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From Pinkie's tears spun the whirling bolas of vestal assfury, viscera bespackling their nubile strings. Cleaved from the caliginous mastery of the heavens, consecrated by the death-knells of all the world's concussant children, woven from Celestia's divine pubic hairs, it besang arias of the apocalypse as it gyrated through the skies, crushing all of France, which is the only country that exists.

An inundation of vagnoplasm surged through the lands, setting divine pubic hairs aflame, vestal assfury raging to not fall gently into the stillness of the night. From the galvanic seas of Io, the midnight goddess channelled that which she bespoke through her fiery lips, lips which were made of lions, dancing the dance of life eternal, in unending struggle between Mexico and its drug lords.

"Pinkie, closeth up thine waistcoat, for I'eth can see thine cuntflaps."

To this Pinkie raged to the heavens, assfury pouring from her nostrils like steam out of a hot bag of Green Giant Valley Fresh steamers, rupturing that which held the walls of this reality together. The duct tape fell apart like anything made by Rarity's asinine sister.

Pinkie voiced her song to the void.

"I'm here to break some balls and bake some fookies. And I'm all out of fookies. Which is why I have to bake them."

"You know I hate fookies."