His name is Ralph.
The world was mostly pink with touches of pastel. The little pink ponies could and did defecate everywhere and no one was the wiser since their feces looked like little piles of pastel colored marshmallows that blended in with the pink and blue speckled grass. Even the air smelled faintly like bubble gum which was, of course, the result of pink pony farts. This magical pony fart scented land was known far and wide as Yoggin.
The fauna of Yoggin consisted mostly of tiny pink ponies, lavender land sharks, and glittery anteaters. The land sharks and the anteaters mostly kept to themselves, alternating long tournaments of backgammon with failed attempts at climbing the pink pine fir trees, so the ponies were free to scamper about the earth as freely as they could please. The one restriction on their scampering was the unfortunate presence of giant monsters that lived solely off of the marshmallow flavored blood of the ponies. The monsters had insatiable appetites, and the ponies lived in mind numbing terror at being the next adorable horsey to go crunch between monster mandibles.
The ponies were no bigger than my grandmother’s Hummel figurines and ran around in petite herds, darting between the pink pine fir trees, pink ferns, and other pink vegetation much like pink schools of fish. It often seemed they moved as one creature, closely adhering to herd orders and ever mindful of the dreaded pink pony eater’s footstep. In Yoggin, the clouds are pink, the sky a lovely robin’s egg blue, the sun pastel yellow, and the gently rolling hills are speckled pastel blue and pink. The pink shrubs nestle their limbs against the trunks of the pink pine fir trees, and the ferns’ leaves tickle the snouts of the pink ponies as they prance along.
The river that gently flows in the valley of the soft hills is heavily polluted. A noxious stench rises from its toxic waters that the little pink ponies are drawn to. Despite the innumerable corpses littering the riverside, at least once a month each herd loses a pony or two to the insanity that comes over them when they smell the wretched scent. Just like the sirens of old, the smell lures them and then sucks them down into the putrid waters where their soft pink flesh is digested within minutes and their cute skeletons spat back out on the playful earth. The pink pony eaters monitor the river closely to try to catch the creatures as they are seduced to their death, which is why once the ponies leave the herd, they are left behind forever. It is too dangerous to try to rescue them with a lullaby whinny or a prancy dance.
For many years, the pink pony tribes lived in peace with one another and there was much happiness in the land, despite regular pony disappearances because of the monsters.But that all changed one summer when Billy the pink pony decided he wanted to go to music school. The next year, Yoggin lay in ruins.
To be continued….
Snotting black 
[…] or little pink pony or any adorable construction therein, no doubt you have found my snippet of a story called “The land of tiny pink ponies and tiny pink pony eaters.” In this story, the adorable, […]
I am shocked and in awe at the same time!
Also, it reminds me a little about the movie called MirrorMask?
Never heard of it. On the topic of people having similar ideas: I envy cavemen and cavewommen for their ability to have the first thoughts ever. But I don’t envy them because they never got to taste Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies.
You might want to check out the movie – if you fancy floating pictures on a screen. Perhaps you will find the colours and imagination being blunt compared to what seems to be going on within your mind on a regular basis?
Had to google the Cosmic Brownies – looks a bit like a mixture of self-inflicted heart-attack and prozac?
Sounds about right…I think I might do a post soon on the whole little debbie phenomenon. There’s a lot of good material there.
ha ha… a fairy tale story with a sprinkling of humor… 🙂
Those are the best kind.
Can’t wait for the next installment. It’s a perfect bedtime story for the tykes.
Oh they just eat it right up—it’s also ripe for merchandising.
Well, I must say that I was feeling kinda blue this evening… but now I’m feeling pink. But is this a good thing? Suddenly I feel somewhat apprehensive, and wish I could return back to my state of blueness – it’s the devil I know, instead of some unspeakable (but still bloggable) terror not yet known to me, but all too soon revealed in a pink haze of atomized eviscerated carnage!
AHHHHHHH—great last phrase “pink haze of atomized eviscerated carnage.” Well done good sir.
Thanks! Coming from you, I take that as high praise! 🙂
I bet your real life friends have learned not to ask you what you are thinking about.
Real life friends?
Ha! Take that, guy who said the last post was “banal minutiae.”
Yeah, guy!
Okay I have two this time…
1. Even the air smelled faintly like bubble gum which was, of course, the result of pink pony farts.
2. Just like the sirens of old, the smell lures them and then sucks them down into the putrid waters where their soft pink flesh is digested within minutes and their cute skeletons spat back out on the playful earth.
I also enjoy “lullaby whinny” and “prancy dance.”
We’ll have to learn the prancy dance when we’re both in Oklahoma again…it’s kind of vigorous but always a lot of fun.