Author's Note

A three-part anontroduction.

Nah, realized I'd never shown how my Anon came to be in this Godforsaken hellhole. So I figured I'd just write it out my ass.

Enjoy!

any mistakes i made, i'll fix later

ha, we all know that's bullshit by now

Day One of this Horseshit (1/3)

Scratching the fat above your left ass cheek, you release a sniffle. Constipation was, of course, your illness for today and a perfectly good reason to call out of work. Mister Last Name can fuck right off if he thinks you can still come in with the rockiest turd stuck halfway in and out of your ass. Actually, he can fuck off in general. He's a prick. "Jerkoff thinks he can dock my pay just because I haven't shown to work in a few months."

"Tch, fuck you, dad." You shake your head as your bottom end quivers on the toilet seat.

Last Name makes you so angry, like, heart attack on the shitter angry. That's how much he pisses you off. You push with all of your might, the rock hard faecal matter ripping your insides as it slowly, agonizingly slowly works its way out of your sphincter. You swear you pop a vein or two just doing this. You don't reckon that's a good thing because your vision starts to blacken around the peripherals. Maybe you're pushing too hard?

Nah, gotta full throttle this shit if you want it out.

Taking a deep breath in, clenching your fists tightly to your bare thighs, you push as if you're giving birth. You can't, obviously, 'cause you're a male, but still. It feels like you're giving birth. "ReeeeeeEeEEEEeeEEEEEEEE!" With a shrieking scream into the heavens, you hear a resounding-

kersploosh

-and sigh the biggest fucking sigh you've ever had to sigh. You then proceed to fall limp, dead.

. . . . .

Groaning, you turn over to your side; amidst the grass, your cheek starts to itch and it kind of annoys you. Wait, lolwut? Grass? You lazily pull open your eyelids with them super strong eyelid muscles of yours and blink several times. The blinding light of the outside world around you reverts you back to squinting. With this nature shit as your wake up call, you raise a hand and rub the side of your cheek. "What in the Goddamn?" The invisible 4th wall that was beginning to zoom in on your face, as you murmur your astute question, backs the fuck up when you exit dialogue. You look up and see blue skies for miles, not a cloud in sight. Odd, considering you live in [REDACTED] where factory clouds kill you faster than age does.

Did you go on vacation or something? You don't remember what you were doing before you got here. Well, now that you think about it, vacation seems improbable because Mister Last Name won't give someone who doesn't work a vacay. Fucking asswipe. Even your brain gives a sassy impersonation of him, that's how much of a dickweed he is. You chuckle outward, soon quieting with a smack of your lips.

"But seriously, where the fuck am I." Glancing to your left, you see jack. To the right, you see shit. Put that together aaand? That's right! You get jack shit, you fuckin' retard. You're in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with plains for miles. Maybe a tree or fifteen. It'd be a gorgeous view if you gave a shit, but you don't. So, yeah. It's more of a nuisance if anything because there's nothing to see here. It's a boring cesspool of bore. With a capital B.

Well, shit. "Nowhere to go but forward," you suggest, even though that's fucking obvious. Really your best bet, at the moment too. You get up and prep a step forward—only to trip and eat dat grass. What in the fuck? Why're your pants down?

Were you drugged and butt fucked out here? Slowly, the stars begin to align in your head. "Hm," that... that actually makes sense. Your ass is sore. Your pants are down. And you don't remember shit from last night.

"Oh my God," you begin to mutter, "I'm not a virgin anymore! Fuck yes!" You pump your first while lying prone. You lower your hand to pull up your pant coloured pants. With that revelation in mind, you can finally get going. Maybe find out where the fuck you are. That'd be great.

Unless you're back in Alabama with your uncle somewhere about. Then it'd be a fucking nightmare. Shaking your head before you delve too far into repressed childhood memories, you stand back up and actually proceed forward. Staring ahead, all you see is looming fields of green and endless skies a'blue. God fucking dammit.

This is going to be a looong walk.

. . . . .

What feels like days—in all actuality, about the length of a Neil Breen movie—passes by and you finally spot something in the distance. A hamlet of sorts: homes, shops, a farm off to the side, fields of whatever-the-fuck, and horses. The works. This definitely isn't Alabama. Outside of everyone fucking their cousins, no one else in that shit ass state would even consider living in a place this small. Everything's bigger in Alabama—or was it Texas?—especially the people.

