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.