Spaghetti Soup
 
        >you probably know the drill by now, but you are Anon, the average fluffy pony owner
        >well, “owner” is kind of a misnomer
        >you’re just holding onto it for a friend
        >honest
        >really, though, you buddy Tom is out of town, and asked you to take care of his fluffy pony for the week
        >you said you’d go for it
        >after all, you did have a fluffy pony once
        >killed herself jumping off of the stairs in an attempt to fly
        >what a shame
        >you never got around to getting another after that
        >anyways, Tom’s green-coated, orange-maned unicorn fluffy isn’t much by way of a hassle
        >apparently his name is Ed, after Mr. Ed the Talking Horse
        >hardy har
        >regardless, you still had your subscription to FluffTV back from when you had your old fluffy
        >right now, some show about mothers and foals is playing, and neither of you are really invested in it
        >Ed yawns, and you begin to as well
        >as soon as you gulp for air, you sneeze right onto his back
        >ugh
        >“Ah, shoot. Sorry, lemme get some tissues.”
        >”Ed nu wike dis game.”
        >you wipe him down and toss the wad of hankies into the trash bin before you continue watching the show
        >you decide not to pet him until he’s had a bath
 
        ---------------------------------------------------------------
 
        >the next day, Ed’s not up early
        >now that’s pretty weird, since Tom warned you that he always gets up a bit too early in the morning
        >you head into his little safe room to see what’s up
        >”Ed? You alright?”
        >”Nuhhh…”
        >”Ed?”
        >Ed is flopped onto his side, sniffling and coughing
        >”What’s going on with you today, pal?”
        >”Ed sweepy.”
        >”Wait, a runny nose, coughing, and drowsiness? Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a bad cold there, Ed.”
        >”Wha’ bad cowd?”
        >”It’s kind of like when…how do I put this? It’s sickies. Is that what you call it, sickies?”
        >”Ed haf sickies?”
        >”Seems like it. And it doesn’t look like I can give you any medicine for it, either. The dosage would be too high for you.”
        >”Wha’ bou’ fwuffy med’sin?”
        >”It’s a Sunday. The store is closed.”
        >”Den how Ed geh bettew?”
        >you think, and think, and think
        >”Ed, I’ve got an idea. Wait here.”
        >as you head out the door, you hear Ed mumble something about how he wasn’t exactly planning to leave
        >you get to the kitchen, and rummage through the pantry
        >chicken soup always helps a cold
        >no, really, science proved that shit
        >but you don’t exactly have any soup, and Ed probably wouldn’t be able to stomach chicken in the first place
        >fluffy ponies aren’t exactly carnivores by nature
        >what you’re looking for is a package of instant noodles
        >sure enough, you’ve got a pack or two lurking around in the very back
        >and one of them is chicken flavored
        >excellent
        >you boil some water, pour it into the cup, dump the noodles into a small bowl, and carry it upstairs to Ed
        >when you walk into the room, he starts sniffing at the air, trying to bask in the delicious scent
        >or he’s sucking more snot up his nose, whatever
        >”Ed? I’ve brought you some spaghetti to help you with your cold.”
        >time to put on a show, Anon
        >all of those high school drama classes are finally going to come in handy
        >”Huh? Dis nu sketties.”
        >”Why, what do you mean? Of course it’s spaghetti!”
        >”Nice mistah, dis nu sketties.”
        >you let out a melodramatic sigh, and throw yourself against the wall as if you’ve been defeated
        >”Oh, you’re right. I didn’t want to have to tell you, Ed! I didn’t want to say it, but you’ve forced my hand!”
        >Ed squints, trying to make sense of what you’re talking about
        >”This isn’t actually spaghetti! Oh, no, no, no, no, no! This is much more than mere spaghetti!”
        >”More den sketties…?”
        >”That’s right again, Ed! You see, I’ve imbued this spaghetti with magical sickies-go-away power! Using exactly eleven secret herbs and or spices, I’ve managed to create something that will cure your of your ailments! Behold, dear Ed! This…is Spaghetti Soup!”
        >”Sketties Soup?”
        >”Yeah. Spaghetti Soup.”
        >you lay the bowl down in front of him, and head out the door
        >”Enjoy. Be sure to get some rest too, hmm?”
        >Ed mumbles something again, but you don’t bother asking what it was
        >you close the door behind you and head downstairs to catch up on some television shows not based around fluffy ponies
 
        -----------------------------------------------------
 
        >sure enough, Ed’s cold quickly passes by the next day
        >it probably would’ve been gone with or without the Spaghetti Soup, but the placebo effect is a strong one indeed
        >within the next few days, Tom comes to pick Ed up, and the two leave
        >finally, some peace and quiet
        >a couple hours later, the phone rings
        >you lean over and pick up the receiver
        >”Hello?”
        >”Hi there, this is Bob Johnson of Fluffy Corporation Incorporated. Could I speak to a Mr. Anon Ymous?”
        >”Speaking.”
        >”Good afternoon, Mr. Anon. We understand that you were recently taking care of a fluffy pony by the name of Ed.”
        >”…yeah?”
        >”Well, Ed’s owner, Tom Richards, is a rather prolific member of this company. Ed does photo-shoots for many of our advertisements, such as Fluffghetti and Fluff Chow.”
        >”Oh, wow. Tom never told me about that. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I thought Ed looked so familiar.”
        >”Mmm-hmm. Now, if we’re correct, you gave Ed a food you called…’Spaghetti Soup’?”
        >”That’s correct.”
        >”Well, Ed was telling us about this food you served him. According to his description, it’s essentially just ramen in broth?”
        >”It’s exactly that.”
        >”Well, Mr. Anon, we’re calling today to let you know that we thought your idea was genius. Peddling off cheap instant food as a cold remedy for fluffy ponies is simply ingenious. We’re going to be adopting the term, as well as creating our own special variation, at the cost of 2% royalties for you. How does that sound, Mr. Anon?”
        >”…That sounds good. Great, even.”
        >”Excellent! We’re glad to hear it. Expect a check in the mail in a month’s time.”
        >the line goes dead
        >well, looks like that little sneeze got you farther than you’d think
        >lucky thing that you’re allergic to fluffy ponies