Come now, diehard genwunners and tryhard genfourers. In the blazing saddle that is the heat death of your collective common senses, I alone sit cool enough to deliver upon you my boon of truth. The generational gap that divides the stocky, hardy build of original pones and their younger, more demure and lithe counterparts, is smaller than we think. Widened solely by the iron hoofbeat of Hasbrother, your flaccid minds have suffered too long, unenlightened, victims to propaganda of the most derivative sort. So, ponies. A handful of guys have lost the plot in their recognition of PSO (pony shaped objects) and have therefore been immediately jumping to discredit each other in either direction, but I think this handy chart irons shit right out. I've removed all the unnecessary wrinkles from both the timeline of evolution and your over-active brain. I've rendered my thoughts into something easily consumable and non-mealy, and helpfully excised the fat from my point with a blade so steadfast that they're calling me the next Hidetoshi Hasegawa. It's apples all the way down over here. Our genetic forebarers begin with the draft pony of generation one days. Mature, rotund, impossible to blow over with a stiff breeze, with eyes spaced apart to accommodate their prey instincts and strokes to the snout alike. They're more feral, untrained, wild. The canon of the show that contains them will implore you to consider them civilized (or worse yet, friends) but there's no denying that the heavyset builds of these fat little fuckers is purely an archaic trait. One, two, skip a few. The middle details don't matter because no guy ever has considered generation two anymore than a drastic oversight by the marketing department, which is to say, God. Generation two brought the stretched amalgamation of hate itself to the forefront, all small snouts and glittering eyes like a dog with a deviated septum and eye boogers. It was admirable, but a return to form occurred with generation three for a reason. Remember, evolution isn't always linear. Sometimes we try, play, frolick, and then revert for our own sake. Common fuckin' sense. Big ups to everyone involved for realizing that, yo. It sucked. Anyway. Evolution and retaining your juvenile traits for the sake of appeal, a masterclass in neotony and a saving grace for the fourth gen daughters born from the gaping wound between Hasbro's legs. Dogs do it, cats do it, salamanders do it, and ponies are no exception. Denote the eyes that consume approximately 25% of the pony's cavernous skull, and the ability for them to aim their pupils forward without so much biological belly aching. The smaller build, the thinner limbs, the kawaii way their hooves blend seamlessly from the stumps they walk on, like they're not even there. Clear improvements, clear symbiotic potential for soft-hearted dudebronies and weepy eyed pegasisters. The ideal genetic masterpiece, and yet. Unable to exist without its original context, the blueprint, the mother Eve and her first filly. Drop a like if you made it to the end and read all that nonsense.
This is the most remarkable first post I've ever seen.
I have no interest in doing shit halfway. Full send it, or put that shit back in the Easy Bake to cook until you're ready to be a man.
I love that.
if u think about it this is kinda like how they started givin pikachu lipo between consoles
Sure, except pikachu is a secular Pikachu in this circumstance. Pikachu slimming down on his full-time poffin snackin' until his obesity inevitably becomes a thing of the past. Loose skin like a goddamn yellow poncho on that guy, I heard Ash picks him up by the scruff and it's like a wad of pre-chewed gum. Generations of pony inbreeding has bottlenecked the population into something easily consumed. Pikachu remains imperial and alone.