Martini 11

>You are Brett Hipster. You are a trendy glasses-wearing, latte-sipping elitist.
>You spend all of your free time protesting things. The death penalty, violent cartoons, heavy metal music, Wall Street millionaires…
>It’s a good thing your wealthy parents left you a trust fund or you might have to actually work for a living
>Sometimes you go down to the coffee bar and write screenplays that no one will ever read. But it’s important that people see you doing it.
>Your latest cause is liberating Fluffy Ponies from breeding facilities.
>You don’t actually like Fluffy Ponies. You killed yours with a brick when you were twelve.
>Well, the stupid thing kicked over your Lincoln Logs. Stupid fucking pony.
>You’ve been trying to bang this PETA chick named Starla for a month. If you help her free some fluffies she’ll give up some pussy
>Being an elitist douche you shouldn’t care so much about getting laid, but it gives you a smug sense of satisfaction.
>That and you like to pee on chicks. You like to shove your cock in their mouth and make them gag on your golden stream of drenching liquid.
>You’re not sure if it’s hotter when they puke afterwards or if they swallow it all down like summer lemonade.
>Meh.
>So this ditzy hippie chick wants to break into some breeding facility tonight. You eventually find out that her ex-boyfriend Frank actually owns the place.
>Whatever. As long as you’re tapping that hairy hippie cooch.

>Around 2am you and Starla pop the door to Frank’s garage open with a prybar.
>The front half has been converted into an office. The back half is full of cages.
>Sick freaks. Breeding fluffies. Who the fuck would pay for a fluffy pony?
>”There’s like ten of these things here. We can’t take them all!”
>”Just grab a couple and put them in your bag. It’s better to rescue a few fluffies from this life of rape and torture than none at all!”
>”Yeah, okay.”
>You randomly grab a couple of sleeping fluffy ponies. They’re too dumb to even know what’s going on.
>First you grab some sort of white pegasus. Can’t even tell if it’s male or female. You really don’t give a shit.
>Next you grab a green unicorn. You look over at Starla. She’s cooing over a blue or purple lump of crap with only two legs.
>”Oh you poor litle dear! They took your front legs! You can’t even stand!”
>She plops the thing in her own bag. You got a couple of gym bags each but they’re small… they only fit two of these things in each one.
>An alarm goes off.
>”I thought you said this place wasn’t wired, Starla!”
>”He… it wasn’t! It wasn’t a couple of months ago!”
>”Fuck it - we gotta go!”
>Starla grabs some random earth pony and puts it in the bag. You can hear the two you grabbed jabbering to each other.
>”hewo mawshmewwo! wanna huggies?”
>”mawshmewwo scawed of dark pwace! wanna go back to beddies!”
>You give the gym bag a smack on the side of it.
>”Shut up, you two idiots.”
>”What’s that, Brett?”
>”Nothing! Let’s go!”
>Drive back to Starla’s on your cream and navy blue colored scooter. You sneer smugly at other drivers on the road who have to spend all their money on gas.
>”Okay… now what?”
>”I’ll get my video camera. We’re putting this on Youtube. We’re declaring these fluffies to be free, autonomous spirits who have been released from their captors!”
>”Yeah, great. I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
>You smell something foul coming from the gym bag. Great. They crapped themselves. Where’s what other gym bag at…
>Meh. Take them out and put them in a box.
>”mistah gonn give nummies to mawtini an mawshmawwow?”
>”Don’t hold your breath. Heh.”
>You’re imagining stretching out Starla’s mouth and hosing her gums down with liquid refreshment.
>”I fink man is gonn give sommun special hugs!”
>You look down… the little shit is eyeing up your boner.
>”Little asshole.”
>You reach into the box and choke the green one. It gags.
>”You watch yourself or I’ll piss in your mouth next.”
>Starla puts on a ridiculous afghan scarf like a terrorist and records her Youtube video.
>She parades the little shits on camera like she’s one of those crazy pagent mothers.
>”Brett… put these back in the box? We’ll release them tomorrow.”
>”Sure, sure…”
>Starla goes into the bathroom. You frown at the happy little fucks.
>”God, I hate these things.”
>You toss the white pegasus and the earth pony in one box. She’s put a pillow and food and water in there. These things live better than you do.
>Grab the legless wonder and slam her in the other box.
>”Two points!”
>It starts crying. Of course it does. Fucking stupid things only know how to shit, cry and eat.
>Grab the green unicorn by its fluff and throw it in the box.
>”owies! man huwt bwoobewwy and mawtini! pwease no mowe huwty!”
>”I’ll give you hurty, mushmouth.”
>You punch the green one right in the face. It now has two black eyes and a bleeding nose. It starts crying, too.
>”Hey. Hey! Shut up or this one gets it worse.”
>”huwt… huwt bwoobewwy? no huwty bwoobewwy! pwease! mawtini no cry!”
>You whack the purple one on the ass with a book anyway.
>Go the fuck to sleep. Tomorrow we dump your asses in the woods. I hope a coyote eats you.
>Damn… you really want to jam it in Starla’s ass tonight but you’re so fucking tired… should have gotten that extra coffee before you came over
>Pass out on the couch. Sleep restlessly… the smell of fluffy crap sometimes permeating your nose.

