Triggeredragon

by Acologic

Rating: teen
Tags: Profanity, Random, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Comedy
Length: 1033

Spike likes his freedom of speech. He likes it very much. So when an onliner tells him where to put it, he tells them where to go.

Spike likes his freedom of speech. He likes it very much. So when an onliner tells him where to put it, he tells them where to go.

Published 2018-03-23 02:50:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-03-23 02:50:06 UTC

Free speech! (Except when I say no.)

‘Why, you little –’

Spike felt his claws puncture a scale – he was clenching his fists so hard. He gnashed his teeth and, cursing under his breath, got to his feet. He took five and knocked off a couple laps of the castle courtyard before returning to his room, where he thumped his desk, snatched up an apple and bit into it furiously. Then he spat it out and glared. On his monitor were the following words:

Five Annoying Things Dragons Do That Disrespect Ponies

1) Dragons are evil – they just are. All dragons are born this way and, no matter the circumstances, remain so. You will never in your life meet a good dragon, because there are none.

2) Dragons have dragon privilege – they just do. Dragons are magical creatures whose temperament includes a penchant for hogging gems. Gems are, of course, valuable. Therefore, dragons are privileged. All of them.

3) Dragons are greedy – they can’t stop themselves. When they aren’t being evil, dragons make ponies’ lives miserable through extortion and pillaging, which are, of course, evil acts – so dragons are always evil.

4) Dragons are ugly – all of them.

5) Dragons disrespect ponies – always. Even though the above points have nothing to do with our titular argument, they are true. Believe me, dragons are just bad. And that will never change.

‘You – you villain!’ Spike employed what self-restraint there was present within each atom of his body and managed to prevent himself from putting his laptop through Twilight’s paper shredder. Righteous anger flooded his veins, arteries and other dragonish blood vessels whose names he could not recall. Wasting no time, he stabbed at the keys, typing his reply.

You horrible pony. You are so full of bitterness that you just don’t care anymore. A few negative experiences with dragons, and you generalize us all – toss us all into one large gravy pan, melt us down, over-season and then complain, stating it’s our fault the food tastes too salty. I think you see what I’m getting at here. I’ll keep it simple all the same. Stop blaming others for your own mistakes and take responsibility.

He slammed ‘Enter’ and, breathing heavily, waited for the comment to post. Once it had, he closed all tabs and shut the lid.

The cheek of it! The sheer cheek! What was the world coming to? How could anypony think like that? So childish! So rude! So deliberate! It was downright . . . moustachist! Yes! Moustachism was what such ponies were all about, and their formula, albeit twisted, was a simple one – choose whatever factitious cause appeals to you and immediately denounce everypony else as moustachist themselves unless they agree to your demands. Bloody moustachists! Spike despised them, loathed them with every bone in his body.

He couldn’t stop himself. He wrenched open the lid and reloaded the page. To his surprise, he found his reply had been replied to. He read quickly. His eyes narrowed, then his face turned beetroot red.

Calm down, you selfish, triggered asshat. You’re insulting the ponies who have suffered at the claws of your kind. I’m guessing you’re a dragon, right? I mean, only a dragon would get so butthurt at a perfectly structured and reasonable article such as the above. Go find a lady friend, you basement-dwelling loser.

Well, that was . . . it – it was completely beside the point! That Spike didn’t have a marefriend had no bearing on the issue being considered!

‘Bloody moustachist!’ hissed Spike as he prepared his next attack.

You’re either a troll or an irrational, foal-minded snowflake whose views are totally silly at best. Ad hominem is not an argument. Get good, you foul-mouthed cow.

The reply came moments later.

Piss off back to whichever hole you crawled from, you scaly shitsack. No one wants you here. NO ONE WANTS YOU.

Spike choked on his tongue. His fingers throbbed as they ran what felt like a marathon across his keyboard.

First of all, how fucking dare you? I see you’re racist as well as vile. I might have known. Instead of accepting an iota of criticism, you content yourself with shitting on everyone who doesn’t share your warped view of the world. This is exactly how moustachist Equestria started. And it’s idiots like you – who piss about with the most trivial of issues and press religiously for censorship of our speech and thoughts – who are ruining our way of life.

‘You fucking little –’ Spike bit his lip and forced his emotions down. There was no need to be uncivil. He would let this pony say whatever she wanted – that was fair. But he would have his say too, and it would be a good one. In came the next reply.

Learn to use trigger warnings. Honestly, I counted, like, thirty-five different triggers. Ignorant, uncaring asshole. I swear to god, if you don’t start including them, I’ll report you and get your ass banned.

Spike raised his arms. Typical. Absolutely typical. It always boiled down to threats with these ponies – threats of censorship. The most despicable kind of threat there was. Well, he’d had enough. He’d report her. But first, he’d speak his mind.

You’ve shown your true colours. You don’t care what I have to say, and if you don’t like even a bit of it, you threaten to shut me down. What happened to freedom of speech?

There. Spike smirked smugly as he clicked ‘Report’. He’d manoeuvred the situation into one where he’d bagged the moral high ground. The reply came fast.

FUCK freedom of speech. And fuck you too.

Spike stared at the screen, open-mouthed. He slowly closed the lid. Then –

‘FUCK,’ he screamed, ‘YOU!’ And he tossed his laptop into the air before marching out the door.

Meanwhile, two miles away, in the dusty, cobweb-filled attic of her Sweet Apple Acres-based home, Applejack was shutting down her desktop, chuckling. Rainbow Dash whistled with admiration and handed her the pouchful of bits for which they’d been competing.

‘That,’ she said, ‘was brilliant.’

Applejack winked.