"It's over here," A generic OC clad in the armor of Twilight's personal guard ((Which was nothing but robes, mind you. Literally, it's like the Mujahideen gave it to them)) said as he led the Princess of Friendship and OCD herself and more guards towards an object that seemed all too familiar to everyone present. As they got closer to the sex dungeon, some sort of chanting became audible. They stopped a few meters away from the metal vehicle.
"Lazy, check it out," Twilight said in an authoritative manner. One of the earth ponies of the group muttered something about licking his prostate under his breath and stepped closer to the metal box before him. The other guards let out stifled laughter, while another one was a female guard dressed in dominatrix clothing and a whip. How this is relevant to the story is because I feel like adding this shit. I'm being held against my will here, so I don't usually go to Uganda to get it. Suck it, Denzel Washington.
The unfortunate flamboyant pony stopped at the back hatch of the metal box and looked towards the others. One of the guards in more ornate ((That's another word for faggot)) armor hollered, "Get on with it!" The rest yelled out in unison. One of them was standing, eating a poptart and moaning every time he chewed.
"God, that is so hot..." Twilight thought as she licked her crusty cunt lips.
"YES, GET ON WITH IT!" The pony gulped the rest of the sexual juices in his eyes (...what the fuck?) and put his ear up to the hatch.
"It sound's like something is saying... 'you-ess-ay'..." He said. He was about to go back to the safety of his comrades when the hatch came down like a south korean ferry and crushed the poor bastard. Actually no, he was an OC. Fuck him. After the waste of universal materials was crushed, a squad of strange creatures with camoflauge armor exited while chanting the same words over and over. One of them however were crouch-walking, wearing nothing but a sombrero along with what looked like a machete and the scalp of a nicaraguan drug lord.
"USA, USA, USA, CIA, NSA, PETA, USA!" With the occasional outburst of words like, "FREEDOM!" and "MURCIA" Followed by a chorus of grunts of approval by the other creatures. And by other creatures I mean five-ton fat rednecks in shopping scooters and shotguns. The perfect example of what was to come when a monarchy met a democracy. Of course, the ponies were scared out of their fucking minds. Like, seriously. You thought the Canterlot Wedding was bad? Cause it was. They slowly started inching away from the insane, democratic, autistic aliens, trying not to gain their attention. One of the guards let out a loud sneeze.
Every head present was turned in the direction of the guard. One of the creatures slowly started to move it's pulsing, muscular body built out of pure hatred of non-democratic governments, towards the unlucky faggot. A more intelligent guard simply screamed, "SCATTER!!!" As he ran, only to be hit with a tomahawk to the neck, as the aliens were awarded 750 XP, effectively making them level 96, that's 93 whole levels higher than those filthy skrubs called ponies.
Delicious.
The guard stood paralyzed in pure fear as the creature stopped in front of him. It took a deep breath before it slowly walked towards the shit-scared whorse. It then crouched before it took off his sunglasses to reveal his shades. His pulsating veins filled with rage and anabolic steroids were just waiting to burst.
Then let it all of its communistic hatred out in a single, burger-king smelling bellow that would haunt the poor midget horses present until death.
"U. S
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!exessiveuseofexclemationpoints!"
---A few chromosomes later---
Twilight scrambled around a corner followed by three guards, having trouble walking since she just took it up all four holes a couple minutes ago. There's a reason Shining's coat was whiter than usual. She opened a door and ran inside along with the others. She slammed the door shut and caught her breath. Bursts of gunfire erupted throughout the castle. She turned around and saw row upon row of shelves, they had run into a rather large storage room. One guard without a helmet, but with a line of anal fluids behind him, spoke, "Well, now what?"
"We have to find the BMP, it's probably the only way to stop these things." Twilight said, to the approval of her sex guards. They started walking as best they could down an aisle in the middle. On the way, the guard at the back saw something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped at an intersection, the others did not notice and kept going. The guard (let's call him Bobert.) ((Why Bobert? Do you have any idea how fucking degrating that name is? Yes, fuckers. This is Loyal Patriot here cutting in on the story so I can have an argument with Rootie here that will end up as a great moment in human history or put an end to us all. So put it in your futility pipe and smoke it, Rad Chad.)) (Well that's just rude. [anti-climax intensifies]) walked down the aisle to his right left, passing shelves filled with boxes and boxes of stuff. One of them had a box written Jet fuel can't melt steel beams Whatever the fuck that mean. After looking into secret Info Wars files, he stopped at one box that had fallen off a shelf and picked of one of the magazines that were on the ground. He took one look at the cover.
