Give a million monkeys a million typewriters and in a million years they’ll produce the entire works of Shakespearacles. Or, more likely, they’ll start flinging typewriters instead of REDACTED

Moving right along, this here is a collection of speedwriting fics from Trotcon and Everfree Northwest, the ones that weren’t fit to print. The ideas are the best ideas I could come up with in the short amount of time I was given. Sometimes, in contests like those, you get gold. Other times, the muse shrugs her shoulders, and you get these.

Updated semi-annually, as long as I keep going to cons that have speedwriting contests.

Her name is Wych Elm, but her friends call her Felly. She’s a wheelwright by trade, but rather than take the conventional route of simply building new wheels, she repairs broken ones for the working ponies in Manehattan. She's one of the ponies who make sure that the taxis, hansoms, omnibuses, wagons, and carts can continue on their appointed rounds after breaking a wheel in the busy streets.

Now that I was living in Equestria, it was time to finally buy a new house. I’d settled on the charming little town of Haywards Heath, and found myself a decent house that just needed some work to spruce it up.

Or so I thought.

I might have gotten more than I bargained for.

This story is a sequel to The Trouble with Unicorns II

Acorn's apartment on Earth has lots of great features: a dishwasher, forced-air heating and cooling, a coffee maker, a food processor, a gym and laundry room in the basement . . . it's also got a telephone. She's not so keen on the telephone.

Specifically, she’s not so keen on telemarketers.

This story is a sequel to The Trouble with Unicorns IV

Sal knows that he can sell a contaminated brownfield property to a group of unicorns: unicorns might know a thing or two about buying real estate, but they don't know anything about soil contamination.

Somebody's about to learn a valuable lesson.

She stands along the border of Sweet Apple Acres, in a neat row with all her sisters, kin from the same tree.

It's a long road from Baltimore back to Michigan, but it gets a lot shorter when I pick up a pony hitchhiker.

I don't know her or where she came from. She was just there in the parking lot of the Mahoning Valley Service Plaza and I was too surprised to say no when she asked for a ride.

Besides, sometimes it's lonely to drive alone.

You have two questions: what, exactly, is Tree Hugger on, and, more importantly, where do you get some?

She didn’t like cats.

She didn’t have a cat.

Nevertheless, there was a cat. One morning it was there, right on the edge of her front stoop.

Now in Chinese! Translation courtesy of hehelover
Now with a reading by AShadowOfCygnus!

Talking to someone on the telephone enough and you get an idea of what they look like.

And then you meet them for the first time, and they're not at all what you expected.