>You are Pat and you are in Equestria.
>You are dreaming of the cotton patch you used to love so much back home. It was your favorite place to eat chicken and waffles.
>You can almost taste familiar aroma of greasy fried goodness floating in the air.
>The watermelon stand looms in the distance, on the way to the cotton patch.
>You stumble down the street, the intoxicating smell luring you closer to the dumpster-side seat that’s always open for you.
>Faster and faster you waddle toward your goal, but the road just keeps stretching on forever.
>The smell is so intense, your deepest primal urge to feed springs to life.
> Your massive monkey dick is swelling so hard, It’s ripping through the boxers hanging out the top of your deeply sagging knee-high pants.
>You see the cotton patch in the distance, the picnic tables outside are overflowing with stacks of delicious golden waffles and freshly fried chicken wings.
>The fry cook pours a steaming-hot pitcher of Aunt Jemima onto the pancakes
> He pulls a bottle of louisiana hot sauce out of his ass and dumps its contents on the wings until they’re smothered in the gooey red substance.
>Your meat pole is throbbing like never before, you can see the syrup flowing from the tabletop, just like the sweet juice of life dripping from your throbbing mushroom.
>You’re there. You can taste it in the air. Glory awaits you, inches from your face.
>You fall. Hard.
>You are awake. It hurts.
>The smell of Chicken and freedom quickly escapes your memory, along with every ounce of joy in your heart.
>You smell grass and flowers and pony shit.
>You groan. A long, loud, rumbling sigh of defeat escapes your shapely bulging lips.
>Your life is shit. Your only desire is to wake up to a platter full of chicken and waffles and smoke a big, fat blunt.
>You stand and notice the hole in your only pair of boxers, indiscriminately destroyed by the massive anaconda that lives in your pants.
>You sigh again. The only pony in this town that makes clothes is that white bitch. Fuck that white bitch.
> Then an idea…
“Yeah, I’mma fuck dat white bitch. Dis shit gun be guut!”
>With this single goal in mind, your primal urges reignite and you kick down the door and head for town.
>Ponies gasp in awe at the glorious darkwood dragging the ground beneath you.
>Mares and stallions alike bask in the glory of your lifegiving cream spout.
>You’re so focused, you see nothing but the sickening colors of Carousel Boutique across the square, then the smell hits you.
>You know that smell. It’s been so long, that you almost forgot its sweet aroma, but you finally found it.
>Watermelon. You smell watermelon. It’s like a dream come true.
>You turn your head and you see it. A little grey earth pony, a little grey earth pony that is trotting off with the prize. Your prize.
>Before you realize what is happening, your legs are taking you there as fast as your body can move.
>The generous blobs of flesh clinging to your midsection and hindquarters do nothing to slow you down as your tiny chicken legs carry you to glory.
>The little grey mare feels the thunderous approach of your imminent conquest and turns to run.
>She soon finds that nothing escapes the primal needs of the ape’s closest descendant.
>You pounce upon your prey, sending the small pony sprawling to the ground.
>To your utter rage, she dares land on your beloved prize, destroying it before you ever had a chance to fully embrace it. She is covered in the remains of your shattered dreams.
>There is only one option…
“Bitch, yo ass is mine!”
>You scoop her up from the street and squeze her close to your chest.
>You can feel her heart beat slowing as your iron grip squeezes her into submission..
>Her fading sobs only fuel your lustful desires. You hold her on the ground and rip her saddlebags off, wringing the fresh watermelon juice onto her fur.
>You lean your head down and begin lapping it from her backside, slowly trailing your tongue along the curve of her flank.
>She moans and blushes as she tries to wriggle free from your grasp.
> You hear her pleading whimpers and push farther, lifting her tail and thrusting your tongue into her glory hole.
>She writhes against you and moans loudly, pressing her watermelon-soaked marehood against your voluptuous lips.
>You continue your oral invasion as messily as possible, watermelon seeds and mare juice drip from your chin.
>She violently thrashes against you as she spurts more of her juices onto your face, but the watermelon goodness is gone.
>Time for dessert.
>You reposition yourself and take a breath of fresh air. The small grey mare is just lying on the ground, panting heavily and whimpering to herself.
>You’re ready. Your polished ebony warhammer is poised and ready to feast upon the innocent flesh before it.
“Hold on bitch, dis’ gonna hurt!”
>You thrust. Once, twice, three times… And it’s over.
>You pull out and spray your steaming ape goo all over the funny musical tattoo printed onto her ass.
>She lays there, her mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back in shock as you look upon the scene with pride.
>You stand up and wipe your bloody dick on her favorite teddy bear, then walk away singing the Fresh Prince theme song.
>Today was a good day.