Storytime! Option 2: Trevor


                                            [Author's Note: Based on the old two-option Storytime! threads, crossover with GTA V. This was a collaboration between Trixiefap, Nehem and DubsMenace from 2014.]


                                            Enjoy!


                                            >A new day in Los Santos.

                                            >People to kill, bitches to fuck, money to be made.

                                            >Some do it the traditional way, conventional careers, snobby internships…

                                            >Others choose a darker path, making a living off thievery and murder.

                                            >And then there’s him…

                                            >The fucking pitch black line that stains even the other evil bastards.

                                            >His name is Trevor Phillips.

                                            >And he’s one crazy-ass mother fucker.

                                            >Well… according to his peers.

                                            >And his mother.

                                            >And mostly every random passerby.

                                            >But that’s not the point.

                                            >The point is, he’s on the top of the food chain, and everyone looks up to him in the thief and murder world.

                                            >But he was taking today off to relax a little.

                                            >Trevor was on his way to the house of one Michael Townley.

                                            >Or De Santa, whatever the fuck his fake last name is nowadays.

                                            >A crushing thump reverberated through his truck as he drove down the road.

                                            >Turns out, he ran over some poor asshole.

                                            >He should have looked out for oncoming traffic.

                                            >”Oh well”, he thought.

                                            >The blood added to the historic value of his bumper.

                                            >After that was out of the way, he turned up the radio and put the pedal to the metal.

                                            >Trevor needed to be there right the fuck now.

                                            >For what reason, he didn’t know.

                                            >...

                                            >As he pulled up into the driveway leading to Michael’s house, he smelled something peculiar.

                                            >”That fucking smell…”

                                            >Trevor sniffed the air outside of his truck’s window.

                                            >“Is that weed?”

                                            >He sniffed some more.

                                            >“It is weed!”

                                            >Who in God’s name is smoking that weak shit?

                                            >He was now quite inclined to find that prick, and give him a piece of his mind.

                                            >The car door slammed as Trevor hurriedly made a dash for the front doors.

                                            >He didn’t even check to see if they were locked, and kicked them in, the glass cracking as they gave way to his brain-splattering boot.

                                            >Almost immediately, Michael was off the couch and running into the foyer.

                                            >”Trevor? What the fuck are you doing?!”

                                            >“I smell weed Michael! And you of all people know how I feel about that pansy shit!”

                                            >He rolled his eyes, as if to mock him; then walked over to his now broken doors.

                                            >”You’ve gone and broke my seven hundred dollar doors! What the hell is wrong with you?”

                                            >Trevor took a few menacing steps toward his friend.

                                            >“This isn’t a joke to me! I need to correct this atrocity! AT. ANY. COST.”

                                            >Michael turned back to him, more than a little exhausted with his antics.

                                            >”Everything is a problem to you Trevor, no matter how small it actually is.”

                                            >He rubs his face with his aging hands, continuing.

                                            >”And when did I say you could come over here today?”

                                            >Leaning in toward Michael, Trevor pointed his finger at his face.

                                            >“I come over here any time I damn well please!”

                                            >Trevor suddenly sniffed the air, looking for the source of the offending substance.

                                            >Said substance decided to come looking for him first, however, as Michael’s fatass son Jimmy slithered down the stairs.

                                            >”Hey dad! What’s all this yelling about? It’s killing my buzz!”

                                            >Trevor rebounded to the source of the voice, as his face flashed with fury.

                                            >“You fat piece of shit! You’re the hash-tagger who’s been smoking that shit!”

                                            >Jimmy looked at him, realizing the mistake he’s made.

                                            >He attempted to hide the joint he had been smoking behind his back, but was too fucking late for hiding.

                                            >Trevor closed the distance between them before he could even blink, wrenching his arm out and taking the doobie from his fingers, holding it in front of him for effect.

                                            >“What the fuck did I say about putting that cheap, cancerous, repugnant crap in your mouth?”

                                            >Jimmy backpedaled in utter terror.

                                            >”H-hey, dad, help me out here!”

                                            >Michael stood there, crossing his arms.

                                            >”I didn’t even know you were still puffing, Jimmy.”

                                            >Trevor interrupted the father and son before they could get into one of their famous squabbles.

                                            >”Who cares when he started again? Jimmy, you little shit; where are you keeping the rest of that?!”

                                            >Jimmy looked like he was about to piss his pants.

                                            >”O-okay! Fine! If I tell you where my stash is, will you let go of my arm? It really hurts!”

                                            >Trevor looked at Jimmy with bulging eyes.

                                            >“Good boy.”

                                            >”It’s upstairs... In my room.”

                                            >He didn’t let go of his arm, though. Trevor dragged him up the stairs with Michael following behind.

                                            >The three made their way to Jimmy’s room, his TV blaring Righteous Slaughter 7, along with an ashtray with hash ash stinking up the place, and a laptop over in the corner displaying some questionable cartoony content.

                                            >Once they reached the room, Trevor dropped Jimmy; then he began sniffing the air like a wild dog.

                                            >He must have the nose of a bloodhound, because he found the stash within seconds, a huge block in his mini fridge freezer.

                                            >”Well, lookie what we have here.”

                                            >Michael snorts and rolls his eyes.

                                            >”I’m not sure why I’m even surprised at this point. So much for therapy...”

                                            >Trevor began to pace around the small room, ranting and raving about the marijuana in Jimmy’s possession.

                                            >”I’ve told you so many times that-”

                                            >He halts his triad of angry outbursts, and began to stare at Jimmy’s open laptop.

                                            >Michael and his son looked over to where Trevor was staring.

                                            >”That…”

                                            >Trevor approached the laptop, tantalized by the image on the screen.

                                            >It was a picture of a pony. A pony with white fur and a rather… celestial mane.

                                            >Not to mention, a humongous round pair of cheeks.

                                            >To a normal person, it might just be a portrait of a cartoon pony; but to Trevor…

                                            >...It was the sexiest thing he had seen for a long time.

                                            >Jimmy spoke up, mortified.

                                            >”U-uncle T! It’s not what it looks like!”

                                            >The insane man didn’t even bother to turn around as he responded.

                                            >”Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like, Jimbo; what it looks like…”

                                            >Trevor finally reaches the laptop, his face as close as it can be without pressing against the screen.

                                            >”...Is the most perfect ass I’ve seen in a while!”

                                            >Jimmy looked on, dumbfounded.

                                            >”Uhh…”

                                            >Michael, unable to see the picture clearly, approached where Trevor was standing.

                                            >”You’ve gotten me curious now, T. What’s so perfect about it?”

                                            >The balding man snaps around to where his friend was behind him.

                                            >”Back off, asshole!”

