I used to believe that the most maligned canon creatures in the fandom were the Diamond Dogs and to some extent I still hold that position. But very close, maybe peaking in some cases, are the zebras. And I think that because they get disrespect in the most insidious ways possible.

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You might have noticed I've come back to writing, though focused on anti-Fall stuff because, well, it would be unethical in my mind to not do that. Or if not unethical, then at least improper. Responding to that which is unacceptable or possibly so seems proper. In any event it's something that represents a broader category of work that makes me dislike the dark turn creation has taken. It's emotionally draining and washes out enjoyment of the source material. So I'm cheating on Pony, by losing

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Everyone loves a good villain, so they say. What gets lost is, that isn't the whole thing. Everyone loves a good villain, who loses. Know what happens when they win? Probably can't get direct experience, because the ones who experienced it probably died screaming. Death and mayhem are how the villain is tallied, and we elevate them higher because of it. Weirdly, we're taught to forgive certain classes of villain. Robber barons? Job creators. Ignore the Pinkerton mercenaries, collapsed dams and

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I love accents. Dialects, argots, cants, pigins, all forms of alternative speech, the different mutations of the "main" pronunciation. I'm not super good at identifying most of them but I can pick some out. And we all know some of our favorite ponies have accents. Applejack's drawl, Rarity's probably affected mid-Atlantic, Luna's anemic but game attempt at Elizabethan. These accents were chosen because of how they fall on the ear of the American viewer and what they seem to imply about the

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A real human being wrote this. An allegedly adult real human being wrote this to be read by other human beings and intended that others agree. And they do.

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It's real. Real as it gets. Horrifyingly real. Not just one sex fantasy. It's a political wave of darkness, a tide of blood and fire come to wash us all away into a nightmare sea to drown while we suffer.

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Pretentious postmodernists with Patreon e-begging have negative reactions to questions. But that's usually the way. No one likes to answer questions when they have a cult of personality. More cultists make them more snobbish. I'm sure there's a chart somewhere showing the ratio of cultists to snobbery.

By the by, every aspect of my stories can be questioned, and I have answers for all.

This is real. This is not a joke. This isn't trolling, subversive comedy/art or role-playing. This is no example of one man's psychosis, a desperate lone wolf no one agrees with who has zero political and social power. It's no mere sexual fantasy, and thus taints all claims of sexual fantasy and makes it very dark.

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They learned how to use computers and everything!

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In the ruinous rubble of a huge city ravaged by war, two figures approached one another with heavy, measured tread. From one side strode a hulking, dark figure, dressed in cheaply made armor decorated with bones, looking like he was wearing a skeleton. His right arm reached up high in the caribou Heil position, but rather than a flat hand he clutched his severed head by one antler, his skull-covered helmet hiding his caribou face. From the other side, emerging from a large and fortified

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