The Final Chapter: A Farewell to Faggotry
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The three armored, edgy equines, equipped and exasperated in their expedition to extract their eccentric executive's entrenched girlfriend with an exceeding ear-raping voice, stood in the middle of a barren canyon with absolutely no hope, objective, or purpose.
Had they the maturity, introspective capability, or common decency to wonder what the hell had led them to be in such a situation, they would have reached the realization that they were utter disgraces to the human species: Sociopathic, pretentious, degenerate, narcissistic, socially retarded, and inconsistent in almost every aspect of their character, so much so that their ringleader—a schizophrenic sadist who beats off to crime scene photos—somehow goes from lacking any sort of empathetic capability to speak of to becoming romantically involved with a fuckin' rainbow pony, and then back to being an insufferable edgelord. This could be excused by his current status as a member of the same species as her, but one must remember this species being so repulsive it falls into the "Nazis wouldn't even genocide it" category, of which it is the sole occupant.
Regardless, the three blithely stood in silence, attempting to process the fact that their odds of rescuing Isaac's pony girlfriend were equivalent to Steve Shives not being a self-hating cuck. This in turn prompted them to get into touch with their more coherent selves.
"Hey,"
"Yeah?"
"What the hell are we doing here?"
"What do you mean? We're trying to find Rainbow Dash and tell her that I'm alive-"
"No dude, listen to me," Robert interjected, much to Colin's chagrin. "What are we doing in this world? What's the point of all this?"
Isaac regarded his comrade with a puzzled expression, as if asking such a question was incomprehensible.
"Where did this come from?" His voiced acquired the slightest tone of anger. How dare he ask questions! Didn't the plebe know that he was the genius who knew exactly what he was doing? The badass killer who don't take no shit, and always came out on top, no matter how much the ignorant masses opposed him?
"You wouldn't understand," Colin growled. "Forces of the universe that you-"
An enraged cry of "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" followed by a burst of gunfire silenced the unbearable faggot.
Robert and Jackson observed the ragged holes that had been punched through Isaac's armor and perforated his body. The normally calm and confident (read: delusional and narcissistic) pegasus writhed on the floor in agony.
The high-powered rifle rounds had caused so much internal trauma that he could do naught but struggle in vain to stay upright, blood streaming from his wounds and mouth and shaking more than Muhammad Ali during a seizure. It was in this state of being a dead man walking that Colin caught a glimpse at his attacker.
"W-w-what..?" He gurgled.
Before the three stood a simultaneously monumental and unremarkable figure: A human male with short brown hair, a blue polo shirt and khaki pants, who held a heavy battle rifle with a bayonet attached. His expression was one of utmost contempt, disgust and irritation. He expressed no surprise or interest at the sight of the ponies, and responded to Colin's death throes by shooting him in the head, followed by an unironic shout of "YOU'RE A FAGGOT!"
Robert and Jackson both glanced at Colin's corpse, at the steadily approaching human, and at each other, their expressions betraying no emotion other than mild confusion. Robert looked back at the human, at the sky, and then back, sighing in irritation.
"I welcome death," He grunted, before being obliged via a bayonet through the eye socket, followed by no less than twelve furious stabs and gouges through the torso and face.
Jackson watched in mortified curiosity, laughing sheepishly at the man turned towards him.
"Hey dude, nothin' personal," The human explained in a businesslike tone. "You three just…kinda have to die."
Jackson raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Really? Just us?"
The man laughed. "Nah, I'm actually going to kill every pony in Equestria, and then burn the fuckin' place to the ground."
"I don't think you've got the ammo for a job that big," Jackson pointed out.
"What do you think the bayonet is for?"
"Ah."
The two stood in silence for a few seconds before the man jammed his bayonet into Jackson's eye socket, gave it a twist, and yanked it out.
The man regarded the corpses for a few seconds before sticking Colin's a few extra times for good measure and looking off into the distance.
"Time to clean this shit up."
/
He became the first man to commit worldwide genocide via bayonet. After tossing Celestia's severed head into a urinal bowl and pissing on it, he felt immense pride at his work in putting a literary abortion of a fanfiction to an end, taking solace in the fact that nobody would ask for story updates ever again. He promptly proceeded to walk off the nearest cliff, an expression of pure elation etched on the face that was subsequently pulverized on the sharp rocks at the bottom of the cliff.
He had bid his farewell to faggotry.
/
I was suddenly struck by inspiration today, and thought this would be an equally fitting and entertaining way to finish the laughably bad story I started.
This also marks the end of my presence in anything MLP-related, and probably this site in general.
I may post stuff when I feel like it, but don't expect anything within…Let's say the next two years or so. If you're lucky.
I bid thee adieu, my dudes.
