From the http://patreon.com/Xinjinmeng (patreon)
Illustration by Caloriebomb and Xinjinmeng
Written by Xinjinmeng
Thanks to ApeShallNeverKillApe, Darkwulf, Mustoshi, and the Grass Mud Pony role-players
________________________
 
Clean Plate had been just an ordinary colt, if somewhat withdrawn and quiet. The other ponies were nice enough to him, but he wasn't much for playing.
 
It was one summer day when he was sitting in a field, lost in whatever thoughts that he had, quiet and still, when a butterfly landed on his nose.
 
He stared at it, with his big crossed eyes, watching it slowly flex its wings. Then, on impulse, he quickly snapped his head, pursed his lips, and sucked the wriggling thing into his mouth. It tasted terrible, and he gulped it down quickly.
 
As his cutie mark, a dinner plate, glowed into being on his rump, Clean Plate licked his lips. He decided that what he really wanted to do was see what this world had to offer ... for him to eat.
 
________________________
 
“What do you want to do?” asked Stickleback.
 
“I dunno.” Wild Whistle kept digging in the dirt with a stick.
 
“We could go throw rocks in the river,” said Skimmer, beaming.
 
Stickleback groaned. “We just got back from the river.”
 
Skimmer protested, “But there were more rocks to throw.”
 
Wild Whistle let out a sigh, then looked up. “Hey, look over there. It’s the weird colt, what’s-his-name. Clean Slate?”
 
“Clean Plate.” Stickleback wrinkled his nose. “And yeah, he is weird.”
 
Clean Plate was across the road, staring up into a tree’s branches, in that blank way that other ponies often remarked about.
 
Wild Whistle squinted. “What’s he staring at? I don’t see anything.”
 
Stickleback said, “I don’t know, his hopes and dreams. C’mon, I’m bored, and this colt creeps me out.”
 
Skimmer put a hoof to his mouth. “Oh my Celestia, there’s, like, the biggest bug ever. Look.”
Sure enough, there was a hairy purple spider, big as an apple, slowly moving along a tree branch. 
 
Wild Whistle whistled in a low note. “That is one big bug.”
 
Stickleback frowned. “What’s he doing under that thing?”
 
Skimmer added, “Maybe it’s his pet or something. I hear you can train bunnies or chickens or dragons to do tricks for you.”
 
Stickleback shoved Skimmer lightly. “Dragons aren’t pets.”
 
Wild Whistle stood up. “Should we be staring at him like this?”
 
Stickleback grunted. “Everypony stares at that colt all the time. He’s weird.”
 
Clean Plate was staring upwards, either at the spider or through it. He blinked very slowly, as if that took effort. He was seated on his haunches, which squashed what others would charitably call “baby fat.”
 
Wild Whistle whistled again. “That is weird.”
 
Skimmer grabbed Stickleback and shook him. “Oh my, oh dear, it’s moving. Can you see it moving?!”
 
Stickleback shrugged him off. “I can see it moving already, yeah.”
 
The spider had extended a thread, and it was slowly descending. Clean Plate was still watching, almost motionless, except for the pulsing in his throat when he swallowed.
 
The other three colts were mesmerized by this display, their eyes wide as saucers. There was a stillness in the air. 
 
The large spider descended lower. When it was just about to alight on Clean Plate’s snout, the colt reared up. With a slurping noise, he pulled the round thing into his mouth. Its legs flailed briefly before Clean Plate made another noise, and gulped the thing down.
 
“Oh my Celestia,” cried Skimmer.
 
Wild Whistle whistled a low note.
 
Stickleback put a hoof to his mouth and tried not to lose his lunch.
 
If Clean Plate had heard any of this, he made no sign of caring. He slowly stood up, quietly burped, and walked off.
 
Skimmer shook his head. “That is one weird colt.”
 
Stickleback winced. “Let’s never mention this again.”
 
Wild Whistle nodded. “Yeah.”
 
________________________
 
Sprawled on his back, Clean Plate lay on the examination table. All four legs were bent to the side, and eclipsing everything else was his belly. That gut was a soft oval mound, bigger than the rest of him, wobbling each time he took a breath. Sometimes it would let out a gurgle, digesting something. Clean Plate’s expression was the usual remote one, though he did have a hint of discomfort.
 
Doctor Horse held his stethoscope to the rotund stomach. His brows knit as he puzzled through the sounds. “I … wouldn’t say that he sounds abnormal.” He moved to another spot -- there was so much to examine, after all. Clean Plate’s hooves twitched each time the cold metal was placed on him again. Then his gut made a gurgle that was loud enough for everypony in the exam room to hear. 
 
The volume in his own ears made the poor doctor wince. “It’s just … a lot more than normal. He does seem healthy enough, for somepony of his … advanced weight. What did you say he’d been eating again?”
 
