The air was stifling, saturated with water vapor and the stench of boogers. It could be expected of such a place in the middle of summer, and only those of the most putrid nature could avoid growing sick as the noxious aroma wafted in the breezeless atmosphere. Naturally, its denizens were among the most repugnant on this gay Earth, and their continued existence could only be proof that there is no justice.
They waddled through the convention center, their top-heavy forms swaying precariously upon ham-like cankles, and their bulbous torsos working their hardest to free themselves from the confines of their undersized, cheeto-cheese-stained prisons. Their ill-cared-for pores oozed viscous sweat, doing little to cool the fleshy behemoths as it dripped from their skeleton-clothes. The soft pitter patter of sweat droplets echoed through the building, hardly noticeable under the din of strained breathing, and it slowly accumulated into salty stalagmites, reaching like fingers in prayer to whatever twisted Gods ruled the heavens.
In the middle of this maddening cycle, one such creature, presumably a malformed cow, decided to voice its thoughts. With the sound of crinkling plastic, it opened its cankerous flaps, revealing rows of stained teeth that jutted from its desecrated gums at seemingly-random angles. The fowl gas that poured out was undoubtably toxic, and carried with it the familiar aroma of decay. A great gurgling tremor rumbled through the creature's decorated corpse, and bile vomit bubbled from its throat, cascading down its chin and onto its bib as it began to speak. "I sure am having fun at Bronycon," it said, both sounding and smelling like a skunk releasing its bowels as it died.
The pointless words were directed at no one in particular, but even so the lumbering beasts that shared its grotesque domain couldn't help but agree. Bronycon this year was better than ever! Without another thought, they continued thoughtlessly on their patrol around the area, spreading disease and corruption in their wake.
It was only when the ground began to shake did they cease their pony porn-buying routine, swiveling their multi-chinned heads on sausage necks in an instinctual search for immediate danger. The Earth groaned as it continued to tremor and the walls of the building were strained to their limits under the continual force of the L, S, and P waves. Then, in a flash, the floor at the great room's center gave way, detonating outwards in a flurry of light and sound. Hunks of debris were hurled this way and that, unfortunately not killing all present.
In but a moment the smoke cleared and the ringing that vibrated the inner ears of all nearby bronies dissipated as out from the wreckage stepped none other than Catholic Jesus, not to be confused with Christianity's naive interpretation of Jesus. Despite all evidence indicating that the Catholic Church is right in its views, fat American Christians foolish cling to their sinful ideals and, until such a time that they correct their wrong doings, their Jesus will not appear in this story.
Catholic Jesus, or 'Jesus' for short, rose from the crater, stepping for the first time in over two-thousand years from his underground prison. Every pore on his middle eastern body radiated light, and his hair swayed freely in an otherworldly breeze, bathed in the golden light of his halo. He wore naught but a pair of thong sandals, his body covered only by a couple eons of pubes, yet he was not embarrassed for he was above trifling human emotions like shame and modesty. In that way, him and the bronies were similar.
It was only once he'd stepped free of his Earthy tomb and onto the aged linoleum floor of the convention hall did he finally open his eyes, the twin orbs taking in all sights at once and instantly judging his present company unworthy. Even so, theatrics were Jesus' specialty, and he raised one arm to point towards the sky while the other began combing the pubes of his neck and chin. He opened his mouth, and out drained a voice like tiny violin kitten kisses, so sweet and radiant. He was careful to use but 1% of his maximum voice power so as not to outright destroy the wretched creatures of which his present company was comprised. He would destroy them all eventually, as he'd accumulated so much power in his slumber that no one, not even Judus' ghost, could stop his second coming, but for now he saw fit to have his fun.
"Well, what have we here?" he asked, obviously rhetorically. Jesus is the son of God, and he's also God and the Holy Spirit as defined by the Holy Trinity, ergo he knows everything. His great eyes swiveled inside his skull like a pair of velociraptors trapped in tiny spheres, gazing this way and that at the pathetic assembly that lay before him. "What vile creatures doth stand before me? Don't they know who I am?"
By now, each and every brony had both shat and urinated in their pants adding new stains to their little girl pony-themed panties, and they gaped like so many trout left out on dry land. That is, all but one.
This one stepped forward towards Jesus, his retarded beliefs spurring him on. He instantly stopped as Jesus' soul-piercing gaze fixed on him, sapping all desire to continue onward in a moment. Despite the growing urine stain clearly-visible on his front, he pulled his stinking lips in twain, fowling the sacred art of the English language with his tainted tongue. "You're Jesus," he stated blatantly. Naturally, this brony was a Christian and felt himself wise for knowing a Jesus when he sees one.
Jesus knew the true meaning behind his words, however. This Christian thought he truly knew Jesus, his miniscule understanding of Jesus' true persona was insulting. Despite being perfect in every way, even Jesus had to admit to being repulsed by the brony that stood before him. This creature surely was a cess pool in both form and function. Its entire body was covered in a Rainbow Dash fur suit, the colors having dulled from overuse and the fur crisp with dried semen. Never had such a horrendous construct stood before Him without being instantly struck down, and only Jesus' unfathomable willpower kept him from doing just that.
"Yes, I am Jesus, but not as a fool like you could possibly comprehend. I'll confess now that I am here to end the pathetic existence of all your kind, you and your like especially. It is plain to see the taint of Satan on the whole lot of you, your faggotry and autism are abundant and easily recognizable. It would seem this whole pony fandom is the work of the devil, spreading pure, unadulterated down syndrome into the malleable minds of idiotic young men. Only he could possibly make something this gay. I will take whatever joy I can in snuffing your kind from this impure world and sending you all to the deepest depths of hell. Starting with you."
With an elegant flourish of his wrist, Jesus pointed one muscle-saturated finger at the brony in the fur suit, his God-magic manifesting into a bright light at the tip of his nail. Then, with a flash, the brony was wreathed in crimson flames. He let out a choked cry of anguish as his fur suit ignited into a blazing inferno, the sweat and piss doing little to stop his skin from roasting. His death screams only brought a small smile to Jesus' face.
"Now then, demon, back to hell with you." With a snap of his fingers, the brony conflagrated entirely, his body being utterly incinerated by the holy fire. With that done, Jesus was able to continue his rampage, slaughtering any as he saw fit.