And redneck population.

Okay! Point is that it's someplace to go and you're going there. You seriously have to stay out of your head, right now, Anon. This is a life or death situation.

Well, okay, not really, but still. Just-just go already.

And you do, towards the small town. As you near, the mountains giving a lovely backdr-what. What. What the fuck. What in the fuck is that? On the lovely backdrop of mountains, you see a fucking kingdom or a castle or-or a fucking city. Like, built into one of the mountains. Hooo-kay. That shouldn't be a thing but is, apparently. Moving forward, still, your eyes remain on the impossible city for the remainder of your short walk. You probably should've been paying attention to the populace instead. Just outside of the town, on the opposite side of a bridge, you notice something odd about a horse nearby.

First of all, it's a small ass horse. Like, barely comes up your thigh. Secondly, it had a tattoo on its ass. How the fuck does a tattoo go over fur? Thirdly, it has a horn. Four-ly, it looks soooo fucking disfigured. Like, it went through a cartoon printer and it got jammed in the machine. Since when did horses look like that? Likely never, but you've never seen a real live horse before. So, yeah, that's weird. Reminds you of something you glanced at back home online for some reason. You shrug it off as you continue to notice shit about it.

Five-ly, it's white as fuck. With purple hair. Should've pointed those out sooner, but whatever. Either this is a really well-kempt horse with a horn taped to its forehead or maybe you're having a stroke. Let's go with option A.

As soon as the white horse notices you, which is weird considering horses don't usually acknowledge humans unless they're being treated like a slave, its eyes perk up. It begins trotting over you to with a grin on... her... face.

Since when can horses smile? Could they always do that? Fuck do you know, but it looks weird. Not the good kind of weird, either. Honestly, more like a fucked up R34 search of weird. Yeah, that makes sense. Anyhoo, it starts talking to youuuuuuuuuuu-HOLD THE FUCK UP. "Aha~! You must be new, darling. Such a strapping minotaur as yourself, on behalf of everypony in Ponyville, well... welcome to Ponyville!" Hahahaha.

Hahahahaha.

HahahahAHAHAHA!

Oh my fucking fuck. She called you strapping. That's hilarious. You know you have a small di-SHE FUCKING TALKED. WHAT IN THE FUCK. "Pleasure to make your acquaintanceship, dear. My name is Rari-"

"Shut up." You're already tired of her nasally ass voice. How many litters of puppies did you stomp on to end up talking to a horse? NONE ~~okay, three, but shut up.~~ Why in the fuck is she talking and where the fuck are you? Can horses talk? Is that a thing? Talking horses? Sentient, talking horses? Really?

She goes to speak again, "I-I beg your pard-"

"Shut the fuck up." But you weren't having it. No, nuhuh. That's not happening. "Where's a human I can talk with because this is crazy." She opens her mouth but you silence her with a zipping motion across your lips. "I was talking to myself, not you, Marshmellow."

"A-actually, dear, my name is Rar-"

"Say one more word and I'll yell rape." Her lips press together so tightly, they almost look like an anus. You put a hand to your forehead as you think aloud; "what the fuck, where the fuck, and why the fuck is this happening? Horses shouldn't be able to talk... not that I know of, anyway."

"I'm a pony, miste-"

"RAPE. SHE'S RAPING ME. SHE'S SHOVING HER FAKE HORN UP MY ASS!" You shout, walking away from her while flipping the bird. You cross the bridge and enter into the small town. The small town filled to the brim with horses of all colours and sizes. None paid attention to your rampant screaming, thank Christ, and you frantically stare between each and every horse you pass by. None so much as utter a word to you, being background characters and all, as your breathing soon becomes laboured.

What fucking paedophile's dream did you end up in? Cutesie talking horses, lopsided colourful buildings, pastel everything. It's like a moronic little girl's candy shop. One without a fucking door to leave. This is a nightmare! Horses continue to pass you by, not a human in sight, and you fall to your knees, defeated. You almost feel like crying, but you're a man.

Flushing away those tears, you whimper silently. "Where the fuck am I?"