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| PandaSennin #1467092 2 weeks ago |
More shitty edits! |
| Anonymous #1467106 2 weeks ago |
Here's the story that inspired this edit:
>Fluffy ponies, having only existed for a few years, are basically genetically identical. Few mutations have entered the germ line, practically none of them beneficial. >Their absurdly fast gestation rate, their only working survival trait, means that mutant foals with genes for more developed brain structures or more developed connective tissue tend to be stillborn, or are rejected at birth as runts. >In fact, most mutations are incompatable with their ridiculously high birth rate, and any mutations which slow the birth rate in favor of less defective fluffy bodies are quickly outcompeted by the standard lot. >After all, a stronger fluffy pony is still no match for a rat, so sheer numbers is their main defense. >As such, any two randomly chosen fluffy ponies have nearly as much in common genetically as a pair of human identical twins. >Differences in color, type, and personality arise from developmental biology, which is still not as well understood as genetics. >Because of their genetic similiarity, all fluffy ponies share the same biological markers in their blood and tissue, and will not reject any transplant from another fluffy pony. >Be the mad gardener. >A week ago, a small family of fluffy ponies wandered into your yard. >The male managed to get his head stuck in a trellis and choked to death >The mother and four foals managed to eat several of your lower-hanging prize roses before getting hopelessly stuck in the thorns >You found them, mewling pathetically, embedded in your plants. >You were, understandably, a bit angry, given that these fluffy ponies had just ruined your chance of getting first place at the upcoming county fair. >you considered killing them in retribution, but after taking a bit to calm down, you had a much better idea. >Two days later. >The foals are crying in a bowl in your garage, but you don't care. >You took them away from her yesterday morning, and have been feeding them nothing but a thin solution of water, glucose, and antibiotics. >They have basically stopped shitting altogether. It's important that they do, for what comes next. >You get your work area ready, with a sterile metal pan, some sterilized knives, shears, duct tape, antiseptics, gauze, suture, surgical tape, twine, a soldering iron, a cutting board, and chilled bags of fluffy pony blood. >That last bit is unsurprisingly easy to come by - fluffy ponies are full of the stuff, after all. >It's time to bring in the patient. >You bring in the mare, her teats painfully swollen with milk intended for the babies you took. >"Whew babehs? Wan babehs now! Gif back!" >She snapped at you a few times. You considered discipling her, but you want her in top shape for her surgery. Besides, it's not like you're hurt or anything. >You place the mare in the pan, belly up, and hold her there with one hand. With the other, you strap her down across the belly with duct tape. >you tape her down good and solid. Can't have her moving around much when under the knife. >Not that it's too much of a concern, yesterday you cut into her flanks and shoulder and cut the tendons that attach the muscles to her upper limbs. she's basically only got control over her "wrists". >you tie a bit of twine around the base of one of her back legs, tight enough to cut circulation to the leg. >You use the shears to trim most of the fluff off her leg. >it's time for the first incision. >You take a scalpel and cut the flesh around the tied leg, all the way around the bone. >The mare squeals in pain, becoming more high pitched the more you cut. >With a quick torque, the bone snaps leaving only a bloody stump. Her eyes go wide, and the scream becomes inaudible. >you use the soldering iron to burn the femoral artery closed. >it's not bleeding too badly since you applied a tournaquet and cauterized the artery, but you still need to be fast. >Next, you pull one of the four foals out of the bowl. It's a little pink thing. It's still screaming. >Shaving the fluff from around it's midsection doesn't shut it up either. >You put it on the cutting board. >The mare has regained enough of her senses to speak again. >"Nuuuu, pwease, no huwt babehs!" >In one swift motion, you cut it in half below the ribcage. The now-separate back half twitches involuntarily and flops off the table >You pick up the squirming top half. It's mouth is open, but as far as you can tell, nothing is coming out. >You turn it over and locate the cut end of it's small intestine in the bloody mess where it's lower body once was, and quickly burn it closed with the soldering iron. You also burn the biggest aretry you can see. >The blood loss from it's horrific injury will still kill it quickly, so you have to act fast. >You place the severed torso of the fluffy foal onto the leg stump of the mother, and begin sewing them together. >You're no surgeon, but this is sort of like grafting plants, so your'e in your element. >Before long, you have attached the fluffy foal's torso to it's mother's amputated stump, and secured it with stitches and surgical tape. >you find an artery on the weakened foal and administer blood intravenously, it's in bad shape, but if this works, it'll live. >The fluffy mare is horrified beyond words, but that doesn't mean she's shut up. Your garage is a choir of screams. >You pull another foal out of the bowl and start again. And again, and again. >Before long, each of the fluffy mother's legs have been replaced with her babies. >They are all screaming in pain and terror. >You monitor them for the next few hours, administering IV drips and what little medicine you have to try to keep them alive. >By evening, they seem to have stabilized. >Sick and tired of the constant screaming, you retire to bed. You leave the immobile abomination in a paint bucket on the garage floor and turn out the lights. >Come morning, you are somewhat surprised to find your creation still alive. >It seems the foals' rapidly developing bodies quickly bonded their vascular systems with their mother's. >The abomination lies in it's pen, crying from at least two of it's mouths. >You decide to name your creation "babylegs". >You take a moment to reflect and appreciate your work. >You throw up a little in your mouth. Shit's pretty fucked up, yo. >You're sure to win the blue ribbon for "weirdest creature" at the county fair, now. >After all the guy who keeps winning just sews more and more legs onto a fluffy pony every year. >That hack ain't got nothing on your screaming monstrosity with it's eight functioning front legs, five mouths, and ten eyes. >When life gives you lemons, eh? |
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| Giant_Neckbeard #1467160 2 weeks ago |
Oh jesus fuck, what has science done?!!?! |
| deathproofpony #1467538 2 weeks ago |
...and nothing of value was lost.
Except for the roses. |
| Ginger_Fig #1467761 2 weeks ago |
I'd never read that story. Congratulations on the Blue Ribbon. |