                                            >Before either Michael or Jimmy could react, Trevor grabbed both of them and shoved them out of the room.

                                            >”Trevor, what the hell?!”

                                            >”I need privacy!”

                                            >He slammed the door in both of their faces and locked it.

                                            >Trevor ignored Michael and his son’s calls from the other side of the door as he returned to Jimmy’s computer.

                                            >Without so much as a second thought, he was already undoing his belt, taking a nice comfortable seat in his “nephew”’s chair.

                                            >”Good grief! She’s makin’ me randy! Gh.. Whoa, what’s this here?”

                                            >Trevor squints his eyes to look over some text next to that big, round, white ass.

                                            >It was talking of two different options.

                                            >According to the text, the first option would involve him being sent to a place called “Equestria”, though the ponies wouldn’t have any genitals, and sex did not exist.

                                            >”Fuck that shit.”

                                            >The second option involved the pony coming to the person reading, scared at first of course, but would fall in love with the receiver given time, but could not be seen by anyone else lest they be taken away.

                                            >That hit all the right buttons in Trevor’s twisted little mind.

                                            >”Now that’s what I’m talking about…”

                                            >It was time for the fun to begin.

                                            >”Come to pappa…”

                                            >Out pops pappa, getting fondled once again.

                                            >Eventually, the calls from behind the door cease after hearing what was transpiring, leaving him to his business.

                                            >It doesn’t get long for Trevor to get lost in his fantasies.

                                            >So lost that he didn’t notice the sudden smell of cheetos, sweat, and Axe body spray invade the room.

                                            >”So… option two it- WHOA! What the fuck are you doing?!”

                                            >Trevor turned around, dick in hand, and took in the figure standing before him. He was short and fat, not unlike Jimmy, but with greasy, curly hair poking out from under his unwashed fedora and tickling the collar of his disgusting trenchcoat that was two sizes too small, and under that a shirt that simply said ‘IWTCIRD’ in bold, rainbow-colored letters.

                                            >”Why? Want to give me a hand?”

                                            >Trevor heard something wet plop onto the floor. Expecting to find that the man soiled himself, he instead found a pile of spaghetti leaking out onto the floor from the man’s pockets.

                                            >”...And I thought I hadn’t snorted anything this morning.”

                                            >”Can you get your hand off your dick, already!?”

                                            >Trevor had still been pumping subconsciously until he pointed it out.

                                            >He kept pumping regardless, staring right at him.

                                            >”Makes you uncomfortable, you fucking stalker?”

                                            >The intruder looks as if he is about to vomit.

                                            >”Agh, oh god… They don’t pay me enough for this fucking job…”

                                            >Trevor slowly started to stalk towards him.

                                            >”I can give you a handy if it makes you feel better… only five bucks. Best you’re gonna get.”

                                            >”What? No! Just, look you crazy freak, do you want the pony or not?”

                                            >Trevor looks at the fat, smelly stalker incredulously, as if he just went into a massive high.

                                            >”... Wait, wait a second. That shit’s real?”

                                            >He nods very quickly, stifling another round of vomit.

                                            >”I’m sorry I showed you my thingy, okay?”

                                            >The trenchcoat clad figure composes himself.

                                            >”...Fine, can you put it away now?”

                                            >Trevor puts his intimate parts back in his pants, then looks back at the bedroom intruder.

                                            >”Thank you… Okay, I trust you know the rules of the deal?”

                                            >He looks back at the screen for a moment, then back at the prudish fatass.

                                            >”You know, I read them over, but… There’s just something about it I don’t like.”

                                            >He approached the fat sack of shit, grabbed him by the throat, and shoved him against a wall.

                                            >As he proclaimed his next statement, he proceeded to bash his white knuckles into the sniveling weasel’s face for each word.

                                            >”TREVOR. PHILLIPS. DOESN’T. FOLLOW. RULES!”

                                            >So begins the bloodbath.

                                            >Before the hefty man could so much as drop to his knees from the powerful strikes, Trevor lifts him up by his throat with both hands, and tosses him like a ragdoll into Jimmy’s new TV, shattering the glass and covering him in its shards.

                                            >He then proceeds to take a few steps towards him, pretending to bare down on him with another punch. Once the OP flinches, however, he brings his fist back, and kicks him upward right onto his nose, shattering the cartilage and spraying blood everywhere.

                                            >The OP cried out in agony, his sweaty sausage-fingers trying to stop the sudden torrent of the liquid of love, but didn’t get a chance as Trevor grabs him by his wrist and yanks with primal fury, sending him back up to his feet and fracturing his carpal bones.

                                            >Trevor uppercutted him as he stood, silencing his pitiful cries, as well as making him bite a corner of his tongue off.

                                            >A little meat and a new torrent of blood falls from his destroyed mouth, and he falls on his ass, wallowing in his own fluids.

                                            >Finally, Trevor reared back with an extra step for good measure, and slammed his boot directly into the OP’s chest, audibly cracking a few ribs and keeping him pinned to the ground.

                                            >”WELL THEN! That got my blood pumping, didn’t it?! Now… onto business.”

                                            >Trevor reached down and picked him up by his beard hair, eliciting a whole new set of anguished screams, but successfully getting him back on his feet.

                                            >”Give me what I want without those cheap-ass downsides, and I might stop.”

                                            >The intruder, now bloody and bruised, nodded groggily.

                                            >After dazily digging around in his trenchcoat for a while, he produced a medium sized sack.

                                            >Trevor eyed it suspiciously.

                                            >”You aren’t fucking me on this, right boy? This bag is smaller than Floyd’s dick!”

                                            >The magic that produced the bag from within his trenchcoat flashed around the battered man’s form, and he vanished from Trevor’s grasp before he could retaliate.

                                            >”Shit! How the fuck did he do that?!”

                                            >All of a sudden, there was a very loud knock on the door, followed by Michael’s voice.

                                            >”TREVOR! I don’t know what kind of kinky shit you do when you’re taking care of business, but what the hell was all that noise?”

                                            >Jimmy decided to chime in too.

                                            >”Yeah, I heard glass breaking! There better not be spunk on my computer, Uncle T!”

                                            >Trevor merely grunted at their accusations as he licked his bloody knuckles, striding over to the sack and kneeling beside it.

                                            >After finishing with his after-fight meal, he starts untying the sack with impatient curiosity and lust.

                                            >”Alright, I bagged me one order of big, juicy white pony ass; show me the money--”

                                            >Trevor’s face that once held a magnificently devious smirk fell into a countenance of confusion, disappointment, and finally, anger.

                                            >”WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!”

                                            >This wasn’t a pony princess! This wasn’t a pony at all!

                                            >It was some….. weird-ass lion bird thing.

