The Amazing Plot of Doctor Whooves

by Fiddlebottoms

Rating: mature
Tags: Random, Dark
Length: 1910

Second person fic describing how Doctor Whooves got his cutie mark

Second person fic describing how Doctor Whooves got his cutie mark, as told by a homeless pony known as Bus Stop Marigold.
Cover art by Pascal.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-29 10:34:01 UTC

First Chapter, Last Stop

7:08. You missed the bus, which in most places wouldn't be a big deal, but this bus stop is the dwelling of a monster.

You keep your eyes down as you wait 30 minutes for the next one to arrive. A few ponies pace around restlessly, many of them wearing the same clothes they wore yesterday. To give yourself something to do, you reach for your cigarettes. The glow of your horn wraps around one, and you tap it gently against the pack.

"Hey, sir," you turn, to see her standing. Bus Stop Marigold, or whatever her name is, she's covered in dirt. A heavy coat hangs over her shoulders, with a half-faded slogan reading "Booty Patrol." A frat boys jacket, once. "You think you could give me one?"

She's already digging into her saddlebag, searching out a bit to pay for it. Way more than a cigarette is worth. For 20 of those she could get two packs of her own, but it's probably that poor understanding of economics that keeps them here.

"I don't need your money," you smile. Out of politeness, you fake emotional engagement. This is a mistake. As she accepts it and your light, she begins to speak. She likes to talk. A friend of yours once said she does it so ponies will pay her to leave, but you can recognize something in her eyes. It is the same thing in your eyes at the end of a day in the basement archives. An entire day without speaking to anyone except the ghosts behind the shelves.

"You see that pony over there? The brown one with an hourglass cutie mark? Ya wanna know how he got that mark?"

You don't reply, but you don't turn away either. Pity? Curiosity? Your emotions are as alien as this creature.

"His name is Doctor Whooves, well first I should explain why there's a "W" in front of his name. It's pronounced the same as the cuticle at the end of his feet. The filthy-dirt encrusted cuticle that steps on bugs. Bugs are filthy. The ground is filthy. That is because Doctor Whooves is not really Equestrian. He's from Angleland.

"Angleland is an island nation, the only pony civilization not under control of the Princesses. Its free because, one, they are far away, two, everypony hates them. They are called the Anglish because the interior of their skulls slopes at a ferocious angle. This deformity is not visible from the outside, but on the inside, the inside of their skull, in there the angle leaves no room for the front of their brains. The front of your brain is the important part, that's where the thoughts are, but the Anglish, they don't have that. They're all rotten on the inside. Filthy, like the ground and their hooves.

"My baby, did I tell you? I had a baby. A beautiful little filly, but I don't have her anymore. They took her away. The lizard people and the cops and the Anglish, and they all work together to mess up your thoughts. But I know, I know. I know the Princess? Did I tell you that? And, after my baby, I wanted to go speak to her, but the lizard people found out. They know, right? They know."

She pauses and itches at herself with a hoof. Her tail swats nervously, chasing phantom flies, then she continues, "In Angleland, Angleland where the Doctor is from, there are three national past times. Adding unnecessary letters to words, like the W in Whooves or the Y in Coloyr; faggotry; and … Two! Two national past times.

"Anyway, so Doctor Whooves was born in Angleland, that's where he's from, and so he was born and after four years of failing to fulfill his national destiny of ritual suicide, or, as the Anglish call it, Prince Harry Kari. The Anglish do not respect either Princes or Princesses, that is why their third national past time … three, the Anglish have three national pasttimes: Adding unnecessary letters to words, like the "w" in "whooves" and the "a" in "an;" faggotry; and shoving their royalty into carriages and smashing those carriages to pieces inside tunnels.

"That is because they are ruled by a Queen. The Queen, a "Lizzard" to use their local diction, The Queen is actually a stallion. A stallion in a dress. I know. They think this is clever, almost as clever as jokes about farting. They means … well the word they is a pronoun. In this case, they, in this specific incidence, right now, they, the word they in the context of the sentence, "They think this is clever," they refers to the both the Anglish and the lizard people. Not Lizzard people, because there is only one Queen, but the lizard people who are allied with the Anglish.

"The lizard people are allied with the Anglish because the lizard people send down advanced radio waves from their satellites, and they use these waves to control pony's thoughts. The Anglish aren't effected by the radio waves, though, because of the angle that their skull slopes at. You see, radio waves are like waves in water, they slide down angles. That's why you should be wearing a pointy hat." She taps the side of her head, where a four-foot high cone rests above tangled locks, "It keeps the lizard people out of your brain."

