Pinkie Goes into Labor and Anon Ruins Everything

>You charge into the delivery room with a foghorn in both hands
>"AWOOOOOOOOGA!"
"BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURM"
"BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURM"
>"HAHHAA!  HAPPY BIRHTDAY YA LIL SHIT!"
>Two nurses firmly press you back out of the room, struggling to keep their voices polite as mandated when dealing with the mentally disabled.
"Sir, we require all fathers-to-be to remain in the waiting area for the safety of the mother and newborn."
>"But I'm wearing the face mask and doctor's coat and rubber gloves and everything!  Completely sterilized and ready to begin the operation!"
"Sir, the rubber gloves are supposed to go one your forarms, not your shoes."
>"How the hell was I supposed to know?  These gloves don't have any fingers."
"And how did you get Doctor Treadswell's coat?  That is a violation of-"
>"I killed him, and thus claim his position and powers."
>The two nurses go wide-eyed in their appauledness.
>"Fine.  I filched it when he went to the bathroom, but he could've died in there from rectal hemorrhaging.  The porcelain killer, that's what it's called."
"Please sir, just wait out here.  And give me that coat."
"BUUUUUUUUUUURM"
>She nips your wrist and the fog horn clatters to the floor.
"The birthing process is long and arduous.  Just be patient.  If you like, there's complimentary coffee and...actually, I'm afraid there is no coffee.  None at all."
>The second nurse dumps the pot into a nearby ficus.
>The two make hasty retreats back into the delivery room.
"Just sit there, sir.  Nothing more is necessary.  We'll take good care of your wife."
>"She's not my wife," you pipe.
"The mother of your child..."
>"So they tell me."
>The nurse looked so blank you imagine she just watched The Amazing Spider-Man 2.
>"Just fiddling with ya, I busted all kinds of nut in that girl."
>The nurse blinked and her mouth did an impression of a bass on land. Open, close, open close, until she scrounged a few words to string together.
"Yes, I...yes."
>She slipped past the door with dogged speed, leaving you to your own faulty devices.
>You juggle the airhorn.  You rubber-gloved shoes squeak on the floor.
>Damn you were horny.  Best to keep it in your pants for the time being, as you got in major trouble the last time your Big Boss infiltrated Grozyj Grad.
>And the place you normally squirt your nerf into is pretty crowded at the moment...
>"Damn doctors," you say to yourself, "Damn baby.  Fuck, I hope he has change I can borrow." Your stomach rumbled and you'd kill for a spicy bean burrito.
>How long does labor normally take?  Eight hours?  How long is that in dog years?  How long in pony years?  Ugh, you're terrible at math.
>For a few minutes you slurp the coffee out of the ficus pot.
>The eye-searing brightness of fluorescent lamps reflecting off the ascetic walls and polished tile floor push your buttons.   You thumbed through magazines of Fatherhood, Family Maters, and Stork Monthly and dropped them to the coffee table.  The pony publications  rambled about useless, outdated, and worst of all, boring information.
>Too bad hospitals don't stock nudies here.  It's cold.  You wish those nurses didn't steal your coat.
>A stressed looking brown pony walks by.
"Have you seen my coat?"
>"I saw some punk smoking cigarettes out back wearing it."
"For Princess's sake!"
>He hustled away.
>You look at the clock.
>You wait.
>And wait.
>"Waiting is gross," you announce after watching half a minute pass.  Time to speed this along.  Labor has nothing but negative connotations in your mind, so Pinkie should spend as little amount of time in such a deplorable state as possible.  And you make the possible impossible!  Or something like that.
>Kick the ficus over and upend the pot and claim it for a helmet.
>Roll up the worthless magazines.
>For good luck you steal another doctor's coat and feel all his medical knowledge pour into your body.
>After a good round of shoulder-stretches, you prime the foghorn and charge into the room.
"The contractions are growing closer Ms. Pie, but it's important to remain as calm as you can."
>Pinkie huffed on the chair.
"Okie do-oof."  She took three quick breaths.  "kie."
"Very good Ms. Pie.  This won't be easy, but it should be very straightforward, I'm glad to sa-"
>"AWOOOOOOOOGAAAAA!"
>Into the room you fly, coattails flapping in the air, surgical lamps glistening off the curve of the foghorn.
>You press the button.
"BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURM."
"Good gracious, get that man out of here!" yells the inferior doctor.  The nurses converge on you, but you're prepared to deal with such thugs.
>"I am Doctor Blare," you shout while shoving the magazines into their ears and holding the horn to the open-end "and this is my professional opinion."
"BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURM."
>The nurses squeal and run out the room in a dizzy panic.
>The doctor is furious.  His breathing mask bobs in his bellowing.
