My Little Parody:We Get it He's Rich. View OnlineMy Little BluebloodMy Little Parody:We Get it He's Rich. My Little Parody:We Get it He's Rich. I live my life one day at a time, not because it’s dull and slow, quite the contrary in fact. My life is fantastic, I live in a huge ass mansion with like, forty butlers and all the beautiful women I could ever want. I periodically spend the summer chilling on my hundred foot yacht, but for now I’m enjoying my career as the greatest and most beloved actor of all time. So basically the only reason I live one day at a time is due to the limitations given to me by the time space continuum, but I’ll soon have enough money to bribe that into submission. Every once in awhile I go out for a walk, so I can take in the perfect scenery of the prosperous city I live in, the only complaint I have is that there isn't a Yogurt Factory, so I have to settle for Mango Tango. I stroll up and down the various streets enjoying the landscape. I’m currently in a residential area, observing all of the houses that, while spectacular, simply aren't as big or as glamorous as my abode. They are small mansions with various spires and golden gates that shine ever so beautifully onto the ground, which by the way has absolutely no litter, trash is disintegrated by the laser cannons that are spread around throughout the city before they even touch the golden streets, that’s right, the streets are paved with gold, literally, the street is solid gold. Now our city does have homeless people, but it’s not really much of a problem, all of our homeless people are like that because they choose to be. You see, our city is so fantastic that other cities are super duper jealous, so we made a fake homeless problem so that we wouldn't seem so much better than the other cities. Our city is better though, the homeless people are encrusted with gems, and all of them smell reminiscent of a light ocean breeze, which if you didn't know is probably the most pleasantly calming scent in the entire universe. Anyway, I walked along the street while wearing my strutting shoes, yeah that’s right, I don’t have shoes for just walking and running, I’m so rich that I have a different type of shoe for literally every kind of movement from strolling to swaggering. So I strutted down the sidewalk(which by the way is solid diamond) smelling homeless people and giving them gold bars, because that’s what you do with homeless people, you give them your chump change.Yeah, you read that right, gold bars are chump change to me, that’s how damn rich I am. I almost step in a puddle as I walk along, very nearly damaging my suit that by the way is worth more than your house. We recently had a heavy rain, but it’s okay, we’re so rich in this city that we bribed the weather to stop being so bad when the storm happened. So yeah, we can bribe the weather too, that’s how rich we are. So, I’m strutting up and down the sidewalk, have I mentioned how rich I am? Well I’m very affluent in case you forgot. Anyway, I’m strutting up and down the sidewalk, and I come across a very unusual sight, a large, Golden box surrounded by Faberge eggs. I am absolutely livid about the fact that the trash disposal system missed these disgusting things, yeah, we’re so rich that Faberge eggs are like balled up newspapers to us, except we don’t use newspapers, we buy Kindles until we find one that already has our city paper pre-downloaded on it, then we read it and throw the Kindle away. Now that you’re aware of how great my life is I can move on to the box. I move towards it, drawn to it’s golden beauty, others might go home and let the box fester dramatically in their head before eventually running back through some decrepit old town and opening the box, but I’m far too wealthy to waste my time with such a dramatic, time consuming action, so I do what any extremely wealthy person would do, I walk over, burning another hundred dollar bill with each step, and open the box in as affluent a manner as possible. If you haven’t guessed by now I’m very rich. Inside the box is something that actually surprises me, the box is equipped with a miniature home theater, as well as red carpeting and a purple leather sofa, but upon that sofa is a sight that makes me gasp in wealthy astonishment. There, in the box, is a white unicorn creature with a blonde mane, it has a collar for some odd reason, and the most striking feature on this...pony, is that it is completely two-dimensional, no seriously, I moved in front of it and it disappeared. The odd thing about it being two dimensional was that when it looked at me, its facial features kind of, shifted. It was a rather strange pony, it had enormous, soul-devouring eyes that were as creepy as they were adorable. I have no idea where this odd, cartoon pony came from, nor do I have any idea how it got here. So naturally I do the only sensible thing, I pick it up and carry it home to take care of it, despite the fact that I have no clue how to do so. Upon arriving at my super mansion, I place the pony on my giant golden leather couch and observe it. It