"So, Doctor Whooves, yeah, so he was four years old. My baby was four years old when they took her away. They said, just because I wasn't working my job anymore, they had to give my baby away. They stole her from me. They do things like that because they walk on the ground where it is filthy and they let the radio waves into their brains.

"Doctor Whooves, right, Doctor Whooves was four years old and it was time for his Christening. In Angleland, a Christening is where they stick plot beads into the rears of foals. All the Anglish are child molesters. It is what they do, because they are faggots, and you cannot trust them. I don't trust them. You can't trust anyone. I used to trust my boyfriend, he gave me my baby, but he wanted them to take her away.

"They started inserting the line of beads. It is a long line, it was a long line at the grocer's. I was just going to be gone for five minutes. That was all. Just five minutes. I … but the line was long, you see? I was buying milk, I have to buy milk for my baby."

Mad Marigold turns from you to a pony walking away from a stall nearby, she shouts, "Hey, hey, mister, can you spare five bits? I need to …" He, smart pony that he is, doesn't even turn to look at her, "FUCK YOU THEN!"

"He …" she turns back to you, "Doctor Whooves, so the beads start going in. And they keep going. Its a long line, just like, it takes an hour and the line is still going. And the zigger bitch in front of me had to pay with a fucking check. She had to fucking pay with a fucking check and because she was some old zigger bitch and you ever notice how there's always those fucking zigger bitches hanging around at the quick-e-marts and grocery stores during the day? My boyfriend, he used to say the same thing. You go in there on a Saturday, and it's all the deadbeat father's with their kids on the week end and they go to the store and there's a long line and you just want to get home because you only stepped out for a minute, but there's a line ...

"But it is a long line of beads, and it just keeps going. And the Anglish, they're all faggots, they really like this. So they're chanting, go! Go! Go away, go away, I don't want to take care of some brat. So he … so they … so …

"So they just keep sticking the beads in. And it keeps going. And he, he's grunting and squirming. And the beads, the first few are small, but they keep getting larger, but, the Doctor, the Doctor, he doesn't want them to stop. He just keeps screaming, "more, more," and, everypony is loving it. Because, they're Anglish, and the Anglish, they're all faggots.

"And Doctor Whooves. I hate doctors. The doctors, they keep wanting to give you injections. They know, they want me, they want to confuse me, because they know that I know about the lizard people. They gave me, they forced me to have a lot of injections after they arrested me, for trying to talk to the Princess. They made up lies.

"The Anglish make shit up to pretend they're important, but no one cares. All their heroes do is fight garbage cans and old people with sticks. I do that, and I have to spend two weeks in a cell, but they do it and everyone thinks they must be great. And they always lie, too, like when they make up stuff about you not being a fit mother just so they don't have to pay child support anymore.

"And the beads, they stick the beads in him. And then somepony notices that he's bleeding, he's bleeding from his asshole. And he's rolling his eyes and screaming, "don't stop," so they just keep going. And this last bead, it's the size of a golf ball, and it won't go in. So they decide it is time to pull the beads out, but he pushes himself back. Pushes himself until it breaks, his sphincter just … and the golf ball disappears. And as they pull the beads back out, packed with blood and shit, he starts ...

"Spurts all over the floor. White, pearly. The whole floor, just soaked. Clinging to his fur, matting his legs, and his filthy hooves on the filthy ground. And as the last bead is removed, he just explodes. Shit like a shotgun blast that gets in the faces and mouths and eyes of the ponies behind him. Just covers them. And he, and he, he collapses to the ground just covered in shit and cum everyone else is too. And they're all celebrating, and they start eating it. Just, shoving their faces on the filthy ground, eating it and someone says, "look, I found a piece of corn!"

"And no one could believe he had so much shit inside him, because he's more rotten inside than even the Queen Lizzard. And so they all say, "It's bigger on the inside." And that's how he got his cutie mark. That's what the hour glass means."

The pink pony sweeps a hoof across her face, pulling at the nest of a mane. She itches herself again, her tail still chasing phantom flies as she trots away. She staggers slightly, and her side brushes against a trashcan. The metal scrapes off the filth that covers her like armor, revealing a patch of pink with a cluster of three balloons.

A single photograph falls out of a hole in the bottom of her saddlebag. Worn and faded, it shows the pink pony, and beside her stands a brown stallion. They are smiling. It is an old photograph.

Your bus finally arrives and you leave.

Happy thoughts.