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>Be Anon.
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>You are sitting on the floor.
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>Your hands pressed into your face you rest against the hard, cold wall.
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>Through your fingers you see the pale blue light from the monitor, not strong enough to brighten the room.
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>More of a night light than anything.
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>The music from the speakers is some sad pop shit.
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>Just a girls voice singing about love or loss or something.
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>You take a sip from your half-empty beer.
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>It's number five.
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>You started drinking again.
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>Alone.
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>Just after you got everything you thought you needed.
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>A job you like, the posessions you thought you wanted and with being in home-office you evade all the fucks at work and save time and gas.
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>Not enough money to feel rich but enough money and time to follow your passions.
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>You don't even feel the need for vacation.
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>And yet you feel empty.
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>Not even the booze is doing it anymore.
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>You know you are drunk but you feel strangely sober.
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>Why do you feel so shitty when everything is working out fine?
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>The most contact with other people you have is through emails and the clerks at the store.
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>All your friends are busy.
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>If they still consider you a friend.
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>Can't blame them if they don't.
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>You never were much of a friend.
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>When asked out you went out of politeness.
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>Was it politeness?
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>Gotta love yourself before you can love others.
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>And now people don't really do friendship anymore.
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>People do families or acqaintaces now.
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>People function.
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>You function.
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>But not right.
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>More like a stuttering enginge of a truck, pulling a load it should not pull, tires loosing track and blowing black smoke out of the exhaustion pipe.
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>You leave you beer on the floor and get up.
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>There is some cheap wine in the kitchen you got with pizza you ordered something.
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>Was it with the steaks or the pizza?
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>Doesn't matter.
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>You don't even care about pizza anymore. You don't like burgers anymore.
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>It's all so worn out. You could some tasteless grey mush it wouldn't make any difference.
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>You stumble into the kitchen and take a look at the sink wondering if you should drink some water.
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>Less headache tomorrow.
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>But also less drunk today.
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>You can sleep till 10 no problem and nobody notices or cares as long as you do your work tomorrow.
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>You open the cheap wine and take a swig.
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>You shake yourself from the intense sweetness.
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>God this is disgusting.
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>But it is something.
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>You should order the sweetest wine you can find.
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>You take another big gulp.
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>Be headache.
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>The buzzing of the doorbell wakes you from your slumber or black-out.
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>You try to raise your head off the sticky floor.
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>The music is still playing.
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>Slowly get up tring not to vomit.
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>The bell rings again.
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>You press your hands into your face.
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"Fuuuuuuuuuuuucccckkkk! I'm coming!"
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>One wonky step at a time you make your way towards the door.
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>A delivery guy rushes inside with a big fucking smile and a giant packet on a wheeler.
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>You have never seen a delivery guy this cheerful.
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>Delivery guys should not be cheerful.
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>There are laws against this.
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>Shaking your head you ask yourself why the fuck he is in your appartment.
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"Your packet, sir!"
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>Taking the papers out of his hand you sign on the blurred line.
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"What time is it?"
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>"Quater past nine."
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>Still in time for work. Nice.
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>He takes the papers out of you hand and gives you a little bow.
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>The fuck?
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>Not sure if you like or hate this.
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>"Thank you for shopping at Equis Sales and have a nice day, Sir!"
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"Yeah, sure, whatever."
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>He turns around walks out with a spring in his step.
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>You decide that whatever you ordered can wait, time for a beer to fight the hangover.
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>So you fetch a beer out of the fridge and take a big gulp to counter the worst effects.
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>"Jerome, are we there yet," a high pitched voice asks.
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>That's not in your playlist.
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>"Jerome?"
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>You turn around as fast as your headache allows.
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"Are we there yet?"
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>You slowly approach the paket.
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>"Anybody there?"
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>You give the paket a small shove.
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>"Hey, who are you?"
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"Who THE FUCK are YOU!?"
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"What the fuck are you doing in my flat? What the FUCK are you doing in a box?"
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"Fuck this!"
