And By Sauce, We Mean Gryphon Puss Puss
Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria…
Some wack shit went down, yo.
The end.
Nahhh, sike, bitch. You thought it was really gonna be that easy?
Nah, fam, is it ever that easy? No, not at all.
So pull up a chair, and listen - if you should so desire - to the tragic tale
Of Pussycat McGee.
Now, Pussycat McGee was a pimp. Not just any garden-variety pimp though. He was a griffon pimp! Pimping that sweet sweet catbird pussy!
(Legal disclaimer) Now, sex work is legal in Equestria for adults, but Pussy, he was on the DL. Operating around the law. Not a good dude. Might even call him a bad hombre.
Anyway, one day he bumped into an ordinary stallion, who may or may not have been interested in scoring some of that sweet catbird snatch. But the circumstances of their meeting were not entirely intentional. One might even say, ‘accidental.’
Now, our friend, Ordinary Stallion, was not a bad pony at all. One might even call him... an ordinary stallion.
In fact, his name was “Ordinary Stallion”. I'm not really sure what was up with that, but then this is a stupid story so who the fuck cares.? (Also pony names.) So oh... Hold on, eating my Jack-in-the-Box eggs... Okay, I'm glad I made it to Jack In The Box before they closed for the night, anyway Ordinary Stallion was pretty typical, and he had a fetish for ~~Black~~griffon pussy. So it was quite a coincidence that in a dark back alley of Canterlot, he bumped into Catfish McGee oops I mean Pussycat McGee. Pussycat McGee was startled, but regained his composure.
“Oh hey, hey there brother, you looking to score some cat tail?” Pussycat McGee asked all smoothly.
Ordinary stallion lit up. “Fuck yeah, I love sticking my dick in the vagina of a bird-lion hybrid. How much?”
“Forty bits for a half hour, and she's all yours, my good stallion.”
“Wait a minute. She’s not one of those barn owl griffons, is she? They creep me out.”
“Nah, fam, she’s pure eagle, my dude. Well, you know, eagle and lion.”
Meanwhile…
“Rarity, have you seen my socks?” Sweetie Belle chirped.
“Heavens no, darling. What on earth do you need socks for, anyway?”
“Do you think I’m just going to put on shoes without socks underneath? Jesus tittyfucking H Christ, Rarity, lay off the fucking booze and dicks for a moment and use your goddamn fucking brain!”
(Sweetie Belle was in her teenage years and had just discovered how fun cussing can be as an expression of teenage rebellion. )
Rarity was nonplussed. “Sweetie, darling, if you want to be a little bitch, go do so outside. Your sister is busy working on her latest dress, as it were. Now be a good dear and fuck off.”
So Sweetie Belle went and fucked off, heading out to find her friends Applebloom and Scootaloo. Together, they decided to beat up Diamond Tiara, because even though she was ostensibly a good pony now, she was still a certified cunt, and even if she weren't, she really deserved it for all the past times she had treated the Cutie Mark Crusaders like shit. I'm not sure I can agree with them, and I don't think calling femme presenting individuals “cunt” is the best thing to do, but again, they were teenagers, and you know how teenagers are wont to bully other teenagers.
Now at this point, dear reader, you may be saying to yourself, yikes, I hope a bunch of teenage girls and a pimp do not intersect. Well fear not, dear reader they definitely will not be. This story has many stupid twists and turns to go before its riveting tragic conclusion. Like this one: when Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle and Applebloom got to Diamond Tiara’s house, they found Filthy Rich dead! An arrow through his shoulder and another through his pastern! I think that's a horse body part.
What, you thought this story was going to be all sweet and innocent? My dear reader, however did you think that idea?
Upon seeing the fresh, bloody corpse of Filthy Rich, everypony was startled, but none seemed to care much.
“Why couldn’t it have been his whore of a wife?” Applebloom pondered out loud.
“Ooh! Maybe she did it, and she’ll go to prison and we’ll never have to see her again,” Scootaloo ecstatically suggested.
“Erm... it was probably just a fucking rival business owner. Or maybe a disgruntled employee,” Sweetie Belle said.
“What should we do now?” Applebloom asked.
“We could go do the police, I mean, this is like, a legit murder,” Scootaloo helpfully pointed out.
“Or - hear me out,” Sweetie Belle beckoned for her friends to come closer. “- we could go find Diamond Tiara and beat the shit outta her.”
The three nodded in happy agreement.
