Chapter Three

"Oh itsa me! A-Mario!" The young but aging Italian cried loudly, swishing his feet through the mud and patting it into mud pies, just so he could have something to eat. He had indeed cried himself a river four years and three hundred days earlier, but instead of reaching he-ll like he had intended, he accidently opened one of his sewer pipes. So now he stood in the middle of the sewer, wading through mud and waste and making mud pies just so he could continue his miserable life. He reached behind him and pressed a f-a-r-t from his rear, creating enough heat to bake the pie, then lifted the pie to his lips and took a gulping bite. "Oh, that-a be-a bitter!" he moaned, inhaling the rest of it. He looked around at his sad life and realized something. "I need to get high..."

Poor Mario...

"I'm dancing on rainbows, oh yeah, I'm singing with Dixie, yeah-a, and don't it feel good!" Tetra laughed gaily as she pranced through the woods, swingng her arms back and forth aimlessly. "Sally!" she called, reaching the worn down shack they called a cabin. "I found some grub!" She giggled to herself and hoped into the open door, stomping on each creaking floorboard in hopes of making the structure fall apart faster, just as a chipmunk came through one of the doors.

The easy life in the woods had been hard on Sally: her previously nicely tanned skin/fur was now wrinkled and sagging, giving her the appearance of... well... one big wrinkle. Her long red hair hung limp over her face, and her bright blue eyes were now dull and pealing, she rather looked like an old woman, or a zombie. "Whu..." she breathed out, reaching towards Tetra the way a creep would.

"I said, I got grub, ye fool!" Tetra replied, producing a basket quite proudly. She through aside the lid and pulled out something pale and strange, and Sally thought it looked kind of like a weird little pony.

"whu is it?" Sally asked, reaching a clawed hand forward. "It's a PoundCake!" Tetra exlaimed. She frowned slighly and poiked the thing. "At least, that's what it said..." Sally looked up alarmed, sagging eyes sagging and pealing even more. "It spoke?" she punched Tetra hard. "If it spoke, it be live, and if it live, you cant not eat..." "Um, Sally," tetra said slowly, rubbing her punched jaw. "I hate ta break it ta ya, but that was a double negative. Cant not eat? It made you sound dumb..." Sally punched her again, this time more weakly, because the double negative had had a doubly negative affect on her health. "You CANT eat the PoundCake." she grabbed the PoundCake and poked it a few times, wondering what it was, exactly...

"I remembered waking to horrible sounds. Feelings of itch crawled all over me, my feet were cold and mah brain was numb. Yeah it was bad. Real bahd."

Sally and tetra stared mortified as the small cakeling unformed into a dambling budget. The small ponyish figure lifted his head, and looked around with green glowing eyes.

"Fer a moment the world was no longer black, and I felt my breast beating inside my heart. I was sure I had done somethinf messed up, but forgot how to notice."

The small creature, whose life was entirely monologued in a thick and rolling gluboise, pooped himself without standing. The girls threw back their heads lii'erally, puking and pinching there noses. But the smell was indeed fragrent! Lahk butter and pumpkmushrooms on a lilly pad of noodles! It wafted past the point of the small basket, and began to slowly acidify the roof.

"WHUTAFOg AARE YOU!?" Tetra SCREAMED! Launching her fist into the pointed air and smoldering her finger. The cupcake grinned, full of glee. He lifted his minuscule asdomen and friggled, allowing the sour scent to miygle.

"It was like cherrys and poppnakles, the fraint of a niddle piffyuddle in barfklee yun!"

Sally wipped down her face on the poor cakeling and screamed. "WHUDAFUU – –!" she realized her mistake, but the noise was growing. If she finished this sentence, she could be sent to he-l-l. Tetra looked at her frowning deeply and darkening. "NOO!"" she shouted, joining in unision. The chorus rose and pitched in a fraggening fink of fflaffle,, as the pony watched. A piddle of a fart left his butt, and the screaming stopped. He was standing now, and they looked at him.

"It was sad. But the glorious fagot had pooped his pants."