Sweetie Poo
by DontWannaKnow
Chapters
Too Much
Listen Bronies, listen close
Because this shit is pretty gross
Hear me now relate to you
The sad, sad tale of Sweetie Poo
I’m just your average brony. Okay maybe I own a few more ponies than normal. Yeah, okay, I do style their hair. Alright I have the damn Wedding Castle! There, are you happy. Yes and the RC car. This is not the point of this exercise!
Anyway, I have a good life. I’m not depressed or an alcoholic…not that I don’t indulge in the occasional appletini. Yeah I know it’s a gay drink, can we just focus on this story, please? So yeah, brony with a good life. I even have a girlfriend who tolerates my pony obsession. I work at a credit card company. I enjoy pizza. There’s really nothing remarkable about me at all. No, I’m not an unusual person…it just seems that unusual things happen to me. This is the story of one of those things.
Emma (that’s my girl) and I live in a nice little neighborhood. My only complaint is that there are too many kids. We hate kids. But still, the omnipresence of those little bastards is a testament to how nice and safe the place is. People don’t even lock their doors at night. Strange and unexpected things never happen…well, almost never.
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I keep odd hours because I work tech support for the company and I don’t get off until midnight. On an average night I come home to find Emma passed out on the couch, bong in hand, enjoying a stony sleep. It’s sweet that she tries to wait up for me, but she just smokes too much weed. Personally I don’t like that stuff…it makes me all paranoid.
And so it was on such a normal night that I came home to this familiar scene. The window was open and it was chilly…it looked like a storm was brewing. I shut it and threw a blanket over my sleeping sweetheart. She stirred slightly when I bent down to brush a strand of blonde hair off her face and give her a peck on the cheek.
I went to the kitchen and opened up the fridge. There was a brown paper bag with my name on it that caught my eye, in which I found a reuben sandwich which I instantly recognized as the work of Joe, my friend who works at the bagel shop down the street. Emma must’ve picked it up for me on her way home. Inside the back there was a note:
Andy-
I am so hungry and stoned right now you have absolutely no idea how much I want to eat this thing. But I won’t, because I love you. Also I expect sex for this.
-Em
Well, she’s direct if nothing else. I took my sandwich back to the living room and sat down in the armchair next to Emma’s couch. I flipped the tube on and selected ‘Sisterhooves Social’ from my list of recorded pone. Sweetie Belle is my favorite pony. Word of advice: never tell your asshole brony coworkers that one of the Cutie Mark Crusaders is your favorite pony unless you enjoy having your mailbox flooded with foalcon.
Anyway, back to the sandwich. I love reubens, especially cold reubens, so I was quite happy as I sat in front of the television’s soft glow watching Friendship is Magic. I was just about to stuff the last of it in my face when a thunderous boom made me jump out of my seat. Emma awoke with a start as well.
“What the shit was that?”
“I…I don’t know,” I stammered, slightly dazed. That’s when I looked out the window and noticed the tree in our backyard was somewhat uncharacteristically on fire. It seemed that storm I’d been expecting had struck and the tree had been hit by lightning. That was the only logical explanation I could come up with. Except it wasn’t raining…that was odd. I opened the back door and we went outside to investigate. I grabbed the garden hose and doused the little tree, extinguishing the flames.
“Oh hey, did you get my no…” Emma stopped in mid-sentence. I followed her gaze to the base of the tree and my eyes did that bulgy thing that eyes tend to do when something totally wack happens. In this case I might even go so far as to say the situation was in fact wiggidy-wack.
There, at the base of the tree, shivering in the night air, was an unmistakable little creature. She was soaking wet…I must have accidentally hit her with the hose. There was no mistaking this one. It was a little white thing with downy fur and a curly lavender mane. Between the curls of said mane was a small protrusion – a horn. It was a Sweetie Belle. Even Emma knew exactly what it was.
“Um…Andy…call me crazy, but that thing looks exactly like the one in your little girl show…”
“I…I…well, shit!” I exclaimed, coming to my senses, “she’s gonna freeze out here, let’s bring her inside!” I took off my coat and swept the shivering little foal up in it. Incredulity and wonder could wait. At that moment I just needed to make sure the poor thing survived. She kicked and squirmed in fear when I picked her up and rushed inside.
In the light I could see she was filthy – her fur was stained brown and red. Dirt and blood. Who would do this to a foal? I put her shivering little body in the sink and ran some hot water, washing the dirt off and warming her up. She squeaked and wriggled around, trying to escape me, but I managed to hold on. When I was done Emma was waiting for me with a fluffy towel to wrap the little pony in. She was still trembling; the poor creature was terrified. The second I loosened my grip on her she leapt out of my lap and ran to the far corner of the room, curling up into a ball and crying.