                                            >A weird-ass lion bird thing that was starting to wake up.

                                            >”Alright… who’s the dweeb who’s going to get a flank-kicking…?”


                                            >”Mother of fuck, it talks! Or am I hallucinating again?”

                                            >Trevor extended his arms and started flapping them like a bird, giving a great big ‘KAW!’

                                            >”Uuh… Dude, what are you even doing?”

                                            >The flapping begins to slow as he glares at the gryphon, eventually stopping.

                                            >”Nope, definitely not hallucinating. Otherwise I’d be at the Vanilla Unicorn roof sword fighting with King Arthur and his bitch Merlin.”

                                            >The lion-bird looked at him, even more befuddled now.

                                            >”King Arthur? Merlin? Who are they, and why should I care? Wait, what are you even, some sort of hairless ape thing?”

                                            >”What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

                                            >She looked taken aback, but she quickly restored her composure.

                                            >”First off, I think you meant to say ‘buck’, not-”

                                            >”I meant FUCK!”

                                            >Again, she started to back away a bit, but did her best to keep her cool.

                                            >”Okay, ‘fuck’, whatever. Now tell me where I am before I give you a knuckle-sandwich, weirdo!”

                                            >A sudden stillness enters the air, and the lion-bird instantly regretted her words.

                                            >”ARE YOU THREATENING ME?!”

                                            >The sheer volume of his voice rattled the room with its vibration.

                                            >She shrunk back immediately, her tomboy exterior shattering in favor of pure, unadulterated fear.

                                            >”Trevor! Is there someone else in there? I hear another voice!”

                                            >The sound of Michael’s voice resonated from outside the door.

                                            >”Fuck off, I’m trying to watch porn!”

                                            >Jimmy’s voice called out this time.

                                            >”You’d better not get any viruses on my computer!”

                                            >”Oh I’m going to get SOMETHING on your computer if you don’t SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

                                            >That little banter allowed the gryphon to regain some of her fortitude.

                                            >”You’re a very angry guy, aren’t you?”

                                            >Trevor only grumbled in response, proving her point.

                                            >”You still didn’t answer my-”

                                            >All he had to do was give her that look.

                                            >”... Uhm, if it’s alright to ask... where am I?”

                                            >”Michael’s house.”

                                            >She regarded him with a raised brow.

                                            >”Okay… then where is Michael’s house?”

                                            >”Here.”

                                            >She closed her eyes for a moment, then tried again.

                                            >”Okay, but where is here?”

                                            >”Michael’s house.”

                                            >The lion-bird groaned in frustration.

                                            >”I’m just busting your balls.”

                                            >”I don’t have-”

                                            >”You’re in Los Santos, baby!”

                                            >She looked a little confused, to say the least.

                                            >”Wait… Don’t you mean Las Pegasus?

                                            >”Don’t correct me! I DON’T like to be corrected!”

                                            >The bird-lion didn’t back away this time. One too many barks without any bites, and she thought this guy was all talk.

                                            >Out of nowhere, a thump echoed through the room.

                                            >“I’m getting really sick of your shit, Trevor!”

                                            >Michael had busted down the door with a kick that could rival Trevor’s mighty boot.

                                            >”DAD! YOU ASSHOLE! THAT’S MY DOOR!”

                                            >Jimmy’s father turned around, giving his son a stern look.

                                            >”I’m doing this for you, you little shit. You’re lucky I even keep you around after the anesthetic incident.”

                                            >Trevor turned to face the now broken door.

                                            >”Don’t forget when he let those jackasses steal your yacht, Michael.”

                                            >Michael grunted.

                                            >”That’s an event I’d rather forget.”

                                            >Jimmy nodded.

                                            >”Same here.”

                                            >Michael rolled his eyes, then looked towards his “friend”.

                                            >His eyes widened at the sight before him.

                                            >”Trevor… What. The. FUCK have you been doing here?”

                                            >Trevor scratched at the back of his head.

                                            >”You know… stuff… things.”

                                            >Michael could hardly form a coherent sentence.

                                            >Jimmy pushed past his dad, and once he saw what was in his room, his jaw hit his neck fat.

                                            >“Is… is that… holy fuck, it’s Gilda!”

                                            >”’Gilda’? What’s a ‘Gilda’?”

                                            >Michael looked to Trevor for answers, but he only shook his head in ignorance.

                                            >”Hey! How do you know my name, you tub of lard?”

                                            >Trevor and Michael looked to Jimmy with curious gazes.

                                            >He ignored them both, deciding to examine Gilda closer.

                                            >”This is like, every brony’s dream come true! I can’t believe you’re here!”

                                            >Michael looked at his son, even more confused than a moment ago.

                                            >”Jimmy, what the fuck are you on about…?”

                                            >He faced his father and took a deep breath, trying to withhold his excitement.

                                            >”If I show you… do you promise not to laugh?”

                                            >”I don’t.”

                                            >Michael glared at Trevor, before looking back to Jimmy.

                                            >”No promises.”


                                            >”Well, you see…”

                                            >Jimmy paused as he thought how to explain the situation.

                                            >“It would be easier to just show you.”

                                            >He turned to pick up his tv remote, and stopped dead in his tracks.

                                            >”M-my TV! Trevor!”

                                            >Trevor sneered.

                                            “That’s Uncle T to you; have some respect for your elders!”

                                            >Jimmy raises his voice, agitated by the fact that he had just lost another television because of someone else’s rage.

                                            >”My TV, man! I just got that!”

                                            >”Oh please! You can afford another! Just kiss daddy’s ass a little, I’m sure he’ll get you a new one.”

                                            >It didn’t take long for Gilda to pipe up.

                                            >”Can we just move on with what in the world you are trying to explain, you fat dweeb?!”

                                            >Trevor clapped his hands together and cheered.

                                            >”I’m with the bird, get on with it!”

                                            >Gilda glared back at him.

                                            >”I’m a Gryphon, you dolt.”

                                            >Trevor was about to go off on her, before Michael spoke up.

                                            >”Why don’t we just use the projector downstairs for what you need to show us?”

                                            >Jimmy sighs.

                                            >”Yeah, whatever…”

                                            >Michael led the group out to the living room, home to the fanciest of the entertainment essentials.

                                            >Jimmy picked up the remote control off the coffee table and sat on the sofa beside his three companions.

                                            >He then flipped on the projected television, switching to his account to access his recorded database.

                                            >Gilda’s eyes went wide, subtly leaning forward at the massive ‘portal’ that appeared in front of her.

                                            >”Whoa… Now that’s really cool- er… I’ve seen better, though, yeah. Not many living things can do magic like that.”

                                            >Michael and Trevor did a double-take at her, while Jimmy suppressed a childish giggle.

