Cookin' it.

>This has got to be the worst thing possible.
>And best.
>Good news, Pinkie Pie is at your house.
>Bad news, you were in the middle of cooking meth.
>Shit sucks mang.
>She pops up, out of your boiling flask.
>You dump half of your heroin on the floor and snort half a pound of cocaine.
>You don't even know how it's possible.
>Sucks even more.
>"OHWOWWHATISTHISPLACE!?ISITSOMEKINDOFBAKERY?BECAUSEICANBAKESOMEMEANCOOKIES!"
>You roll among the floor, the coke splicing your mind with a new feeling.
>That feel no pony fucking.
>When you start to foam out of your mouth, you roll into your pile of heroin.
>It gets into your mouth, nose, and eyes.
>Breathing in, you feel the best high ever.
>Rolling on a crazy train, down a crazy ocean.
>Feels good.
>Body feels like it's expanding.
>Wat.
>You look to Pinkie.
>She, somehow finished up the meth and is pouring the crystals on your dying corpse.
>Like the smack, you accidentally swallow the meth.
>Now choking, partially blind, and dying, cannot be the best combination of events.
>This sucks.
>You stop rolling, finally drifting to sleep.
>As you start, you see one final thing.
>Pink pony pussy.
>With that, you spit up the meth, heroin, and wash out the coke.
>You don't feel like death anymore!
>Trying to play it calm, you ask her.
"Hey, i'm Anon, what's your name?"
>She pulls out a Gat.
>"No names nigguh, only death."
>She then caps you twelve times in the face.
>Such is the life.
>Of a criminal.