>"Now listen here Anon, you sum of a bitch, you think you can just get my daughter pregnant and walk away, hell no"
>"Now the way I see it you got two choices, A: You can spend the rest of your life with my daughter and no one else, helping raise my granddaughter or B: You can spend the last few moments of your life looking down the barrel of my shotgun"
>"So what's it gonna be?"
>How do you know it's a granddaughter it could be a grandson for all you know. Second you don't have hands in order to use said shotgun. Third I was planning on marrying Rarity anyway I just can't figure out the right time to tell her. And lastly The only people I take orders from is Rarity and Tom Selleck, You may have the Stashe but you aren't Tom Selleck.
>You reach behind you and pull your zombiekiller™ throwing axe out of its sheath
>you quickly cuck it at his face with a loud reee
>he tires to duck
>unbeknowst to him you weren't aiming for his face
>axe hist the ground between his front hooves
>he smirks at you
>"you cant even throw like a real man, anon"
>you smirk back
>axe bounces off the ground, twirls clockwise on the way up and the axe connects
>he looks at you in shock and then down at his nethers
"No Balls!" >you say
>he falls over in pain
>victory teabag time
"Mag, you're drunk."
>"No I'm not!"
"Yeah, you are. We've done this bi weekly for the past two years."
"Yeah huh. Your grand kid is going on three. Look, here's a picture of you and her at Breezie World."
>"... Who the fuck is that?"
"You and my kid."
>"... Oh. WAIT! Then why were you leaving, huh?!"
"We're out of milk!"
>"Nuh uh! Mares make milk!"
"Okay, I'm calling your wife to pick you up. Just stay here."
>"WHERE YOU GOING?!"
"So what you're saying is you want me to relentlessly plow your younger, much hotter daughter every night; just keep pumping her every orifice filled to the brim with my seed until it's the only taste, smell and feeling she knows; to reduce her to a quivering, over-stimulated, damn-near euphoric mess on a daily basis; to make it so she can't even preform simple chores out of the house without ponies noticing the trail of my semen oozing out of her over-used, bruised and abused mare-hood; is that what you're telling me?"