The Elements of Harmony Write Clopfics

Chapters

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Chapter One

Excellent Prose cleared his throat. He brushed his unruly dark mane behind his ear and straightened his tie. “Excuse me? Boss?”

His boss, affectionately known to the unskilled laborers as “My Lord,” “Master of My Soul,” or “The Supreme Overlord In Charge of Everything,” looked up from his writings. “Come in, come in, Prose.”

“Thank you, sir.” Prose walked inside the spacious office and sat down in the single chair.

Boss glanced at him. “I assume you are here to give me news on the contest?” Boss continued to write.

“That’s right, sir. But I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Boss paused, the quill in his hoof hovering over the page. “What kind of bad news, exactly?”

“Well—” Prose licked his lips “—it turns out that the Elements of Harmony are terrible smut writers.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. As per your orders, I made sure to only give the submission forms to the Elements, and I even received each of their submissions, but unlike your original plan, posting any of these stories would actually completely destroy our ratings.”

Boss gently set down his quill. “Can you show me an example?”

“Certainly, Boss. I have the letters right here.” Prose reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a stack of papers. Another stack soon followed.

“What is all of this?” asked Boss.

“This”—Prose pulled out another two stacks of paper—“is what they submitted. The first story is by Twilight Sparkle.” Prose set three of the stacks in front of Boss. Here is her story.”

Boss blinked. He picked up the first page and began reading.

In order to have sexual intercourse. Two ponies must have an intimate bond, an intense desire, or be completely drugged to the point that their mental facilities are no longer working as they properly should. There are other cases, but for now, we’ll work with those.

Now that you know the causes, lets dive into the mindset behind the causes.

The urge to have sex stems from the need to procreate. If ponies found the very act that caused their prolongment and continuation as a species dull, boring, or painful, then we would not continue to exist.

This is probably a safety mechanism from the era of the cavepony days, where they wouldn’t know any better, so they did what they liked or found enjoyable. Fortunately, since sexual intercourse was enjoyable we, as a species, were able to—

Boss quickly put the paper down and slid Twilight’s story into the trashcan. “How much of that did you read.”

“All of it, Boss. It’s my job.”

“You poor thing. How is your groin doing?”

“It’s still in shock, sir.”

Boss grunted. “What’s next?”

Well, ummmm, you see… I’m too good at writing, so I’ll just write really small. And then maybe you won’t notice this. And, ummmm… please don’t publish this. The only reason you have this letter is because my friends wouldn’t let me not do it. Also my little Angel bunny made me do it. He said it for my own good, but I don’t think so. That’s why I’m only giving this note asking you to not publish this. Oh yeah, and, ummmm, here’s my story.

When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, they . . . ummm . . . and then, ummm . . . and then babies!

Anonymous pony

“Hm.”

“Yes. You can see why I can’t approve that one.”

A pony walked in a house an met some other pony, they had been dating for a long time. First pony says “I love ya,” and second one replies with “Ah love ya too,” then things git all warm and steamy in th room. They move closer an kiss a bunch, and hug a bunch, but then the daddy of the mare walks down and sees the two o them together. “I love him!” Cried the mare. “Don’t hurt him daddy!” The stallion nodded, “I love her too, with all mah heart!” so the daddy nods and says “Then what are you waitin for? Git down to the chapel!”

So the two git married and go to their room, she giggles as he helps her out o her weddin dress.

But then she pulls down his pants only to find that he is a Celsetia-damned eunuch! “Why didn’t ya tell me,” I ask, staring blankly. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he replies. “Ah thought our love was stronger than that.” I fell down and cried.

I DIDN’T WANT TO MARRY A EUNUCH! I WANTED TO BE RUTTED LIKE A PROPER MARE! IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK? BUT NO. I GET A EUNUCH. WHY, CELESTIA, WHY? I’VE BEEN A GOOD LITTLE MARE. PLEASE, WHY COULDN’T THE PERFECT STALLION HAVE HAD THE PERFECT—

Boss dumped it in the trashcan with the other stories. “Who wrote that one?”

“I don’t really know,” Prose said. “The name was blotted out by tear stains.” He sighed. “I almost feel bad for this Big Mac fellow. His life, from what I read, went from happily dating to forced labor.”

“He really should have said something, though,” Boss said.

“Definitely.”

“What’s next?”

“This one is next.”