“Wait, it’s okay!” I called after her. “We’re not going to hurt you!” I slowly made my way towards her, her tremors becoming more violent the closer I got. I reached out to try and comfort her. When my fingers touched her she shook violently, soiled herself, and began bawling uncontrollably.
“It’s not my fault!” she sobbed.
“Don’t worry, of course it isn’t, you’re just scared…”
“You don’t understand! I can’t help it!” She let out a mournful wail. I knew animals crapped themselves when they were scared, and I figured a sentient being would be embarrassed by such a thing, but she was howling as if it were the end of the world.
“It’s okay,” I reassured her, “just calm…well…just…what’s your name?” I already knew the answer, but it was the only thing I could come up with.
“Sweepoo,” she mumbled, hiding behind her bushy tail.
“What?” I was slightly confused.
“Sweetie Poo!” she cried, releasing a fresh downpour of tears and soiling herself again.
“I…but…wait, you’re Sweetie Belle, right?”
“N-Nobody calls me that a-anymore,” she whimpered.
“Why, what happened?” I was very concerned now. Clearly she’d been mistreated.
“B-because I…” she soiled herself a third time “…because I POOP TOO MUCH!”
Huggies
“Wait WHAT?!” Emma exclaimed from behind me.
Sweetie Belle…or Poo…looked at her with big glossy, watery eyes. “I poo everywhere and I can’t help it! Everypony got mad and they put me in the school for special ponies but I kept pooing and Princess Celestia banished me from Equestria!” She resumed her sobbing. I was about to put a comforting hand on her when she went rigid and her eyes bulged. “Oh no! Oh no! I gonna spoo!”
“Spoo…?”
“It’s when I sneeze and…OH NO!”
Several things happened at once. Sweetie sneezed a violent sneeze, a jet stream of poo came rocketing out of her butt, and there was a loud thump. I tried to dodge the barrage of dookie, but it was no use. I managed to cover my face but that’s about it. I was covered in pony shit. When I opened my eyes the entire corner of the room was covered in crap and Sweetie was nowhere to be seen. Sweet Celestia!, I thought, she exploded!.
“UP HERE!” came a squeaking voice. I followed the sound of the squealing upward to see Sweetie stuck up next to a light fixture, her horn lodged in the ceiling. Her head was bleeding and she was weeping and thrashing about. Her flailing must’ve loosened her horn because she fell back to the ground, releasing a terrified poop tsunami in the process.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!” Emma yelled. She hadn’t escaped the explosion either. She ran to the bathroom and I could hear her retch.
Meanwhile, Sweetie lay upon the floor, covered in her own excrement, hollering and clutching at her bleeding skull. I picked her up and took her back to the sink for a rinse.
“Now,” I addressed her, “what the flaming hell was that?” As I cleaned her off I could see her cheeks were crimson. She was mortified.
“It’s…it’s my special talent,” she hung her head.
“Wait, so your special talent is explosive diarrhea?”
“Yeah…”
“That…sucks,” I finished lamely.
“It’s not fair!” She lamented, “even Scootaloo got a better cutie mark than me!”
“What…what happened?” I was honestly curious.
“I was trying to learn how to use magic good,” I chose to ignore her improper grammar, “and right when my horn started to glow Apple Bloom and Scootaloo burst into the clubhouse and scared me so much I pooped myself, and somehow it created poo magic! Then I couldn’t stop pooping! Rarity kicked me out of the house and nobody would let me stay with them because I poop too much.” The little pony was crying again. As I cleaned her off I noticed her cutie mark. You can guess what it was. Talk about adding insult to injury.
“And then,” she continued, “it got so bad that nopony wanted to be my friend anymore!” She pooped a sorrowful poop. “Scootaloo and Apple Bloom beat me up and everypony chased me out of Ponyville. Twilight tried to help me…she even brought me to the princess but I pooed all over the princess and she banished me to here!”
What. The. Fuck.
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It’s every brony’s fondest dream: the My Little Dashie scenario. A fantasy in which you find your favorite pony and get to love and take care of her and watch her grow. And it came true for me. The only problem is my favorite pony turned out to be a borderline retard with a massive incontinence problem.
Three months have passed since I found Sweetie Poo. Emma moved out long ago. I remember that conversation like it was yesterday:
“Either that shitting retard goes, or I go!” She fumed.
“But I can’t just…”
“Then I’m out. Call me when you’ve had your fill of shit.”
I’ve had to make several…modifications to my home in order to cope with Sweetie’s problem. Everything is covered in plastic. I installed an industrial strength exhaust fan in the ceiling to deal with the smell. It’s loud, but it’s better than the alternative.
