StankocideBy Spool The Anti-Queue
Ponies are disgusting, primitive, ungulate beasts. They sweat profusely, they urinate and defecate freely in the middle of the road, and they rarely bathe or use soap. When I first began living with them several years ago I was appalled, horrified, and utterly disgusted. I could barely stand to be around them, even with industrial strength nose clips. I would have left long ago if extenuating circumstances hadn’t forced me to stay.
By "extenuating circumstance" I mean I offended queen Chrysalis and her brood by calling them a bunch of squirming maggots. I also rode Celestia like a bucking bronco to get away, I even yelled “Hi-ho, Silver, away!”. Later I pissed off, of all things, a sugar-free gummy bear golem by eating chunks of it. Celestia forgave me eventually after I piggyback carried her from Canterlot to Ponyville, where she gave me asylum from the bounties placed on my left calf muscle, my right testicle, a lock of my hair, and my head.
Things are different now, though. I’ve been here for several years, and human brain goop has a strange, delightful way of adapting and fetishizing absolutely anything if it puts up with it for long enough. I think that’s why most cases of underage sexual abuse are between family members: eventually the annoying, punky, little turd-shits in your life just become another reason to masturbate furiously in the closet.
Anyway, my point is I regularly fantasize about hot, stinky, sweaty, shitty, interspecies filly sex, I don’t really wear clothes anymore, much to Rarity’s disappointment, and I haven’t bathed in months. There’s not really a point to bathing regularly or rigorously when everything’s covered in shit, snot, and urine anyway, y’know? Also, clean water is hard to find in large quantities, so bathing can sometimes be significantly worse than being filthy…
Also, a bit of advice, don’t drink a liquid-form Kappa. You’ll get green splotches all over your skin until you pass them, which feels like passing a kidney stone, and when they do get out of your system they’re pissed as hell.
Unfortunately, my romantic prospects haven’t been particularly bright. I’ve had a couple of rowdy flings with some particularly desperate, lonely, and ugly mares, like Derpy Hooves, Pinkie Pie, and Princess Luna, but none of them lasted long. The two main reasons for my failures are fairly simple, though. They come down to basic physiological differences between our two species:
Ponies rely on their senses of smell much more than humans do, so pheromones are much more important to them for communication, especially for mating. Human pheromones just aren’t as strong, although my smell has been described as “delightfully exotic” and “arousing in an annoyingly subtle kind of way” by a few of my past sexual encounters.
Ponies have thick pelts of dense fur, so smells and stinks stick to them better for later retrieval during sensual sniffing, which is the pony equivalent of a date and foreplay. As filthy as I am, simple ablation quickly removes most of the pheromones I produce before I ever get to use them. This has, on occasion, offended a hot date by causing them to mistake my “lack of stank” for a lack of interest or arousal. Usually whenever that happens they fart in my face, which is at least better than getting nothing for my time and interest. Fluttershy’s farts are the best, by the way.
It took me a while and a fair bit of reading to realize these things because hippology is quite a bit different than anthropology. It took a little bit longer for me to come up with a plan to address these most pressing and urgent issues. Soon things will change, soon I will become the most desirable male in Ponyville… Or at least I will be if my crazy plan works!
The first step of my plan is I’m wearing clothes again, thanks to Rarity’s generosity. I can’t beat the smell of stallions by the quality of my pheromones, so I’ve got to compensate with sheer quantity. Clothes effectively stop ablation, so now I can happily marinate in my filthy juices. I’d be lying if I said this was anywhere close to comfortable, though. I haven’t had to stuff my “throb rod of power and poking” into a confining pair of underwear for a while now, so everything feels cramped, pinched, and bent. I don’t know how I ever lived with this goddamn, fucking shit back on Earth, fucking nudity taboos.
The second step is I’ve isolated myself in the Everfree forest. I don’t want the mares to have a chance to acclimate to my new pheromone levels yet, which is integral for the final part of my devious plan. I’ve been living in the Everfree forest for about two and a half months now, and I haven’t changed underwear even once! Although I have had to change my socks, something I discovered when I realized I was getting footrot. I had to cut off part of my heel to fix that mess! That’s also when I realized the heel is edible, just like fingernails, hair, puss and scabs.
The third step is to return on the misty, foggy dawn of Hearts and Hooves Day, which marks the culmination of the estrus cycle and the beginning of the monthlong breeding season. During the breeding season mares are much, much more receptive to erotic pheromones, and their oozing filly bits, their quivering arrow quivers, have an insatiable hunger for thick, ropey semen. Upon my return I will strip naked and tie my clothes, all of them, to the branches of trees upwind of Ponyville. My pheromones will flood and inundate the town, drive the mares even more batshit crazy, and cause them to accidentally kill the greedy stallions in their lusty furors, thus giving me the pick of the town!
All of the delectable mare poon will be mine! Dirty ponuts and winking clitorises, slimy tongues and snotty nostrils, filthy frogs and knatty manes! Mine! ALL MINE!
THIS.
IS.
MY.
STANKOCIDE.
