- >You spent all night digging that pit trap in front of the barn.
- >And the day before was spent sharpening stakes to place at the bottom.
- >But it'll all be worth it to get that wily apple farmer.
- >Her and her stupid orange fur and that fucking hat.
- >You are so going to jack off into that thing when she's dead.
- >Applejack walks towards the barn and over the concealed pit.
- >This is it! You reach into your pants and grab your throbbing erection in anticipation.
- >And she walks across the stick and hay covering like it was solid ground.
- NO!!!
- >You run from your hiding place ready to throttle the hick pöny.
- >The pit gives way to you.
- >Pain. Lots of pain.
- >There are wooden stakes piercing your body in several places.
- >The last thing you see is Applejack shaking her head.
- >”Macintosh get the shovel. He’s done it again.”
- >You wake up in your bed again. The number on your wrist has changed to 21.
- Someday Applejack, someday.
- >You managed to borrow/steal Pinkie’s party cannon.
- >Instead of cake you filled with nails, rocks and Scootaloo.
- >You told her she’d get a ballistics cutie mark.
- >You wheel the cannon out to the orchard where your target is busy kicking trees.
- >Big Macintosh spots you, but all he does is sigh heavily and walk towards the house.
- Well that was weird.
- >”What was?”
- Quiet Scootaloo, ammunition can’t talk.
- >You spot the orange apple pöny in the south fields.
- Range 1500 yards.
- Wind SE 5mph.
- All set.
- >You light the fuse and cover your ears.
- >The fuse burns down into the cannon…nothing happens.
- >You know what’s coming.
- >You knew when you got the idea this morning.
- >Just like you know how it will go every time you try to kill Applejack.
- >It doesn’t stop the urges. You need to kill her. Just like you need to eat, sleep and shit.
- >With a resigned sigh you step in front of the cannon…nothing happens.
- >Against your better judgment you look inside.
- >Nails and rocks, but no Scootaloo.
- >You look up over the barrel and get a face full of chicken butt.
- >She’s messing with the fuse.
- >One loud noise and gaping chest wound later you wake up in your bed.
- >The number on your wrist is now 22.
- >You crawl out of bed and begin writing apology notes.
- >One for Pinkie, one for Macintosh, and one for Scootaloo’s parents.
- >But not Applejack because fuck her.
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