A DAY AT THE BRONY CONVENTION

– So what'd you think of that slutty Pinkie Pie, eh?

Issy & Essy Mango have sat down for lunch. Issy swallows a mouthful of rice, replying.

– Fuck that bitch. Whore thinks she can upstage us. Did you see her chatting up Herbie, making sure he puts an IG link in all the press shit he's rolling out today? Unbelievable...

Essy nods.

– Trying to ride on our fame.

Issy, fed up, her face red, throws down her fork. Her breasts jiggle angrily in her woefully undersized bra.

– I'll be damned if she gets to ride on our coattails. It's taken us years of work to get where we are, and some Jenny-come-lately nobody is trying to edge us out of the limelight! That fucking EQD article especially I expect should quintuple our Insta following... this is our big chance to get noticed by some major brands! I'll be damned if that fatass Pinkie Pie cosplayer gets the same billing as us...

– Honestly, I doubt she even has 1,000 followers yet... I think I overheard her saying...

– And she doesn't have a manager yet or anything. She was hustling Insta adds all by herself... trying to act all cute & innocent...

– What a naive little cunt...!

– We've got to tell Herbie to drop that bitch's IG name from the press release...

Meanwhile, at the buffet, their manager, heaping gobs of fried rice onto his plate, stares at a familiar pink figure cheerfully stuffing its face with cupcakes across the table. Hunched over, her admirable cleavage wobbles excitedly. His gaze is trapped.

She looks up.

– Hey, you're that manager guy for The Mango Sisters!

He forces his eyes to look at her face. He smiles. Hopefully she didn't notice him staring. He introduces himself.

– Hi Herbie! Say, you haven't noticed two bro-y bronies with backwards hats walking around anywhere nearby, have you?

No, he hadn't noticed anyone like that, at least not that he could recall.

– Ah, well.

She resumed stuffing her face, spilling sprinkles into her bouncing chest in her ravenous fervor, rimming her face with sticky icing.

– Say, Miss... You're a fantastic cosplayer... I don't think I've ever seen a better Pinkie cosplay, or a more dedicated approach to character acting... Would you be interested in posing for a series of publicity shots with The Mango Sisters early this afternoon? Around, say, 2 o'clock?

The voluptuous pink figure before him desists from scarfing sweets just long enough to look up; she tilts her head quizzically.

– I assure you, you will be neatly compensated for your troubles once the ad money starts to roll in. Your image aligns perfectly with The Mango Sisters' demographic. We're expecting the buzz around our next press release – and the resulting gains to our social media presence – to guarantee us a killing by opening the door to some top-tier influencer-marketing deals! Whad'dya say?

She thinks for a moment, shrugs her shoulders, and nods enthusiastically, a broad smile lighting up her sticky face.

Herbie the manager rejoins Issy & Essy at their table where, having finished their food, the busty sisters flick idly at their phone screens in stony silence.

– Hey hey hey, girls! Guess who I just ran into...!

***

Pinkie Pie is skipping about and humming a merry tune, her E-cup boobs nearly bounding out from her overtaxed tank-top.

Darn! Where did those two brony guys go? They weren't at the snack bar, they weren't at the cosplay panel... I can't find them anywhere!

Maybe they left?

...

Wait.

Why am I still here?

What am I doing??

I can hear that cold voice again.

– You've been bouncing around all over the place, shaking your ass for strangers' phones, agreeing to whore yourself out for cash, eating sugar, and seeking the whereabouts of two potential rapists so you can ask them if they'll feel you up... You're doing great.

Rapists... you mean those two guys? I'm pretty sure they were just joking around about that roofie thing...

My mouth gasps excitedly.

Have you seen them??

– Can't say I have...

Ah, well. Surely somewhere at this big ol' convention I can find somepony who'll want to squeeze my tits!

– Oh, you can be sure of that... Speaking of which, your current refractory period is just about up...

...

Shit!

I've got to find the restrooms!

***

In the alcove adjacent to some restrooms, a 22-year-old man cosplaying Spike the Dragon sips greedily from the water fountain, lifting his latex Spike mask with one hand to slurp from its stream. Satiated, he wipes his mouth on a purple sleeve and snaps the mask back in place over his head. He sighs.

Where are all the goddamn chicks??

This con is a fucking sausagefest. Aside from those Instagram cunts attention-whoring in the lobby and that one sexy Rainbow Dash that was running around, it's been nothing but gross dudes and jailbait.

He turns around to watch the dull horde of dull bronies mull aimlessly about the convention floor.

I really need to find a cosplaying partner. A girl. I feel like a creepo wandering around here on my own, dressed up like this. A Spike needs his Rarity.

He sighs.

Cradling his purple fabric tail, taking special care not to carelessly damage any green cardboard spikes, he begins to caress his own able handiwork.

Fuck, I'm such a loser...

Just then, a busty Pinkie Pie cosplayer wheels around the corner. In her haste, she carelessly smacks a wayward bouncing boob against his pleasantly astonished hand.

– Excuse me! Sorry!

And she vanishes swiftly into the womens' room.

Stunned, our Spike rubs wistfully his hallowed hand.

What a babe! Sweet Jesus, what an amazing body!

... I guess she really had to go...

His palm aches to remember her blessed breast.

Mournfully it yearns to squeeze.

He sighs.

I'll wait here.

Maybe I can talk to her when she gets out.

Again he sighs.

If only she was a Rarity... maybe with slightly bigger tits... now that would be perfect...!

His palm fondly flexes fondling fingers in mute assent.