Ghost: Fruit Meister Extreme

The sky rumbled and though he stood firm, Ghost felt an utterly inhuman sensation eat his gut away. Weakness. Impotence because he didn't find horses attractive anyway. Royal Princess Twilight Sparkle the Princess of Friendship materialized right above them, genitals-visible and all because who needed clothes. She didn't cover her pussy, but, Princess Do-Good did wear a fine emperor's robe.

"Ghost...! What the hell is wrong with you?! Don't you know sucking my dick is punishable by fuck you...?!" Barked the alicorn ruler, her cane gilded and vain.

He took a rightful double-take, actually dropping half his ammunition. Ghost, true capitalist and still rather surly for a newly-converted equine, stamped in snorting anger.

"I'm a capitalist-! And I deserve more respect than the idiot crap that you're giving me here; D'aaaaaah...!" The Fruit Mesiter bellowed, bombarding his godking with tiny, delicious apples.

Princess Amazing Magic used her anti-mainstream barrier to repel all sorts of college-age technology, including weaponized apples. Or, just invasive technology in general . His lip trembled, only a moment's weakness in being so stubborn and country-fried, maybe he needed a dose of hash. So, in great wisdom, she didst bespeckle his muzzle with ultra-rich Major League Stoning vapor. A golden Mary Jane adorned his lips and Ghost, once a hater supreme, became some major fine nachos.

"... Is this what happiness is?" The stallion whispered, staring up in warm, red-kissed happiness.

Twilight smiled.

"Happiness is getting laid every night over a good roleplay. But, weed is fine, too."  His overlord answered, adding more to her lecture.

"If you want to rage, little Ghost, do it over something important. Like being changed into a horse. Or, even, knowing that, any moment, we could do something completely nonsensical because an overweight author in the sky feels moody or horny." Twilight recited, not even reading her script.

An excellent actor, she'd be big in republican politics-

Heyooh~!

"Wow, that was really stupid." Ghost noted, perplexing her because he looked somewhere distant.

"So, uh... Can you keep me on a steady supply of this crap. Because I'm gonna rage at butt-stalkers after this bush wears-off." Ghost posed, knowing they'd have entire ganja farms and mountain dew springs in Horsenadia.

Ah. A quaint concept. Feed the beast propanalol and lace his steak with special brownies. Such goodness in subduing an entire race of species brought in for her amusement. The ever-dank trenchlord known as 'SeriouslyNotABraggingPrincess' on gaiaonline, agreed in sweet compromise. Firstly, however, was a trivial and simple question.

"Why do you hate effeminate men, by the way? I mean- it's not my place, but, you could sure give me a warning."

Ghost, in soft splendor, only died a smidgen inside. He sighed in perfect theatrics, low-set and peering down. Watching Applejack observe his fine, twenty-inch donkey dong. It brought echoed resonance of revolver bullets. Yes. .Snub-nosed and .32. Right after the late-showing of 'Asho: The Masked Beaner'. He hated that movie. But, more- he hated the fruit-bowl that skipped around his parents postmortem.

"Oh, uh... My mom and dad took me to a movie about a fencer with a 'z' obsession or something. We were walkin' in an alley and this giant butt-stalker walks up, fucks my dad in the ass and has a train with my mother and she's a real screamer so she made a whole bunch of noise. But, since he forgot a' put on the safety, they all died from accidental discharge. So now I hate bronies."

"...What?"

"Whaddya mean what? Not everyone's dad is bisexual, but come on-:

"N-no, not that. I don't understand. You... hate bronies because a rapist accidentally killed your family?"

He rubbed his chin.

"Well, uh, he was wearin' an old Pinkie Pie shirt. So, that counts, right...?"