Mini Goofs


                                            tiny greens that can fit in your pocket. 06/21 to 03/22


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                                            >"Stop struggling, plaything! Trixie knows that all humans enjoy having their genitals trampled. Trixie read it in a very reputable book. You would do well not to lie to your benefactor."

                                            >

                                            >"Your cries for help are quite convincing human, Trixie will give you that. But behind those teary eyes, Trixie knows you wish for her to bestow more pleasure upon you."

                                            >

                                            >"The great and powerful Trixie deigns to grant you what every human desires, and still you carry on with your screaming! You act as if Trixie's hoof feels like something other than perfection when mashed upon your crotch."

                                            >

                                            >"Trixie had imagined that you would have caved into pleasure by now... but you continue to make these horrid groans! Trixie orders you to stop masking your true feelings for her!"

                                            >

                                            >"Ooo-oh. I-it appears that while experiencing Trixie's carnal d-delights that y-you have vomited... a little... That means you have accepted Trixie's ministrations and will begin the moaning and saying of Trixie's name that normally occurs during human intercourse, r-right?"

                                            >

                                            >"Human? H-human? Feigning sleep is a human display of arousal, correct? W-well, fine then... Trixie will stop and await your compliments."

                                            >

                                            >"Wake up... please? Trixie has yet to receive your confession of feelings for her..."


                                            ---


                                            "The book Trix. Where is it."

                                            >"Human! You are not allowed in here, this is where Trixie performs her most secretive magic!"

                                            "Glad to see you don't have any remorse for crushing my testicles."

                                            >"While Trixie is willing to admit her actions may have had undesirable consequences-"

                                            "That's not how apologies work."

                                            >"-that gives you no right to enter without-- Human! Stop that at once!"

                                            "I'm going to keep dumping your books until I find the one I'm after."

                                            >"V-very well. See if Trixie cares! Dump all of them! You'll never find where Trixie keeps her most valuable possessions."

                                            "So it's definitely not this book under your bed then."

                                            >"Hey, unhand Trixie's property! This is your last warning, human..."

                                            ""How to Have Hot, Emotional, and Sweaty Intercourse With Any Human You Want, by Moonlight Twinkle." Wow Trixie, quite the find here, huh?"

                                            >"...It's not... I was just... curious."

                                            "I'm more curious as to why Moonlight Twinkle has Twilight's handwriting. Hoofwriting. Where did you get this again?"

                                            >"Where Trixie procures her m-magical implements is not for humans to know! Now, give Trixie her-"

                                            ""Humans find unicorns the most attractive out of all the ponies, to the point where they think about unicorns all day. Nothing but how much they want to service unicorns and how they would never stoop to have emotions for those stupid pegasi-" Trixie, this is just Twilight's fanfiction, this has absolutely no basis in reality."

                                            >"...so that passage is not accurate?"

                                            "This diagram of my penis has eyes and a mouth, none of it is accurate. Look at this, "Humans are so enthralled by the majesty of unicorns that even the simplest of magic usage will have them on their knees, showering you with affection." Who would ever believe that schlock?"

                                            >"..."

                                            "Cripes, talk about wish fulfillment. Anyways Trix, I've got to jet, need to have a talk with a certain librarian."

                                            >"B-but my book..."

                                            "My book now. If you want to have hot, emotional, sweaty intercourse with any human you want, you'll need to cite some different sources. Later."

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                                            >You fold your arms at the unwelcome visitor smiling sheepishly up at you from your porch.

                                            "I'm being serious Fluttershy."

                                            >"R-really?"

                                            >You answer her with nothing more than a glare.

                                            >"A-and if you laugh we get to m-make... love?"

                                            "And if I don't, you never come back. Deal?"

                                            >The yellow pony ponders the wager, tapping her chin with a plush hoof.

                                            >"Can I ask a friend first?"

                                            "No. Right here, right now. One shot."

                                            >"O-okay..."

                                            "So you'll do it?"

                                            >"Uhm... yes. Yes, I think I will."

                                            "Go for it."

