With a long yawn, lambda woke up. It's obviously too early in the morning, his head's aching mad, eyelids' hurting like Tartarus. This isn't right.
He didn't remember anything. Where he's lying is still a mystery, and even worse he's all drenched in sticky white fluids. With the only non-headache option available, he sniffed the air.
It stank.
Regret, sorrow and annoyance flooded his mind, he didn't know why, nor how in the first place. But deep down in his subconscious, he could sense something big coming up, and it's not good by any means.
Lambda shrugged, why bother thinking when he can just sit back and relax? Derpibooru always headstarts a good day, right? He sat down on a stool in front of his laptop, pressed power button and turned the damned thing on. Screensaver popped up.
Pornograph, all pronographs.
This gonna be a long day.
He slumped, rubbing his sleepy eyes while clicking the browser, images of multichrome horses futa fucking each other greeted his eyes. Normally he would chuckle, grab a pencil pretending as if its his meat rod and strike till it breaks. But he didn't feel like laughing today, and his penis hang limp, lithe and flexible like a gymnast: this isn't right.
He clicked addpage button in hope he would find solace on DeviantArt, yet what he saw scared him to no end: The whole page is now flooded by fiery yellow and navy blue as if someone just poured a paint bucket on the screen. This isn't right.
Lambda wanted to yell, to scream all his fears and funk. Frustration aside, he still turned to fimfiction as last resort. Without any warning, Dancing With Kadafi occupied the whole screen, its avatar completely altered: instead of smiling at the audience, Soarin is now hugging a sobbing spitfire, patting her on the back as if to ensure her everything would be alright. Lambda looked closer, with nose almost booping the screen he could notice soarin eyeing something out of screen in rage and disgust. Curiosity got the better of him, and all it took was a look in soarin's direction to froze him on stool: a pic of soarin and spitfire cuddling each other lies clumsily on the floor, coated in lambda's all-too-familiar liquids.
All the mysteries, all the fuss, now it all makes sense.
What lambda didn't remember this morning suddenly becomes clear as day: He fapped to some porno last night, it'd be normal if its anything other than his one and only ship but alas, he's too drunk to even make out the cover image.
He fapped to his one and only OTP, the one he cared so deeply he couldn't bring himself to think anything filthy, the one he cherished so much his life would be meaningless without it, the one he loved so hard he'd have a heart attack if it dies out.
He fapped to SoarinFire.
And he knew what comes after.
Lambda shrieked in ecstasy as he fiddle-diddled with his now-detached penis-in-law, fondling each and every inch before he snapped it, breaking it completely with an audible fwwwwwaaapp. The unfortunate little stick just lied there without a care for the world, unanimated and lifeless. Lambda grinned, this is the sort of punishment he enacted upon himself for fapping to soarinfire, he's long since pent up and just 5 hours ago was too hallucinated not to fap, so hopefully after he realized he clopped to two loveliest pegasi in the world, he sliced his boner off with a clipper, chopped it in multiple pieces and burnt his cunty underwear in case anyone gets suspicious and calls the police. Cool breeze swept up lambda's horrifying face, sending chills down his spine: this is it, he's life is coming to an end, for fapping to some ship so divine, so flawless is a crime upon itself, even somepony as powerful as celestia can't salvage or assuage him from such bottomless sin. So why bother save himself? He's pretty much a dead man now. With that in mind, lambda grabbed his cherished speaker BOSE Sounddock 10? and disassembled the unit in a matter of seconds before he wiped his much-hated ass clean and guide those fancy components in piece by piece, filling his oh-so-smelly hole with pure audiophile love. He waved one final goodbye at his former friend and loyal companion, and plugged the power cord in.
Waves after waves of colors flashed in lambda's immature freaky mind, his twisted sense of humor somehow take this as a joke and insert the power cord deeper, heating up and burnt his now-ashy butthole completely. The speaker parts on the other hand sang gleefully in his foul, squishy rectums, voicing absolute hatred towards their respective owner. He deserves this, right after he masturbated to the most glorious ship in the entire world, to say he ruined bronies' image is an understatement: He outright rubbed his filth on a pair made in heaven, he deserves to be burnt in hell, his soul sliced in pieces and his disgusting mind blown up by the ugliest beggar in the world.
He unplugged the power cord, feeling his downside slowly melting down in rage and disgust. With only one sensible hand to use, he grabbed the plug and directed it towards his chopped-down shaft in vain attempt to electrify it, only to have it slipped and went straight to his much-loved, audiophile-trained ears.
Those imbecile ears proved worthy, if any at all. 50Hz, 110V electricity went straight into his ear canals, making him shudder in delight: this is electricity at its finest form, without surge or frequency jitter, had he been alive he would even enjoy this and share this exciting news with his audiophile friends, but not now. Those burnt-down speaker parts sprang to life again, roaring mighty rhythm and thumping waves after waves of powerful distortion-free, crispy, wide-stereo-image, flat-below-30Hz cock-standing bass into lambda's now cacoral, dysfunctioning ears. He couldn't hear a thing now, his ears barely anything than an ash pile. He cried and laughed, images of lovely pony couples went and gone until all that leftover are soarinfire. He grabbed ahold of one soarinfire pic, kissed it and stomped on his broken penis in anger, all the while counting down seconds before life ends.
With only his heart thumping, he could make it easy. He checked himself one last time to assure himself that he, a nauseatingly ill creature would no longer live on this lovely planet, not any possibility. Now is the time. Lambda grabbed his customized sword with a soarinfire icon sewn on it and aimed it directly at his neck. He didn't even hesitate the slightest bit.
Sharp blade penetrated his skin, he could feel his soul dispelling into wilderness, embracing all kind of detest and abomination.
"Ah."
Last words out, lambda lied down satisfyingly in a sea of MDMA, his life long gone.