>You're in your bandmate's garage, rehearsing for an upcoming gig.
>You're the guitarist, and a pretty kick-ass one at that.
>You decide to bring your fluffy along, because you didn't have a babysitter.
>Coincidentally, your bandmates have fluffies as well.
>You all question why you got them in the first place.
>Anyway, practice begins, and you play a pretty awesome song you wrote yourself.
>It's too loud for the ponies, and they start crying.
>Your music initially drowns it out, but they get louder and it gets on your nerves.
>You stop playing and stare at the little wailers.
>Your bandmates then exchange looks, figuring out what to do.
>The bassist chimes in.
>"Why not lock them in the laundry?"
>Perfect. What could go wrong?
 
>You immediately lock them in.
>They don't seem to bothered, because, hey, they have friends with them.
>You get back to rehearsing.
>After 10 minutes of jamming, you make some pretty sweet music.
>It's all interrupted by a loud bang.
>Coming from the laundry.
>The drummer mutters to himself.
>"Dear God, no."
>You immediately run to where you stashed the little bastards.
>They're all covered in bubbles, giggling at each other.
>The washing machine is completely destroyed.
>The bassist is fuming, considering it's his house.
>You and the drummer eventually calm him down.
>You can't leave them alone, it seems.
>You suddenly come up with an idea.
>"Get some cotton buds!"
>Five minutes later, you've given the ponies some earplugs to drown out noise from the instruments.
>They don't seem to be bothered by it.
>Alright, jam time.
 
>As soon as you begin performing, the fluffy little shits begin making obnoxious noises, smashing things, and making a mess of the garage.
>You've had enough.
>You've all had enough.
>Those furry little rats have got to go.
>You put your instruments on the ground and walk up to the ponies.
>You each grab your fluffy.
>You point to the kick drum.
>"You guys wanna play in there?"
>The ponies respond enthusiastically.
>The drummer opens up the drum.
>All the ponies run inside and hug each other.
>He quickly closes and seals the drum.
>He places the pedal.
>He places his foot on it.
>You all have smiles on your faces.
>"Hit it!"
>Suddenly, the drummer starts tapping the pedal with his foot repeatedly.
>The ponies inside react, and are terrified.
>Fortunately, the drum cover is transparent only from the outside, so they don't see you.
>The beating gets faster.
>The screaming increases.
>Suddenly, all the ponies inside explode, leaving nothing but blood inside.
>You all laugh in sheer amazement.
>You think to yourself.
>"I fucking love music