                                            >”Magic…? Now, I know I’m the meth head; but that is ridiculous. It’s just a fuckin’ TV.”

                                            >Gilda looked over to Trevor, glowering at his accusation.

                                            >”What? What do you mean it’s ridiculous, you old ape? Also, what the buck is a TV? I keep hearing that being tossed around.”

                                            >Jimmy joined the conversation at this point.

                                            >”That’s not the only thing that gets tossed around when my dad gets mad!”

                                            >He gives an awkward giggle.

                                            >Michael promptly gave him a hard whop across his head, eliciting a girly scream from his son.

                                            >”Just show us what you were going to show us! It’s taken long enough already, for fuck’s sake.”

                                            >Gilda gritted her teeth, and her talons gripped into tight fists.

                                            >”Hey, don’t just skip over my questions, you dorks!”

                                            >”Shut it, birdbeak! Show us, Jimmy-boy!”

                                            >Jimmy complied, and went through the needed actions to pull up an episode of a cartoon.

                                            >”So uh… What exactly are you trying to show us here, Jim?”

                                            >Jimmy snapped out of whatever trance he was in at the moment, and picked the remote back up.

                                            >”One second, dad. Let me skip ahead.”

                                            >After trying to skip through some unnecessary scenes, Jimmy dropped the remote.

                                            >Panic flashed across his chubby face as the cold open ended, and a hot-air balloon descended from the sky.

                                            >>”My little pony, my little pony…”

                                            >Michael’s face held the combined looks of shock, embarrassment, disgust, and utter disappointment in his son.

                                            >However, Trevor didn’t even bother to hold in his laughter. His lungs rocked the entire living room with their spasms.

                                            >”You… You actually watch this, don’t you!?”

                                            >Jimmy’s face flushed of all color.

                                            >”I-It’s a really g-good show, Uncle T…”

                                            >Michael threw his head back, covering his face.

                                            >”Fuckin’ A…”

                                            >Gilda was surprisingly silent through the whole thing.

                                            >She stared at the screen in what appeared to be heavy shock.

                                            >Trevor continued to torture his “Nephew”.

                                            >”My little pony… My little pony… HAHAHAHAHA!”

                                            >As he continued to laugh, he fell onto his back, kicking his legs dangerously close to Michael’s face.

                                            >”Woah woah, watch where you’re wiggling those things!”

                                            >Trevor continued to laugh.

                                            >”I’ll put my feet wherever I want!”

                                            >After some time, Jimmy found the remote laying under the coffee table.

                                            >He pressed the fast forward button as fast as his chubby fingers would let him.

                                            >Countless images of various colorful ponies flew by; after a while, Jimmy reached the point he was looking for.

                                            >The same hyperactive pink horse from earlier was trotting down a dirt path, wearing a ridiculous pair of glasses.

                                            >She was blowing through a party horn, and eventually stopped below a cloud.

                                            >The pink ball of fur began calling to the cloud, looking for a “Rainbow Dash”.

                                            >The familiar head of a certain bird-lion popped out from inside the cloud.

                                            >By this point, Trevor’s laughs had calmed down to the occasional chuckle; and Michael looked slightly less like he wanted to shoot himself.

                                            >Once this scene popped up, every member of the room, save for Jimmy, had the most intense look of shock on their faces.

                                            >Gilda especially.

                                            >”YOU LITTLE SNOT!”

                                            >Before anyone in the room could react, Gilda rose and kicked over the coffee table in front of the couch in a sudden burst of anger; before lurching forward and tackling Jimmy to the ground with her talons wrapped around his chubby throat.

                                            >”YOU SICK FREAK! I’LL TEACH YOU TO SPY ON ME AND MY FRIEND!”

                                            >She brought up a talon and balled it up into a fist, bringing it down on the teenager’s chubby face.

                                            >However, before she could get another punch in, a certain psychopath jumped into action.

                                            >A pained ‘KAW!’ escaped Gilda’s beak as she felt a steel-toed boot bury into her side, sending her flying into the overturned table with such force that it broke in half.

                                            >”God dammit Trevor! I just bought that!”

                                            >”SHUT IT!”

                                            >The gryphon gasped desperately for air, having had the wind knocked out of her.

                                            >”No one… especially not some eagle cunt, messes with him!”

                                            >”Alright bird bitch, let’s see-”

                                            >Trevor was cut off by Michael stepping between the two of them.

                                            >”Calm down! I have enough shit to replace as is!”

                                            >He pushed away his balding infuriated friend from the wheezing avian.

                                            >Trevor panted in fury.

                                            >”Rrrgh… CUNT!”

                                            >”ENOUGH!”

                                            >Michael’s shout echoed through the house. Silence prevailed throughout the room, only the sound of Gilda’s wheezing breaking through. Even Trevor went silent, though he was still shaking with fury.

                                            >”That’s enough… frankly, I can see why she flipped out. If I saw that some stranger had a video of me, I wouldn’t be too happy, either.”

                                            >Michael then rounded on the bird behind him, who was now just starting to recover.

                                            >”And you…”

                                            >He approached the gryphon, who stood her ground, glaring up at him.

                                            >”...if you ever, EVER, touch my son again, I’ll put two bullets in your temple. Do you fucking understand me?”

                                            >Gilda remained silent, only nodding slightly.

                                            >A shrill voice came from the doorway.

                                            >”TREVOOOOR!”

                                            >Two women rounded the corner into the living room.

                                            >They were both in different age groups, one a few decades older than the other.

                                            >The older of the two spoke up.

                                            >”I swear, you break something every fucking time you come in here! Michael…”

                                            >She trailed off, all train of thought completely wrecking as the other member of the duo spoke up.

                                            >”Is, is that some kind of dog?!”


                                            >”DOG?! I’m a Gryphon!”

                                            >”What the hell is a Gryphon?”

                                            >Michael turned back to look at his wife and child, at the supposed ‘Gryphon’, and back again.

                                            >”Okay, this looks a little fucked up, doesn’t it?”

                                            >Amanda glared at him, crossing her arms.

                                            >”We already discussed this. We’re not getting a pet.”

                                            >She glanced over at Gilda with a raised brow.

                                            >”Especially not a talking… gryphon-- wait a second, aren’t they supposed to be… you know, not real?”

                                            >Just about everyone in the room gave each other confused looks, except for Gilda.

                                            >”I don’t know who you two are, and frankly I don’t give a flying feather! But if Gryphons weren’t real, then how would I be standing here!?”

                                            >Trevor bumped into the conversation.

                                            >”Maybe you aren’t a gryphon! You might just be a piece of magical shit that came out of the ass of that greaseball I demolished!”

                                            >”I CAME OUT OF WHAT?! Say that to my face, you gangly ape!”

