>After six months, the Fluffy Pony you adopted has been house-trained, can swim a little and is generally the only bright spot in your otherwise endless grind of a life. 
>Decide that, working 6 days a week, you really do need another pony or two to keep little Vodka happy during the day. 
>Drive for three hours to find a nice adoption center.

>Little Vodka is waving like the damn Pope to the other ponies. 
>Ask giant black man behind counter if you can adopt one or two ponies for Vodka as friends. 
>Asks if ponies really do explode and/or die during sex and pregnancy. 
>Giant Black Man says “Fucking internet. No, they don’t.” 
>Fucking Yes. 
>Buy three more Ponies, another male, and two females. 
>Figure when Spring rolls around, and breeding season starts, you’ll just keep the females indoors for the two-three weeks it takes. 
>On way home, Vodka is hugging the other male, whom you think you’ll call Gin, on the back seat, both babbling about ‘Hugs’ and ‘Funnehs’. 
>Females, Rum and Bourbon, are asleep in a pile. 
>Life is fucking awesome. 
>several days pass. You notice that while all four Ponies play well together, Gin and Vodka are always hugging each other. 
>eh, fuck it, don’t care, they’re happy. 
>Come home to find Rum and Bourbon playing with a ball. Ask where Vodka and Gin are. 
>”Pwaying boy-game.” Rum replies glumly. Bourbon nods sadly. 
>”Boy …. game?” You ask, confused. First spend ten minutes playing with Rum and Bourbon and cheer them up. Remind them that Friday is All-They-Can-Eat Spaghetti Night. 
>You are a God to them. 
>Spend the next 10 minutes trying to find Vodka and Gin. Where the fuck are they? 
>Eventually hear ‘pomf’ing noises from your bedroom. 
>Quietly stick your head around the door and look in. 
>OHWADAFUQ? 
>Boy-Game indeed! 
>Now it all makes sense. Shortly after your first fluffy realised he wasn’t going to be hurt or abandoned, he ‘wuved you’. Took a few days to explain dry-humping your face wasn’t ‘wuv’. 
>Vodka and Gin are humping each other tenderly on your pillow, going ‘Eenf eenf eenf’ and their fluff making that ‘pomf’ noise as they grind against each other. 
>You wish your camera was working, this is like a train wreck. 
>some minutes later, they finish. 
>”Waaaaaah! No-no feels funneh!” 
>”Waaaaaah! Sticky sticky!” 
>Burn that fucking pillow … 
>Walk away to make dinner. Also get yourself some anti-acids. 
>Have to come get Vodka and Gin as they were still hugging each other and are now cemented together. 
>Oh joy, dried pony fluids all over your bed. FFS. 
>Pre-dinner bath for the boys to separate them. Try to hug each other in bath. 
>Oh-no-you-fucking-don’t. 
>During dinner , try to figure out how to explain to ponies that they are supposed to do that with the girls, not each other. 
>Decide it’s not worth the headache. 
>Clean them up after dinner, wipe off spaghetti sauce and let them use litter tray one last time before being locked into their sleeping room. 
>go to bed .
>forgot to change the pillow. 
>fuck.
>wake up next morning, go out to find Vodka and Gin staring out the window, leaning on each other and going “Wah!” at the dawn. 
>Ah who cares if they’re gay, they’re happy. 
>Look around for Rum and Bourbon. 
>See Push-Me Pull-Me Pony version wandering around, courtesy of a cucumber. 
>Fuck this. 
>go back to bed. 
>Forgot to change the pillow. Again. 
>Fuck.

Yes, but may god have mercy on your seed.

>Watching the Simpsons
>Your orange fluffy Pony comes sprinting into the room at a blistering 3 mph
>”Daddy! Hewp fwuffy! Meanie munstah chasing fwuffy!”
>A bee flies in after the pony
>You scoop her up in your arms
>Open the window and shoo bee out
>Shut the window
>”You saved me daddy! Fwuffy wuv you!”
>Ask her why the “munstah” came after her
>”I twy give munstah huggies, but munstah is meanie… twy huwt…. fwuffy…”
>The escapade had exhausted her
>She falls asleep in your arms
>You lay her down in her little bed
>Fix spaghetti

>Get Jenga to play with fluffy 
>Show fluffy how to build the tower 
>Try to explain the rules, kind of a futile exercise but whatever 
>Go first, pull a block out and put it on top, as you do in Jenga 
>It’s fluffy’s turn. He knows you try to remove a block without making the tower fall, that much he remembers. Obviously, because his hooves are too big and uncoordinated, he fails and the whole thing falls over. 
>Pretend to get upset, remind fluffy what happens when he breaks your things 
>Fluffy can’t comprehend that the tower is meant to collapse 
>Punish/abuse/beat/whatever you planned to do to the fluffy. You probably could have just done that from the start, but I guess you’re into mind games. Mind games with a fluffy. You must feel so smart. 
>Rebuild Jenga tower somewhere where the fluffy plays. He’s almost guaranteed to accidentally knock it over again. 
>Lather, rinse, re-beat.