                                            >"W-wait, let me remember how it goes..."

                                            >You humph, tapping your foot as the shy pegasus shakily gazes at the planks beneath her.

                                            "My cereal is getting soggy Shy."

                                            >"S-sorry hang on, I... Okay. It starts like this:"

                                            >She turns to look at you, falters, then looks back at the ground.

                                            >"Er... it..."

                                            "Spit it out."

                                            >Her vision remains completely trained on your porch, her hooves trembling and eyes watering. She addresses the wooden slats, as if reciting from a memory.

                                            >"Did y-you ever hear what the bear s-said to the campers...?"

                                            >Your stony expression hardens.

                                            >"H-he said 'if anyone in the audience drives a white sedan, you're blockin—'"

                                            >Fluttershy is interrupted by the deafening sound of your windows being rent asunder by grapeshot.

                                            >You both drop to your knees, clutching at your ears in an attempt to quell the clamorous ringing that lasts well after the blast.

                                            >The reverberations last for a full minute, your blurred vision only able to make out a vague pink and blue silhouette standing several yards behind Fluttershy's position.

                                            >Gradually, your senses fade in by inches.

                                            >Clearing your eyes, you register not only a pervasive scent of gunpowder, but that the broad side of your house has been completely split to splinters.

                                            >"Hi Nonny! I heard there was a joke contest!"

                                            >Turning to the familiar voice reveals an overly enthusiastic Pinkie Pie, hopping frantically and waving her forelimbs.

                                            >Stood beside her is a cartoonishly cyan cannon, its flower-embossed wheels digging furrows into your lawn, its barrel still smoking.

                                            >The ringing still hasn't stopped, its only faded.

                                            >Fluttershy lays completely flat atop your porch, unmoving.

                                            "Pinkie..."

                                            >You raise a trembling hand to the artillery piece next to her.

                                            >"That's my name, don't wear it out!"

                                            >Hopping with all four legs simultaneously, she bounds up to your stoop, landing atop the still Fluttershy.

                                            >"Are you ready for my joke? I heard whoever makes you laugh gets a special prize!"

                                            "Y-you... my house..."

                                            >"Okay, here goes! Get ready to laugh Nonny! So,"

                                            >Pinkie has shifted her stance so that she balances entirely atop Fluttershy's head, each hop driving it deeper into the wood.

                                            >"What has two arms, two legs, a head, an aversion for being hit in the sternum by a sixteen-pounder, and a cock that's going to get hard if it knows what's good for it?"

                                            "That's... that's not funn—"

                                            >Pinkie lunges forward, bowling your shell-shocked body over and pinning you to the floor.

                                            >Inches from your face, Pinkie stares deep into your eyes, her small smile completely at odds with her tone of voice.

                                            >"Don't make me explain the joke Nonny. Get to pounding, or you get the 'pounder."

                                            "Wh-where did you even get a can—"

                                            >Pinkie silences you with a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss, her hoof trailing its way to your waistline.

                                            >"Alright Anon," she moans into your mouth, "this next one has a really good punchline."

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                                            >Woozily, you blink bits of zizz out of both clumsy lids.

                                            >Night's clutch only just quitting, you slowly but solidly climb out of quilts, vivifying sluggish joints.

                                            >You obliviously itch butt cysts, wishing to chow down on bowls of milky joy.

                                            >Hold on.

                                            >Ill-boding notions blitz you, ominous signs swim into sight, tocsins sound loudly.

                                            >Twilight.

                                            >You don't know how, you don't know why, but Twilight's voodoo is guilty of costly sin.

                                            >It isn't obvious to you which mumbo jumbo is in full swing, but you must find it. Now.

                                            >You sit thinking, mulling notions, cussing out Twilight fully.

                                            >It's slow going but bit by bit you join hint with hunch, cluing you to... to...

                                            >Hmm.

                                            >It stings, but you don't know. It's just missing.

                                            >Missing.

                                            >Just so, it hits you. Missing.

                                            >Without doubt, Twilight's witch skills cut out... things.

                                            >Not solid on which, but "stuff" is distinctly missing.