                                            >Trevor immediately started towards her, but Michael held him back before he could do anything rash.

                                            >”Whoa whoa whoa, no more fighting on my property! In fact, why don’t you both get the hell out of here, I have a family to take to therapy now because of this shit.”

                                            >Amanda walked up to her husband, a glint of pure unadulterated bitch in her eye.

                                            >”Didn’t you KILL your last therapist? How will getting another help?”

                                            >Michael shut his eyes tight, trying not to snap back at her.

                                            >”Look, you two just, fucking go somewhere else right now, there’s too many problems in a single room and I can only deal with so much at once!”

                                            >Gilda crossed her arms vehemently, looking away from the group in disdain.

                                            >”There’s no way I’m going to go with Baldy McDweebhole, I’d rather go do my own thing.”

                                            >Michael approached the disgruntled lion bird softly, but stern.

                                            >”It’s either go with the psychopath, or get put into a sandwich at Cluckin’ Bell.”

                                            >Gilda furrowed her brow.

                                            >”Cluckin’ Bell?”

                                            >Michael got a sadistic grin on his aging face.

                                            >”A place where people eat birds. Like you.”

                                            >”...Y-you’re just joshin’ me.”

                                            >”No, I’m not ‘Joshing’ you. Humans are cruel, unusual, perverse living creatures that are what’s known as omnivores. That means we eat everything. Now, what falls under

                                            everything?”

                                            >Gilda’s ears fell flat in fright.

                                            >”That’s right. Now, I won’t say it again. The psychopath, or the fucking sandwich?”

                                            >She hesitated for a moment, and her defeated eyes glanced over at the man himself.

                                            >With a frustrated sigh, Gilda nodded her head.

                                            >”Fine.”

                                            >Trevor butted into the conversation.

                                            >”Excuse me? Hi. What makes you think I want to take flying bitch here in?”

                                            >Michael poked Trevor’s dirty chest.

                                            >”Because Trevor, you fucking owe me.”

                                            >He stepped back, his anger dropping.

                                            >”Besides… I’m pretty sure you could use something to look after anyways. I’m sure you’ll get along.”

                                            >Trevor continued to glare at Michael, before groaning and rolling his eyes.

                                            >”FINE! If it makes you happy, I’ll give the bird a cage.”

                                            >Michael nodded exhaustively.

                                            >”Good… Now get the fuck out.

                                            >Trevor muttered some explicit words, and beckoned for the gryphon to follow him.

                                            >They both walked out of the doorway without another word.

                                            >The human turned to his new gryphon companion.

                                            >”So uh… looks like we’re stuck together.”

                                            >”Yup…”

                                            >”Do you drink? Or are you one of those high and mighty straight edge cunts?”

                                            >This drew the gryphon’s attention.

                                            >”I’m always down for a drink.”

                                            >”Sweet! Let’s get fucking shitfaced!”

                                            >Trevor dove his hand into his pocket and fished out his cell. He quickly scrolled through his long list of contacts, before selecting Michael’s protege’s contact information and calling it.


                                            >"Man, you want me to order some food? You people like fried chicken, right?"

                                            >"Yo, what the fuck?"


                                            >”I’m askin’ because i’m coming over, and i’m bringing a little friend. That’s okay with you, right padre?”

                                            >Trevor heard a sigh on the other line.

                                            >”Bro, you better not be talkin’ about yo dick again, got me?”

                                            >”It’s not my dick, but it’s definitely something hairy and angry. Oh, bringin’ some booze too, unless you have a stash there?”

                                            >”Shit man, why not.”

                                            >”Want me to bring some food? You people like fried chicken, right?”

                                            >”...Fuck you, man.”

                                            >”So, that’s a yes?”

                                            >”Whatever dawg. Peace.”

                                            >Trevor promptly disconnected the instant he heard the right answer.

                                            >He stashed the phone in his dirty sweatpants, and gave a thumbs up to Gilda.

                                            >As they started walking down the driveway, she spoke up after trailing behind him a bit.

                                            >”Hey, you got a name? I mean, back where I’m from, monkeys don’t have names. But-”

                                            >Trevor stopped dead in his tracks, his hands gripping into fists.

                                            >”Do I have to smack a bitch?”

                                            >Gilda threw up her talon’s defensively.

                                            >”Easy there, I’m just joshing you. Yanking your chain a little.”

                                            >She didn’t quite believe him, but she slowly set them back down, scowling.

                                            >Trevor turned back around and kept walking to his truck.

                                            >Gilda sat there for a moment, until she realized he wasn’t stopping.

                                            >”H-hey, don’t leave without me dweeb! And tell me your name already!”

                                            >”It’s Trevor.”

                                            >”Weird name for an ape…”

                                            >She fell behind his gait, and the duo walked down to Trevor’s pride and joy, his Bodhi with the newly-stained bumper.

                                            >He walked around to the driver’s door, while Gilda had stopped in her tracks, staring at the dark red stain.

                                            >”...”

                                            >Trevor noticed the direction of her gaze.

                                            >”That’s… uh… my period?”

                                            >She looked at him with a raised brow.

                                            >”Whatever, dude…”

                                            >Trevor opened the door and got in, getting out his key and turning the ignition.

                                            >The Bodhi stalled for a moment, but then roared to life with a powerful vibration from the engine block.

                                            >”Well, what are you waiting for? Hop in, gryphon.”

                                            >Gilda eyed the vehicle curiously.

                                            >”...How?”

                                            >Trevor snorted in frustration, and pointed at the passenger door.

                                            >”You pull the handle over there.”

                                            >Her glare followed his direction, and she walked over to the aforementioned door

                                            >She raises up her talons and sets them behind the handle…

                                            >There was a click as soon as she pulled, and the door didn’t budge.

                                            >Trevor simpered as he unlocked the doors, and waved for her to try again.

                                            >She looks back at the handle, and pulls--

                                            >Locked again.

                                            >”You’re doing that, aren’t you?”

                                            >”Bitch, I might be.”

                                            >Gilda groans in frustration, and her talons sink into the side of the truck.

                                            >She climbs in manually, forcing her way over the open space, sitting in the seat and crossing her arms.

                                            >”Getting a little tired of you calling me a bitch, chimp.”

                                            >”And I’m getting REAL FUCKING SICK of you calling me a monkey.”

                                            >”I’ll stop with the monkey names when you stop with the dog names!”

                                            >Trevor just grunts at her, taking out his anger on the shift into reverse, and the wild ride that begins to throw them forward with the momentum.

                                            >He savagely throws the wheel to the side, turning the Bodhi in a swinging 180º towards the automatically opening gate, and impatiently scraping the side of his door as he squeezes through.