PLAYPONY
He dropped the magazine and looked at all of the boxes on the shelves in disbelief. Each one had a label that read, "Playpony". "I'll have to remember this place..." Bobert thought. He continued down the aisles, passing boxes upon boxes of porn. And even a couple of tapes
"One Psycho one Icepick?" He read. "I'll definitely have to remember this place.."
He took a right at one aisle and was about halfway down it when he stopped in his tracks. He started to gurgle as crimson liquid began to spill out from his mouth, he fell over and both of his hooves went up to grab his neck as his precious life force drained onto the floor. A rather large bayonet was removed from his neck, and one of the aliens stepped over the bleeding pony. The alien rummaged through a box and took out a magazine.
"Stupid sexy ponies," The alien said before dropping the Playpony magazine to the ground and walking down the aisle, looking for the princess ('cuz you kno he's lookin' fo' dat plot). Bobert got one last look of quality porn, before realizing it's underage content and bleeding out.
---Meanwhile with characters you might actually care about--- ((I sure as hell don't. Again, I'm being held against my will hel-)) (So sorry folks, that won't happen again. Get back in your fucking pet carrier. *kicks* ((ow!)) From here on out, I'll be the one writing.)
Twilight and her two stallions came bursting through the doors of the garage, and started making a break for the BMP-2. It had remained virtually unchanged since she first got it. Her bitches took their stations. Twilight was about to climb into her commander's seat (If you know what I mean~. 
) when one of the aliens ran into the room from where they came in. "Ayy lmao," It said before leveling his fully railed, level 6666666666666 M16A90 assault rifle (with lots of emphasis on ass in the word assault) to Twily's head. (Yes, I just called her Twily)
Fortunately, Robert Muldoon had Twily's sweet juicy plot covered as he blew the rail fucker's head off with his SPAS-12. Unfortunately for Muldoon, a velociraptor pounced him and pinned him to the ground, giving everyone the pleasure of letting him say, "Clever girl..." one last time before ripping out his jugular.
Twily was inside the BMP-2 by now, and was crashing through the garage doors and drinking enough vodka to embarrass Nikolai Belinski.
Once outside she found complete and utter chao-
*thud*
---Patriot's back bitches (...urgh... am I covered in ramen?)---
((Bitch, it's tapeworms.))
So after getting out of the garage and driving into what looked like the courtyard of a North Korean concentration camp, Purplesmart was then face to face with one of the worst American warfare vehicles since the F-35..
The M-113 APC.
The M-113 Armored Personell Carrier is a heavily armed anti tan- oh who gives a fuck. It's gonna destroy some shit. That's all you give a shit about.
"Oh my Celestia.." Twilight muttered, the seat inside the communist Soviet pile of shit already soaking up a hefty amount of infected juices that would even make Zimbabwe cringe.
Bobert, ((Yes, I brought him back because fuck you that's why.)) then stood in front of the rusted, cramped BMP-2, with two pitiful excuse of Royal Guards standing beside the BMP-2, spears, shields and swords at the ready.
On the other side of the sandbox, stood a single M-113. Alongside it were the five brave, young, and bloodthirsty men who were more than ready to spill horse blood and give it to France so that Mc'Donald's could use the horse fat in their fries.
In France, that's the sweet, sweet smell of capitalism people. And cowards.
But these men were no cowards, fuck no. It's fucking America, you liberal piece of shit. Praise Allah.
One of the soldiers was equipped with an M240-60-49-56-69-32 machine gun that contained .223 rounds, bigger than any .50 millimeter round. Bigger than a Deagle or TAVI-21. ((Because if you want high-tier, top-notch deadly weaponry, you turn to the Jews.))
They stared each other down. The gunner on the M-115's machine gun held the grips tight, while the tank commander was gripping his vaginal muscles to prevent a spew of liquid democratic juices from spilling all over Uncle Sam's tits.
It was silence, aside from the gas-guzzling, non enviro- Just kidding, bro. I'm not a republican.
They started each other in the eye, like a Mexican stand-off that you would see in those one movies you never remembered. Nowadays though, a Mexican stand-off would be a single, desperate Mexican family against an overpaid, military-geared border patrol with Black Hawks armed with miniguns, Jeeps with .50 cal turrets, and former Delta snipers. All of which are, or controlled, by Mexican Americans.
Thing's never change, do they?
