The Manhandler: Ovaries Before Brovaries

The Manhandler: Ovaries Before Brovaries

Chapter I: The Home Run

By Pascal

A little griffon skipped happily toward Ponyville Elementary's baseball field, followed by an equally energetic red colt. She wore a baseball cap and carried a bat on her shoulder.

"This is gonna be so radical, Big Mac!" Gilda squealed. "Our multi-million bit baseball careers start right here! We're gonna be big stars!"

"Eeyup," the colt replied.

His own bat he was carrying slipped out of his teeth. Gilda giggled as he bent to pick it up, blushing furiously. He was so cute!

Nothing made Gilda more happy than playing with her friends, and little Big Macintosh was her best friend in the whole world.

Gilda found the coach sitting in the bleachers, and strode over proudly.

"Excuse me, sir, is this where we go for tryouts for the Ponyville little-league team?" she asked.

"Why, yes it is," the stallion replied. "Did you come to cheer your friend on? That's so sweet of you! Have a seat."

He patted a spot to his side with a hoof.

"Um, I think you're mistaken, sir. I'm here to play! I'm gonna tear this place up!"

She hefted her bat for emphasis.

"Well," the stallion said. "I'm not sure this is really the right place for you. Girls aren't allowed to play baseball."

"But… But…" the griffon stammered, her eyes watering as her beak began to tremble. "I wanna be a big baseball star when I grow up. My daddy takes sports really seriously, and I want to do something to make him proud."

"Hold on there, sweetie," the stallion said. "It's not so bad. You can still be a sports star. Just try out for the softball team."

"Softball? What's that?" she asked excitedly.

"It's just like baseball, except the ball is bigger and it's all soft and squishy."

Gilda frowned.

"Why do girls play softball, but boys play baseball?"

"It's better suited for girls."

"Why?"

"Well . . . because it's easier, of corse."

Gilda burst into tears and ran from the field. She ran away from the school as far as she could, not stopping until her lungs burned and her legs ached. She came to rest at the foot of a tree on the edge of the Everfree Forest. She lay on the grass, panting and sniffling.

"Gilda! Gilda, wait!"

She lifted her head up to see Big Mac.

"What are you doing here?" she growled. "Go play with the rest of the boys! Go be a baseball star! There's nothing stopping you!"

"Ah don't wanna try out anymore. Ah wanna play with you, Gilda. Let's just go home and play video games," he replied.

"I don't wanna play with you anymore, Mac!" Gilda shouted. "You boys are all the same! You're… You're just a bunch of dweebs!"

Her face twisted into a hateful scowl that Mac had never before seen. He didn't understand why she was being mean to him. He just wanted to make her feel better.

"Yer mah best friend, Gilda," he sobbed, tears beginning to pour down his cheeks.

"Shut up, dweeb!" Gilda screamed. "I'm too cool to hang out with a boy like you, so just shut up and leave me alone! In fact, I never want to hear you speak again, got it?!"

Ever since that day, Big Mac has rarely spoken more than a few words to anyone.

***

"And then what did you do?"

Gilda's father had sat on his porch, gazing out across the grassy lawn, waiting expectantly for his daughter to return.

She had come walking home with shoulders slumped, and confessed what had happened.

"I… Uh… I went to the softball team, daddy," Gilda mumbled.

"You went to the . . . softball team? The fucking softball team?! Would a boy have gone to the softball team?! Would a boy have just given up?!"

"I… I thought it'd be better than nothing. I just…" Gilda sniffed, her eyes brimming with tears. "I wanted you to be proud of me."

"You don't get it!" her father howled. "There is no 'better than nothing!' You either hit the ball, or you strike out! Get back there and tell that coach to put you on that fucking team!"

Gilda let her bat fall to the grass with a dull thud.

"I'm too tired, daddy. I've been playing all day. I need a break," she panted, wiping sweat from her brow.

Her father stared down at her in silence, then turned back toward the house to a bucked of water that glistened with condensation by the front door. She followed along weakly as he washed his hands in the bucket, but as she approached, he grabbed her roughly by the neck and forced her head beneath the cold water. She struggled and thrashed, her nose and lungs burning as she gulped down water in blind panic. Then, there was a rush of light and air as her father pulled her head back up.

"Imagine it's the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs," he growled. "Your team is down by a run, and you're batting. Your team needs a home run. Are you gonna say 'Sorry, everyone! My useless girl body is tired! Can we all take a break?'"

Gilda choked and retched, coughing up a spray of water, but her father forced her head down a second time.

"Stop the game! Let's take a fucking time out, everyone! Lazy-ass Gilda needs to change her fucking tampon!" he screamed.