The parents spoke in unison, “Everything.”
 
The doctor made a skeptical look. “Can you narrow it down?”
 
The two started trading off.
 
“Oats.”
 
“Eggs.”
 
“Fruit.”
 
“Vegetables.”
 
“A five-pound bag of sugar.”
 
“The raspberries growing in the yard.”
 
“A ten-pound bag of sugar.”
 
“The mulberries growing in the yard.”
 
“The grease from the trap.”
 
“The hornet’s nest in the yard.”
 
“Everything in the vending machine in the lobby.”
 
“The plant in your waiting room.”
 
The doctor almost dropped his stethoscope. “I thought that was plastic.”
 
Clean Plate said, “Real. (urrrrrrp) ’Scuse me.”
 
“Hm.” The doctor rubbed his chin. “Well, this really is an unprecedented case. The first thing I’d suggest is that you watch his intake.”
 
The two parents gave him a thousand-yard stare. “We do,” they said blankly.
 
“Ahem, yes. I suppose he’s just got some kind of vitamin deficiency that makes him compulsively eat like this. I’ll prescribe … something, I guess. But you have to watch what he eats.”
 
All the color drained from Father’s face. Mother just started to sob. Father finally interjected: “Do … do we have to?”
 
The doctor was sympathetic, but firm. “Your son’s appetite is clearly not healthy, even if he is. If he keeps eating like this, the weight that he gains is eventually to cause complications. Or he’s going to eat something that disagrees with him.”
 
The doctor put a reassuring hoof on their shoulders. “Be there for your colt. With enough determination, we’ll find a way to make him healthy and happy.”
 
Mother was still sobbing when there was another gulp. “He just ate all your cotton balls.” Father just fainted.
 
Doctor Horse squinted. “Oh dear. This is a special case.”
 
________________________
 
Desperate to find some outlet for their growing colt, and to find a solution for his appetite, Clean Plate's parents fitted him with a feedbag. Ponies would see him slowly plodding through the streets, head down in his bag. His eyes would be half-closed in that sullen-looking stupor of his, as he chewed whatever mix that his parents had put in his diet that day, trying to curb his appetite. The way his belly swayed when he plodded along was a sign that it wasn’t working all that well.
 
________________________
 
Red Velvet was truly psyched. “This is going to be my year.”
 
Persimmon fluffed Red Velvet’s mane. “This is totally going to be your year. Eye of the tiger! Heart of the storm! Chicken soup for the soul!”
 
Red nodded. “I can do this. This is the year I’m going to win the contest.”
 
Persimmon squeezed her friend’s face. “Remember your training. First rule?”
 
“Pace yourself!”
 
“Second rule?”
 
“Remember to breathe!”
 
“Third rule?”
 
“It’s not getting it in you, it’s keeping it in you!”
 
Persimmon gave Red a good-natured slap. “That’s the stuff. The right stuff. You go, girl, and come back here a winner.”
 
Red Velvet held her head high as she walked up to the stage, to take her position at Table #2. 
 
“Oh,” said the contestant next to her, his voice cracking. “H-hello.”
 
Red sized up the colt next to her, a frown on her face. Persimmon had warned that the others might try to get to her, to psyche her out, to make her lose her game face. “Yeah, hello,” she snorted, pointedly not looking at him. “You’re Skipper, aren’t you?”
 
“Skimmer,” he gave his wings a petulant flap. “And yeah. You’re Red Velvet. I’ve seen you around. I didn’t know you’d … be doing something like this.”
 
Red snorted again. “Well, if you want to give up now, that’s okay.”
 
“Fillies and gentlecolts!” interrupted the squawk from the PA system, as the announcer cleared his throat. “The Ponyville Stable of Commerce and Sweet Apple Acres are proud to sponsor the Ponyville Days Pie-Eating Contest!”
 
Skimmer blushed. “Uh, well, I’m just here because of a bet. I don’t think I'm going to win.”
 
Red wasn’t even going to dignify that with a reply. Stay psyched, she thought, eyes on the prize. 
 
The microphone squawked again, as the announcer fumbled with his cards. “Our first contestant is Skipper.”
 
“Skimmer,” shouted Skimmer, not heard over the roar of the crowd. Red let out an amused chuckle.
 
“At table number two … Red Velour.”
 
Now Red raised her head high and flounced her mane. It was her time to shine. “Wait… what did he say?”
 
“And our last contestant is … “ The announcer squinted to the card. “Glean Slate.”
 
Skimmer sighed. “I knew it.”
 
Red scoffed. “Whoever that is, they’re not taking the trophy away from me.”
 
Skimmer flicked his tail. “Wanna bet?”
 
“Glean Slate?” blared the speakers. “It’s time for you to take the stage. We don’t want to start the contest without you.”
 
