AND suddenly, tht
She woke up and she was completely she broke down. This is imperative to the story.
It's notable that her name was, in fact, the Banked Pie. She was composed of a series of numerical delicious roundels, some of which you put to baking within an oven or similarly hot place. Then, you will produce something magical for you to eat. Bank Pie was extraordinarily aware of and good at this. She woke up in her black, dark and room, and then she did a great and unutterable skip down the stairs.
"I am extremely loud," thought the horse, because - oh, di meliora, it was but a horse all along - and she walked herself down the area until she became at a place where the people who owned her were taking an aggressive and despotic sleep.
"Have you!!" shouted that very horse until that door had become so frightened that it did in fact peel itself from its hinges to allow the Darkened Pie some access to the gaspless area. It requested at the least some measure of open and fettered battlements from the bright brown boys, which the PIE unarguably could provide with the wet liquids of her various places.
You are amazed! You are, firstly, you are ablative! That can't be a WORD, you disgusting beast. You want to be nearer, beleaguered, three teasers meet eager leaders, briefly see easy and meagre teeming glee-beamers.
Now let's over to the house of many a good sun, in which a F greatly increases its chances of death.
Look, I'm aware that there are only so many things that can be rated 'PG' in life. So I'll skip forwards a bit. This is a yellow horse whose name is Flattershy. She is flatter than the horse that you understand. That's for copyright reasons. Her spin is compressed and her knees and elbows are pressed together in an uncomfortable and staticky way. Hers is a life of pain, and I do not envy her.
She resides at her own small cottage in which there are a great many muds and bracks that made up an around-about of the upper-builder places. Some of them are large and hateful and mean in nature, and some will write aggressive notes passively in order to fulfill their quota for the term 'passive-aggressive.' The horse itself is a passive beast, one of care and warm liquids herself, which can supplement the unbearable workload of the Browned Pie. However, this horse does not yet remember the toils of said Pie, and must restrain herself.
The yellow beast clomped down the stairs, each clomp echoing like a grasping gristle of a large boy's daily sandwich. "I am so fucking loud," thought the horse, and then it MELTED.
Let's please continue on to the lair of the horse which is bright, brimful white. It's so darned white that he grabbed his own chestles and wondered aloud, "Oh jeez?"
This lair is a descriptive paragraph. It takes the name of that thing that was mentioned by my avaricious mouth and spreads it as though butter on tost. Not toast, mind you - it is a delicacy that is fake. Tost. This crisp and alluring blanket of janky adverbs and ridiculously long-winded verbiage actually and literally tore out my vocal cords and replaced them with gender-based violence.
Author's Notes Position
Author's Notes
Sp
The first thing she did in this morning is take off her coat and stay awhile. Of course, I can't be legitimate because that would cause bleeding and the like, which would have to be mopped up by that strange-headed janitor who only responds to the name he was given at birth. He can't speak. Neither can I. That's why I write with my fingers. White horse grew to a frightful size when she rolled her whole body off of that little bed-port and then she stood on her unfortunately dulled digits. You can spike them with metals if you so choose and she would be none the wiser.
The second thing she did is approach the staircase with a low and guttural growl. She is not proud of her stairs. They are nothing if not a source of frustration for her. How dare they be shaped like stairs when she is only shaped as though she were a horse? What rude little wooden children.
The third thing she did was take a step on those stairs, and when she did there was a god-licking CRACK which resounded throughout the allowance dugout, and the white creature was absolutely smacked in the face with shock and awe and dismay and slight moist. She said out loud next, "Oh, God, it, oh, God, it, why, it, when, I, oh." Because she was absolutely and NEGATIVELY loud. It was incrble.
Now, this white shroud of death had with her a small and opaque secondary being which was related to the shroud with a thread of life-affirming liquids. This secondary being was in a state of NON-ALIVE in a certain chamber of the establishment to which the blank animal had total and perfective access. The napkin-based creature approached, its each step an echoing painful explosion of whack and smplat, and it entered the domicile and spoke with its tongue and throat-flaps but instead uttered a "OH" which actually literally destroyed everyone's ears. My ears, you cry. I cry. We all cry, because we do not have the things we desire. That includes the ears that left us today.