                                            >It's not solo though, Twilight took chunks of it.

                                            >Ghost, out of mind's vision, lost to void.

                                            >You wish you could cull solid lingo to limn Twilight's loss justly, but diction shuns you.

                                            >Hmm.

                                            >Would Twilight kill diction?

                                            >Full-blown oblivion of not just only locution, but its symbols too?

                                            >You sit dumbly, in shock.

                                            >Uh oh.

                                            [spoiler]ouch. buzz my doc[/spoiler]

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                                            >Moaning around the obstruction, Pinkie sensuously slides the remainder of the hot dog down her throat, keeping her half-lidded gaze locked on yours.

                                            >She gives a sultry wink and looks straight up, showing off the weenie-induced bulge outlined on her neck.

                                            >With an entirely too-audible swallow, she puts her throat muscles on full display, each contraction and constriction clearly illustrated through her downy pink fur.

                                            >The frankfurter is quickly dealt with, gliding into her gastrointestinal system with a wet slurp.

                                            >Exhaling a lewd "fuah~" of contentment, Pinkie grins, lolling her freakishly long tongue out so you might examine her spotless mouth.

                                            >You desperately attempt to ignore the thick strands of saliva that dribble from her open maw, your cheeks burning from something that is decidedly not the exhibit in front of you.

                                            "Don't you know how those are made?"

                                            >Pinkie brings another of her wielded wursts to just beneath her tongue, purposefully exhaling hot, wet breaths over its length as her spit begins to pool atop it.

                                            >She waits until you meet her eyes again, then drags her tongue across the exposed top of the hot dog in long, languid strokes, carelessly covering her chin in a mixture of ketchup, mustard, and pony spittle.

                                            >"Thuh packagth thaid id wuth maid by pigth."

                                            "Made -of- pigs, Pinks. Dead pigs. You're eating pig guts."

                                            >Having completely cleaned the weenie of condiments, Pinkie again shows off her open mouth, proudly displaying the sizable red and yellow wad within.

                                            >With a smirk and a gulp, it's gone, the colored stains around Pinkie's mouth the only evidence it had existed.

                                            >"I wish there was a pig in -my- guts right now Nonny. A real hog, if you know what I mean."

                                            "There is!" you shout over her waggling eyebrows, your frustration mounting. "You've eaten a pig, Pinkie! Isn't that a sin for you ponies?"

                                            >Nonchalantly, she waggles a filled bun, letting it wetly plap up and down atop her tongue.

                                            >"I can think of a couple other sins we can try out Nonny. What do you say?"

                                            "You're insane."

                                            >She peppers the wrinkled end of her freshly de-ketchuped hot dog with kisses, letting the tip gently push into her plush lips.

                                            >Staring unblinking up into your eyes, she suckles on the frank's end lightly, interspersing her ministrations with licks and coy nibbles on the tip.

                                            >"I'm guess I'm just crazy for your pee-pee Anonny! C'moooooon~ Pleasepleaseplea— oopsie!"

                                            >In her excitement, Pinkie drops the unattended dog held in her other hoof, sending it to splatter atop your shoes.

                                            >Unfortunately for the hygiene of your comfortable sneakers, Pinkie had yet to slurp the toppings off of the dropped wiener, a fact that is clearly apparent from the mess of red and yellow globs staining your shoes.

                                            >You both fall quiet as you stare at the ruined sneakers, a gift from Rarity, your heart rate spiking.

                                            "We're dead then," you mutter, more to yourself than anything.

                                            >Your abode is situated on the outer edge of Ponyville's residential district, a location far enough away from the center of town that any commotion from within should be inaudible.

                                            >Regardless, the cacophonous sound of wood splintering and an accompanying ring of a bell indicating it as the front door to the Carousel Boutique registers clearly to the two of you.

                                            >Your face pales and Pinkie visibly deflates, her sultry aura vanishing.

                                            "We're dead then," you repeat, more to drown out the aggrieved, high-pitched shrieking echoing through the streets than anything.

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                                            thanks for having me