stares at me for a while before turning its nose up at me, exuding an air of self confidence. Quite frankly I fucking hate this thing already, but I've taken it into my home and rich people law dictates that instead of paying taxes, I have to take care of multi colored ponies should I ever allow any to enter my extremely awesome home. I still don’t know what this thing is, so naturally I Google it, but I don’t use your regular Google, I use a separate Google specifically designed for rich people. I frantically type in “White cartoon pony with a yellow mane, also it’s kind of a dick.” naturally, because I’m so rich, the rich people Google already knew what I was looking for because it’s a special Google that can read people’s minds. Instantly thousands of links, images, and videos appeared on my platinum computer monitor. I soon discovered that the pony I had brought into my home was a character from a popular show called My Little Pony:Friendship is Magic, and judging from that episode I sat through so I could gain as much information about him as possible, he is indeed, as I guessed, an enormous dickweed. I glance in his general direction, and see him looking at his little two dimensional tummy, it’s kind of cute, I then notice that unlike the Prince Blueblood in the show, this one doesn't have a butt tattoo, good, no horse son of mine is gonna have a tramp stamp, come to think of it every single pony in the show had a butt tattoo, what a bunch of sluts. Judging from the show this pony eats only the most refined two-dimensional meals. I clap my hands and my favorite butler Charles appears, he politely asks me what I require, and I instruct him to make a high-class, two-dimensional vegetarian meal for Prince Blueblood. He skulks away, leaving me with the little prince, I look at him and he once again turns his adorable little nose up at me. God, what a dick. _______________________________________________ Well, that's chapter one, I really hope you liked how relate able the main character is, lol just kidding, he's the most impossibly unrelateable character ever. By the way, if you hadn't guessed by now, the main character is rich. Expect Regidar to get involved in the next chapter. Oh, and guess what, the next chapter will have actual dialogue.
2 Days of BluebloodView OnlineMy Little Blueblood2 Days of BluebloodSo, it's been two days since I got Prince Blueblood and I already want to kill myself. Having this pony around is like taking a shotgun to the ear. He's so ridiculously pretentious that it tires me to the point where I can't even enjoy my vast fortune. I have to say that if that little bastard wants anything for Christmas he's gonna have to shape up. I know that these creatures talk in the show, but the last thing I want is for him to start speaking, quite frankly I'm considering getting his voice box removed before he utters a single syllable. I walk over to the couch and see him sprawled out across it. I'm not even sure how he managed it. The couch is large enough to accommodate an entire garrison of polar bears, and this little foal is taking up the entire thing. It's actually a very disturbing sight to behold. See, as I've mentioned before, this pony is two-dimensional, yet it has somehow managed to stretch itself out into a large flat carpet-like abomination. I'm half tempted to sit on him, just to see if he dies. Nah, that'd be too horrible for someone as rich as me, he might stain the couch(perish the thought) and I don't feel like paying the thirty-million dollars it costs to reupholster this thing. I mean sure, that amount of money is practically nothing to me, but it still registers as a huge inconvenience, and I certainly didn't get this rich to suffer inconveniences. Then again, if I don't want to suffer inconveniences then why do I put up with this pretentious pony prick that is currently sprawled out on my couch like a throw rug. I decided to sit down anyway, worst case scenario( or scen-ARE-io if you're a huge jerk) this bastard survives and I'm stuck with him. Naturally I jump onto the couch in the way only a rich person like myself can. I get a running start and swan dive onto the couch. To my dismay, as opposed to dying, Prince Blueblood merely snaps back into shape with a disturbingly loud cracking sound. Damn it, why did he have to live? Oh god, he's looking at me, what does he want? Oh dear lord no. This little arsehole wants me to kiss his hoof. He's holding it out, looking at me expectantly, and I want to murder this little ball of filth. I pick him up by the scruff of his neck, I look him in the eyes as I squeeze his midsection. You'd be surprised how easy it is to squeeze the life out of a creature that is essentially a breathing piece of paper. I crush his ribs with my bare hands, and his eyes pop out of his sockets. A maniacal laugh escapes my mouth as I choke- whoa, total scrubs moment. Well I'm sure those bronies I've been reading about have had similar fantasies. Especially considering some of the fanfictions I've read. Goodness, bronies sure do have sick minds. Well I guess to each