Filthy Frank: Fractured Facade

A somber shade had enveloped Filthy Frank's heart. He tossed and turned like a baby, crusty with rooster sauce against his underwear from public fapping sessions. Filthy Frank pocketed his android, wounded by RobCakeran's My Little Dashie. Cyrstalline tears glossed his glorious and chiseled jawline. It all felt so familiar: the loss of a loved one, irreplaceable salience in the smile of another.

It'd been years since he'd lost his waifu, Derpy Hooves, or, Muffin; because Hasbro was too pussy to use her fan alias. The collapse of his channel only spiralled him deeper. Just yesterday, it was nuked with false flags from swagtards and weaboos. He slept beneath a tree near an elementary school. Twas the only place he could loiter in and exploit for shelter, since the rest of Ponyville thought he was disgusting and cancerous.

He'd burst into tears not minutes ago. And some shitty preschool kids had showed up to laugh at him for it. He stood his ground in shaky lips and wobbly, coin slot eyes pouring from every mascara-laden corner. Filthy Frank stomped his foot and tossed a garbage can in their direction.

"Shut up, you kids! Y-you don't know nothing! You've never read My Little Dashie, okay?!"

They mocked him harder, cackling wildly. He was so butthurt. The sheer tenacity of their insults, ranging from 'faggot' to 'buttface' to 'monkey licker' only crushed him further. His face was seething with red, all his anger rearing it's ugly and malformed malice in crinkles beneath his eyes. Frank had had enough. He was done listening to bullies and internet trolls, but most of all, he was done being an internet meme.

"Don't chu know who I am-!" He screamed, presenting his special edition Bizarre Jerry Lightsaber, which he masqueraded as a robot dildo all his life.

"Filthy Frank: anime hunter!"

A smooth, perfect battousai slash halved the tree behind them.

"Aaaaah! A robot penis!" Shrieked Silver Spoon, attracting the local security guards.

They poured in like ants, ten to thirty to twenty in that order, or so Frank had calculated. He never doubted his school of Hard Knocks basic math course. No, he'd learned all sorts of math, from unit conversion to scientific notation and tax evasion savings.

He'd trained himself with years of punching numbers into calculators. So really, he didn't learned a thing, but that was okay. Instead, he remembered his weaboo katana training from high school in Sydney's School for Special Children.

"Memories of stroking this sword are ingrained in my fists...!" He shouted, keeping them at bay with a masterful overhead blade stance.

"I've stroked my sword a thousand times! You can't beat me, because you've never trained like me! I ran everyday since I joined Kamogawa Fapping Gym, everyday to boost my stamina so I didn't cum every five minutes like... every other guy I knew!"

They fell upon him with flying kicks and dangerous wire fu maneuvers, doing what most ponies in their thirties could never even dream of. Jet Lag, the captain of Kindergarten Security, led the overly dramatic and exhuasting attack. He was the only survivor. Five of his men were side-strafed till Filfthy Frank fished for backstabs and abused the R1 button over and over till it wasn't even combat anymore. Jet Lag spoke with lag between lip movements and words.

"Sushi! Terriyaki sumo! Futanari bukkake! You might've killed my men, but you'll never take my freedom!" He barked, striking a violent pose.

A record scratch rattled his ears. Vinyl Scratch apologized, hauling her disk jockey gear all the way to central Ponyville.

"Hold on, what the fuck did you just say? Dude, that's racist as fuck- you're not even japanese, and I'm japanese and I'm really fucking offended by that gibberish shit people think is funny; like do you have no decency or something because wow what are the odds a kung fuxploitation reference was going to have Breakfast at Tiffany's levels of prejudice and arrogance, I mean really-"

Jet Lag uncapped a sharpie wakizashi from his gear belt and commited sudoku, writhing in pain and agony from the many numbers and squares he'd etched into his gut. Live by the sword, die by the sword, he grunted, barely piercing the first inch of his skin, but A for effort in theatrics, right.

"Dude what the fuck, I was just addressing your lack of morals and family values-"

"No...!" Jet Lag cursed, hacking away the ketchup and prop blood pouring out his mouth.

"There must be no... intelligent self-awareness. You must keep the masses stupid, Filthy Franku... You must keep them ignorant- only you can popularize such ashitty humah."

He died with his pants down. Because Filthy Frank pulled them down after he died.

"Haha- I love dick-"

A random schoolpony passed his way and cringed.

"No, I-I love jokes! I love dick jokes!"

Frank left his back toward the corpse. And a low, vibrant sunset settled in over the horizon. It exploded into fireworks and he almost turned around in complete panic, but he realized it was just that Trickseed bitch or whatever showing off her pyrotechnics. He sat down like a good samurai and realized a package had dropped into his pants. Frank gingerly unzipped his trousers to inspect the second biggest package he'd ever seen, the first being Prometheus's-s-s-s....

s-s-s-s...

He got a letter. The name on the envelope said... 'Derpy.'

His ex's name. It was ridiculous and couldn't possibly be true. That was what he kept telling himself. A retard couldn't write a letter. Oh and Derpy died of ass cancer three years ago. So why was he looking for her. 'Their special place', he pondered, suddenly climbing a mountain.

What could she have meant, telling him to go to their special place in the letter that wasn't written in due to a specific respect for the series that entire paragraph was referencing in the first place. The whole town could've been their special place. Frank had stumbled into Griffonstone mid-walk, between the ruined archways of a decrepit kingdom. He paced about, sullen and wordless, admiring the mediocrity of the architecture. It really was the shittiest kingdom he'd ever laid eyes on, right next to the animal kingdom, which was mostly comprised of bronies and furries.

Frank stood over a vantage point by climbing a column near the entrance. He sat against the right flat of the apex, his legs over the edge in soft, dangling limpness. He'd never been afraid of heights. He'd never been afraid of dying. But holy shit was he scared of black people.

"Did she mean the shitty lake bed covered in trash and baking powder canisters...? We spent the whole day there," He murmured, rubbing his chin with the region between his thumb and pointer finger.

"calling griffons faggots... Just the two of us, throwing trash in the water."

Frank slumped over and covered his face. He wasn't crying, he assured the readers; his eyes were just allergic to fanfiction.

Could she really be there. Could Derpy really be alive, waiting for him?