                                            >Gilda was a flyer, so powerful swings and fast speeds weren’t anything new to her. The way she was helpless and in Trevor’s command inside this vehicle, however, had her heart racing, and her talons were digging into the seat.

                                            >”Hey! Don’t scratch up the seat!”

                                            >Trevor only got more enraged, and he fishtailed out into the road, back tires swinging his truck to the left as he shifted up and stomped on the gas pedal, sending the duo backwards in their seats as the G’s took hold of their noticeably delicate bodies.

                                            >He never once hit the brakes, simply swinging them from side to side, weaving through honking traffic and nearly clipping pedestrians crossing with the side-view windows.

                                            >The reckless driving continued to the point where Gilda began to get a tint of green in her face.

                                            >Eventually, the queasy gryphon could no longer take the physical theatrics, thrusted her head out the window, and emptied the contents of her stomach.


                                            >Trevor’s truck screeched to a halt in Franklin’s driveway.

                                            >Gilda didn’t move very much, and for good reason.

                                            >”I just want to commend you for the sheer volume of vomit you heaved up. No, seriously, there’s a fucking line of it all the way from Michael’s house to here.”

                                            >He hopped out of his truck and began to make his way up to his friend’s front door.

                                            >”Hey, help me out of this thing, dweeb!”

                                            >Trevor looked over his shoulder at the gryphon, not stopping in his stride.

                                            >”If you can claw your way into my truck --and thanks for the holes, by the way-- you can get out your own damn self.”

                                            >”It’s your stupid fault… I’m like this-hheeuugh..”

                                            >Gilda covered her beak to stop any more chunks from blowing, taking her sweet time trying to climb out of the vehicle.

                                            >Trevor was already at the front door, however, and giving it a few healthy pats.

                                            >”HEY! I BROUGHT CHICKEN!”

                                            >”Man, fuck you nigga.”

                                            >”C’mon, it’s super-sized!”

                                            >Several seconds later, he heard some shuffling from inside the house, and the door swings open,

                                            >”I don’t see any chicken.”

                                            >Trevor said nothing. He simply crossed his arms, and moved to the side to let him see.

                                            >Franklin’s mouth went agape as he spotted Gilda climbing out of the truck and wandering up to the front door.

                                            >”Sup? You the one with the booze?”

                                            >The black man stared at the gryphon standing before him.

                                            >”Shit… I need to lay off the weed.”

                                            >Trevor casually invited himself inside.

                                            >”Yes, you do; then you need to switch to something stronger.”

                                            >Franklin rolled his eyes as he followed Trevor inside his house.

                                            >”Yeah man, I need to do that as much as I need to shoot myself.”

                                            >His attention turned back to the bird-lion as she walked by him.

                                            >”So what’s the story with your feathered homie?”

                                            >Trevor glared back at Franklin as he walked into the living room.

                                            >”What, not even going to offer your guests any refreshments? What a shitty host.”

                                            >Franklin blinked, staring blankly at his crazed friend.

                                            >”...Do you want a beer or something, dog?”

                                            >”There you go. Was that so fucking hard?”

                                            >He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as turned to the gryphon.

                                            >”What ‘chu want, homie?”

                                            >”Whatever you got.”

                                            >Franklin glanced at her strangely.

                                            >”Sheit man, you aint choosy, is you?”

                                            >”Booze is booze.”

                                            >He went to fetch some fresh alcohol from his fridge.

                                            >As he backed away from the fridge with three beers in hand, he noticed he was now alone in the kitchen.

                                            >He closed the fridge and walked into the living room, where he found Trevor sitting at his computer and the gryphon lounging on his couch.

                                            >”Yo T., what are you doin’ on there?”

                                            >”Porn.”

                                            >”Not in my crib, dog?”

                                            >Trevor tore his gaze away from the computer and looked over to Franklin.

                                            >”We’re all men here. Wanna join me?”

                                            >Franklin nearly dropped the drinks.

                                            >”Ayo, what the fuck?”

                                            >”Come on, man. There’s nothing more bro than going back to back and rubbing one out.”

                                            >Franklin looked over to the gryphon on the couch for support, but she only shrugged.

                                            >”That’s pretty fucking gay, dawg.”

                                            >Trevor stood up and started to make his way over to the black man.

                                            >”No… no… it’s only gay if the balls touch.”

                                            >Franklin set the drinks down on the table.

                                            >”You one weird ass mothafucka, dog.”

                                            >Looking to change the subject, he motioned over to the gryphon lounging about on the couch.

                                            >”What’s with the bird, Trevor?”

                                            >Gilda’s talons nearly stabbed into Franklin’s couch.

                                            >”For the last time, I’m not a lion. I’m not a bird. I AM A GRYPHON!”

                                            >Franklin stumbled backwards.

                                            >”Woah, bitch! What you doing to my furniture!?”

                                            >Trevor almost fell on his ass laughing.

                                            >”I think she’s on the rag, man. You should be careful. She nearly tore up my seats on the ride over!”

                                            >Trevor’s friend crossed his arms.

                                            >”Man, you see why I never let Chop in here!”

                                            >Trevor barely gave him a glance as he was trying to find something on some sort of image board.

                                            >”That’s your own damn fault, it’s not like you train him, right?”

                                            >”I don’t got the app!”

                                            >Trevor got up from his seat to grab a beer.

                                            >”Whatever.”

                                            >Gilda took a long look at what was apparently supposed to be her drink. She gave it a rrlittle tap, before piercing the top of the can with her talon.

                                            >Seeing her handiwork, she takes a nice long swig.

                                            >Trevor opened his beer and made his way back over to the computer.

                                            >”To answer your question, I was staring at this BEAUTIFUL ass on the internet. God damn, this ass is most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. It’s so fucking sexy. Man, just the thought of it makes me want to-”

                                            >”Alright, alright! Shit man, I get the picture. Get to the point.”

                                            >”DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

                                            >”Aight man, chill!”

                                            >Gilda took a large drink of her beer and made her way over to Trevor. She glanced at the computer screen, and almost spit her beer out at what she saw.

                                            >”Is that bucking Celestia?!”

                                            >”...What the hell is a Celestia?”

                                            >Franklin joined the two over by the computer.

                                            >”...Is that a cartoon horse’s ass?”

                                            >Franklin, still staring wide-eyed at the screen finally broke the silence that had befallen the three.

                                            >”So… you gonna tell me just how she got here, or are you keepin’ me in the dark?”

                                            >”Hmm… oh yeah… so I was staring at this perfect piece of ass right here, and I read this text right next to it. I wanted Sunbutt here, but after I kicked the guy’s ass, he gave me the feathered cunt here.”

                                            >”Bite me, monkey!”

