TextDownload>he had the dream again. >in it, Warren sat atop a gold throne shaped like a huge toilet. >all around him were the Mane Six from My Little Pony. >plus a few of the other choice mares. >they were all dressed in sexy lingerie >Warren wore only a white satin trenchcoat, white fedora, and had a lacquered white samurai sword strapped to his side. >he was naked otherwise. his massive ten inch erection had a cheeseburger on the end of it, which he nibbled >he held a tankard in one hand, filled to the brim with rare Pepsi Blue >it was imported from Uzbekistan. no other country offered the sweet nectar of the gods except them and Burkina Faso >in Warren's other hand was an entire cooked chicken covered with Jack Daniels barbecue sauce, courtesy of Applebee's >two young girls in Japanese schoolgirl uniforms took turns annointing and scrubbing his ballsack and puckered anus, rubbed red from wearing the same sweatpants for too long. >"Bring me... Fallout 6!" Warren demanded. >"But sire," sobbed his stockly Italian manservant, "such a game does not exist yet!" >"THEN MAKE IT SO!" Warren screamed, doing his best Patrick Stewart impersonation, which ended up sounding like a drunken Scottish haggis-eater named Aichi. >"YES MY LORD!" the manservant cried, as he hurried off to beat the software programmers with a variety of whips, blunt objects and commemorative NASCAR plates. >"Reach all the way inside, Aiko. That's it... pull those clumps out. Now moisturize my waste disposal chamber with your tongue. Fluttershy, come here and put your mouth on daddy's..." >*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ* >Lord Warren Q. Walrustitty III, pHd. slowly opened his eyes, crusty with yellow junk. >his roommate, a big black guy named Leroy Lattimore Pimpalicious Seabreeze Asphalt Subaru, slowly climbed down from the top bunk of their bed. >They had come to an understanding a long time ago. Warren avoided speaking to Chuck and bathed regularly, and Leroy agreed to not rape him. >Warren had served just over two years of his four-year sentence. Today was his parole meeting. >"Wish me luck, good sir, for I seek to alleviate myself of the constraints of this oubliette!" >"Man, shut the fuck up. I gotta serve another five before I get parolled. I don't wanna hear none of your bullshit." >Warren nodded in understanding. But perhaps once he was out he could make arrangements for Leroy to be released early. It would be advantageous to have a big black bodyguard. >Warren, despite spending two years in prison for Fluffyshy rape, fluffy pony killing and cutting the tag off a mattress, was a reasonably wealthy man. >his parents had invested in a few stocks when he was a child. coca cola, microsoft, international house of stoats, hasbio, space x, and bob's foal smoothies. >when his parents died of congenital ass failure, Warren inherited their home and investments. >living on a diet almost exclusively consisting of Big Gulps, Applebee's appetizers and Tastykakes, and because he only changed his clothes once a month, Warren had a pretty tidy sum gathering interest. >and it was that tidy sum that he would use to RULE THE WORLD. >no, that's just silly. who'd want to rule the world? you know what the upkeep is on a whole planet? >Warren had another dream. a sexy, stickier dream. a dream of owning a fluffy pony adoption center, breeding facility and Snuggie showroom. >he just had to get out of this accursed prison in which he had been so rudely incarcerated. >all over the love of a beautiful fluffyshy. >and the subsquent rape and rectal damage to it. >it wasn't even really his fault. the Fluffyshy probably would have survived penetration by his two inch love mushroom if not for her festering ass cancer. >feeling naked without his trenchcoat and imported fedora (handmade from only the best of materials in Luxemborg and lower Kyrgyzstan) Warren waddled to the room where he would meet with the parole board. >even after two years, he had only managed to lose fifty pounds. it was as if his fat cells could multiply exponentially >well, that and he would trade cigarettes for the other prisoners' desserts. >carefully combing his neckbeard, Warren entered the room and sat down in a hard wooden chair. its joints cried under the bulk of the fluffy molester. >"Mister Walrustitty..." >"Lord, actually..." >the middle-aged accountant type running the parole looked over his wire-rimmed glasses at the fat load in front of him. >"MISTER Walrustitty." >defeated, Warren simply hung his head. these plebs neither used