Imps Be Shitting

The bitter taste of the columbian brew Delta sipped on reminded her of the events of the past week. She’d fallen hard for a buff lady bun she met at the gym, and fell even more when the said bun asked her out. The fucker cheated though, and Delta doesn’t do that shit. She gripped her cup and grumbled to herself, something about hoping the bitch got crabs. Whatever, the best part of it all was when she caught her, she swiped the money in said cheater’s purse. Retribution, Delta called it, that’s what it was.

On her way home, she mulled over her options for what to do with her newly acquired funds. She could send her ex an anonymous box with a dildo and a note that said “go fuck yourself,” but part of her knew she actually would… and who would that benefit exactly? Not Delta, that’s who. She decided on the cure-all remedy for heart ache: Phlegm and Hairy’s Ice Scream, the more calories, the better. The trip to get the ice scream cream was easy enough, but Delta felt like something was… watching… and sniffing… and following her every move. Instinctually, she thought of her ex, and even more pissed than before, she gripped her ice scream so hard her hooves burst through the cheap ass packaging.

She then ran, her breath ragged and her sweet snack shaking all the way. And after her, she heard a faint pitter patter getting ever closer with every step she took. Unbeknownst to her, a withered branch was in her path planning to fuck her day up even more. She tripped and got a mouth full of dirt. She kept her eyes closed as she heard the pitter patter get closer, closer, and… pass her? She got even more confused when she heard furious licking sounds, which also reminded her of her ex, but she looked up and saw none other than a random phloof lapping up her dirt covered ice scream. She was pissed at first, but then sighed and soon after started laughing hysterically. She picked the poor thing up and looked into its eyes. “Wanna watch Sex in Burrowgatory and eat ice scream until we pop?”

The phloof said nothing, made no movement, and didn’t even blink, but Delta took that as a yes. It was time to take home her new imp. It was not until the morning after when she found that it had shat in her designer handbag. “Are you fucking kidding me? This was a gift from-“

She remembered. It was a gift from her ex. So technically, it had done her a favor. With some degree of hesitation, she did throw out the handbag and decided to use the remaining money she had stolen for a nice designed collar for this rad ass street imp. When ordering the collar, she did come across a singular issue. The fuck was she gonna name this thing? She tried calling out different names to the phloof, but eventually, she gave up. “Fuck it, I’m fixing some breakfast.” The imp let out a cheerful miff and pitter pattered towards the kitchen.

For no reason other than having the braincell of a flea, Delta decided to name her imp Breakfast. The company she ordered her imp’s collar from even called her thrice upon receiving, fulfilling, and shipping the order: “Are you sure you want ‘Breakfast’ engraved on this tag?”

“Yes, stop fucking calling,” she would say, and hang up.

When the collar finally came in, Breakfast had plumped up some, but surprisingly the collar fit perfectly. And that same night, the imp slipped off the designer collar and shat on it as well. When Delta woke up, she cried harder than she did for her last break-up. It would take several more designer items before Delta would make the connection. Breakfast was lactose imp-tolerant.