                                            >The black man looked closer and scanned through the text.

                                            >”Huh… option one seems pretty lame…”

                                            >”That’s what I said.”

                                            >Franklin continued reading through the thread intro.

                                            >”Gotta say, having your own little homie pony seems pretty chill.”

                                            >Gilda perked up at the mention of that.

                                            >”Oh, so I’m his “homie” now? What next?”

                                            >”Well dog, looks like you supposed to fall for this crazy mothafucka.”

                                            >Both Gilda and Trevor gave him some very shocked stares, until Gilda switched from shock to complete and utter fury.

                                            >The enraged gryphon was just about to reply, when a sudden puff of smoke cut her off.

                                            >”So, you’ve chosen- oh God damnit!”

                                            >The trio turned around to see the titular greasy neckbeard bastard standing behind them, still beaten and bruised from when Trevor opened a can of whoopass on him.

                                            >A twisted grin spread across the maniac’s face.

                                            >”Hey, the baby came back. You here for round two, buttercup?”

                                            >The man dropped the sack he was holding, and another sack rose pretty quickly.

                                            >”Fuck this, I’m out. Goodbye, you weird-ass freak, and take your stupid pony.”

                                            >With a flash, he was gone.

                                            >While Gilda and Franklin were transfixed at the sudden pop-in-out of the mysterious stranger and the bag, Trevor removed his phone from his pocket.

                                            >He took a snapshot of the white pony’s flank, and got up out of the chair, giving Franklin a ‘reassuring’ pat.

                                            >”Hey, I’m leaving you with that shit, already have one big-ass chicken dinner on my plate. Good luck.”

                                            >”Man, fuck you.”

                                            >Gilda reluctantly followed behind Trevor’s gait.

                                            >”Yeah, what he said. Thanks for the booze, uuh….”

                                            >”Franklin, and you welcome. More than I’m gonna get from him.”

                                            >The gryphon shrugged and continued on her way.

                                            >She followed Trevor out of the house and let the door close behind her.


                                            >Upon hearing the door close, Franklin let out a groan and turned back to the sack.

                                            >”You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…”

                                            >The three bit gangster took a few steps towards the object laying on his floor.

                                            >”Might as well check out this dumbass bag.”

                                            >He grabbed a nearby knife and knelt beside the sack.

                                            >Placing the blade against the rope, he began to cut away at it.

                                            >It didn’t take much effort to cut away at the ropes, and soon enough, the top of the bag was free.

                                            >Franklin pulled the top wider, and looked inside.

                                            >”Goddamn…”

                                            >Inside the sack was an orange pony with a blonde mane a bit muffed, slumbering peacefully.

                                            >She was a bit dirty around the hooves, and had a bit of a musky scent like she had been sweating recently, but otherwise clean.

                                            >The odd tattoo on her flank was also a bit of an eyecatcher, three apples seemingly plastered on her fur.

                                            >Franklin gave her a quick once over and noticed a nasty bump on top of her head, like she was whacked over the head by a blunt object.

                                            >”Looks like you got a bit fucked up, lil’ homie.”

                                            >He thought for a moment, before picking the pony out of the bag and setting it on his couch.

                                            >At a loss for what to do now, Franklin grabbed an unopened can of beer, opened it, and sat on the couch opposite the unconscious creature.

                                            >He heavily regretted actually reading through that. What the fuck was he thinking? He had enough trouble with Chop, let alone a horse!

                                            >What the hell would a horse even eat? Better yet, how would he even know if this creature’s diet was the same as our horses?

                                            >His thoughts were stopped dead in their tracks as he heard something moving on the couch across from him.

                                            >She was stirring, starting to yawn and stretch.

                                            >”Aw shit, wakin’ up already, huh?”

                                            >Her ears perked up at the sound of Franklin’s voice, shooting her head towards the source.

                                            >”Wha… W-Where am I? Where did ya’ll take me!?”

                                            >She did not sound happy.

                                            >The orange mare glowered at the tall, dark figure sitting across from her, already standing in an offensive position and getting dirt on his couch.

                                            >When Franklin hesitated the slightest bit, the orange pony darted off of the couch, running off with impressive speed as she scanned for the nearest exit.

                                            >Failing to find an exit, she turned back towards the black man, glaring at him as she rebounded on his position, sticking a dirty hoof in his face.

                                            >”Ah ain’t gonna be some kidnapee, you hear me!? Tell me how ta get outta here!”

                                            >Franklin threw up his hands defensively.

                                            >”Woah! Chill lil’ homie. I didn’t kidnap you. Only idiots like Lamar do that shit.”

                                            >The small equine squinted her eyes, glossing over the name she didn’t know.

                                            >”Oh yeah? Then why are you the only one here, and why do I have a huge lump on mah noggin that’s throbbin’?”

                                            >”Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know. Some dude just dropped you off in a fuckin’ sack. I don’t got a reason to fuck with you.”

                                            >”Prove it! How do ah know yer not lyin’, now?”

                                            >”I can’t prove shit, man. It’s not like I got nothin’ to show I’m innocent. I HAD people who could back me up on this, but they decided to duck out and leave me hangin’.”

                                            >The distrustful mare kept her intense gaze on Franklin for a long time, initiating a rather awkward silence with the latter shifting uncomfortably.

                                            >Finally, after a long bout of what seemed to be thinking, her ears fell, and so did her eyes.

                                            >”...Yer tellin’ the truth, ah can tell. Uh… Sorry about that little outburst ah had.”

                                            >Franklin just shrugged it off, having dealt with a lot crazier things… and people, than that.

                                            >”Here, take this.”

                                            >He shoved the extra beer on the table next to her, and she gave it a quick glance.

                                            >”Dunno if you drink, but It’s cold. Might help with that shitty lookin’ knot on yo head.”

                                            >She rose a hoof to lightly prod the injury to see how bad it was, but then she started patting her head all over.

                                            >For a moment, she looked rather distressed, but whatever she had thought passed, and she balanced the can on her hoof, holding it up on her head.

                                            >”So uuh, what’s yer name, partner? It’s the least ah could ask after bein’ so rude, after all.”

                                            >With the situation properly defused, Franklin relaxed again, putting his feet up as he took a quick sip of his beer.

                                            >”Name’s Franklin. You?”

                                            >”Applejack.”

                                            >He couldn’t contain the quick chuckle that escaped his mouth.

                                            >Applejack squints her eyes at this sound that crossed her ears.

                                            >”Hey, what’s so funny?”

                                            >”Shit, nothing dog. Just you got a funny name.”

                                            >”Ah don’ get it, what’s so funny about Applejack? Ah think it describes me pretty well. Ah mean, what does ‘Franklin’ describe about you?”