their own, even if there is a shocking amount of porn. I suppose the show is pretty good though, nothing exceptional but I can see why it would draw a crowd. Don't try mentioning that on Facepunch though. I got banned from that little forum board just for mentioning the multicolored mares. Oh well, at least I can sit on my own couch now. Speaking of which, I lean forward and grab a Kindle off of my coffee table. I turn to see that Blueblood has decided to lick himself on my couch. Good, now I can hit him even harder. I take a baseball swing stance and stand in front of him, waiting for him to turn his head towards me. The second he does I take a swing and hit him right in the face. He goes flying off the couch and tumbling to the floor. He looks up at me. Man, I never though a cartoon pony could look so pissed off before today. "Bad Blueblood," I say sternly, "No cleaning your genitals on my thirty-million dollar couch." He seems to get the message, and he trots over to his doggy bed( which by the way, much like my clothing costs as much as your house) and lies down for a nap. I have to say, it felt good to smack him with that Kindle, I may have broken it, but that's okay, I was about to throw it out anyway. I sit back down on the couch and turn on my Jumbotron, which I have because I'm rich as hell. I walk up to my Green-ray disc player( I'm so rich that Blu-ray is like trash to me) and put in my favorite Veggie Tales episode. Now Larry The Cucumber is singing about his lips. I love this religious propaganda clumsily disguised as children's entertainment. The song is so catchy that I'm about to sing myself. I'm feeling a the Richmas spirit right now, perhaps I should elaborate, Richmas is like Christmas but made of gold. That's right, I'm so rich that even the holidays I celebrate are gold studded. I call Blueblood over to release my Richmas spirit upon him. "You're an asshole, Prince Blueblood. You really are a pain. You're as annoying as Rob Shneider, as stuck up as Robert Goulet. Prince Blueblood! You're a stuck up douchebag with a stupid ass name. You're a monster, Prince Blueblood. You're ego's way to big. You're face is rather snobbish. You're a spoiled little kid Prince Blueblood! I wouldn't touch you with a, diamond encrusted pole. You're a gross one, Prince Blueblood. You have dog food in your smile. You have all the humility, of Seto fucking Kaiba. Prince Blueblood! Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take, Seto fucking Kaibaaaaaa. Wow! What a rude jerk! Not only did Prince Blueblood leave before I could even finish my song, but he also had the audacity to piss all over my platinum floor. Well, my maid Donald Trump has Richmas off even though he's not even that rich so I guess I'll have to clean it myself. I'm going to kill that pony when I'm done. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Well, hope you enjoyed chapter two, I know I enjoyed writing it. After all, the Grinch makes everything better. Plus I know I would certainly say those things to his face. What would you say to Blueblood if you ever met him?
Collab Cage chapterView OnlineMy Little BluebloodCollab Cage chapterThis stupid pony is like a remote control. I've only had him for a week, and I've already lost him in the couch cushions maybe three times. I have tried time and time again to make him three-dimensional, and nothing works, not even the bike pump. The bike pump experience was mortifying by the way, I won't go into details, but lets just say that my solid gold therapist got a lot of visits that day. I've been watching the TV show recently, and I guess these things start talking when they're around a month old. Thank goodness I have three weeks left to prepare myself for such horrors. It's becoming increasingly difficult to bask in my incredible wealth, namely because I'm using it to take care of this little freak. At least he'll be out of my hair when I get a new acting job. There's no way I'm taking him to a studio with me. I can't let him be around anyone aside from all of the people who enter my home on a daily basis. God forbid the government gets ahold of him. That wacky government would probably dissect the little bastard. Actually...no at least...not yet. I want to see if I can reform him before I watch him die. Besides, I'm pretty sure it was Hulk Hogan who said "If you break it you buy it," not that that's in any way applicable to the situation. I lean forward and grab a Kindle to see what is going on in the poor man's world. Seems the crime rate has skyrocketed these past few days, but I'm too rich to care about that. The damn pony is asleep on my expensive sofa again. He suddenly stretches his fuzzy forelegs out. I get up, Kindle in my hands, ready to smack the thing in the face if he even thinks about pissing on it, but he just moves onto his side. I suppose it's time to throw out my Kindle. I call over my trash can, which is actually a solid gold genetically engineered trash can man. See, I'm rich, so I don't ever need to get up to throw things away. Oh! It's my iPhone maid. Yeah, I have a maid for my