nor respected his title that he had purchased along with a 1 x 1 square of land in Northern Scotland. >they probably wouldn't recognize his doctorate in parapsychology from Guam, either. >his next title would be OBE - Order of the British Empire. he had started a letter-writing campaign to the queen months ago to get the ball rolling. perhaps a modest bribe of a few thousand pounds british sterling? >or maybe a nice mink-covered dildo. he had heard the queen was into stuff like that. >perhaps another gift or two of Applebee's Shrimp Bangers and perhaps a nice hat would grease the queen enough to consider him for the knightship. >but more important matters were at hand. >"Mister Walrustitty, do you believe you are rehabilitated? >"Yes, good sir. I was confused at the time but I'm much better now. And I stopped snorting Pepto Bismol, Carfentanil and Ready Whip snooters." >"Very well, we grant your early parole, but under the following conditions: register as a sex offender, do not leave the state without permission from your parole officer, and you are not to own any fluffy ponies." >Warren's jaw dropped, but he didn't dare argue. he was so close to freedom he could taste it. >"If I may, good sir..." >"The fluffy pony thing is non-negotiable." >"No, no, that's fine..." (it wasn't) "I would just inquire how long I am on probation?" >"Oh, I'm sorry. Eighteen months." >"And after that..." >"You can do whatever you want. But rest-assured, if you're arrested or break any of the rules I have laid out, you're going to finish your last two years here." >"Not a problem, my liege." >"Don't call me that." >Warren tipped an imaginary hat and returned to his cell, humming a happy tune. (from the best of Pit Bull and Hasselhoff, Volume 4) >"How'd it go, you chubby shit?" >"My friend..." >"We ain't friends, homie." >"I am going home." >"Good. Mothafuckin cell won't smell like fish sticks and ass any more." >"I shall miss you, too, o pancho to my quixote... harley to my joker... subway to my walmart..." >"Eat a dick, nigga." >the next day, bright and early, Warren stepped up to the prisoner property window. >"Good morrow, sir! I have come for my belongings!" >the guard rolled his eyes and stepped away, returning in a few minutes with a box. >"One pair stained sweatpants. One Rainbow Dash t-shirt (two sizes too small), one pair of Pinkie Pie boxer shorts - stained, one black leather belt, a lacquered hot pink samurai sword..." >"Careful with that... it's a genuine antique imported from Detroit..." >"AHEM. A stained black fedora, a lobster bib, a broken watch..." >"A Rolex. I only paid fifty dollars for it because it was water-logged. And smelled of barbecue sauce and lost dreams." >"A set of keys. A... moist... wallet with ID. I... what... HOW IS THIS STILL MOIST?!" >Warren ignored the question and continued putting on his ensemble. >"One sack of Farmer Bob's Korean-Style Peacock-Flavored Noodles, two sticks of gum, a McDorkles chocolate milkshake..." >"Still fresh!" Warren remarked. >"One container of Sriacha hot sauce, two condoms - "junior size", a vibrating egg, one sack of fluffy pony kibble, a dirty purple sock, a genuine Dennis Rodman brand cock ring (pre-pubescent size), and a can of Jolt Cola. Oh - and twenty three dollars and seventeen cents. Sign here." >Warren excitedly signed his name and collected his last few belongings. >Now would come the Ides of March! Hot, steaming, moist vengeance! REVENGE! >"Sir, you know you're saying all of that out loud, right?" >"Oh, I'm sorry. I got overexcited." >Warren collected his things and was led to the front gate of the prison. >a guard nodded to Warren as he stepped into the fresh air of freedom. >the obese parolee climbed into a waiting cab. "Home, James!" >"My name is not James, it is Rajneesh. And I do not know where home is being." >"Oh uh... 229 Fourth Street, Sacramento." >"Yes sir. (dumb whitey)" >first thing's first: get laid. >Warren had stopped by an ATM on the way to the address he was given. Having replenished his monetary stash, the lumbering neckbeard was prepared for some good loving. >he rang the doorbell of a fairly generic-looking building that had a small, simple sign: "Massage" >nervously shifting his bulk from one foot to the other, Warren smiled and tipped his hat at the attractive young Asian woman who answered the door. >"Um, yes... I have an eleven o'clock appointment. Urm... Pumpiikin sent me." >"Oh, hai. Yes, Pumpiikin is good customer. Please come in." >"I'm... new to this sort of thing... how do we...?" >"Sixty