Scootaloo walked the lonely road to her home. It was the only road she had ever known, and she had to walk alone. Her home was in the nicest part of Ponyville, where the mansions stretched tall into the sky. She stopped in front of a particularly large one, its ornate fence shining in the fading sunlight of the day. The mailbox read “Rich Estate”, denoting that it belonged to the Rich family.
Scootaloo turned a corner, and walked into the alleyway next to it. The dirty, rat-infested space between buildings held a forlorn cardboard box at the very end of it. Scootaloo smiled as she approached her home. Brushing aside a stray meth-addict, she entered her humble abode.
The interior was a bright explosion of color; The walls were covered in Rainbow Dash. Photographs of Dashie flying over Ponyville, talking to her friends, eating a McRib, beating the shit out of Gilda behind a bar, grinding pussies with Derpy as part of a Work and Trust Seminar that her baldheads up in Cloudsdale made her department do, even pics of Rainbow when she had that really embarrassing headgear in high school. How she obtained these were a complete mystery, although it probably had something to do with money.
They weren’t all photographs. There were many hoof-drawn pictures as well. In many places, there were renderings of Dashie in all the basic artistic mediums one used on paper: acrylic, charcoal, pencil, oil paint, watercolors, red dirt, chocolate, and goat’s blood. Scootaloo wasn’t a bad artist; far from it, these pictures were amazing! But most of them involved Dash in some sort of... compromising position, or at the very least had her in some skimpy outfit that really didn’t make any sense for a pony to wear anyway, like socks. Scootaloo’s odd sock most likely stemmed from the brain tumor that was slowly encompassing her entire rationality gland, but it’s not like that’s important or anything.
Scootaloo hadn’t stopped there, though. Little sculptures of Rainbow Dash made out of clay, play-doh, mud, and some unidentifiable brown paste lined the edges of the cardboard box and the dirty hay pile that was Scootaloo’s bed. Plush version of the pegasus too, lovingly stitched by hoof, made out of what looked suspiciously like frog sinew and rat pelts, lay clustered around the makeshift bedding.
Hanging on the far side of the wall was a large poster containing a snapshot of the pegasus stretching in downward dog, taken when she was racing her potential pets at Ghastly Gorge. Along the top of the poster, hoof-written words displayed the sentence “I want to cum inside Rainbow Dash”.
Scootaloo looked down at the floor with a smile. Down on the floor, lay a carpet woven of what suspiciously felt like fur and hair displayed a pattern that had been made to look like Rainbow Dash laying down and spreading her candy vag for the world to see.
Scootaloo smiled. Ah, home sweet home.
Now that she was home, however, she found herself to be incredibly board. She had been able to steal a pie that Granny Smith had baked earlier that day, back when she was hanging out with Apple Bloom, so she had already gotten dinner. The pie must have been loaded with laxatives though, because Scootaloo could feel her digestive track getting obliterated as the pie made its way through her body. Oh well, such are the prices of delicious food.
She looked over at the place next to her bed, where a pack of cigarettes lay propped against a plushy of Dash. She debated sniffing them to see if they were ripe yet, so she could smoke them and become cool, but decided against it; it would take far too much time, and besides, she had already become cool earlier that day, and Apple Bloom had died. That sorta put a damper on the mood, and it would take Scootaloo at least another two days before she was ready to be cool again.
Scootaloo cringed as the pie corroded away the last of her small intestines. Knowing that she would have to do something about this eventually, she decided the only logical thing to do was to sleep on it and reach a conclusion in the morning. She needn’t worry about her internal damage while she slept, because as everyone knows, all creature’s digestive tracks pause function while they sleep. She needed to slep soon, for her colon had been eroded away to a mere semi-colon due to the laxative overdose.
Before she could take her nightly nap, however, she had to do her goodnight ritual. Poking her head out of her box, she looked down at the dirt on the ground, and began:
“Goodnight dirt,
Goodnight box,
Goodnight pictures of Rainbow Dash in socks,” she said, gesturing to the multiple pictures of her idol, Rainbow Dash.
Moving around her cramped box, she continued her weird little poem.
“Goodnight plushies,
Goodnight rats,
Goodnight decapitated rat skullcaps,
Goodnight bed,
Goodnight cigarettes,
Goodnight dirty meth-addict.”
Scootaloo was feeling pretty good about her poem now. Maybe she’d make it into a shitty children’s book, and make enough money to live in a real house!
“Goodnight pussy rug,
Goodnight knee-bandage,
Goodnight horrifyingly-devastating intestinal damage.
Goodnight cardboard,
Goodnight spoon,
Goodnight weird orby-thingy in the sky.”
With the final c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-combo breaking line in her poem, Scootaloo curled up on her filthy bed. The cockroaches that lived there, deeply offended they were not mentioned in the rhyme, scuttled away, cursing Scootaloo’s name to the high heavens.
Scootaloo sighed, closing her eyes, and prepared to drift off to sleep. Her breathing slowed, her body stopped twitching, and she was just about to drift off into la-la land when suddenly, like a gunshot, a horrid noise pieced the silence.
“Oh yes! Fuck me!”
Scootaloo’s eyes shot open. She gazed through a hole that some rats had chewed in her cardboard box wall (which she had generously named “a window”), and looked over to see that the sounds were coming from the Rich Estate.
More loud moans emanated from the house, and Scootaloo desperately wished she had a pillow to cover her innocent filly ears. Too bad pillows are for rich ponies.
“Fuck me like you’ve never fucked a pony in a whale costume before!” the voice screamed out again. Scootaloo tossed and turned, but no amount of hay-grinding was going to be able to put her to sleep; this was just going beyond ridiculous now.
Scootaloo had half a mind to get up out of her little hay pile and complain, but that would require effort. Besides, right at that very moment, she could feel the last bits of her semi-colon being dissolved, leaving only the coma of her rectum. Her eyes widened in fear, and yet, deep within herself, she knew what she had to do.
Step one was to get out of the box; there was no way she was going to let her Rainbow Dash paraphernalia get damaged by what was to come.
Step two was to aim; Scootaloo lay down on her stomach, plot pointed at the Rich Estate. She was going to make them regret keeping her up like this.
Inside the Rich Estate, Diamond Tiara glumly opened up a box of cereal, pouring herself a bowl. She had had a pretty rough day, but she didn’t feel like talking about it, so you’re all shit out of luck. Let’s just say that the scent of cheetos and neck sweat were not going to leave her for quite some time.
She picked up a silver spoon to eat her cereal with, but after putting it in, the cereal broke apart to reveal tiny little brown bugs enjoying the delicious treat for her already. Diamond Tiara ground her teeth, the sound of her undoing years of oral work only drowned out by the moans from above her. She kicked the side of the table; the last thing she needed to hear right now was her parents having sex in matching his and her whale fursuits.
“Could this day get any worse?” Diamond Tiara ground annoyingly. As if to answer her, a terrible sound reached her ears. It sounded like somepony had shoved a bloated beaver carcass into a water main, then turned the pressure up as high as it would go, only to have the beaver explode out ward, producing the sound she was hearing. The smell was roughly on par with that visual too, provided the water main dispensed sewer water.
Diamond Tiara looked over towards the window, and opened her mouth in horror, which was probably not the brightest thing to do. A tidal wave of brown and orange goop was heading towards her.
She didn’t even have time to scream.
