>Doctor von Hilter has created the Fluffy Ponipede. >fluffy pony #3 has had his mouth and cheeks surgically attached to pony #2’s anus. >fluffy pony #1 has had fluffy pony #2’s mouth and cheeks surgically attached to his anus. >fluffy ponies realize what happened to them after Doctor von Hilter fed them last night. >Doctor Johann Scrotalskin von Hilter cackles and rubs his hands together menacingly. >the other two ponies can’t manage more than “mmmph!” >the three fluffy ponies wake up almost simultaneously. >You take it upon yourself to maintain the garden in the memory of your first fluffy pony. >She is in no way interested in growing plants and doesn’t care that she can’t use magic or fly. >Enraged, you go to the adoption center and get a new earth fluffy. >You suspect that one of your jealous neighbors might have thrown the seeds over your fence one night. >It’s a carnivorous pitcher plant, which you stomp into paste. >You take a picture of the plant and ask Google to tell you what it is. >You pull her out and discover that she’s dead. >You find your fluffy pony laying on the ground with most of her head stuck inside a peculiar plant. >One day she scampers out the doggie door you installed for her and doesn’t come in for lunch. >You often catch her babbling to the plants, encouraging them to grow. >She develops a fluffy mark of a sprouting seed. >Suddenly your neighbors are quite jealous of the lavish garden she has grown for you. >You buy her some seeds and let her spend some more time in your backyard. >The other fluffies are impressed and your fluffy is very proud of herself. >You help her present the plant to her friends and she explains how she grew it. >You teach your pony how to grow a plant. >She is the only earth pony in the neighborhood. >Earth ponies are often overlooked in favor of the other two breeds. >Your earth pony doesn’t understand and goes back to sulking in your lap. >”Why no magic? Why no fwy?” your earth pony asks you. >See Push-Me Pull-Me Pony version wandering around, courtesy of a cucumber. >Ah who cares if they’re gay, they’re happy. >wake up next morning, go out to find Vodka and Gin staring out the window, leaning on each other and going “Wah!” at the dawn. >Clean them up after dinner, wipe off spaghetti sauce and let them use litter tray one last time before being locked into their sleeping room. >During dinner, try to figure out how to explain to ponies that they are supposed to do that with the girls, not each other. >Pre-dinner bath for the boys to separate them. >Oh joy, dried pony fluids all over your bed. >Have to come get Vodka and Gin as they were still hugging each other and are now cemented together. >You wish your camera was working, this is like a train wreck. >Vodka and Gin are humping each other tenderly on your pillow, going 'Eenf eenf eenf’ and their fluff making that 'pomf’ noise as they grind against each other. Took a few days to explain dry-humping your face wasn’t 'wuv’. Shortly after your first fluffy realised he wasn’t going to be hurt or abandoned, he 'wuved you’. >Quietly stick your head around the door and look in. >Eventually hear 'pomf'ing noises from your bedroom. >Spend the next 10 minutes trying to find Vodka and Gin. Remind them that Friday is All-They-Can-Eat Spaghetti Night. First spend ten minutes playing with Rum and Bourbon and cheer them up. ![]() >Come home to find Rum and Bourbon playing with a ball. You notice that while all four Ponies play well together, Gin and Vodka are always hugging each other. >Females, Rum and Bourbon, are asleep in a pile. >On way home, Vodka is hugging the other male, whom you think you’ll call Gin, on the back seat, both babbling about ‘Hugs’ and 'Funnehs’. >Figure when Spring rolls around, and breeding season starts, you’ll just keep the females indoors for the two-three weeks it takes. >Buy three more Ponies, another male, and two females. >Asks if ponies really do explode and/or die during sex and pregnancy. >Ask giant black man behind counter if you can adopt one or two ponies for Vodka as friends. >Little Vodka is waving like the damn Pope to the other ponies. >Drive for three hours to find a nice adoption center. >Decide that, working 6 days a week, you really do need another pony or two to keep little Vodka happy during the day. >After six months, the Fluffy Pony you adopted has been house-trained, can swim a little and is generally the only bright spot in your otherwise endless grind of a life.
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