You know, most of the time waking up isn't a terrible experience for people. Yet, you always seem to be the exception to most rules. You wake up and immediately feel dread at the idea that your every day pattern is going to continue.

You rise to your bed, wondering if you can somehow afford to not do anything today. Watch a movie. Play a game. Anything.

Stopping in your bathroom, you ponder your morning routine. The good ol' Triple S. Shit, Shower, and Shave. You head into the bathroom and do your dirty deed, but decide you'd rather have some food in your stomach before you clean up your body.

You take a deep breath and head downstairs unclean and unshaven to make some breakfast. Your ears are on full alert, awaiting the knock at your door that seemed to give you high blood pressure.

Except, she likely didn't account for today's change in routine. With the little bit of extra time, you actually manage to clean the dishes for once. But then, of course, the routine knock on the door.

You head to your front door, wondering why you continue to put up with this schick. You open the gate of your home to, once again, find Flutterbutter.

"Fluttershy, I have a lot of very important nothing to do today, so hurry up."

"But, today I have three guesses Anon!"

Ugh.

"Whatcha got?" you ask, leaning against the door frame.

"Are showers filled with broken glass your fetish?"

You look down at the beaming bundle of happiness with a bad feeling in your gut.

"Uh... no."

She looks disappointed, but resolute.

"Okay, I knew that one might not go well... but what about sinks that release acid?"

You look to your kitchen sink with a little bit of confusion.

"No. What's the last one?"

She thinks hard.

"It's coming to me... I just need to remember it."

A bad feeling rests in the pit of your stomach.

"Well while you are doing that... I need to check something."

You run upstairs to your bathroom. Opening the shower stall, you gaze in at a floor of broken glass. Closing the stall, you move cautiously to the sink. Putting a roll of toilet paper in the sink, you turn on the faucet. The paper disintegrates before your eyes.

Oh shit.

What's the last one?

You run downstairs and grab the yellow pony by the neck.

"WHAT'S THE LAST ONE!" you scream.

"A-Anon.. that hurts," she chokes.

"WHAT'S THE LAST ONE!"

Dropping her to the ground, she works hard to catch her breath.

"Is catching AIDS from toilet seats your fetish, Anon?"

You stare at her. The world stands still for just a moment.

"Fluttershy, if you don't go home. Right now. I will take a knife, and do unspeakable things."

She looks at you in wide eyed horror and flutters off.

Well, looks like talking to a doctor just got put on your list of things to do today, because you got pony AIDS from fucking Fluttershy.