There is a mare, and a stallion. They banged. It was awesome, but it would have been better if I was there. I’d be all like, unf, and they’d be all like, ohh, and I’d do them both at the same time. Actually no. Make that ten stallions and me. The stallions are just standing and minding their own business when I step in. “Hey,” I call sexily. My voice is so sexy that two of the stallions start banging eachother right then (but then they leave and they’re are still 10 because there used to be 12). I flip my mane out of my eyes and blink once. 5 seconds later I’m surrounded my stallions. They bow down and ask, “Oh, please, goddess of love, may we, mere mortals, all have glorious sex with you at the same time?” I majestically nod my head. “You may,” I say.—

“Who wrote this one?” asked Boss.

“‘Rainbow Dash, The Winner of the Contest,’ evidently,” said Prose. “It wasn’t completely bad, actually—blasphemy against Cadance and subpar grammar notwithstanding—but I can only read this line once without feeling a particular numbness.” Prose pointed down to the page.

And they thanked me because I am so awesome and they are so unworthy to even be touching me, but I am so awesome that I let them go again. So they switched places and we banged again.

“My tally is 269. Give or take a few dozen.”

“Right then. Next.”

So there I was, strolling along: my beautiful mane bouncing in the perfect breeze, my dainty hooves gliding over the ground. My coat was groomed, and my clothing was modest. I was the perfect lady.

So there he was, standing still. His cropped mane waving—beckoning me closer. His solid body stood firm, promising stability and strength. His mane was a gently gold, and his coat, a soft blue, but his eyes were bright and kind.

Our eyes met, and I felt a connection. He was the one for me. I was the one for him.

Fin

Rarity~

“. . . That’s it?”

“No, actually. There’s about twenty more pages to go along with it.”

“But it just started! I want to read the end of it!” Boss thumped his hoof on the desk. “This is the first story that might actually be good.”

“Boss, that is the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would not have thought it possible to write a romance novel without even meeting the other pony, but she did it. She wrote the best romance novel I have ever read, and the raunchiest act was looking at the other pony’s eyes. And that happened at the end of the story.”

“That was only five, right? Where’s the last story? Do you have it?”

“Well, yes and no.”

“Show it to me.”

“I don’t think that’s wise, sir.” Prose glanced to the side. “I haven’t actually even read it yet.”

“Why is that?” Boss asked.

Prose sighed. He lifted a steel envelope out of his saddlebag and placed it on the table. He entered the combination into the lock and slid the letter toward Boss, who cocked his eyebrow.

Boss opened the top of the envelope.

The lights dimmed, though no order had been given.

He reached his hoof forward.

The air chilled.

Boss swallowed and grasped the page.

A cold gust of wind blew over the pair, but the windows were closed.

He tugged the page free of its case.

“This is the end,” a demonic voice whispered.

Boss cleared his throat and hastily stuffed the page back into the envelope.

He pressed the call button on his desk, and not ten seconds later, a blue pony with a green mane walked in.

“You summoned me, Master of My Soul?” said the unimportant peon.

Boss nodded. “Take this letter and read it for me.” As the unimportant peon took the letter, Boss added, “In the other room.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Master of My Soul, sir! It is my pleasure, sir!” he said, saluting. He nearly sprinted out of the room.

Prose quietly tapped his hooves together and Boss folded hooves over his desk as the lights flickered above their heads.

“Oh sweet Lunar buttocks defending Heaven from Celestial conquest!” the unimportant peon screamed. “Why?!”

The unimportant peon stumbled back in the room and set the letter on Boss' desk. He was completely white. His throat convulsed for a full minute before he could even open his mouth. He whispered, “Miss Pie has a message for you. She says, ‘Gotcha,’ sir.”

Boss nodded and dismissed him.

The albino, unimportant peon nodded thankfully and walked out of the room on unsteady hooves.

Boss sighed deeply. He pushed the last of the papers into the garbage. “That was all six of the Elements?”

“Yes, Boss,” Prose said, nodding slowly.

“I can’t publish any of those.”

“I know.”

“But we have to pick a winner. Our reputation will suffer if we don’t.” Boss put his head in his hooves and massaged his temples.

Prose grimaced. He reluctantly pulled another sheet out of his bag and placed it in front of Boss. “We did receive a seventh submission, but it’s not from the Elements.”

Boss looked up. “Oh? I thought you said you only told the Elements about this.”

“Yes, I did. And I don’t know how this pony got his hooves on a submission form, but you should probably read this.”

Boss’ eyes flew down the page.

“Even though they knew were were in Ponyville, we never told anypony the contest was intended only for the Elements, did we? So if I choose this story, no pony will be any the wiser?”

