>Be Anon
>Cleaning house with vacuum cleaner
>God damn furry pones, leaving this fur crap everywhere.
>Everyday they waltz in for talks, announcements, songs and stealing your cherry ripes.
>And everyday there is a thicker layer of multicoloured horse lint on every single surface.
>Every single one.
>Even the insides of your underwear drawer.
>And that's no good.
>Hence, the vacuum cleaner.
>You're halfway through the living room when you espy a terrified purple alicorn looking at you with sheer, unadaulterated horror on her face, her eyes aglue to your metallic cleaning contraption.
>Her pupils shrink, and she shivers uncontrollably.
>You turn off the vacuum, letting it whine down, before opening the window.
>"Anon!" she breathes, transfixed to the vacuum, "What are you doing with that, that, that FORBIDDEN human weapon!"
>You look to her, back to the handle, and back to her.
>Forbidden human weapon?
>You bought this at Quills and Sofas for god's sake.
>You tell her as such.
>"But An-anon!" she gasps, as she raises a quivering hoofsie at your pony-fur-removal machine, "In the hands of a human, that is a WEAPON."
>...surely she isn't serious.
>"It's not funny!" she barks, her eyes briefly glaring at you before flicking back to the instrument of apparent doom in your hands, "And don't call me Shirley!"
>You groan at the terrible pun, before stating in less eloquent terms that you are to continue cleaning via vacuum with your vacuum cleaner.
>There is a sharp intake of breath from the open window.
>"You're...you're SERIOUS!" she shrieks.
>Your brow furrows.
>...
>No. No you shall not stoop as so low as to say that you aren't Serious, your Anon.
>That would be tacky.
>And tasteless.
>And imitating a punny purple pony who is coming to a conniption from your cleaning equipment.
>You turn the machine back on.
>A high pitched whine kicks in as the machine munches its way through the multicoloured fur, buried deep in the carpet.
>As you nearly finish, there's a crash and the vacuum sputters momentarily.
>You turn and behold a terracota pot, broken, soil splattered over the carpet.
>The plot thickens.
>You turn to the window, where Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, telekinetically wields several pot-plants about her person.
>Outrageous!
>You turn the nozzel in her direction.
>She freezes, her pony-mind uncomprehending the machine now handled by human hands.
>Her mouth works but there is no sound.
>Naught but the furious roar of the vacuum nozzle as it appraoches her.
>She finally manages to squeek out words, at first rambling, then:
>"A-ANON! I beg you! Don't, don't do it! Don't hurt any innocent! Do no evil!"
>You roll your eyes a step closer, the nozzle mere inches from her chest.
>"No ANON!" she squeals, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
>The vacuum lacthes onto her chest.
>She stands there quivering as the vacuum ruffles her chest fluff.
>Her eyes are clenched shut, tears leaking from the edges, her wings twitch uselessly.
>You withdraw the nozzle, and Twilight quivers and faints.
>With a final, dramatic breah, she sobs "Anonymous..." before she passes out.
>...
>These fucking ponies, you ponder, as you return to your task and chalk up another task to your list: Get more pot-plants.
>[spoilers]Bitches love pot-plants[/spoilers].
 
---
 
>It is later.
>Another day, another run through with the vacuum cleaner.
>You're jiving your way through the bedrooms when you hear the door open and close.
>There is the pitter-patter of scaly feet.
>"Hey Anon, can I crash her for a bit?" states the Librarian Assistant Dragon, Spike-a-licious.
>You confirm, unsure exactly why the Purple drake is her.
>On your couch.
>Watching your TV.
>You say you'll be right along, you just have to finish vacuuming.
>"Eh, take your time," he waves off as he flicks over to 'Highbrow High', and giggling over how Richhoof has once again chosen to go after Miss Prince, who is actually a stallion in disguise.
>You shrug, your contraption campaigning through the carpet to quench your cleanliness quest.
>Wouldn't have thought Spike would go for that sort of show.
>You're currently passing the vacuum under Spike when there's a shriek.
>You look over to the window and there's a white unicorn with squiggly indigo hair.
>Her face is smooshed against the glass, contorted with shock and horror.
>Her eyes track the vacuum as it passes under Spike's feet.
>"Spike! Spikey-Poo!" she sobbingly screams, "Get out of THERE-HERE-HERE!"
>Spike's eyes remain on the TV screen, but he waves his hands above his head and says in a bored monotone "Oh, no, help me Rarity. I am being attack by Anonymous and his vacuum cleaner."
>Rarity wails, eyes clenched shut as she prissily pats at the window pane.
>Spike waves his hands a bit unconcerned, "If only someone wouldn't go out on a date with me, I would not be in this much trouble. Ahhhh."
>He rolls onto the ground, eyes still on the screen.
>The vacuum travels over his belly, back onto the carpet.
>Rarity is practically coming apart at the seams, her eyeliner trailing down her face.
>Spike is the definition of apathy as he becomes an annoying lump on your carpet.
>Although the vacuum makes amusing noises as it slurps on his scales.
>Eventually Rarity screams out "I'm SO-HO-HORRY! I'll go out wiht you! Just, please! Get out of there!"
>"Kay," says Spike, standing up, turning off the TV, pattering out the front door.
>You watch as a clearly shaken Rarity clutches a smug looking drakeling on the way to town.
>You question your sanity.
>Then cease your line of reasoning.
>After all, everyone else is clearly insane.
>You shrug, and quickly vacuum up the dirty spike-shaped layer of lint on the floor.