After five full, merciless seconds her brought her head back up out of the water

"S-stop, daddy! Please!" Gilda whimpered.

"There are no breaks in baseball, girl! You'll never be an all-star with that kind of attitude! All my brothers had strapping young lads that bring home nice, shiny baseball trophies, but my penis threw me a curveball when I fucked your dumb crackhead mother, and all I got was a runty little girl. But did I give up? Did I walk? No I fucking well didn't! I swung the fucking bat, and so will you, and someday you'll thank me for pushing you so hard!"

"But.. But, daddy-"

"Butts are for shitting!" her father roared, white foam forming at his beak as his bloodshot eyes bulged with rage. "There are two kinds of people in this world, girl: those who swing the fucking bat, and those who walk and hope the pitcher's a fucking half-lobotomized retard who can't throw over the plate! The bat-swingers get to be all-stars, and the walkers end up sucking big, hairy zebra cocks and taking it up the ass for crack money!"

"But I did get a trophy!" Gilda whimpered. "Look!"

She reached into her backpack and withdrew her prize, handing it to her father. He stared at the label.

"A participation trophy? What the fuck does that even mean?! Ooh, isn't shitty-ass Gilda a real fucking star now! If you love your participation trophy so much, why don't you marry it, then shove it up your cunt and orgasm a few times, you fucking disappointment?!"

He threw the trophy on the ground in rage, where it shattered.

"You're not gonna be a failure, girl! I won't let you! Now, you're going to go back there, you're gonna get on that baseball team somehow, and you're not gonna come home until you do! Do I make myself clear?!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"I don't wanna play baseball!" Gilda howled.

There was a long silence. Gilda's father stared unblinkingly into her eyes.

"You don't want to play baseball?" he said in a flat, emotionless tone.

"It's stupid. I give up," Gilda sniffed. "I'm not good at anything."

Her father's jaw worked furiously, for several seconds, but no sound came out.

"You give up?" he finally managed.

He grabbed his daughter by the neck and dragged her back toward the bucket.

"Daddy, no!" Gilda begged.

"Baseball is life, girl! If you give up on baseball, you give up on fucking oxygen! If you don't want to be an all-star, then let me spare you a lingering death from every kind of sexual disease and cunt cancer known to mankind and just fucking finish you now!"

Gilda's father held her head beneath the water for one last time.

Her vision began to dim. All was cold and dark. She tugged weakly at her father's fingers, but what little strength she had quickly vanished.

Maybe this way was better, she thought. Daddy always wanted a boy. Gilda couldn't do anything right. She was just a worthless girl.

Just as she began to slip away, the little griffon heard a sudden, resonating female voice that seemed to come from inside her, and from all around her at once.

"NO! IT WILL NOT END HERE, YOUNG GILDA!"

Gilda felt a burst of blazing strength shoot through her whole being. She was a white-hot inferno of power.

"YOU ARE NOT A GIRL!"

She reached for her bat and brought it up in a vicious arc. It struck her father across the skull with a sickening crack, and he staggered, releasing Gilda from his grip and scrambling away on his back, clutching his head.

"Since the day I was born, you wanted me to be something I wasn't. You put this phallic symbol, this penis of oiled wood, in my hand and told me to swing it at balls. Penises and balls, that's the life you wanted for me, just penises and balls! You thought you could push me around, could oppress me, just because you're a man and I'm a girl, but you were wrong! I am not a girl!"

Gilda hefted her bat, her eyes blazing with the furious energy that surged through her body.

"I AM A WOMYN!"

Her father grabbed a rock-hard baseball and through it at Gilda's head with all his might. Gilda swung the bat in a flawless arc. There was a deafening crack, and the ball flew backwards into her father's anus. A fountain of blood and shit exploded all over everything as his asshole was torn asunder and the ball bored deep into his intestines. He screamed his lungs out in a paroxysm of unspeakable agony, and began shitting and vomiting his bloody, ruined organs out of every orifice of his body. Through the haze of pain and suffering, he glimpsed the blurry form of his daughter standing over him before his devastated circulatory system caused his eyes to burst like balloons full of watery ketchup.

"Cry and take that big fucking baseball in your butt like a gay little faggot," Gilda said. "That's all you men are. That's all men ever were. As for me, I will take this bat, this phallic penis of oppression you have given me, and hit a home run with the testicles of any man whose heart desires tyranny and evil, and then rape them up the ass with it like the gay little faggots that they truly are. It is the bottom of the ninth inning not for my baseball team, but for mankind! Womynkind's time is nigh, for I am the Manhandler!"

"I'm proud of you girl," her father choked. "That was one hell of a home run…"

If the physical trauma hadn't killed him in that instant, he was sure he would have died anyway from the sheer joy of seeing such strength in his daughter.