>”Why no magic? Why no fwy?” your earth pony asks you.
>”I hate our neighbors.” you reply.
>Your earth pony doesn’t understand and goes back to sulking in your lap.
>Earth ponies are often overlooked in favor of the other two breeds.
>She is the only earth pony in the neighborhood.
>Earth pony.
>An idea forms in your mind.
>You teach your pony how to grow a plant.
>She’s pretty good at it.
>You help her present the plant to her friends and she explains how she grew it.
>The other fluffies are impressed and your fluffy is very proud of herself.
>You buy her some seeds and let her spend some more time in your backyard.
>Suddenly your neighbors are quite jealous of the lavish garden she has grown for you.
>This little pony can grow anything.
>She develops a fluffy mark of a sprouting seed.
>You often catch her babbling to the plants, encouraging them to grow.
>One day she scampers out the doggie door you installed for her and doesn’t come in for lunch.
>She probably fell asleep again.
>You find your fluffy pony laying on the ground with most of her head stuck inside a peculiar plant.
>You pull her out and discover that she’s dead.
>You take a picture of the plant and ask Google to tell you what it is.
>It’s a carnivorous pitcher plant, which you stomp into paste.
>So much grief.
>How did she get the seeds for that?
>You suspect that one of your jealous neighbors might have thrown the seeds over your fence one night.
>Enraged, you go to the adoption center and get a new earth fluffy.
>She is in no way interested in growing plants and doesn’t care that she can’t use magic or fly.
>You take it upon yourself to maintain the garden in the memory of your first fluffy pony.

>the three fluffy ponies wake up almost simultaneously. their wide eyes adjusting to the light.
>”why bottom huwty?”
>the other two ponies can’t manage more than “mmmph!”
>Doctor Johann Scrotalskin von Hilter cackles and rubs his hands together menacingly.
>fluffy ponies realize what happened to them after Doctor von Hilter fed them last night.
>fluffy pony #1 has had fluffy pony #2’s mouth and cheeks surgically attached to his anus.
>fluffy pony #3 has had his mouth and cheeks surgically attached to pony #2’s anus.
>Doctor von Hilter has created the Fluffy Ponipede.
>all three fluffy ponies freak out and try running around the room. their stubby legs unable to work in tandem, they fall over.
>”owie!”
>Doctor von Hilter cackles again and grabs pony #1.
>”doctah meanie! huwt fwuffies! bottom huwts!”
>”Eat. Eat!”
>Doctor von Hilter pours a can of chili down the pony’s throat. It gags, crying.
>”no nummies! no taste good! pwease no mowe bad fwoods!”
>the evil Doctor von Hilter now shoves Burger King onion rings, some shitaki mushrooms and a handful of brussels sprouts in pony #1’s mouth. it gags it all down.
>”Now… the final ingredient!”
>a huge-ass bar of chocolate laxative.
>the fluffy pony deepthroats that chocolate bar like nobody’s business.
>”Now, my Fluffy Ponipede… feed them! FEED THEM!”
>”fwuffy no undahstand… what fwuffy supposed to… hnnnggg…”
>Doctor von Hilter is grinning like a maniac.
>”YES! Feed them!”
>”no… wan… make bad pwoopies… in fwens…”
>fluffy pony #2 and #3 seem to realize what is about to happen to them. they might be a little more intuitive than thought.
>fluffy pony #2 and #3 scramble backwards to get away from #1’s bulging rectum… but the sutures are strong and their legs are weak.
>fluffy pony #1 finally cannot hold out any longer.
>BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORP
>a power stream of diarrhea jets out of its anus into the mouth of fluffy pony #2
>fluffy pony #1 is exhausted and collapses on the floor, panting.
>moments later, fluffy #3 receives its own chocolate jetstream from fluffy pony #2.
>BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP
>fluffy pony #2 also collapses, unconscious.
>fluffy pony #3 sprays its own Jackson Pollack artwork all over the floor and walls.
>Doctor von Hilter smiles evilly and walks over to fluffy pony #3, patting it on the head.
>”Very good… VERY good! Muh hah hah!”
>you turn off the movie. should have known better than to rent this. gross.
>at least you didn’t rent A Serbian Pony.

