The Chronicles of Vinyl Scat and Taco Sparkle (WiP)

>Rumor has it that catastrophe is impending
>Rarity has somehow escaped from prison and Celestia is curiously absent from the royal court
>Word has it that Princess Luna ordered the withdrawal of all military patrols back to Canterlot to fortify it against attack
>But you gonna party like you don't give a fuck
>Why not, the world might be ending, may as well have fun
>Be Vinyl Scratch
>Get booze, get liquored up for your "End of the World" show at Manehattan's most prominent venue
>Feelin' it as you start to scratch, the alcohol hits you hard
>Layin' down some sick fucking beats
>It's almost time to drop the bass and annihilate these motherfuckers with your prodigious taste in hard dynamic shifts. But wait, what's this terrible, nascent development in your tummy?
>It is then that you remember. You hung out with Twilight earlier that day, and got lunch at Taco Bell.
>Goddamnit to hell, they must have gotten your orders mixed up. She always orders beef burritos while you stick to beans and cheese
>You had drown it in so much fire sauce that you didn't taste the difference
>"Son of a bitch, not now." you mumble to yourself as the pressure building in your stomach reaches critical mass.
The song reaches the peak of its buildup, swelling to epic proportions as the audience eagerly awaits that fucking drop. You dump it on its ass, and the only sound left is a sample of an arpeggio playing on an acoustic guitar whilst the relentless ticking of closed hi-hats acts as your metronome. You can almost feel the change in air pressure in the room as they collectively draw in breath, bracing themselves for the most epic drop in history. In a moment of sheer compulsion, you grab the microphone and yell into it, "Are you motherfuckers ready for it?"
>They lose their shit completely, screaming loudly and cheering as you repeat the guitar and hi-hat loop one more time.
>"I said, ARE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS READY FOR THIS GODDAMN BASS TO DROP!?"
>They are very near to breaking out in a riot at this point.
>You pull the levels down low and let it ride. Once the loop is almost through, you slowly crank the volume as high as it will go, then shut it down completely.
>...
>...
>...
>TIEM
>As you bring the beat back in at maximum volume, you turn around and stick your ass up to the microphone
>Your colon recoils like a ten-gauge as you begin to shit hard
>The asshurt flows through you to the beat of the music, an epic mudslide achieved as your sphincter clenches and releases in time with the thump of the subs.
>The amount of force propelling the shit through your butthole is beyond imagination, and soon the microphone is washed away into the audience by the shit-torrent unending
>They cheer loudly as the contents of your bowels wash over them, threatening to destroy the world with the tsunami of stomach-sundering anal incineration pounding its way from your anus into the city and the territories beyond
>Thousand-foot high waves of shit are pulsing with ludicrous force from the epicenter of planet-killing genocide which is your once-tight, delectable rear
>As the song ends, your stream of shit begins to die down
>Your colon recovers, slowly
>Everyone is buried in shit, and you assume from their silence that they are dead
>Until you hear the sound of one pair of hooves pounding together, clapping for your performance
>It is quickly joined, one by one, by the rest of the audience until the sound is deafening
>They begin to stand as they applaud, and start cheering wildly as they wipe your shit from their eyes to look upon you with reverence
>The sister princesses ain't got nothing on you in this moment
>You are the one true goddess of these people right now
>Twilight teleports in, chalupa in hand.
>"Vinyl! Take this-" she screams, but stops short before throwing you the gallon jug of panacea she had whipped up to soothe your expected intestinal trauma as she sees the wretched lake of vile effluvia which used to be the concert hall. "Um, sorry I'm late?" she says awkwardly
>You both take immediate notice of the sudden movement from beneath the shit pile on the stage
>Fluttershy stands up and shakes her wings off. With a herculean effort, she launches into the air slowly, the ass of her diaper sagging dangerously low as broken glass, half-eaten crayons and yellowish-brown liquid fall free from it. "MAH DIPEY GON BUST, MOMMY! I DOODIED TOO MUCH AGAIN LIKE A BAD LITTLE FOAL!"
>She sticks her pacifier back in her mouth as she hovers in place, awaiting a response.

TO BE CONTINUED