Anonpencil Writes Drunk: To Like Thing (oneshit)

>It's been a long day, and you’re so done with liking things
>That bush you saw over there? Fuck that bush. You like shrubs better.
>Oh, and that table? Man, wtf is with people making tables out of metal nowadays? Wood or GTFO.
>This stuff under your feet…wait is this gavel? Oh hell no, fuck that stuff, why is everyone always making gravel roads? Don’t they know ponies are sick of it? Where’s the asphalt??
>You let out a heavy sigh and scan the street for more things to dislike.
>To your surprise, you see a strange little pony, with a red mane and tail and a busy, ugly curie mark with a crappy color pallet that doesn’t relate to her character at all.
>Typical.
“Hey” you shout gruffly, and the little filly turns.
“Well hi there Anon!” she says brightly, with a thick drawl. “I was just-”
>You push your index finger hard into her mouth, until her lips look like a tiny yellow sphincter.
“I’m going to stop you right there,” you say. “I mean. What are you doing? What do you think you are fucking doing walking around, talking with that horrible annoying accent anyway? It’s 2017, bitch, no one likes country bumpkin lols anymore. Also, your front feet are poorly drawn, where are the joints? Also, you really need to work on how you interact with your world and storyline, it’s just utterly unlikable. I mean, do you think someone like me would ever like a pony like you, if you look, act, sound, and are drawn like that?”
>She mumbles something enthusiastically, and you uncork her anus mouth so she can speak more clearly.
“Wull I always thought you liked ponies like Miss Cheerilee!”
>You let out a groan and roll your eyes.
“Oh. Come. ON.” You moan in distaste. “The last thing we need is another awful Cheerily-Anon romance.”
>The poorly-characterized filly tilts her head questioning.
“So…that’s something you don’t like, then?” she asks haltingly.
>You shake your head.
“Nope!” you declare loudly. “I don’t like thing!”
>All at once, there’s a burst of starlight and sunshine over your head. You reach up with one hand to shade your eyes from the brilliance above you.
>It’s…it’s beautiful! A little flashy and deus-ex, but pretty nonetheless.
>From this brilliance descends a brilliant white horse, that looks like it’s supposed to be all cool and slender and maybe sexy, but god who would market horses as sex objects, that’s just sick. She looks like some all-powerful Mary Sue, but even then you blink up into her radiance like an ant criticizing a magnifying glass int he hands of a child.
“So Anon,” you hear her boom out, voice too motherly to have any real character. “I hear you do not like thing?”
“Th-that’s right,” you stutter out “I do not like thing.”
>She descends to you, and you see she is holding a small green dragon between her teeth. It’s smiling dumbly, like it’s one of those children with a brain stem and nothing else.
>Then, all at once, it opens its mouth and gives a loud belching, vomiting noise. From this confusing series of noises and actions, a scroll appears. It descends to your hand, and then the OP pony and dragon vanish in a final, rushed, and illogical burst of light.
>What will this note say? Will it tell you more about relationships between you and Cheerilee? Will it explain why this little southern pony is so shit? Will it fix this whole fad of metal tables?
>What will it tell you? You don’t like thing and her response is…
>You unroll the scroll with shaking hands and read the one, simple, emotionally impactful word written there:
OK
>You never complained again.
>At least out loud.

-End-