“No, Boss.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but this is the winner. Hurry up and send this down. Get the radio interview done and over with. I want this whole thing over with by tonight.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“And we shall never speak of this again.” Boss struck a cluster of matches, lit the rest of the box, and dropped the fire into his trash can. He sighed contentedly in the light of the burning pages.

Chapter Two

A light purple pegasus with a white mane and blue eyes cleared her throat. She watched the countdown out of the corner of her eye while she shuffled her papers. The green “On Air” light came on, and with practiced ease, she began speaking in a smooth voice.

“Greetings, loyal listeners. Welcome back to Featured Fictions! I’m your host, Linda The Pony, and I’ll be interviewing this week’s winner of the Amature Clopfic Write-Off. We’ve seen some great stories from other cities, and now it’s time to see if little Ponyville can make itself known amongst the world. We’ve managed to get the authors of the winning story in for an interview, so let’s cut right to the chase. What are your names?” Linda looked across the table.

“I’m Sweetie Belle,” said the smart-looking one.

“And I’m Apple Bloom,” said the other one.

“And I’m Scoot—”

“What lovely names! Now tell me, aren’t you a bit young to be writing mature fiction?”

“. . . What’s ‘mature fiction,” Miss Linda?” asked Sweetie.

“Well, er, what you wrote. That’s why you’re here, right?” Linda asked, smiling slightly.

“I’m here cause the stallion promised I would have candy. Can I have my candy now?” said Apple Bloom.

“That was probably File,” Linda hummed.

“He had a funny-looking cutie mark,” Apple Bloom continued. “It looked kinda like a pony in a sack.”

“Don’t talk to File. We don’t want another lawsuit on our hooves,” Linda chirped. “Now, don’t you want to talk about your story or something, please? We have a full ten minutes, and our listeners are waiting.”

Scootaloo raised her hoof, “Ohh, I’ll talk—”

“Sweetie, why don’t you talk about your story?”

“No, it’s all right. Scootaloo can go first,” said Sweetie, smiling sweetly.

“No, I don’t like Scootaloo.” Scootaloo’s eyes fell, but she kept her hoof in the air. Linda continued, “What do you have to say about the story, Apple Bloom?”

“What do you have against Scootaloo, Miss Linda?” asked Apple Bloom, frowning. “It was her idea to enter the contest in the first place, so you should probably talk to her.”

Reluctantly, Linda looked over to Scootaloo and said, “Do you have anything you would like to say, Scootaloo?

Scootaloo put her hoof down and began speaking rapidly. “Well, you see, I found out Rainbow Dash was entering this contest, so because she is so awesome, I had to get into the contest too—”

“Your parents are dead.” Linda stared Scootaloo in the eye.

Scootaloo paused, her mouth half-open. Tears started forming in her eyes.

“Great! Now that she’s quiet, why don’t we continue with the interview?” Linda clapped her hooves together and smiled.

“That was mean!” shouted Apple Bloom.

“If you talk, I’ll give you candy,” Linda said.

“. . . What kind?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Any kind you want. So what did you contribute to the story?” said Linda.

“I did all the typing,” said Apple Bloom.

“And I helped with spelling and word choice,” said Sweetie.

“Exceptional teamwork,” said Linda, smiling brightly. “Who came up with the story ideas?”

“That was Scootaloo.”

“Nopony loves Scootaloo, so let’s not even talk about her,” said Linda.

Scootaloo was silently screaming, tears streaming down her face.

“Last question before we run out of time: if you could sum up your entire story with only one word, what would it be?”

“Our story is too good to be explained with only one word,” said Apple Bloom.

Sweetie nodded. “You’ll have to read it sometime.”

Linda chuckled daintily. “Excellent answer. I will do that as soon as I get the latest edition of the magazine. Thank you for your time, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. And that’s all the time we have for Featured Fictions! I’m your host, Linda The Pony, telling you to keep an eye out for the two wonderful fillies’ story in your newest edition!”

As the “On Air” light went out, Sweetie Belle walked out of the room with Apple Bloom right behind her, Scootaloo’s tail clamped firmly in her jaws.

Even with her face dragging along the abrasive ground, Scootaloo was still unresponsive, her tears and drool leaving a sticky trail that lead out the door.

Chapter Three

Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop.

The Cutie Mark Crusaders: Porno-writers!

Author's Note

I don't understand you crazy people. Why do you let me near my computer?