “We’re gonna, yknow…uh, take care of them.” He glanced at Slisk. “We’ll take care of them real good, right, brah?”
“Dudes. Real good,” Slisk said with an enthusiastic nod. “They’ll be just so taken care of.”
“Very well, then,” Flim said. His horn lit and a large book materialized on the table, right in front of the surprised changelings. “Have a look, boys.”
Slisk crowding in over his shoulder, Drax carefully lifted the cover open. The first page had a number of photographs pasted down, all showing the same stetson-wearing earth-pony mare. He turned the page only to find more pictures of her.
“Man, you got enough pictures of this one, brah?” he said with a frown as he quickly flipped through the album, finding more of the same.
Flam fidgeted with his mane. “But the pictures are of the highest quality, wouldn’t you say?”
“Dude,” Slisk said, leaning forward to inspect one photo in particular, “is this one of her in the shower—”
“Ah!” Flim shouted as he reached over and tore the page out. “Th-that one shouldn’t be in there!”
Drax sighed. “So what’s this dumb pony’s stupid name?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Flam said with a cough, stuffing the torn page down his shirt. “She’s Applejack, proprietor of Sweet Apple Acres, and so honest you could swear-in a witness on her.”
Flim rolled his eyes. “Terrible businesspony, too,” he added.
“That’s great and all, yo,” said Drax as his scowl deepened, “but we can’t both be the same pony. That’d be, like, suspicious as hell, brah.”
Flam reached over and flipped through the album. “There’s another pony somewhere in here, I’m sure of it. Hold on just a second, now.” After a moment of searching, his eyes brightened. “Ah! See, there? I told you so!”
Drax and Slisk glanced at the photo in question, which showed Applejack speaking with another earth-pony mare.
“Take a look at that one, there,” Flim said, jabbing a hoof at the second mare. “She’s one of the princess’s friends, too.”
“Indeed she is, brother. She goes by, uh…” Flam’s face scrunched up in concentration. “Pinkie Pie, I do believe.”
“Bubbly little number,” said Flim.
“Lives up to her name, so I hear,” added Flam.
“Loves parties!”
“Loves cake even more!”
“Loud as the dickens—”
“Brah!” Drax snapped, cutting them off. “Yo, like, I know you got this weird brother-talking-vibe thing going on, and that’s cool and all, but it’s making me twitchy, y’all going back and forth and shit like that!”
Eyes ablaze, Flim stood and glared down his nose. “Say, friend, who’s doing a favor for who, here?”
Before the situation could further deteriorate, Slisk leaned between them and waved a placating hoof. “Dudes, yo, he didn’t mean nothin’ by it. We’re all, like, friends here and all.”
After a long, tense moment, Flim nodded and lowered himself back onto his stool. “Alright, alright,” Flam said, carefully peeling the photograph of Applejack and Pinkie Pie free and laying it on the table. “You’re paying customers. Where do you want to meet to pick up your equipment?” His horn flared again and the album disappeared in a shower of sparks.
“Y-yo,” Drax said, thrown off by the display of magic, “like, we need it soon, like, ASAT, brah.”
Slisk nodded. “Like, can you dudes just meet us back here with it tonight?”
“Very well, then, m’boys,” Flam said. Flim, who still glared at Drax, remained silent. “We’ll return at seven o’clock, sharp. Be there.”
“Laters, dudes,” Slisk said, waving as the brothers stood and bowed (Flim forced to do so by Flam). They traipsed to the bar and dropped onto the counter a pair of diamonds, which the scowling bartender accepted as payment. A moment later, they were out the door.
“Alright, brah,” Drax said. He hopped to his feet and stretched. “So, like, I gotta practice some as Applepants, cuz she ain’t gonna be easy.”
“Hold up a sec,” Slisk said, snatching up the photograph. He followed Drax to the door and outside, where already Flim and Flam had disappeared from sight. “You mean I gotta be that pink one?”
Drax led him towards the forest, where they could practice out of sight and in the shade. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Dude,” Slisk whined, shoulders slumped as they walked, “you know I hate pink, man. I wanna be Applejack. Why do you always get to pick?”
