The Brony's Tale Analysis

Prologue to The Brony's Tale 
This brony of colorful proportions, was portly in stature. A sloth to be sure, he referred to his long greasy hair as "his mane." His mane, as he referred to it was rainbow in color; the grease shining in the light of day. He was a man-child of all sorts, unable to manage himself, and always reliant on his partner, who never left his side. The Brony never worked a day in his life, and still Resided in the basement of his mother. He kept a book filled with sinful pictures and ponies. Never, Was there a human more slimy and slick with sweat. As we walked along the path to Canterbury he exclaimed, “I have tale for you all,” as he rudely interrupted the missionary’s tale, “It is my turn now.” 
“I am sorry, but you

simply must wait. I am almost done,” exclaimed the disgusted missionary. 
“You do not understand, I wish to tell you a story, so I will,” replied the rude Brony. 
“Please wait your turn.” 
“Nah, my story is going to be better anyway” 
The Brony’s Tale 
Never has there ever been a woman 
More skilled at the jobs of a man. 
This girl who’s name was beth, 
Simply had no fear of death. 
Instead she longed to leave house, 
To pick fights and hunt some grouse. 
So skilled and fearless was she 
She left the house with objects three 
A flagon for her Mead and ale, an infallible compass, 
And some pepper spray for the men who try to look at her ass.

Although she had no aversion, 
To beating up slimy and cowardly virgins, 
It was simply easier to spray and flee. 
It was this that she did with glee, 
When she felt the gaze of an elderly scholar, 
Who quickly gave a hoot and  holler. 
She knew what might happen if she missed, 
It was certain that he’d be pissed. 
She ran up to him with devilish intention, 
When she caught his eye and was instantly turned on. 
She quickly lost all thoughts of grouse and the wicked nature of men, 
All she simply desired was to be his hen. 
Quickly adjusting her busty chest, 
She said a few words and then let her body do the rest. 
The priest being as pure as he could be, simply wouldn’t do it 
“You’re not like the other’s,” she said, “I quit.“ 
“I’ll never again be a fiend to men, if you do me one favor,” 
“Will you be my savior.” 
Falling down on one knee 
And pulling out her objects three. 
“I’ve never met a better guy, 
To love me and get high.” 
“Will you marry Me?” 
“I realize how delightful you might be, 
But I’m a preist.” he replied 
She fell down and cried. 
And so it was that she had failed, 
Had she looked at her compass she would’ve

sailed 
Far away from the on coming mob. 
Instead she continued to sob. 
The men of the town who she had bullied 
Wanted to leave her beaten and bloodied 
However it was not to be 
For the priest warned, “God will smite thee.” 
“Take her to court for all her infractions, 
She will surely rot without compassion.” 
Although her outside was nice to behold, 
Her way of life was another story to be told.