iPhone. It's an iPhone 9 that I got from the future, and I use it to teleport. "Nicholas Cage," she says to me,"you have a phone call." "Thanks Kathy," I take the phone from her and hold it up to my ear,"Hello?" "Mr. Cage, it's your agent, I got you a spot in National Treasure Three. Plus you'll be the only actor, which means you'll be the best." "Thats high praise," I say,"Thanks Keith." Perfect, I think to myself. Now I can get away from this damn pony. "No problem. Bye." I put the phone down and turn my attention to the two dimensional thing occupying my favourite spot on the couch. I grab another Kindle and swing it, knocking him out. "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT PISSING ON MY COUCH?!" I seriously hope he isn't dripping blood on my platinum floor. He's so ungrateful. I got him his own mansion for Richmas and he still comes into mine and pisses everywhere. He knows damn well where his gold bathroom is, and he's very lucky I didn't give him a bronze bathroom. If you were as rich as people in this city are, you'd know bronze is equivalent to rat droppings. Oh, great, he's conscious again. I watch the blonde bastard crawl out from behind my now piss-stained couch. Why is he opening his mouth? Before I can figure out why, he answers for me with an ear-shattering wail. I try everything I can to stop this thing from crying. I offer him all of my gold bars (Which are worthless to someone as rich as me, but he doesn't know that), then threaten to make him go back to sleeping in his sapphire-encrusted mansion instead of his diamond-encrusted one. (He hates sapphires for some reason, well actually I sort of understand. Sapphires are like common pebbles in this Mansionhold, but they're still pretty so who cares?) I give up and set him up on a date with a plank of wood and a right hook. It's like his atomic structure is mocking me, I really wish he wasn't from a squash and stretch. Honestly, why couldn't I have gotten some anime creature, maybe a Pokemon. At least I'd be able to kill a Pokemon if it pissed me off, but this thing is borderline indestructible. I'm sick of this goddamn blond marshmallow bastard. I gotta get rid of him, but how? My thoughts are broken by the sound of a car door slamming. I look my through my opium telescope, since I need one to see out across my huge ass front yard, and my eyes widen when I see the visitors shitty blond toupee. It's my maid, Donald Trump. He must have gotten back from his unpaid vacation. I may be rich, but it doesn't mean I want to actually, you know, spend money unless I need to, or of course if I'm feeling like a James Bond villain, but that's only sometimes. I may seem like a frivolous spender to you guys, but I need all of the things I own. Besides, by normal people's standards, Donald is loaded with cash, even though it's just green paper with dead people's faces on them, whereas my cash was so valuable I actually had a new currency made. Oh well, I wonder how big his mansion is. If you could even call it a mansion, I bet it isn't even as large as my summer home. My thoughts are once again broken by the opening of his servant quarters's door. Which is right next to me. "Nicolas, I'm back, anything you need me t-" He stares in shock and slight arousal at the sight before him. Shock at the sight of an unconscious, two dimensional cartoon pony at his feet, and arousal at the sight of me. After knocking out Donald with the same 2 X 4 and right hook combo, I sit down on my recently cleaned $30,000,000 couch (That Blueblood still likes to use my couch as a toilet), and think about what I do next. What to do with these two? I quickly lay Donald on his bed and use my magic Cage powers to heal his bruises, that way he can't sue me for being harmed on my property. Not that he'd win, unlike you normal people, I'm so rich that my lawyer is actually just all of the people in the jury, so I win every lawsuit I get involved in. Hopefully, he'll think it was all a dream or something. I then grab Blueblood and put him in a pet carrier and get into my Ferrari. I only drive it because I got it for Richmas( My other maid, Oprah got it for me. It was a nice gesture, and I was both delighted and confused when it was somehow under my chair, but I do plan to re-gift it later). I quickly drive to the nearest government building, which happens to be a post office, dump him at the entrance and knock. Aterwards I go back to my car and sit in the front seat. "Finally, that thing is gone. Out of my life." I begin to drive off when I hear a clip-clop noise on the ground next to me. "DADA! DADAAAAA!" How the hell did he get out of that carrier? I immediately put my foot on the pedal and speed along the road. I don't care if I get a ticket, I just don't want Blueblood to catch up to his "dada". Sheesh, parents abandon their children every day and most of them just cry for a while then go live with a foster family. Gotta hand it to this awful 2-D horse, he's persistent. At this very moment, he could be on an operating table, being dissected by a team of government workers and instead he is running after me on a busy street. My car suddenly stops and I'm sent headfirst through the window, the air and into a tree. My vision is hazy, as there is now blood in my eyes. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see a small white shape approaching me. Oh god, it's Blueblood. I yell in pain as he nuzzles me on the cheek. When did this cretin start liking me? He hated me no two weeks ago, and I hated him, I still hate him. "Dada." He says happily, still nuzzling me. Oh great, he's learning to speak, that'll be just dandy. I hope his real father comes and takes him back soon. My vision fades as the sweet embrace of unconsciousness engulfs me. Finally I can rest. Author's Note This chapter was a collab between me and Sliverfish. Look for him in the comments.
Looney Toons.View OnlineMy Little BluebloodLooney Toons.It's been about two weeks and this thing already knows how to speak basic sentences. I considered getting his voice box cut out, but I'm not a surgeon, and I don't want a team of doctors to know I'm harboring this thing. I'm sitting in my lounge room, channel surfing on my Jumbo-Tron with Blueblood sitting on the floor, cleaning his hooves, getting his saliva on the cloud carpet. Yeah, that's right. A carpet made out of clouds. If you wanna know how much it cost, it's more than all your family have ever made in their poor lives, but only a week's pay for me. I'm rich, if you didn't already know. I stop briefly on a children's channel playing some obnoxious cartoon and see if I can stay on it for ten seconds without vomiting. Nope. After throwing away a vomit-filled solid gold bucket, I look up and see Blueblood fully focused and staring at the screen still playing the cartoon, his two dimensional face in awe of this garbage. His face turns to a pout when I pick up the sapphire-encrusted remote (Worthless, but still damn pretty) and continue on my hunt for a decent show. "Change it back" His whiny voice hurts my ears. "No, this show sucks." I continue flipping. Hopefully National Treasure is on tonight. I can show this marshmallow brat true acting. "Yes." "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." "Yes." "No. I mea-" "Ha, tricked you." He may be a talking animal, but he still isn't that bright. I feel a sharp pain in my arm and I turn to see the offender, who is none other than Blueblood. That bastard is biting me again! I swing my arm, trying to flick him off, but he just bites down harder. "Geroff!" "Mot unbil yew hange et beck!" He mumbles, still biting. His grip loosens as I punch him on the nose. Before he can even start wailing, I grab some diamond-encrusted duct tape, tape his muzzle shut and stuff him inbetween the couch cushions. "Nicolas, I heard screaming, what's going on?" My maid, Donald Trump walks down the platinum spiral staircase. "Oh yeah, I'm working on my scream, in case I need to scream in my next movie." I lie, stepping in front of the moving lump in the couch. "Huh. Well, I gotta go home. See you tomorrow." He says before heading out the door. I pull Blueblood out from between the couch cushions and remove the duct tape from his muzzle. He isn't crying anymore, it's not like I punched him hard anyway(I'm not a monster, well I was, but even then I was the good guy) so it makes sense. Honestly, I'm much more worried about my hand. As I've mentioned before, Blueblood is two-dimensional, so I got a wicked papercut. I look at the long, thin cut that goes across my fingers. Wow! It goes all the way across now, my little guy is growing up. I don't especially care how big he is though, as it only means I have more problems. Anyway, I'm shooting a movie in six weeks, so I'll have to get Donald and Oprah to watch him. I look at Blueblood, then at my diamond encrusted, holographic watch. Uh oh, it's 9:30, I suppose I should put him to bed. "Come on kiddo," I get up,"It's time for bed." I turn to him to see that he's already sound asleep. You know what? He's almost cute when he isn't talking or looking at me. Maybe I can get used to him. I pick Blueblood up, gently carrying him to his mansion/bedroom. It's dark, and I have to feel my way to his bed. I don't want to turn on the lights, lest I wake him, and suffer the wrath of his screeching. I stub my toe on the platinum cadenza, the pain is overwhelmingly excruciating. Why is it that an enormous gash pales in comparison to a stubbed toe or a muscle cramp as far as pain is concerned? Oh well, at least it isn't as bad as getting kicked in the balls. That's like taking a sledgehammer to the waist. Reaching his bed, I gently place Blueblood down upon it. He sighs softly in his sleep, shitting a bit as he gets comfortable. I slowly creep out of his room, it's time for me to go to bed as well. Author's Note I'm unsure of which direction I'm going to take this story in. I'm split between Blueblood and Nicolas learning to get along, and them actually like each other, or just end it with the vivisection of Blueblood, as Cage laughs maniacally. Maybe I'll release two endings. Once again, props to Sliverfish Seriously, go watch him.
