>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.