 

> You’re in the lounge watching TV
> Suddenly, you feel a tightness in your chest
> Shooting pains down your left arm
> You try and stand up, but feel light-headed and collapse to the floor
> Fluffy pony sees your distress
> She runs over and starts hugging you, it’s the only way she can think of to help
> “Call 911” you manage to croak out
> Fluffy pony suddenly has a moment of understanding
> She’s seen people do this on TV
> If she calls 911, people will come in an ambulance and help you
> She runs over to the phone, and manages to lift the handset with her mouth
> Suddenly, she panics
> She realises she doesn’t know what number ‘nine’ is
> Or ‘one’
> She mashes her hooves against the keypad in desperation
> Gets connected to a call centre in India
> A few hours later, your neighbour drops by to return a DVD he borrowed
> He finds your dead body in the lounge
> Fluffy pony is still on the phone
> She’s dancing to the hold music, oblivious to your fate

>you are standing in front of a fairly ordinary house in the suburbs
>you sigh
>you hate your job
>you walk up to the house
>you pass through the door
>you sense target is in the living room
>you enter the living room
>your mood instantly improves
>your target is an orange fluffy pony with matching eyes
>she is sitting in the center of the room
>staring uncomprehendingly at the corpse of a dead fluffy pony
>her own corpse
> “don’t think about it sweetie, you couldn’t figure it out if you tried.”
>she turns to you and yelps in surprise
>she tries to hide behind her own corpse
>so cute
> “it’s alright, I won’t hurt you”
>she instantly believes you and trots up to you
>she stops a foot away from you and looks up at you confused
> “whew face?”
>you chuckle
>you love fluffy ponies
>they are the only thing that makes your job worth doing
>you’re glad that you get to see them so often
>you hear something
>Fluffy pony’s owner enters the room
> “Oh get up you lazy piece of shit! I didn’t hit you that hard!”
>you pick the fluffy pony and stow her in your robe
>the owner only now realises that he beat his pet to death
> “Oh great! Now I have to get another!”
>no you won’t
>you snap your fingers
>you’ve just given him advanced testicular cancer
>you walk out of the house petting the fluffy pony
>you think you’ll keep this one, fluffy heaven was getting cramped anyway
>sometimes it’s good to be death

>1943.
>Germany.
>A team of special forces comprised of the best of the best from the US, British, and Canadian army stand in a dense forest a few dozen meters outside of a bunker in an undisclosed location in Germany.
>With them are two fluffy ponies.
>They have spent the last two hours rubbing the fluffy ponies together.
>Ponies have little gags on to stifle their giggles.
>Only two soldiers are handling this. They’re wearing rubber gloves and protective suits.
>Other soldiers are staying well away.
>A few more hours of rubbing pass.
>It’s time.
>Another guy, a lockpicking specialist, joins the two that were rubbing the ponies together.
>They make a slow march towards the bunker under the cover of nightfall. It is excruciatingly long.
>Finally they are there.
>Door on the bunker is picked.
>Gags on the ponies are removed.
>They are told about their new game and set loose.
>Ponies wander inside of the bunker for awhile, until they see a tall, dark haired man with a funny little mustache. He is looking over some papers.
>”Pway!” they say. “Hugs!” “Are you my daddy?”
>The man turns around, and, clearly a lover of animals, beams with joy.
>”Mein gott!” he says, and runs forward to embrace the tiny, adorable horses.
>He kneels down and buries his face between their fluffy bodies.
>Half a day’s worth of static electricity suddenly discharges.
>Hitler explodes like a gerbil in a microwave.

>In cleveland
>Out running errands with fluffy pony
>Trying to make a deposit at the drive-thru bank window
>The send over a canister through the pneumatic tube
>Your roll down the window and grab the canister
>As you unscrew the cap, fluffy pony jumps on your lap
>Before you can stop it, it’s jumped out the window
>”Fwuffy wan go tube!”
>you reach out to grab it but it’s too late, it’s gotten it’s head into the pneumatic tube
>You hear the crunch of bones and a deep “Fwoomp!”
>Fluffy pony is gone
>Drive off quickly, knowing US Bank, there’s a 35 dollar fee for this
>Deposit check at another branch