Meanwhile, Starswirl the Bearded was balls-deep in some griffon puss puss.
“Oh gawd, oh fuck!” he moaned. “I haven’t had sex this great since that one time Stygian--”
Pussycat McGee burst into the room. “Yo, toots! Ya got five til the next customer. Bust a nut already, ya old fogie!”
This did not amuse Starswirl. You see, Starswirl had performance issues. He didn’t have trouble getting hard, but he did have trouble nutting. Which, you know, might seem like a good problem to have, and it sometimes was, but it caused Starswirl some anxiety. I won’t go into too much detail because this a “Teen”-rated story and not a Freudian psychoanalytical tract, but suffice it to say that Starswirl was too busy being lost in the sauce to pay any mind to Pussycat’s proclamation. So --
At this point one of the authors stopped to eat a slice of cheese. Colby Jack, bought at Food-4-Less. Here, hold on, lemme get a picture.
You can ascertain that this is Super Trampoline because TheRedBrony would never be caught dead with a Bernie Sanders poster in his room, but also because he’s much more handsome than this bedraggled ruffian who desperately needs a haircut.
It was then that a strange thought crossed Starswirl’s mind - Isn’t cheese just coagulated cow titty sweat?
Of course, if he continued down this philosophical rabbithole, he might never finish. In both senses of the phrase. When finally sweet release came, it seemed as though both the griffoness and her pimp had left in a big hurry.
“Wait a minute…” Starswirl pondered in his euphoric state, “Wasn’t I supposed to pay you?”
Not five seconds later, Pussycat McGee barged back into the room and proceeded to beat the everliving shit out of Starswirl the Bearded for not paying his bill.
How many threads does this store have?
This was the question Twilight pondered as she stood among the dusty shelves of the “Linens and Plumbuses” shop in Ponyville.
Wait a minute, why were the shelves dusty, and plumbuses? Plumbuses?! But, does that mean…
Oh Celestia, no! Not… a crossover!
“WUBBA LUBBA DUB DUUUUUUB MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” Yelled Rick Sanchez as he burst through a shimmering green portal into the shop. “LET’S GET RIGGITY RIGGITY WRECKED!!!” He ripped off his shirt, and since this story isn’t confined by the laws of the TV-14 television rating, instead of taking a swig from his ever-present flask, he pulled a P H A T bag o’ cocaine from his pocket, and started chopping it up on the checkout counter of Linens and Plumbuses.
“Jesus - Not Again - Christ, you again!?!” Twilight exclaimed. “Can I not shop for anything in peace?!”
“Not today, sexy horse ruler lady.” Rick wrapped some linens around his head. “Look at me! I’m Linen Rick!
“No. You’re an embarrassment.”
After snorting a very long line of snow, Rick proclaimed thusly: “Wha-? Who are you again?”
Twilight, flustered and irritated, walked up to the checkout counter, and instantly teleported all the cocaine somewhere else. “How many times do I have to tell you?! Hmph.”
Meanwhile…
Spike was really enjoying a lot of blow.
Later…
Twilight returned to her plastic princess play castle, only to find her loyal assistant Spike collapsed on the floor, and covered in white powder.
“Spike! That was my cocaine!”
Spike didn’t respond. He had died from a heart attack. Hey, author interjection here, you really do need to be careful with cocaine. My friend almost overdosed a few weeks ago. His heart got all jumpy and bumpy and irregular and shit. (I believe the technical term is arrhythmia.) (Lol okay, whatever, nerd.) If you are an adult, there’s nothing wrong with snorting nose clams*, just be careful not to
*this is a point of contention among the authors. Just, you know, be smart, and don’t look to a shitfic for moral advice, yaknow?
over do it. If you kill yourself, you won’t be able to read any more of my awful stories or TheRedBrony’s pretty good ones. Anyway, with that PSA out of the way…
“Spike! Spike? SPIKE!!!”
But it was too late. Spike was dead. That’s what happens when you do drugs. You die. Don’t do drugs, kids.
Twilight knew a lot of spells, but every time she dabbled in necromancy, it seemed to turn out horribly. And time travel didn’t usually turn out too well either. She still had the scars… What she needed was help from somepony even better than her at magic. She needed the help of Starswirl the Bearded! Yes! She readied a special teleportation spell that would latch onto Starswirl’s unique magical aura…
*POP*
“Starswirl I need your help- what in Tartarus happened to you?!”
“Oh this little thing? It’s nothing, I… erm.. Walked into a door, yes, that’s it.”
