My own take on @BFM101 's story. I decided to make the morality a lot more clear-cut.
How it started:
Sylvester Hawthorne chortled as he watched the stone-faced police officers throwing a sobbing family out of their apartment in the slum he owned.
“You son of a bitch, we paid the rent! I handed you the check myself!”
Sylvester put the smuggest look on his face he could.
“Why Mr. Guerra, I can’t believe you’d lie like that. Then again, your kind is known for being dishonest and lazy.”
“You racist piece of shit!”
One of Sylvester 's movers walked up to him and put a pregnant fluffy in front of him.
“We found this in there as well.”
“No, don’t hurt her!” yelled Marco Guerra, the child of the family.
Sylvester raised his foot and stomped on the mare, laughing the whole time. He then got into his expensive car and sped off, purposefully spraying the Guerras with water from the side of the street. As he drove off Sylvester patted his pocket where the check the Guerras had given him for their rent was. Sure they’d paid, but now he got to keep the money, evict them, and charge more from the next family to move in.
Marco frantically ran to the family pet, but it was too late. She was dead and so were all her foals. All of them except one.
A green alicorn with a yellow mane, chirping faintly.
…
Years later:
“That’s right Loki, good job!”
Marco affectionately stroked the alicorn behind the ears as Loki giggled.
“Wub Daddeh, wub hewping!”
“You’ve got such good aim too! Now let’s get you a big serving of spaghetti and then we’re going to pay a visit to the man who killed your mother.”
“YAY! Wub webenge!”
…
Hours later:
Sylvester Hawthorne was enjoying his afternoon brandy while watching Fox News when he heard his doorbell ring.
Growling about being forced to get up and answer his own door (he’d fired his doorman for taking a day off to take care of his sick wife) Sylvester opened it to find himself face to face with a young man who he assumed must be Mexican.
“Get off my property, you dirty (racial slur)!”
The young man’s smile didn’t leave his face.
“Afternoon Sir, my name is Marco Guerra, I’m going around the neighborhood offering car washes for anyone who hasn’t been able to find the time to in this summer heat. Would you be interested in my services today at all Sir?”
Sylvester (who didn’t recognize Marco from all those years ago due to him being just a kid then and how many lives he’d ruined) considered calling the police and telling them Marco had threatened him, but decided it wasn’t worth the bother.
“Certainly not, BOY. That car is worth more than you and your entire goddamn family, like Hell I’ll let you touch it with your filthy hands.”
“There’s no need for such rudeness. I assure you I can handle any color or metal, I’ve got tools for-”
“I said NO! Now get out before I call the police!”
Sylvester slammed the door in Marco’s face, then clutched his chest as his heart started hurting. Sylvester had been told by the doctor he’d gone to that he needed to stop drinking and take better care of himself, but then Sylvester had found out the doctor was Jewish and disregarded his advice entirely because bigotry is inevitably self-destructive.
As he walked back to his study Sylvester reflected on his past. He’d started out as a simple millionaire’s son, then through hard work (by other people), his daddy’s money, numerous covered up sexual harassment complaints, investing in horrifically abusive industries, and breaking numerous laws he’d risen to become a multimillionaire.
He’d EARNED his money, unlike those dirty foreigners who came here with nothing and expected to receive fair wages and benefits for their work. If born citizens didn’t get them (in large part thanks to people like Sylvester) then why should immigrants?
And Sylvester had spent a great deal of that money on his car. It was his pride and joy, he loved it more than any person except himself. One time Sylvester had seen a poor person looking at it and beaten him with his cane.
Taking a gulp of his brandy, Sylvester sat back down in his chair covered in leather taken from now-extinct species and readied himself for a nice relaxing day of doing absolutely nothing while making tons of money regardless.
He might even treat himself and have his cook prepare a steak from one of the many endangered animals he’d illegally hunted during his recent trip to Africa (Sylvester didn’t bother remembering which African country).
Then Sylvester heard high-pitched shouting coming through his window. Sylvester looked out of it, hoping it wasn’t one of his neighbor’s brats. He’d hoped they’d learned after he’d threatened to have their parents deported.
Instead he saw a wet, viscous, brown substance trickling down his driveway towards his front gate.
Sylvester reached speeds he hadn’t since the time the IRS had tried taxing him as he ran for his front door. He burst out his front door and nearly slipped in liquid shit as he beheld his worst nightmare since the time he’d dreamed about a trans person existing happily.
His car, his beloved automobile, was drenched in shit. Wet, sticky, lumpy, shit. There was barely an inch of the marbled black coating that wasn’t smothered in shit, from the black-mirror of the sunroof to the shining silver of the four hubcaps. The car was more shit than metal. Even the miniature Confederate and Swastika flags hanging from poles on the front had been covered.
And trotting around the car, shit still dribbling from his anus, was the green alicorn with a yellow mane who’d done it.
