А я многое пропускаю. Потому что время ограничено, его не хватает даже на всё то, что мне действительно интересно.
You are Anonymous, and today was a calm, collective day.
The sun was shining, the open window let in a cool breeze in, and the temperature was just right.
With a nice book to read and a cup of tea to sip on, nothing could make this day any better.
A hard knock emits from the door, disrupting your reading.
Who would come to bother you at such a time.
As you open the door, your eyes open wide with excitement.
It was here! It was finally here!
The 55-Gallon drum of water-based lubricant has finally arrived!
You had ordered it about three months ago, but you didn&#39;t expect them to get here so early.
Grabbing the drum, you attempt to roll it into your home with no success.
The drum was too damn heavy to even budge.
How the fuck did they get it to your house?
Fuck it, no time for questions. It was only time to carry out your master plan.
Running inside the house, you grab a bucket and quickly return to the canister of grinding juice.
In swift, fluid motions, you begin to empty out some of the love making brew out to lighten the load.
The liquid begins to flow out into roads at the bottom your hill, covering the horrified ponies hooves as they walk by.
After about a hundred buckets or so of dumping, the canister was now light enough to tip over and roll.
Carefully, you place the barrel inside your home.
"Step one is complete. Now onto step two."
Putting on the homemade ghillie suit you pieced together using nothing but green streamers and crusty frosting from Pinkie&#39;s last party, you head off to Fluttershy&#39;s cottage.
You proceed to Solid Snake your way towards the pond when Fluttershy comes out of her cottage.
She&#39;s takes quick notice of you as you attempt to mimic a bush.
Slowly hovering in front of you, she gives you a look of concern.
"Um... Anon? What are you doing?"
You quickly grab her by the hoof and begin running towards the pond.
"THE MISSION HAS BEEN COMPROMISED!"
She lets out shrieks of terror as you carry her along.
Diving into pond, you let go of Fluttershy.
You grab two turtles, jump out of the pond and sprint off with them overhead as a confused Fluttershy watches in horror.
Back at your humble abode, you prepare several lines of twine and begin to strip naked as you place two hot pockets in the toaster oven.
You begin to bathe the turtles in the lubricant as they hide in their shells.
Taking the twine, you tie them to your feet and begin to dump buckets of the sweet love making nectar across your naked body.
After a difficult game of "hold the damn turtle in your hand without dropping it like a bar of soap in the tub", you place the two turtle in a bucket.
Opening the door was no easy task, and after many attempts you end up grabbing a pair of oven mitts to turn the cursed knob.
Running down to the road below, junk flailing in the wind, you begin to tie the two turtles onto your feet as the mares cover their children&#39;s eyes.
IT WAS TIME.
Time to fulfill your dreams of becoming a nudist figure skater!
Wistfully sliding through the streets, you make your way for the town square.
Ponies scream in horror which you mistake for cheers.
Pulling off spins and turns, you quickly gain the attention of the guards as ponies scream for help.
Public exposure was frown upon heavily in Ponyville and they would not have this happen.
A guard attempts to wrap his forelegs around you, but quickly slips off and bangs his head on the ground, rendering him unconscious.
A few more guards try to pull this off, only to fail.
After a few more tricks, you stop and bow to everyone before skating back home, leaving the pile of guards on the ground.
Then realization hits you. You can believe what you did.
YOU LEFT YOUR HOT POCKETS IN THE TOASTER OVEN!
With the speed of Kenyans, you slip and slide your way home.
"NO TIME FOR KNOBS!" you bellow as you bash the door down, causing it to explode into millions of splinters all across the room and yourself.
But there was no time for worrying about wounds. Hopefully you&#39;re not too late!
Opening the toaster oven, you look around for your oven mitts.
After a bit of searching through the debris from the broken door, you find them in the corner.
Reaching into the oven, you slide out the portable pizzas.
It was too late. They were burnt to a crisp.
Letting out a screech of agony, you weep for your fallen lunch.
Today was a day of dreams and fallen brethren.