At least I’ve taught Sweetie to clean up her own poo. She’s not smart enough to do a very good job, but at least she tries. She poops when she is happy, sad, angry, frustrated, excited, or scared, so she’s pretty much pooping all the time and therefore spends most of her days mopping the place up. At first she tried to use magic to clean it up, but every time she tries to do a spell she poops, thus defeating the purpose.
I almost lost her the other day. You know those silly signs on the sides of water buckets that say small children can drown in them? I always thought those were laughable until Sweetie Poo. I came home from work the other night to find her upside-down in a pail with about two inches of water in it screaming and choking as a fountain of dookie sprayed from her backside, painting the ceiling brown. Two inches of water, and it almost killed her.
I’ve tried teaching her some basic reading, writing, and math that a filly her age would be learning in school. I’ve tried being a good parent, but as you have probably already surmised she has the relative I.Q. of a wet soup cracker, and if I try to teach her anything, especially math (or num-bars, as she calls them), she just gets frustrated and shits herself.
Last night I was sitting on my plastic-covered couch, mourning the life I once had, when a crestfallen looking Sweetie approached me. Her tiny brain must’ve registered something because she seemed to understand I was upset.
“What’s wrong Andy?” She asked.
“Nothing, Sweetie, I’m just tired.”
“You’re sad because the mean lady left,” she referred to my ex-girlfriend, “and it’s my fault.” She hung her head and pooped a little. “I’m sorry I poo so much…”
“It’s not your fault…” She looked so sad I couldn’t bear it and I scooped her up into a hug.
“I get huggies!”
“Everybody needs huggies sometimes, Sweetie Belle,” I told her. She smiled wide and bounced in my lap when I used her real name. And in that moment, with that innocent little foal beaming up at me, I almost felt like it was all worth it.
Then she shat all over me.
Pepper
Woke up with a nasty headache…too many appletin…I KNOW IT’S A GAY DRINK SHUT UP! Anyway, Sweetie was already up, watching FiM.
When she had initially discovered the show I feared a My Little Dashie-esque existential crisis. I carefully explained to her the nature of her existence in her dimension and this one, hoping that she could comprehend it all without blowing a gasket. She’d responded by excitedly screaming “PONIES!” and running headlong into the TV screen, knocking herself unconscious. Now she spends Saturday mornings sitting in front of the television yelling at the cartoon characters and wondering why they can’t hear her.
“SCOOTALOO! APPLE BLOOM! IT’S ME SWEETIE! I’M HERE!” she shouted, waving her hooves about madly. When her friends “ignored” her she sat back on her haunches and pooped in frustration. After sitting for a spell she finally noticed her accident and went to grab the mop. She began dutifully cleaning the floor, only she kept pooing herself as she mopped, and eventually ended up going in a giant circle as she moved from one mess to the next. It was a sad sight to watch.
I tried to go back to sleep but the smell was so awful I had to get up and turn on the exhaust fan. I was tired. Not just hung over tired, I was tired of this horrible fate that had been thrust upon me. Sometimes I secretly wished she would just drown in the mop bucket or the bathtub (I still have yet to make her understand that you aren’t supposed to inhale when you’re underwater).
Once again something must’ve clicked in Sweetie’s tiny brain.
“Andy? Are you sad?” she asked as I haphazardly peppered my bacon and eggs.
“Nope,” I lied, “just tired.”
“Andy I sorry, I’m a bad pony. BAD PONY!” She bopped herself on the head with a hoof. It was utterly sad and adorable.
“It’s okay Sweetie Belle, let’s just have some breakfast.” I smiled. For all her problems, she was a sweet little filly, and I was glad to have her. She never gave up, no matter how bad things got, and I admired that. Who cares what her special talent is, I thought, she has a good heart. I grabbed an extra plate and divvied up the scrambled eggs so we could both have some, then I went and joined her where she sat on the floor.
“Don’t worry Sweetie, I love you,” I said while hugging her.
“I wuv you too Andy!” She hugged me back and actually managed not to poop with excitement. I was grateful, it would’ve ruined my appetite. We both proceeded to tuck into our eggs.
Suddenly, I remembered the pepper, but I was too late.
“Ah…pepper…ah…make…Sweetie…CHOOOO!”
Several things happened at once. I saw white, I saw brown, I heard a sickening crunch, and I saw red.
The white was Sweetie as she went rocketing up towards the ceiling.
The brown was the giant jet stream of shit that propelled her upwards.
The sickening crunch and the ensuing red was Sweetie gettting sucked into the exhaust fan, which acted like a Cuisinart, shredding her into pony giblets. Little bits of bone and organs rained down on me in the midst of of a bloody mist. I just kept eating my eggs.
I guess the shit hit the fan.