"This is a MEDICAL INSTITUTION!  This woman is about to give birth, leave the premises now before security arrives and trust me, they won't be polite as I!"
>You look past him and see Pinkie arranged on some kind of kinky sex carousel chair.  Her arms and legs are splayed everywhere and you can see right into her Little Debbie.  She waves.
"Hi, Anon!"
>"By GOD man," you shout at the doctor with all available indignity.  "This isn't how you deliver a baby!  Did you get your PhD on the back of a dildo box?" You shoulder past the gibbering charlatan. "The total twats they let out of medical school these days, it wasn't like this when I was a graduate!"
>He buts you in the stomach and against the wall.
"I will not have my competence question by a lunatic!"
>"Do you see me wearing a blue wig and silver slippers?"
"What?"
>You kick him in the jaw, knocking him down.  The security team barged in just as his skull echoed on the floor.
>Better put another pair of rubber gloves onto your shoes because it's time to kick ass.
"Oh wow, I never knew giving birth was this exciting!"
>"You ain't seen nothing yet, Pinks," you pat her belly.  "Better get your tits warmed up, because I'm gonna need a drink after this."
>She giggles.
>Four stallions come after you.  They wanted to prostate plunder you, know doubt.  You almost wish they would.  You put ten grams of fresh ginger in there just this morning.
>"As a practicing physician, I'm compelled to warn you that any and all unauthorized anal explorations will result in third degree burns."
>You deliver a left.
>Fire off a right.
>Headbutt to a third one.  The vase shatters across his forehead.  Your own cranium is covered in cuts, but your berserker rage lets you shrug off such meager knicks.
>"PHYSICAL THERAPY"
>You grapple a stallion.
>"HAS LONG LASTING."
>He raises overhead into the air.
>"PROVEN."
>You slam his  body down and hear his spine crack against your knee.
>"HEALTH BENEFITS!"
>More and more swarm in.  You're fueled by redirected horniness and the cheers of Pinkie Pie.
>"Feeling tired -fffuuuhck, no hits below the belt!  Take a multivitamin!"
>Your left leg is restrained.
>"Always spray and neuter your parents!  Unwanted siblings is a serious issue in large cities!"
>A hard kick is delivered to your left buttocks.  The sharp sting of your kneecaps hitting the stone-hard floor is wince-worthy.
>"Blood-letting...is an excellent weight-loss measure."
>A hulking guard prepares to sock you in the stomach.  Your hand swings in front of his face.
"BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURM."
>He stumbles.  Your back muscles coil one more time to deliver a capital headbutt.
>It hurt, especially without the protection of the ficus pot.  The blood loss takes it toll.  More limbs are restrained.  More bodies put their weight upon you.
>"You bitches ain't shit," you spit, woozy in the head.  "Imma pee on all of you..."
>A bit of throw up falls on your chin.
>"Awooo....woooo..."
>The lights overhead blur.  Sounds become distant and murky.  Your eyes close and body, mind, and bladder loosen.
>"ga."
-
"Do you see him?  Say hiiii!  Can you say hiii?  Not yet?  That's okay."
>High pitched words knock on the door to your consciousness.
>You pull open one eye, as the other one is covered with a large patch.
"Oop, there's Daddy!  Or most of him at least.  He's normally covered with a little less bandages."
>The image of Pinkie holding a...thing solidifies before you.  She's in a wheelchair and wearing a hospital gown, but looks enthused.
"Hey there, Big Poppa."
>You love it when she calls you Big Poppa.
"I want you to meet our new baby girl!"
>She shows off a...thing.  It looks cute?  It seems heretical, but it's eyes are blue and...maybe it has your hair.  Good lawd, you nutted something crazy into Pinkie."
>"Rad," you mutter.  "Radical.  Happy birthday ya...." you hack up bits of blood.  “lil shit.”
"She still needs a name, you know."
>"What is the name of the last man I killed?"  You wheeze.  "She shall be christened in remembrance of my felled enemies."  Pinkie giggles.  The doctor you presumed vanquished steps into view.  Gauze is wrapped around his head.
"You killed no one, I'm afraid."
>"Then come closer so I may finish the job."  The doctor chooses to ignore you.
"One poor fellow will need several vertebrae realigned and two nurses won't be able to hear for a week.  And I'll need to order a new coat.  Overall, despite your best efforts, the child is healthy, if a bit...untraditional."
"She's not untraditional, she's just has extra party features!"
"That's the spirit.  Now, I'm allowing you to see her for now.  You need to rest and recuperate, then we'll talk about pressing charges.  Come along Ms. Pie, it's a been a very exciting day for both of you."
>He wheels out your number one sperm depository and the thing that will one day grow up and kill you in a duel for the right to rule the family house.
>"Can I get a bean burrito?" you call after them.
"No solids for at least three days," he answers.
>Damn doctors.