Shut the fuck up and listen. There are two more based animals that we will approach with caution, without awakening the poor old dogs that we own. The first of these magical beasts is a disgusting creature with additional limbs that make it go upwards and sidewards and whatever wards you can imagine to the diagonal upwards if you wish or diagonal sidewards diagonal in a direction that leaves the locked concept of the small area you have grown accustomed to.
This entropic mass of Nike advertisement example is a blue it is a bright very bright blue. It is only so blue because there is no red in it; if there is red in everything, it is in nothing. Actually, that was just a poor off-the-books to a nonce that is dead, but this being did in fact obtain and keep a red inside itself, specifically directed towards its scalpular follicles. That's a hecking hair for you brainless boys back at the barnyard. It's got a red hair and a few other hairs of lesser note.
Let us take a glimmer at this very the muscled and sleeper horse, there. Its name is Rackabon Darjeeling, or thereabouts. This horse was fast. It was fast, it had to go fast. It got to go fast. It was fast it was f a s t. It was so very very fast it was speedy and boom point A to point B FAST. So the first thing it did when it did an awakeness in the bright light of the non-night was sit bolt upright and scream about its life. It screamed, "I am Ranted Ducks. I am Rancid Dishes. I was born fast and I went through my early-life learnings very fast. I will approach my work very fast, and I will approach my home very fast. When I go to the kitchen right now, I will do it very fast."
This is what the horse being would have screamed, as it did every morning. However, it was abjectly a very, very loudness this morning. Therefore, when it began to scream, it became several billion particles of itself. And it died the fastest.
Now, our final horse is a disheveled violet colour and it lives inside a large vegetable. Vegetation. It grew from the ground and it shall be placed into its bed come sunset.
This horse's name is Tangled Beef, and its duty is to consume paper. It awakens in the morning with the mind to solely consume paper and for no other task which I cannot tell you because it is not existent. It jokes quietly with its friends in its long and dutiful sleep, but upon awakening, it climbs from its dull stained-wood davenport and lands heavily upon the wooden ground of the vegetation which is its home.
Today, the slamber of the hoof-rocks on the woodens makes the beast gasp in surprise because it was such a large noise. 'Usually, the slamber is not so loud,' thinks the violet being as very quietly as it could. It takes care to approach the stairs with a quicklen-quietness and so it can breathe easy it re-imagines what it would have been like to eat dinner as a family in the olden days. This is a calming procedure given to the beast by a woman named Queen Sun.
She was never a part of this story, you dense insult! You trashy cabbage!
Regardless, the purple horse made to the bottom of the stair and then its small scaled counterpart exited it. The scaled counterpart said, "Hidey-ho, you aggressive adjudicator."
"Be very small," the horse replied, as small as it could. "I am loud."
"Yes," the scaled being replied, and then it was no more. He just up and sun, the rude little spinebiter.
The violet was unaware, because at this moment, it did a large ejaculation of debris from its face. That was its morning routine, and it was loud no more, because it was beyond and above that. Ejaculation is transformative.
Applejack was also there.
______________________but TheN
______________________but TheN
The thing is, my darling ladies and friendly gentlemen, that life is in an eternal and unending loop, like some sort of celestial hymn on a radical wax record that automatically pops back to the beginning when it's done, which is neat and I have one and my uncle got it for me and his name is Jeremy and he writes a webcomic which is how he makes money.
It was all decided that most of the horses were dead. After all, the homewrecking and carbuncular explosions of the several shrimpy beasts indeed decided the final message of the previous chapter. But, in reality, there is no such thing as an end, and, indeed as well also, they de-munched and de-crunched and bopped back inna place like-a papa's big willy Taco B. It's when they inflate into normal pieces again, but this time there are thousands who become one.