“A door?”
“Yes… it was an… unbelievably invigorating experience. But needless to say, it ended poorly.”
“I can only imagine…”
“What was it that was so important, now?”
“It’s Spike! He’s… sort of dead.”
“Sort of dead?”
Twilight flicked her ears in annoyance. “Okay, fine, completely dead. Ugh!”
The expression on Starswirl’s battered, bruised, and bearded countenance grew very dark indeed. “Necromancy, Twilight? You do know what we will need for that…”
“I think so. Do you know where we can get it?”
He levitated his jingly hat upon his head. “Yes. I think I’ve got the perfect source.”
Meanwhile…
Pussycat McGee was leaning against a wall near the entrance of a crummy apartment building, smoking a cigarette, when three adorable foals (well, smelly zit-faced teenagers, actually) wandered up. The one with a big-ass bow in her hair spoke Southernishly: “Gee wilikers, Mister, y’all don’t reckon ya happen tuh know where us here sweet innocent fillies might dispose of a dead body, woodja?”
“Go away kids, ya bother me.”
The orange one with the fucked up wings responded, voice suddenly full of venom.
“Hmmm, wrong answer, mister. Let’s try this again, fuck face. Help us lose some evidence, or I’ll slash your face like Wolverine.” She flicked up a switchblade with one of her small - but apparently quite operational - wings.
The griffon took a few steps back, putting his claws out non-confrontationally. “Woah, woah, calm down there, kid. I ain’t aimin’ to end up in a dumpster myself. Listen, I know a guy…
Rick Sanchez sighed and picked up the phone. “Yes, hello, glue factory? I’d like to dispose of this miniature horse in exchange for forty florbles… Yes, it’s fresh…. Uh, male I think…. What? No I did not perform any acts of necrophilia on it. Christ’s sake!... Yeah, gimme twenty minutes.”
Rick hung up. Pussycat McGee nodded and handed (I was going to say “hoofed”, but then I remembered that Pussycat is a griffon and thus has claws and back paws, not hooves, so in this one particular instance, I don’t need to use horse terminology - for a change - so he handed) him a small baggie filled with white powder. “Thank you for the favor, friend. You take care, now!” He waved goodbye. “Such a nice gentleman.”
As he turned around, he found himself face to face with an elderly bearded stallion. “Hey oldtimer, get up outta my grille. Ain’t no refunds from this Pussycat. I don’t care if she gave you the clap!”
Starswirl’s expression suddenly lightened. “Oh no, I was just wondering if you had any more of that white stuff.”
“Well, yeah, I suppose I might.”
Starswirl smiled and lead the griffon around the corner into the alleyway. “You know I was somewhat of an alchemist, myself, back in the day…”
Meanwhile, Twilight stood lookout at the steps of the crummy apartment building. At that moment, the door to the building opened, and out walked a beautiful griffoness.
“Gilda?” Twilight asked.
“Who wants to know- Twilight?”
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m working,” answered Gilda.
“This doesn’t look like a bakery to me,” Twilight sarcasmed.
“Yeah, about that - turns out, trying to sell confections in Equestria is like trying to sell water to fish.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
“Did you see where that other griffon went? The one wearing the big-ass purple hat?”
“Oh. Him! Yeah… he’s… uh, dead?”
“Good. Fuck him.”
Ordinary Stallion decided to poke his head out of a second floor window and call down: “Hey beautiful! Ready for round two?”
“Piss off, dweeb!”
“Wait a minute,” Twilight suddenly exclaimed. “Wasn’t I on a quest to make Spike not dead or something? I don’t even remember.” She turned to Starswirl, who was currently levitating a little bag of white stuff, and a very large - body-sized, in fact - black plastic garbage bag behind him. There were claws poking out of it.
“I’ve got the goods, Twilight!”
Later…
“Are you feeling alright, Spike?” Twilight asked.
“N-not really. My head’s spinning and I have this crazy urge to bite into your skull and eat your brains.”
“This is normal,” Starswirl stated, “He’s basically a zombie, after all.”
“Well it’s not a brain, but how about some scones?” Asked Gilda.
“Can I have one?” Asked Ordinary Stallion.
“Who let this dweeb in here?!”
Author's Note
Originally this ended with:
The end? Yes, I fucking love it! Extremely stupid in all the right ways!
Since you wrote more, do you want to publish it on your profile? Or would you rather this monstrocity stay on my account with you credited as being the co-author in the description?