“Take DAT! Dummeh vwoom-munstah nu gunna hewp munstah humen wun way nu mowe! Take AWW DA SOWWY POOPIES! DIS AM FOW WOKI’S MUMMAH AND FOW DADDEH’S FAMIWY!”
Loki laughed as he sprayed the car with more shit.
Sylvester screamed with rage, charging at the fluffy. Loki saw him and managed to escape, dodging into the bushes out of his reach and then wriggling through the fence.
Loki looked over his shoulder and taunted his pursuer.
“Yu nu can catch Woki, munstah humen! Woki nu am hewpwess soon-mummah yu can stomp on!”
Marco Guerra strolled through the front gate.
“I heard the ruckus, whatever is the matter my good Sir?”
Sylvester balled his hands into fists.
“You dirty, filthy (stream of racist expletives)! Get out!”
“I could be persuaded to wash your car, although the price would be steep given it’s…condition.”
“Boy, you best get out of here before I call the police. Go back to Taco Bell or whatever shithole country you people come from.”
…
A week later:
Sylvester had gotten his car cleaned. For free, since he’d threatened to sue the luxury car wash service if they charged him but missed any shit.
Sure his definition of a ‘proper’ cleaning required products that produced more pollution for a single use than the average human did in a year, but it was worth it and Sylvester did not give a shit about future generations unless he thought they’d be bad. It was why he’d voted for candidates who were in favor of sterilizing people he didn’t like.
As Sylvester surveyed his once again clean car he heard a whistle from behind him. It was Marco.
“Impressive, it looks the same as it did before.”
Sylvester growled under his breath, then turned.
“And I didn’t need your substandard services, you lazy (racial slur). It’s as clean as it was last week.”
“I meant it looks the same as it did all those years ago. When you stole my family’s money and threw us out on the street.”
Sylvester barked out a laugh.
“I’ve done that to tons of families, why should I remember your family in particular. Hell, I’d evict people if I was in a bad mood.”
“You also stomped a pregnant fluffy to death. My family’s pet fluffy. Only one foal survived. He’s standing behind you by the way.”
Sylvester whirled around just in time for-
“HABE SOWWY-POOPIES!”
-his car to once again be blasted with fluffy shit. Sylvester put his hands over his mouth in horror.
Marco walked up to him.
“You know, I could extort you. Tell you that unless you paid me this would happen every week. I’ll fully admit I could use the cash. But I’m not like you. Loki is going to do this every week no matter what you do.”
“I…I’ll call the police!”
“I’ll be gone by the time they arrive. And your neighbors will claim they never saw me. You really shouldn’t have hit their kid. You’re not going to be able to watch your car at all times-”
“MOWE SOWWY-POOPIES!”
“-and Loki’s going to be able to slip in any time he wants.”
Marco turned and began walking away. Loki trotted after him.
Sylvester pulled his phone out. He’d call the police anyway, they could falsify evidence if need be.
Loki looked back over his shoulder.
“Munstah humen’s next wowdies am going tu be ‘AWGH! HEAWT-HUWTIES!’”
As he dialed 911 Sylvester’s long-neglected (both literally and metaphorically) heart finally gave out.
“ARGH! MY HEART HURTS!”
An ambulance managed to reach Sylvester in time, but after realizing the paramedic trying to help him was Jewish Sylvester tried to fight him off and died.
…
Later:
“I just want to say I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Hawthorne.” Sylvester’s lawyer said.
“Don’t be, my father was a racist piece of shit and I’m glad he’s dead,” Agatha said.
“Join the club!” a man shouted from outside the room.
“Get the fuck back to the den, Josef!” Agatha called out to him. Then she turned back to the lawyer.
“I’ve already figured out what I’m doing with the cash. There’s more than enough to live on, so I’m using the rest to pay off medical debt for the impoverished and build affordable housing,”
“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not going to miss your father,” the lawyer said. “Luckily he fired me after finding out I was Jewish and so I never changed his will to cut you out of it. Congratulations, Ms. Hawthorne.”
“Actually it’s Mrs. Guerra. I got married a few days ago. Oh Husband of Mine, come on in!”
A man walked into the room and extended his hand.
“Hi, I’m Marco Guerra. A pleasure to meet you.”
A green and yellow alicorn trotted in behind him.
“Hewwo! Be nyu fwiend fow Woki?”
…
Later:
Ricky Guerra and Josef Mongola were walking down the street.
“Look, my cousin’s a total hugboxer and he used some of the cash to build a fluffy shelter. I figure we make use of my ‘family discount’ and have ourselves some fun for the evening.”
Then they saw the poster on the front door.
It was posters of them with the words “Banned for life” written on them.
Josef shrugged.
“Fair enough.”
Then a morbidly obese light blue pegasus foal trotted up behind them.
“Dummeh humens! Gib sketti nao!”
Josef and Ricky grinned and reached towards him.
thats karma for him.