Even though There were two Unicorns, their magic can't stop bullets. Let alone freedom-inducing bullet that can give you the sweet release of death like no other thing in the world. So their magic was basically useless.
Steel beams, however..
The clock struck 9:11 PA. Deep inside Twilight's failing sexual organs, she somehow knew that this was the time..
Their time is now..
With as much force as the Patriot Act, the M-115 opened fire on the BMP-2. The machine gun rippled the air with bullets, an unecessary slow motion occuring now because I am writing this, therefore this is projecting in your feeble little mind. Until the bullets regain normal speed and impact the ponies, sending them back down to the depths of hell from whence they came.
The BMP-2, however, proved its usefulness, despite the inside being half-filled with vaginal juices. The main gun fired back, the communistic socialist rounds made by the man who arranges the blocks hitting the freedom-reinforced armor, while the living ponies rushed at them with war cries.
The Americans ran back, attaching bayonets to their super-soakers and charging back with full intention on giving them a slice of democratic justice.
The soldiers hit home. The bayonets skewered through the pony flesh of the poor Royal fools like a knife through butter, a hand to a cross, or a man getting humiliated by a futa who is too much of a bitch to take an actual dick. ((They call me Slim-Anus.))
The unicorns, enraged by the loss of their sex slaves, shot magic bolts back at the soldiers, who went down with a scream of pain as a sorrowful trumpet played in the background, along with a guitar solo by Jimi Hendrix.
Noticing this, the APC gunner shot all that he could back at the BMP-2. The communist-piercing bullets sliced through the piece of socialist trash, while the other gunner took control of the 40mm turret and shot as many fireworks as it could.
In a panic, Twilight climbed out of the torn BMP-2, before it exploded, turning into nothing but another burnt piece of metal liberated by the democratic power of Canadian ideals and European influence, to be collected by Uncle Sam himself and turned into an improved version of a war machine to give to local corrupt police departments, such as Los Angeles.
Twilight then let out a screech of a banshee getting fucked by a titan, until out of nowhere, Celestia came out in her super-whore form, Supernova. Celestia then shot a particle beam as hot as the sun towards the M-111.
As the freedom-enforced armor started to melt against the constitutional monarchy heat, Dempsey then called in for reinforcements through the radio they got from Radio Shack.
As Celestia smiled devilishly at the freedom-armor melting, she heard the thing that had haunted her dreams ever since that one incident in Apocalypse Now.
"Hueys..."
She looked up in horror as an All-American/Chinese/Mexican made helicopter flew in. Armed with minigun, triniguns, rockets, missiles, and a custom stereo blaring out 'Fortunate Son' By the Rolling Roses. Its nose was staring right at her as it flew over at lightning speeds ((If you consider 60 miles an hour lightning speeds, you need help.))
The gunship flew in and tore apart Celesita, her torn body falling down and hitting the floor with a thump. The old gunship then flew away as Twilight and another guard stared at Celestia's cooked body in horror and lust, then back at the APC, where the two soldiers were staring back at them..
--About an hour later--
Luna had now returned from the North Korean space station after the failed launch, having taken with her a piece of the rocket's wing as a souviner and wearing a shirt that had something to do with it being an actual ballistic nuclear missile test or some shit like that.
As she walked down the hallway, ignoring the dead bodies and destroyed walls and glass and whatever under the fucking sun, because there would only be sun from now on. ((Celestia is dead. Start the conversion buearus. Place it in Detroit. FIX THAT CITY UP.))
As she approached the doorway, she heard several moaning voices inside. Opening the door, she wasn't too surprised to see two humans having sex with Twilight sparkle and a Royal Guard.
This happened on a weekly basis.
"Although the strap-on, furry costumes, and tentacles are a new one.." She thought, but just shrugged and stepped into the musk-filled room. She took it all in with one clean inhale through her nose.
"Ahhh...~" She sighed. "Smells like Cambodia.."
Before she could enjoy any further, a tentacle from one of Twilight's abdomen rapidly squirmed its way below her. It then made its way to Luna's belly, giving a tickling sensation to her as she gasped at first, but started lightly giggling, before the tip of the tentacle teased her vulv-
((I think I did pretty well! Oh, what's that? You want a sex scene? This was made for 4th of July.
...
Was.
Uh.. Rootbeer, help me out here?))
(No clop for you... even though Patriot just about did enough damage here to earn us the sex tag... I hope you're happy... I need a vacation.
alternate ending too at some point.)