Let us take an example. Figure A - a figure eight, screams the audience, and they're wrong - they're wrong - they're wrong. The figure A is a goddamn blue horse with no hand no feet. Just a blue-ass horse who does things in a rapid manner. Whenever the female horse performs an action, the action is performed with the utmost legerity. The horse is so - you're not even gonna believe me, dad - so fast that when it moves the whole world turns around and goes "Jesus Christ on a platinum bicycle, that horse did a really quick movement, there!" Now, upon dissecting such an example using the information given you in the previous section of this narrative, you might come to the conclusion that that bitch got fried. Blown to smotherines using the utter power of loud and bigfast. But you would be untaken wrongly. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Check this doohickey out. It's called 'telling lies'. The blue horse in reality became a grabzillbon blue horse who were small and they formed together like smegmatron into a Larger Blue Horse, which was sleek and girl. "Don't like it," screamed the horse, but no longer was loud and bigfast. Instead, the burrowing nature of her teeny voice was upsettingly low and itsy-bits, and she shouted slightly longer because of her lack of intuitive sticktuitive bringing the basket around. She couldn't grasp the basket, lacking lasting mastication. What the hell?
Now, blue horse went out of her way and even - I know, it's hard to grasp sometimes with your limited brainpower - out of her house in order to contact a similar being, which was known as Not Even A Horse. According to the True Postulated Canonical Universe, the being was instead a one-corn, thus spoken because it consists on a titsy bit of corn every day. Mashes the corn and sticks the corn right up its angry little mouth-part. Smacks the corn on its tongue and upper-mouth and then shoves that shit down its throat-folds until it is nourished. Terrifying, isn't it? How a security blanket becomes something to fear? What are we, animals?
This one-corn was named The White, and The White was flattened at the bottom of her aggressive wooden boys. How brown were those boys? Let me count the ways; they art more plentiful and made of wood. Rough steps do grink the darling brownin' boys, but there they are, regardless, like a fucks.
Blue'em burst in with the Speed of a Segaman and said "aaaAAaaAaAAaaaa" but The White (The Flat, The Dog) was having none of it. She was already leaking badly. Thus, The White un-did her flat and stood on her pick-boxen, tittling over and saying "hhhHhHHHhhhHHhh." This completed their statement, which thenceforth read:
"hahahaHAhAHaHaHAhahAhAHaHahaha"
This great thing was spoken! This good thing was spoken!
Let's cross on over to aNother mammal which name Yelo. This fucking idiot had the gall to be dead now. And nothing she could do would help her except de-slambering her stone-feet, which she did; now, pay close attention. The Yelo gripped the real and became again, and thus the cycle was continue. Understand? Nothing can break the loop of ever and ever onwards. I am merely an envoy - a harbinger for that which will arrive in the days to come.
Yelo, when became again, came again, brained again, shamed again, and lay back down to eat her toat.
Now, the final - and perhaps most important - interaction in this stage of the cycle is when the Bink and the Urple come together right now over me. Is that sexual? Were the Beebles doin' somethin'' sexua''' with their shid? I dunno. They were so a band. Let's return to Bink and Urble.
Bink knew exactly what the shout did and then de-did it in order to recover her whole selfness. She was de-atomized, made into a whole again, cast from the spiritual realm, and scripted to say "Yowza!" but we fired him but he became a producer so she says "Yowza!" In the meantime, Burble was bubbling, being the only non-dead creature in the text box, and frightened herself into having a smart attack. Those are real.
Bink approached accusatorily, wondering why having a big dead now is rude. It was, but she wondered why it was. Urngle was passed out, dead, on the flead, on the floor. Read, on the relf, on the delf, on the door. Bink looked at the horse and went "Shineee!"
the horse just ufkcing lost its shit dude i' m telling you tiwas liek a magic of the wastrs and the best and they all combined into something unimagienble with theirg lorious face look it was like it never i never seen nothin lik twhen when the y au dude dude i dunno
applejack was there
