Again it is time for our popular series “things Venom, that dork, has botched up because he hasn’t got the first idea of what he is scribbling down”.
I didn’t recognise the steep glade, but deduced that I was south-west of the camp, yet still east of the river.
is changed into:
I didn’t recognise the steep glen, but deduced that I was south-west of the camp, yet still east of the river.
I changed this quite shortly after uploading the chapter, so most of you have read the altered version. “Glade” had indeed been the word of choice originally, but “glen” created the better picture, so I decided to swap the terms. I simply forgot it till after the publishing, though. Continue reading
… Goes Unpunished
“Since today all of you are in their third week here,” Kandrin stated correctly during the little fall-in the next morning. From Eleven up to me, it was day 15. The others of my group have had a one day head start.
“As stressed various times in the past, bearing is crucial for a ponygirl. Every move and every pose are to be inherently sublime. After two weeks a certain grip on basic techniques as well as personal engagement to constantly better yourselves is expected. Therefore poor executions will not be tolerated anymore.”
Our group leader chose not to enlighten us when such things had ever been tolerated. Continue reading
it is with a heavy heart that I announce yesterday’s Part Thirty-Six to be the last chapter of Pony Boot Camp. This wasn’t an easy decision to make, but I came to understand that it was the right one. For some time now those in the know have been aware that ponygirls are an endangered species, and lately several large Internet platforms – including WordPress – have drawn the consequences from this sad fact. In accordance with a code of ethics enunciated by the animal rights organisation PETA (http://www.peta.org/coe/savethepony) all portrayals of abuse and mistreatment of ponygirls are to be removed from the participating sites. Of course I will follow this appeal, and furthermore will refrain from creating and providing any controversial material. I am sure you, the readers, will support this important mission.
Take care, and Power to the Ponies!
No Good Deed…
Waking up was cruel. I had received just enough sleep for my maltreated body to be teased into false repose. A drop of water whilst I was parched. Easing myself out of my bunk woke up all my pains as well. Some dull and throbbing as they were gnawing at my muscles, others playing with razor blades in my still fresh wounds.
The two and a half or so hours of sleep turned out to be a torment in disguise. Better to spare oneself the agony of awakening. One has to suffer through a day of woe anyway. In my more battle-hardened days I would party into my birthday, celebrate through my birthday, and let my birthday end with some serious clubbing. Of course this would involve ridiculous amounts of high-octane alcohol as fuel – something not easy to come by here. Not that I was able to tell whether today was my birthday. In my current state I was lucky to guess the right year. Continue reading
As a proof that our favourite ponygirl Seventeen is alive and well (in a relative sense) I brought you a little sneak peek of “Pony Boot Camp – Part Thirty-Six”. But as mentioned in my last post it will take a while for the whole chapter to be published. Continue reading
The more frequent readers may have noticed that no new part of Pony Boot Camp has been posted since December 2016. The main reason for this can be found in the fact that I’ve set myself a deadline for Æquinoctium, namely the 20th March. It goes without saying that this story a) is not finished yet, and b) becomes overall bigger and bigger the more I write on it. Currently I expect the finished version to be around 12,000 words long (a normal PBC chapter has between 2,000 and 3,000, the latest one about 4,000). Continue reading
The Hour of the Horse
The turmoil that ripped me out of my sleep was absolute. Yelling and shouting everywhere. Infernal noise. The barrack lights going on and out again, as far as the neon tubes could cope. On and out. On and out. I hadn’t got the slightest idea of what was going on or how late or early it was. Men were storming in, kicking against the steel bed frames. They thundered stroke after stroke down on the startled occupants, literally whipping them out of their bunks. After another staccato the lamps stayed dark, but our nocturnal intruders keep switching their torches on and off, flashing in our faces, blinding us. From all directions came the eldritch crackling and white-blue arcs from spark sticks being set off in the air. Continue reading