It's another lovely day in Equestria. The dogs are barking incessantly outside. You think that's probably filly screaming... just to scream? What the fuck girls?! People are trying to fucking sleep around here.

What's your goddamn problem?!

Uuuggghhh.

You know what? Fuck it. Today is a lazy kind of day. It's the weekend. You've fucking earned it. You can say fuck a lot. You can take 3 hour baths and watch movies. You can lounge on the couch eating cheeze-its and binging terrible horror because you are equivalent to that great shit you have after having a bunch of greasy food.

So you get out of bed, throw on some sweat pants, and just say fuck it. No triple S. No shitting. No showering. No shaving. No brushing your teeth. Today is a day for "Fuck".

Then there are three gentle knocks on the door.

Maybe "Fuck" isn't the best word for today.

Groaning as you head down the stairs, you wonder what terrible fucking guess Fluttershy must have in store for you. One thing's for sure. She's creative sometimes.

You cross the room with a shuffle of feet on creaky hardwood, then throw the door open. Sure enough, the pony who is most susceptable to dying of jaundice is on the other side, beaming up at you, hiding behind her hair. It would almost be cute if she didn't try to feed you things that are filled with her fluids.

"G-good Morning, Anon," Fluttershy says quietly. "I-I hope I'm not bothering you. I promise it'll just be a second."

"I guess not? At least, not more than usual. The whole, you being alive thing, is annoying enough. Just get it over with you fucking cuntwaffle."

"O-oh. U-uhm."

She then cocks her head towards you and breathes out. A pervasive scent fills your nostrils. Dog Shit that had been sitting in pickle juice for five days, and then marinated in jockstraps, blended in a food processor and then served as a drizzle over brussel sprouts.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, FLUTTERSHY. OH MY GOD."

"I-is morning breath your fetish?"

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GODDAMN HORSES?!"

You slam the door in her face and try to catch your breath. But you can't. The smell has shoved up your nose, down your throat, and onto your tongue. You feel the pit of your stomach clench.

Okay, you know what? On second thought? Maybe proper dental hygiene is important, because if there's one thing that you learned today, kissing a horse in the morning sounds fucking awful.