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>You take a massive gulp from your beer.
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>You are too fucking sober or too fucking drunk to deal with talking packages.
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>"Hey, are you still there?"
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"Shut up, I'm trying to get drunk!"
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>"Can you let me out of this box, please?"
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"Not until I had my second beer."
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>"Please?"
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"Not until you tell me who you are and why this guy wheeled you into my living room!"
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>"I am Pinky Pie and you ordered me, silly."
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"What?"
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>"Pinkamena Diane Pie"
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>You rush over to your computer with wonky steps.
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>Your emails are open.
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>Dear customer ... yadda yadda ... thanks for putting trust in our ... yadda yadda ... invoice is attached... best regards Equis Sales
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>You hear this Pinko or whatever push against the inside of the cardbox.
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>"Are you still there? Please let me out!"
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>Click.
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"Holy fuck!"
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>You turn around and rip open the box.
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>Out comes one of the tiny horses that are all over the news.
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>The pink little fuck looks up at you and grins.
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>"Hi, I'm Pinky Pie, your new slave!
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>You empty the rest of the beer.
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"What?"
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>"Im Pinky, it's a pleasure to meet you!"
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>The pink little pony extands an arm. Or a leg? How do ponies acutally work?
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>You look at her extended appendix and slowly extend you arm to grab it.
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>Her hooves grab your hand and she starts shaking it.
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>Violently.
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"Pink! Stop!"
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>Ohh shit your gonna vomit all over her!
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"Stop! I'm gonna throw-"
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>You rip your head to the left and vomit some foam on the floor.
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>"I have never seen such greeting!"
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"Shut up," you say wiping your mouth with your forearm.
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>Looking at the pubble on the floor you mourn for the lost beer.
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>You exhale sharply.
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>Okay.
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>You raise a finger at her, "YOU stop moving, stop doing anything until I say otherwise!"
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>"Okie dokie lokie!"
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>You a grab a dishtowel and wipe up the puddle you left on the ground.
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>The salty, sour smell almost makes you vomit again.
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>You open a window to get let some fresh air in.
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>You take a quick shower.
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>To your amazement the pony is still sitting right where you left her when you step out of the shower.
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>You dress up and take your last beer out of the fridge and take a small sip.
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>No experiments.
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>Back in the living room you face her.
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"Okay what is your name again?"
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>"Pinkamena Diane Pie, but everyone call me Pinky Pie or Pinky for short."
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"Hello Pinky, I am Anon but I won't shake your hand... or hoov. This is my last beer."
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>"Oh beer! Can I have some too?"
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"I'll order some later."
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>You take a deep breath.
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"Can you clean stuff?"
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>The pony nods with a wide grin.
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"This is unfair of me since I made the mess but would you do me a solid and clean the floor? It's sticky and I don't want stains."
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>"No problem, master!"
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"Ohh yes, so you are my slave now?"
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>"Yes! Also do you want to be my friend?"
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"I guess.."
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>Suddenly Pinky jumps up in joy and hugs you.
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"Stop, stop, stop! Pinky stop!"
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>This feels weird.
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>Not bad though.
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"Let go, pony!"
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>The pony lets you go instantly and plants her behind on the ground.
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"Okay," you take a deep breath, "follow me".
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>You show her the cleaning untensils under the sink.
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"Can you work with this?"
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>"Absolutely!"
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"Okay please clean a little and keep silent, I have to work. I will get to you once I have time."
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>She salutes.
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>"Will do, master!"
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>You scrath your neck as you look down at this creature.
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"Allright."
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>You get over to your computer and lauch your workspace.
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>"Anon, bright and early! This is what I like about you," your boss says.
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"Doing my best, sir."
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>"You don't look so good Anon, is everything allright."
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"I'm perfectly fine."
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>"You really don't look well."
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"It's no problem, really."
by SlavePonyGeneral
by SlavePonyGeneral
by SlavePonyGeneral
by SlavePonyGeneral
by SlavePonyGeneral