Spaghetti Soup

Spaghetti Soup

	>you probably know the drill by now, but you are Anon, the average fluffy pony owner
	>well, “owner” is kind of a misnomer
	>you’re just holding onto it for a friend
	>honest
	>really, though, you buddy Tom is out of town, and asked you to take care of his fluffy pony for the week
	>you said you’d go for it
	>after all, you did have a fluffy pony once
	>killed herself jumping off of the stairs in an attempt to fly
	>what a shame
	>you never got around to getting another after that
	>anyways, Tom’s green-coated, orange-maned unicorn fluffy isn’t much by way of a hassle
	>apparently his name is Ed, after Mr. Ed the Talking Horse
	>hardy har
	>regardless, you still had your subscription to FluffTV back from when you had your old fluffy
	>right now, some show about mothers and foals is playing, and neither of you are really invested in it
	>Ed yawns, and you begin to as well
	>as soon as you gulp for air, you sneeze right onto his back
	>ugh
	>“Ah, shoot. Sorry, lemme get some tissues.”
	>”Ed nu wike dis game.”
	>you wipe him down and toss the wad of hankies into the trash bin before you continue watching the show
	>you decide not to pet him until he’s had a bath

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	>the next day, Ed’s not up early
	>now that’s pretty weird, since Tom warned you that he always gets up a bit too early in the morning
	>you head into his little safe room to see what’s up
	>”Ed? You alright?”
	>”Nuhhh…”
	>”Ed?”
	>Ed is flopped onto his side, sniffling and coughing
	>”What’s going on with you today, pal?”
	>”Ed sweepy.”
	>”Wait, a runny nose, coughing, and drowsiness? Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a bad cold there, Ed.”
	>”Wha’ bad cowd?”
	>”It’s kind of like when…how do I put this? It’s sickies. Is that what you call it, sickies?”
	>”Ed haf sickies?”
	>”Seems like it. And it doesn’t look like I can give you any medicine for it, either. The dosage would be too high for you.”
	>”Wha’ bou’ fwuffy med’sin?”
	>”It’s a Sunday. The store is closed.”
	>”Den how Ed geh bettew?”
	>you think, and think, and think
	>”Ed, I’ve got an idea. Wait here.”
	>as you head out the door, you hear Ed mumble something about how he wasn’t exactly planning to leave
	>you get to the kitchen, and rummage through the pantry
	>chicken soup always helps a cold
	>no, really, science proved that shit
	>but you don’t exactly have any soup, and Ed probably wouldn’t be able to stomach chicken in the first place
	>fluffy ponies aren’t exactly carnivores by nature
	>what you’re looking for is a package of instant noodles
	>sure enough, you’ve got a pack or two lurking around in the very back
	>and one of them is chicken flavored
	>excellent
	>you boil some water, pour it into the cup, dump the noodles into a small bowl, and carry it upstairs to Ed
	>when you walk into the room, he starts sniffing at the air, trying to bask in the delicious scent
	>or he’s sucking more snot up his nose, whatever
	>”Ed? I’ve brought you some spaghetti to help you with your cold.”
	>time to put on a show, Anon
	>all of those high school drama classes are finally going to come in handy
	>”Huh? Dis nu sketties.”
	>”Why, what do you mean? Of course it’s spaghetti!”
	>”Nice mistah, dis nu sketties.”
	>you let out a melodramatic sigh, and throw yourself against the wall as if you’ve been defeated
	>”Oh, you’re right. I didn’t want to have to tell you, Ed! I didn’t want to say it, but you’ve forced my hand!”
	>Ed squints, trying to make sense of what you’re talking about
	>”This isn’t actually spaghetti! Oh, no, no, no, no, no! This is much more than mere spaghetti!”
	>”More den sketties…?”
	>”That’s right again, Ed! You see, I’ve imbued this spaghetti with magical sickies-go-away power! Using exactly eleven secret herbs and or spices, I’ve managed to create something that will cure your of your ailments! Behold, dear Ed! This…is Spaghetti Soup!”
	>”Sketties Soup?”
	>”Yeah. Spaghetti Soup.”
	>you lay the bowl down in front of him, and head out the door
	>”Enjoy. Be sure to get some rest too, hmm?”
	>Ed mumbles something again, but you don’t bother asking what it was
	>you close the door behind you and head downstairs to catch up on some television shows not based around fluffy ponies

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	>sure enough, Ed’s cold quickly passes by the next day
	>it probably would’ve been gone with or without the Spaghetti Soup, but the placebo effect is a strong one indeed
	>within the next few days, Tom comes to pick Ed up, and the two leave
	>finally, some peace and quiet
	>a couple hours later, the phone rings
	>you lean over and pick up the receiver
	>”Hello?”
	>”Hi there, this is Bob Johnson of Fluffy Corporation Incorporated. Could I speak to a Mr. Anon Ymous?”
	>”Speaking.”
	>”Good afternoon, Mr. Anon. We understand that you were recently taking care of a fluffy pony by the name of Ed.”
	>”…yeah?”
	>”Well, Ed’s owner, Tom Richards, is a rather prolific member of this company. Ed does photo-shoots for many of our advertisements, such as Fluffghetti and Fluff Chow.”
	>”Oh, wow. Tom never told me about that. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I thought Ed looked so familiar.”
	>”Mmm-hmm. Now, if we’re correct, you gave Ed a food you called…’Spaghetti Soup’?”
	>”That’s correct.”
	>”Well, Ed was telling us about this food you served him. According to his description, it’s essentially just ramen in broth?”
	>”It’s exactly that.”
	>”Well, Mr. Anon, we’re calling today to let you know that we thought your idea was genius. Peddling off cheap instant food as a cold remedy for fluffy ponies is simply ingenious. We’re going to be adopting the term, as well as creating our own special variation, at the cost of 2% royalties for you. How does that sound, Mr. Anon?”
	>”…That sounds good. Great, even.”
	>”Excellent! We’re glad to hear it. Expect a check in the mail in a month’s time.”
	>the line goes dead
	>well, looks like that little sneeze got you farther than you’d think
	>lucky thing that you’re allergic to fluffy ponies