Spaghetti

>Digging through the kitchen cabinets

>Find an old pasta maker

>Haven't used this thing in years

>Decide to give it a try tonight

>Mix up the pasta dough using a recipe from the internet

>Start rolling it into linguini

>Your least favorite fluffy pony walks in to the kitchen

>Must have gotten out of the safe room somehow

>Sees you making the pasta with the machine

>"Fwuffy wan sketties!" it cries

>You tell it to wait, you have to cook it first

>It won't leave you alone

>It sees that you're paying more attention to the pasta than to it

>"Fwuffy wan BE sketties!"

>The last of the dough is rolled into linguini

>"Is that so?" you ask it

>"Fwuffy wan be sketties!"

>Shrug.

>You were thinking of getting a new fluffy anyway

>You set the rollers to their widest setting and move the uncooked pasta to a different counter

>Put down some newspaper under the machine and pick up fluffy

>It's thrilled to get the attention

>You tell it that if it wants to be spaghetti, it needs to put it's legs between the rollers

>It gets up on the machine and sticks it's forelegs in

>You turn the crank

>Fluffy pony starts getting sucked into the rollers. It's eyes go wide with pain as the machine begins to tear its legs into thin, flat strips.

>Its tiny bones begin to crack

>The first bits of pony linguini are extruded from the other side of the machine

>"Look, now you're spaghetti!" you tell it

>It's bawling and babbling incoherently from the physical and emotional pain

>You get bored once you grind past it's knees

>Rip it out of the machine by the fluff on it's back, leaving it a pair of bloody stumps for front legs

>Toss it into the trash

>Place the machine in the sink for cleaning, begin cooking pasta

>Mix the strips of gore into the other fluffies' bowls.

>They don't seem to notice or mind.