                                            >”Fucked if I know, it just sounded nice to my mom, I guess.”

                                            >Applejack sets herself down to be a little more comfortable, but she was still eyeing him.

                                            >”Ya got a bit of a mouth on you, huh? Also, ah still don’ know where ah am.”

                                            >”Well, you in Los Santos, and this is my crib. But where you from?”

                                            >Applejack parted her lips as she was just about ready to speak, but all of a sudden there was an impatient knock on the door.

                                            >”Shit… I wonder who that could be. Give me a sec.”

                                            >The mare nodded in acknowledgement as Franklin rose from the couch.

                                            >He quickly made his way to the front door and looked through the peep hole to see who it was.

                                            >Upon recognizing the person on the other side of the door, he twisted the knob and pulled it back.

                                            >”Lamar, the hell are you doin’ here?”

                                            >”WHAT’S HAPPENIN’ NIGGA?”

                                            >Lamar attempted to invite himself in, but Franklin held the door steady.

                                            >”Lots of shit, homie. I ain’t got no time to do some hoodrat shit.”

                                            >The dense hoodlum managed to squeeze past Franklin, entering his home.

                                            >”Nigga who said I was here fo’ that? Two homies can’t just hang out any mo’? You been mo’ and mo’ like a shut in since you been playin’ around with them white boys.”

                                            >Franklin maneuvered his way into front of Lamar and stopped him from going any farther.

                                            >”Don’t blame me for the fact that every time I do something with you, we end up getting shot at or fucked over, nigga. Right now I go’ me some business to take care of, aight?”

                                            >It was at that point that Lamar looked like he had a stroke, slowly pushing Franklin out of the way, who looked where he was squinting at.

                                            >Applejack had come up behind the dark man at some point during the conversation.

                                            >”Ah hope ah’m not intrudin’ on nothin’, but ya’ll sounded like you were gettin’ a bit rough over here.”

                                            >Lamar’s face gained about two percent more white to it as his eyes bulged.

                                            >”Yo… am I trippin’ or somethin’?”


                                            >”I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

                                            >”You’re going to have to find a bigger dictionary, because i’ve heard that a million times already!”

                                            >Amanda waltzed away during her hissy fit she was throwing at her husband, to no avail.

                                            >With an exasperated sigh, Michael sat back down on the couch.

                                            >”I’m sure it’ll blow over; at least I didn’t kill anyone this time.”

                                            >The kids had left long before Amanda had been done with him, to god knows where.

                                            >Once again alone in the house, it was almost as lonely as when they left him before.

                                            >Michael picked up the remote and turned on the projector, starting to mindlessly flip through the channels.

                                            >All there was to watch were really brain melting programs.

                                            >Once he reached into the hundreds, he came across a quite… carnal movie playing.

                                            >”Damn. If I tried that with her she’d be calling the cops on me.”

                                            >After pressing the power button on the remote and throwing it down on the couch in frustration, Michael stood up, now sporting a new accessory for his shorts. ...Oh.

                                            >”...I, uh… Wonder what Trevor was looking at.”

                                            >A few testosterone-laden steps began taking him upstairs back into Jimmy’s room, his speed slowly accelerating as he reached the open laptop.

                                            >While Trevor can get off to pretty much anything that’s considered a fetish, his particular reaction when Michael had wanted to see for himself was intriguing, to say the least.

                                            >At least, that was the justification he went with in his mind as he started to raid his son’s computer to look for some raunchy picture on the internet.

                                            >”What am I doing…?”

                                            >You know you’ve sunk to a new low when you’re surfing the web for porn on a laptop you bought for your chronic masturbator son.

                                            >Porn his best friend was getting off to just moments ago, even.

                                            >Not to mention, there was a chance of it coming from a cartoon for little girls and possibly mentally unstable overweight men.

                                            >Man… where did he go so wrong?

                                            >But boy, did it feel right when he finally found that thread in the huge pile of tabs on the browser.

                                            >”Damn… Trevor wasn’t kidding…”

                                            >It felt so wrong, and yet, at the same time, like he’s found a lost treasure.

                                            >It was a fucking horse! This is borderline bestiality, not to mention it’s a cartoon.

                                            >However, this line of thought didn’t stop his pitched tent.

                                            >Michael rubbed his chin a little bit, shaking his head at the mere thought of sexual fantasies with a sun-branded equine, until he saw the text next to it.

                                            >”Wait, is this?... Options, what the hell?”

                                            >Curiosity getting the best of him, the middle-aged man began to read through the text.

                                            >”Option one… No, I couldn’t go to another world, I already got a family here… I’d rather be stuck with Amanda yelling at me for having an animal in the house. At least I’d have someone to talk to later…”

                                            >A nasty itch placed itself on Michael’s crotch, the constant rubbing probably being the culprit.

                                            >He went to scratch it as he pondered.

                                            >”I guess if Amanda’s being too much of a bitch, the words say that sex exists… Gah, no, it’s a horse! Am I seriously turning into a horsefucker!?”

                                            >Michael rubbed his face in stress at this hypothetical situation, still itching his junk.

                                            >In any case, he didn’t want to risk it, and before he started turning more and more into Trevor, he started to open another tab for traditional porn and unplugged the laptop to take it into his room.

                                            >That’s when a sound came from behind him.

                                            >”Having a bit of tr- OKAY WHAT THE FUCK.”

                                            >Michael flipped around with the laptop in one hand and another resting on the gun under his shirt.

                                            >”HEY, who the fuck are you? What are you doing in my house?!”

                                            >”I don’t know, it’s the second damn time I’ve been here! Do you know what happened to me the last time I was in this stupid place?”

                                            >Before Michael could even respond, the strange, beaten man threw his blood and cheeto-encrusted hands up in defeat, beginning a breakdown of epic proportions.

                                            “YOU KNOW WHAT?! FUCK IT! FUCK YOU! FUCK THIS ROOM! FUCK THAT BALDING SHITHEAD! FUCK THESE MOTHERFUCKING PONIES! ENJOY YOUR FUCKING RAINBOW HAIRED CUNT! YOU’RE JUST GOING TO FUCKING ADORE HER!”

                                            >And with that autistic show of rage, he delved into nonsensical ‘fucks’ and snapped his fingers, disappearing with a flash.

                                            >The only thing left behind in the spectacular light show was a worn down sack, similar to the one Trevor had in his hand when Gilda popped out of the room.

                                            >”Oh shit…”

                                            >Without changing the stunned silence and look of shock on his face, his hand moved on its own as it removed the phone from his pocket and started dialing the number of a certain psychopath.


                                            [Author's note: This isn't all of the story, but I'm not sure where the rest is, and it's also unfinished. Contact Trixieflap#6733 on discord for more information]