“Brah, because this Applebees is totally the more ladylike of the two.” Drax pulled the photograph out of Slisk’s grasp and held it up. “Look at that hair. That’s all me, yo. I’m all over that shit. It’s, like, in my nature and shit.”
“Why I gotta be Missus Pink, yo?” Slisk grumbled, then straightened up. “Dude, isn’t her name Applejack?”
Drax threw his forehooves in the air. ‘Brah! That’s what I said, yo, don’t be correcting me and all!”
“Sorry, dude…” Heavy silence hung between them for a few minutes, until Slisk spoke up. “So yo, like, when they said take care of her, did they mean like…”
“Brah,” Drax said with a knowing nod, “as soon as I saw those pictures, I knew what was up — it’s obvious they got some kind of history with Applehat, so, like, they want us to take care of her.” He winked conspiratorially. “Y’know, like, take care of.”
Slisk’s face remained completely blank. “What?”
“You know, like, in a makin’ larvae way,” Drax said, poking suggestively at a hole in his foreleg.
“Uck!” Slisk reared back and stuck his tongue out. “Dude, that’s buzzin’ weird.”
Drax shrugged. “That’s just how ponies are, yo, all like affectionate and shit about ponies they met once.” He glanced around and nodded his satisfaction. “This should be far enough, brah.”
“So, like, what?” Slisk asked in a trembling voice.
“Yo, you saw the pictures he had of her all wet like that,” Drax said as he found a stump to sit on. “Ponies get crazy when they get all wet. And they rub their shit together, and wham.” He smacked his forehooves together for emphasis.
A shudder ran through Slisk’s chitin. “And it happens if they just rub anything together?”
Drax shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position. “Naw, brah, they can’t help but rub their butts together if they get wet, and wham.”
“What, like hitting?” Slisk asked.
“There’s like an explosion when they’re done, brah,” Drax answered as he stretched his hind legs. “The chick swells up and boom. Screaming foals everywhere.”
Slisk pretended to gag. “Hah, man, mammals are so hella gross, yo.”
“So these are, like, their special lady friends,” Drax said in conclusion. “Now gimme a sec to do my stretchin’, brah.”
“Fine, but I ain’t doin’ the jumping jacks,” Slisk said, dropping onto his back and kicking his legs in the air.
For almost a minute, Drax remained silent. “Yo,” he said at last, “so, like, lemme axe you a question, brah. Was it me or did those two dudes basically mess up our names all night?”
“Yeah, dude, that’s, like, kind of a thing about them,” Slisk said. He reached to touch his hindhooves.
“What,” Drax said, voice growing heated, “so, like, they think that shit’s funny? Cuz I mean I got mad respect for their product, but that shit was just, like, straight up rude, yo.”
Slisk sat up and fixed his friend with an uncharacteristically serious look. “No, dude, no. They got, like, problems and shit.”
“Problems?” Drax’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What, like, they have Asparagus Syndrome or they’re artistic or something?”
“Yeah, dude, exactly,” said Slisk, nodding vehemently. “You gotta learn to be nice to people with brain problems, yo.”
Drax scratched his chin and hummed. “You right, brah. I mean, it’s got to be way hard living life being all stupid and shit.”
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Lol! I wrote a story with near the exact same title
Dat title
5733181
Aw, and here I was so proud at coming up with it, too.
That last part is slightly insulting to me due to the fact that I go to a school made for people with learning disabilities, but half or... fuck it.
ALL OF THEM don't give a damn and would probably drop a flaming brick on somebody(pony) who pisses them off.
What I'm trying to lead to is that we would drop a flaming brick on the changelings for activating the fucking ironic statement of They're stupid, but we got to be nice, even though we're stupid."
I JUST ACTIVATED IT!
HELP ME!
Or not.
I kind of lost track where I was going with this now.
Please update!
5733229
Haha, glad you enjoyed it! Blaze and I plan on updating every Friday, so keep your eyes open a week from now.
Anyone who down votes this clearly hates fun, puppies, sex and bacon as well.
Oh Drax, oh Slisk. You complete me~
Beautiful.
5733244 Want to have a conversation via PM?