dollar house fee. Then speak to massage girl about extras. You want table shower?" >"Oh, I'm not sure..." >"smell like stale cheetos. Oh yah - you want table shower. NOW." >"Okay, whatever you say." >Warren was led to a small room where he disrobed and wrapped - barely - a towel around his waist. another attractive young Asian woman entered and led the portly ex-con to a shower room. >"Oh boy. This gonna take a while. miho! cancel all my afternoon appointment! and bring febreeze!" >"I did lose fifty pounds." >"Well that's good. But maybe lose fifty more, Joe." >for a half hour the petite Asian hosed down Warren, blasting his pale, flabby flesh and stained undercarriage with a hose and heavily scented soaps. a good buffing with a towel later, he was fresh and clean. >still fat, but at least clean. >the petite Asian gave Warren a quick massage, slapping scented lotion onto his armpits and nether regions. relaxed, refreshed... Warren requested "full service". >"Is five hundred okay?" >"Five hundred dollar?" >"Yes, here." >the hooker's standoffish attitude softened. okay, this guy had a neckbeard, he was still a hundred pounds overweight, but money talks. usually her clients only offered half as much. >he was kind of sweet, actually. although the samurai sword was a little much. >climbing atop Warren like she was scaling Mt. Fuji, the hooker quickly slapped a condom on his mighty two inch chubb and rode him. >one thing going for Warren: for a fat guy he had good sexual endurance. he actually lasted about fifteen minutes... three or four times what another John would last. >as Warren shot his vanilla milkshake-like love pudding, the hooker cleaned him up and helped him to get dressed. >"Good time, Joe. You come back anytime! Ask for Mildred." >"Mildred?" >having satisfied his manly desires, Warren took another taxi to a warehouse downtown. right on time, a sleezy-looking real estate agent met him in front of the building. >dressed in a red velvet leisure suit, the real estate agent, Paco, looked more like he was going to the disco rather than selling commercial property. >"hey, holmes! you warren?" >"si, mi amigo... que oro ess..." >"oh, you don't have to bother with that, I don't speak spanish. let's check the place out, yeah?" >"verily, my compadre!" >"yeah, you throwin' a lot of big words at me, and I don't like it. turn it down a notch, bendejo." >Warren and Paco entered the two-story building, its many windows caked with dirt. a few were broken out, resembling the teeth of a meth head. >"It's PERFECT!" squeed warren. already he was envisioning a counter, workspace, fluffy vet clinic, fluffy corrals... >"hey... hey, punta! wake up!" >"Apologies, my fine purveyor of tacos and assorted Mexican treats. I was lost in my own thoughts." >"Hey, man... I'm Puerto Rican, not Mexican, fucking racist." >"How much are you asking?" >"The owners are willing to let it go for 250 grand. Needs some cleaning, paint... a little toxic waste removal..." >"Very well. Bring the contract. Let's do this." >"Holy shit, really? Damn, bro, I'm hitting the strip club tonight!" >Warren barely heard the excited burbles of the real estate agent. He was already planning out the upgrades and repairs in his mind. >In a couple of months this would be the finest fluffy pony facility in the country. NAY - the WORLD. Uploader deathproofpony, November 29, 2019; 12:46 Tags author:deathproofpony fedora funnybox neckbeard rectum_damn_near_killed_em silly_silly_silly slapstick text walrustitty Source the butt Locked No Parent None Rating Questionable Comments November 29, 2019; 12:50 - Reply deathproofpony: So, two things: 1. This is a sequel to this story: <url>https://www.fluffybooru.com/post/view/37769</url> - there will be a third and final part, hopefully sooner than later 2. I've been lurking but haven't posted much for a while. My health took a bad turn over the summer and I've been working like Santa's elves to keep my business afloat. The computer field isn't what it used to be. But I'm always lurking. Like your creepy uncle in your closet while you sleep. With a jar of Nutella in one pocket and a purple dildo in the other. December 1, 2019; 14:49 - Reply Anonymous1: quick question, how do you post text instead of images like you did in the booru? December 1, 2019; 16:37 - Reply deathproofpony: @Anonymous: I type it up in Notepad and post it as a .txt file. Word will work as well, but you get more formatting issues with it. December 2, 2019; 08:42 - Reply Jiggery_Niggery: @deathproofpony: Ah I see, thanks.