>*crunch*
>”Hurm… wazzat?”
>*crunch*
>”The hell…”
>*CRUNCH*
>Your scooter, mangled almost beyond recognition, has just been used as a battering ram on the door.
>You grab your glasses… it’s almost 6am. Who the hell…

>”I’ve come… for my fluffies.”

>The four shitheads are poking their heads out of their boxes, woken by the door breaking. Well, three of them are. The one missing its front legs rolls around like a basketball.
>”Who the fuck are you and what did you do to my scooter?”
>”Your scooter made a nice spare key for the door.”
>”BIG MAN! mawtini wen fo wide wiff otha fwuffies!”
>”Jesus Christ, what did you do to him?”
>”You should know as well as I do that these things can’t take a hit.”
>Oooo… maybe not the best choice of words. This guy has six inches and sixty pounds on you.
>”You… hit… my boy?”
>”Your boy?”
>The guy charges like a mad bull. He’s got you on the couch, drilling you in the face with right hands. This guy’s mitts are huge. It’s like getting punched with a ham.
>”Gah… gurrrghhh… st… Starla’s idea…”
>”Oh my god! Get off him you maniac!”
>You see Frank holding Starla back. The big guy must work for him.
>”Frank you fucking asshole! Look what he’s done to Brett!”
>”Brett, huh. Hey - ease off him for a second. You wanna see some damage, honey? I’ll show you some damage.”
>Shit… the guy noticed the green one you smacked.
>”Martini didn’t have two black eyes and a bloody nose at lights out last night.”
>”B… Brett?”
>”Accident. Must have hurt himself when I put him in the bag.”
>”Oh yeah… here’s the gym bag you dropped, by the way. The one Starla uses. That’s how we knew to come here first.”
>Frank throws the bag in your face. It falls to the ground.
>”This is Blueberry. She’s pregnant… or didn’t you notice that, Dr. Doolittle?”
>”I… just thought she was really fat.”
>”Well, not any more. You and the latte-sipping shithead brought on early labor. She had her foals last night.”
>”Oh my god…”
>”Looks like… five. Three of them got crushed by the side of the box because no one was there to help the mother with the birth.”
>”mawtini hewp wiff babehs!”
>”Yeah, I know you would, Martini.”
>”I’m calling the cops!”
>”Go ahead… then you explain to them how you two broke into a private business, damaged valuable equipment and then caused injury and death in multiple animals.”
>”But…”
>”I imagine PETA would frown on that, huh, Starla?”
>The big guy lands one last punch in your midsection. You barely resist the urge to puke. He picks up the green fluffy and hugs it. Frank gets the others.
>”I’m willing to forget this incident. You ever show your faces around my place again, it isn’t going to be pretty.”
>”By the way… I know an excellent mechanic if you want to get that scooter fixed. Heh heh.”
>You sit on the edge of the couch, trying to stop your face from bleeding with a handful of tissues.
>”Brett… get out.”
>”Fine.”
>You’re gonna get those breeder assholes. You’ll find a way.
>Ow.
>Your nose is broken.
>Today is gonna suck.

Epilogue:

>heading to your doctor to get your nose set

>it must have been your imagination, but you swear you saw a squirrel monitoring you… wearing a purple cape.

>Nah. That’s just…

>Nah. Couldn’t be.