You are Anon. In this prison, you've recided and decided that Sugar pone is too much for you to handle. The harassment just doesn't stop from her. One day, you watched as she put on a show on one of the lunch tables in a feeble attempt to win your love. Too bad you don't love disgusting ponies who shouldn't get any belly rubs. You still have nightmares about what you saw.

Your behavior was pretty decent for the past week, and now you've gotten two more weeks to go before you finally get out. You are pretty excited by this notion, but you've gotten no clue as to what you'll do when you do get out. Will you continue to live the life you once lived before the prison? Is it even worth it fighting back against the government?

You realize that it's the establishment's mistake for making the gym magically enhanced. You're definitely stronger now, and even though you're not effected by magic by any considerable margin, you do know your trips to the gym has been making you harder. You're only magic retardant, yet you definitely don't feel like a retard either. You have no remnants of any visible body fat on you whatsoever. You've reached the point to where even Arnold Schwarzenegger would be proud.

As you sit on your bed in the your hotel room-like cell, you stare at the ceiling and wonder how many ponies you could take on at once. Surely, you can't be overpowered by a group of ponies like before. You're not even sure anyone can contain you.

"WHAT'S GOT YOUR MIND, BUDDY OL' PAL?" Bulk Biceps asks. You assume he's just really observant towards others.

"Just wondering how many ponies I could take in a fight." you reply. Bulk Biceps winces when you say fight, but he still gives you a nod of approval.

"THERE'S NO DOUBT. YOU ARE THE STRONGEST STRONG I KNOW RIGHT NOW. AND THAT'S SAYING SOMETHING! I'M PRETTY SURE YOU WOULD LAST AT LEAST A MINUTE IN AN ARM... LEG? UH, ARMLEG WRESTLE AGAINST ME."

"Is that a challenge?" you say. Bulk Biceps has a spark in his eye. Your sphincter clenches.

"IF YOU WANT TO THINK OF IT LIKE THAT BRO, THEN LET'S GO!"

You then spend the next few minutes setting up the most perfect and fair arm wrestling table with Bulk Biceps. After laying down some ground rules, you're ready to partake in the one of the greatest arm wrestling matches of all time.

You are Supreme Commander Anonymous. You are currently leading your army of ten-thousand Anons. Each Anon has two swords in each hand because shields are for pussies. You're currently preparing to enter battle with the Bulky Army. The Bulky Army is also ten-thousand strong, and are all super muscly ponies. None of them have weapons, but you're sure even your army's dual swordsmanship will have trouble breaking through the skin.

Still!

You're one of the greatest commanders in all history. You have won many a battle against formiddable foes, most notably the Sweet Rebellion movement. You won't explain the history because this is a dramatic representation of an arm wrestling match.

"Go forth, my men! Give them hell!" you yell through your radio. Your army gives a cheer and sprints towards the opposing force.

This day will go down in history.

You set your arm down on the table, and Bulk Biceps puts down his appendage as well. Bulk's wings give an excited flitter.

You grip his hoof, and his hoof wraps around your hand. Thus begins the match.

The armies collide. You watch as your men slaughter and be slaughtered. You will not allow a loss today! If you win this battle, your name shall be forever set in stone. You draw your sword in your left hand and your pistol in your right hand. You charge forth, and catch up to your men.

You take out a couple of the enemies. A few of your men form a protective circle around you. As per the laws and regulations of international battle, once the commander is killed, the army is forced to submit. Fortunately for you, your army is one of the best, if not the best. You're confident in your men's ability to protect you should you face any danger.

You and your protective circle make an indent in the opposing force's numbers, which in turn allows for more of your men from behind to make a move to get inside. You tell your men who are from behind to get in here, and start broadening the hole. They give you a prompt "aye aye, sir!" and then move in.

The sound of metal clashing and the smell of blood flowing brings a tear to your eye. You ponder about what is going on with the other commander as you fight ever-so-gracefully.

"RRGH!" grunts out Bulk Biceps as he tries to budge your arm. You've managed to hold your ground well, and even managed to move his arm ever so slightly closer to the table.

"You shoulda thought twice, my man. Looks like you're having trouble." you say as Bulk Biceps veins grow as every second go on as he strains to get an advantage on you. You push further, and before you know it his arm is on the table. The table snaps in half, and is then broken. Bulk Biceps looks at you with a defeated smile.

"WOW, ANON! NOPONY HAS EVER BEATEN ME IN AN ARM WRESTLE. I'M PROUD OF YOU." he says, huffing and puffing from all the strain on his muscles.

"Remember, Bulky, your muscles to me are just for show. Get good. G, G." you reply. He trudges over to his bed and immediately falls asleep. You wish you could fall asleep as easily as he does.

You're pretty sure you heard a large mass of people cheer somewhere in the building, but you think that was your imagination.

Your imaginative cheering bubble is popped by a knock on the door. Figuring there couldn't be any harm to check and see who it is, you strut on over to the door and open it. You open it to find Sugar.

"Hi, Anon! Can I have a belly rubby please?" Sugar says. You give an annoyed sigh.

Right as Sugar opens her mouth to say something else, you close the door, turn three-hundred and sixty degrees, and then walk away.

Author's Notes:

CAUSE THIS IS FILLER
FILLER NIGHT
WE GONNA GET SOME SUGAR
IT IS NEXT CHAPTER ALRIGHT

(i made, like, 3 chapters and they'll all be posted daily for the next few days. next two are huge sugar high chapters. 1/3)