>It's that time of the night again.
>Browsing /mlp/ for the last few hours. The usual schedule for a slightly overweight, 27 year old man like yourself.
>As you'd expect, all you see is shitposting and generals. Ugh. Shit pisses you off.
>You throw an empty water bottle at the screen in frustration. It bounces off with a *tink*, right back at your head with a *bon*.
>The 4k monitor tips backward, setting off a chain of events that rival fuckin' Armageddon. Aliens will tell their children the tale of how Earth was fucked the hell up, uninhabitable till the heat death of the universe, for generations to come. It is biblical.
>Actually, it just tips over the old glass Sprite bottle you have.
>Damn, you kind of wish Satan would rip the asshole of Earth with his candy-apple cock formed from the souls of the damned.
>Life was kind of boring for you, to be honest. You held a stable job; had a nice, comfortable house with expensive tech. It was all anyone your age could ask for.
>But you, however, weren't satisfied. You wanted more... something. Spice up life a little. You aren't quite sure.
>In your over exaggerated thoughts of absolute Armageddon, you find a thread with no title.
>Further investigation reveals it was *drum roooooooooooll*
>Another general. Fuck.
"I'm sick and tired of these motherfucking generals! If I see one more goddamn general..."
>After a breath, you calm down enough to read the post, which you unknowingly opened in a new tab in your pure, unadulterated rage.
>"You have 2 choices."
>Both generic as fuck choices, but you decide to pity the thread, against your better judgment.
>You post:
"Once I take a copius amount of pain medication from seeing another general, I'll pick option 2 1/2."
'Hah. Beat that faggots.'

>Once you finish stroking the dick of your own ego to make it rival Stonehenge in terms of erecting, you come to your senses.
"Ah, whatever." you say, and close the tab down.
'It's not worth staying up to the wee hours of the night just to tell them off about generals.' you think.
>It's time for you to go to bed though. But something catches your eye...
>"CelestiaxTwilight Extravaganza Part 5: The SunnyD Chronicles"
>After your state of unimaginable, unrelenting rage towards everything that had a resemblance to something tangible in your room, you hop into bed, and turn off the light.
>Comfy, check. Two pillows, check. Cat, check. Image of fat man in the window, check.
>Wait, what.
>You instantly look back to the window, but nothing is there. You do at least a triple-take. At least.
>Nothing seems to be the matter. In fact, all you end up making out is the tree near your window. Why you planted a tree there, you'll never know.

>*SLAM*
>The impact of the door with it's frame, also known as "slamming the door", causes your cat to jump backwards away from his food bowl.
>If you didn't know any better, you'd say the house would also implode from sheer force. But you know better. What are you, 5?
>Snarky narrator aside, you were pretty pissed off. Not only had you fell asleep at work, but you got yelled at by your boss for not getting the software prototype in early enough for the presentation.
>You like your boss, but damn can he be an ass. It's not your fault you were awake half the night worried about some albino fat man breaking into your house and making off with your 1,000$ computer and/or slitting your throat while you sleep.
>It's a good thing you worked hard most of the time, or else you'd have been fired.
>Heh, like he'd fire you though. He needed your programming for the company, and with 4 years experience you couldn't ask for a better guy.
>Except, maybe, one with more experience.
>You slump down into your couch, notes in hand.
"I need some goddamn cartoons."

>You still liked cartoons. Shit like Spongebob season 1-3, Steven Universe, and of course MLP. People might've thought you were a freak in 2010, but it seems like that shitstorm has calmed.
>Maybe.
>All the episodes of Spongebob airing right now are shit. You groan to yourself in disgust. Nickelodeon won't let it die.
>You, being the masochistic person you are, subject yourself to this show. You fall asleep halfway through one episode.
>You are having dreams of  pie, when you hear a loud knock at the door, making Thor feel threatened by the fierceness of said knock.\
>Lazy ass you decides to wait for a moment. You mute the TV in an attempt to fool them.
"Maybe they'll go away..."
>knockknockitsknuckles
>Nope. That won't work.
>Another groan, and you drag your ass off the couch, actually falling to the floor. Sleep really evaded you last night.
>Deciding not to look like a faggot to the pictures on the wall, you stand up and answer the door.
"Hello, what do you want?"
>He's dead, Jim. No one is there.
>A deliciously malevolent frown forms on your stubbly face. Turning around you begin to speak.
"One of these days I'm setting up a large ass raccoon trap with some fuckin' candy as bait. Those fucking kids will see their-"
>Faceplant. Onto hardwood. Pain.
"Son of a bitch!"

>You look to see what you've probably left in the floor again that made you trip, wiping the blood from your nose on your sleeve.
>Surprisingly, it's a box. One you didn't even remember putting there.
"Son of a BITCH! I swear if one of those damn kids is in here, I'll tell your goddamn parents! There will be retribution!"
>Silence. Not even the cat makes a noise, who is sleeping in his bed.
>Anger morphs into confusion at the box, and against your better judgment, you bring it over to the kitchen counter to open it.
>One knife slice later and it pops open. And inside is...
>A book. War and Peace. You didn't order this book. Hell, you barely read real books.
>It has a sticky note on the back. It reads, "Option 2 1/2. To Kayge"
>The fuck?
>You open the book, finding blank pages. A quick skim through proves this, all except for the first and last pages.
>Last reads Option 2 1/2, along with a signature line on page one, titled, "This Book Belongs To:"
>Man, these kids are real cryptic now.
>You stare at it for a minute, not sure what to do.
"I guess I could just keep it and use it for programming notes."
>Another moment to mull it over. You pull a pen out of a drawer, and start signing your name on the line.
>With a stereotypical poke of the pen, you finish the signature. Good, now back to sle-
>The book begins to glow. Really bright. Like hot damn, it's bright.
>You shield your eyes from the light, unable to make anything out in the room. A poof of... something resonates throughout the room.
"Who the hell is there, and why is this goddamn book going supernova!?"
>A shout, unable to be heard clearly from the whine the book is making, doesn't go unnoticed by you.
>As soon as the book starts glowing, it stops. But as you uncover your eyes, you find you only see black.
>Your body begins to succumb to a sudden exhaustion. The last words you are able to make out before falling asleep...
"Son of a bitch..."