The gathered crowd started to part, quizzical looks on the ponies' faces. At first, it was a strange mix of noises that rose over the quiet, a liquid noise of swallowing mixed with chewing. The ponies jostled one another as they struggled to make room for the biggest colt anypony had seen.
 
Whatever the diet that Clean Plate was on, it clearly wasn’t working. Massively rotund, his body jiggled with each step. Furrows bulged against his thick legs, making for an awkward waddle as belly fat bulged past his gate. Ponies had to bound away from him, as he was wider than most ponies were tall. Some couldn’t help but stare at his corpulent stomach. Others turned their eyes away from his backside, which was so wide that his cutie mark and stretched from a dinner plate to a serving platter. The whole while, Clean Plate kept his face in his feedbag, compulsively chewing. 
 
As he waddled to the stage, the first step bowed under his weight. Quite familiar with this, Clean Plate waited to see whether it could bear him. And then he ascended, his swag belly dragging along the wood. He slowly turned to line up behind Table #3.
 
Red Velvet inched away, as Clean Plate’s fat was encroaching on her space. She’d lost her psyche, all color drained from her face. 
 
Skimmer sighed with resignation. 
 
The announcer remembered that he was supposed to be the master of ceremonies. “Uh, yes, well, the rules. Ahem. First contestant to eat a dozen pies wins a year’s supply of apples from Sweet Apple Acres!”
 
Clean Plate’s feedbag almost imploded as he swallowed while making some kind of moan that made both Red and Skimmer wince.
 
The pies were brought on on a trolley. A dozen were cleanly stacked on each table. “Hey, colt,” asked Clean Plate’s server. “You gonna save some room for the contest?”
 
Clean Plate gave the server the same sullen look that he gave everypony, and kept chewing.
 
“Okay, that’s one dozen pies for each contestant. It sure looks like anypony could be a winner today.”
 
Clean Plate slowly pulled his head from his bag, still chewing a bulging mouthful of oats and antacids. Red could hear the sheer effort it took him to swallow. 
 
He’s just here for the free pie, Red snorted. He’s got to be full from all the food at the fair. I can still win this. She placed her front hooves on the table. Skimmer did the same. 
 
“And when I hit this triangle….” The announcer was still trying to work the crowd up, but there wasn’t any enthusiasm. The ponies were staring in disbelief, muttering to each other. “... the contest will begin.”
 
Red steeled herself up. There's nothing but the pie. The pie will be all. Finish this, then the next one. Pace yourself. Remember to breathe --
 
There was a loud ding from the triangle. “Go!”
 
Red Velvet had scooped one helping of filling into her mouth when she heard the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as her opponent, this Clean Plate, simply dropped his jaw, puffed out his cheeks, and inhaled an entire pie. In a single motion. Then he swallowed, gulping the whole thing. Plate and all.
 
The crowd let out a collective gasp. Even Skimmer, jaded as he was, was staring now.
 
To Clean Plate, the contest was still going on. The stage creaked as he reared up on his hind legs. His corpulent rump spread out, balancing him. He then rolled forward, his mouth wide. He slurped up the column of eleven pies to his right. His throat bulged with the plates’ edges just before he swallowed. That gastronomic noise reverberated over the pale-faced crowd. The silence was broken when one spectator put a hoof to her mouth and tried not to lose her lunch.
 
Red Velvet blinked a few times. From behind her, Skimmer muttered, “Wow.”
 
The announcer was watching from the podium. What did he just see? Was… was the contest already over?
 
Clean Plate’s hoof stroked his bloat, and he let out a burp that was remarkably understated after that display. “’Scuse me,” he muttered. His hooves heavily clomped again as he moved towards Red Velvet’s space, his shadow falling over her.
 
Red had never felt so scared in her life. The look on this colt, this blimp, this enormous monster -- those eyes gray and remorseless, bottomless voids of insatiable hunger. 
 
Clean Plate muttered, “’Scuse me,” in the same monotone, and then planted his hooves on Red’s table, opened wide, and inhaled her pies the same way he’d eaten his a moment ago. Somepony in the crowd screamed and fainted.
 
Skimmer flapped his wings. “I forfeit. Nice seeing you, Red.” He took to the air. “Later!” And with a swoop and loop, he vanished from view.
 
“Well then,” the announcer muttered into his microphone. “I suppose that, unless there’s going to be another round…?”
 
Red Velvet thought this must be some nightmare. She screamed and ran from the stage, eager to get as far away as she could. 
 
“Then a round of applause for our winner, Glean Slate! With a new record time of … 1.8 seconds.”
 
From somewhere in the crowd, somepony clapped, if only because it might end all this sooner.
 
“Ahem, yes,” said the announcer. “That’s a record that just might stand for a while.”
 
Clean Plate let out a happy sigh, licked filling from the corner of his mouth, and waddled over to inhale Skimmer’s abandoned pies. 
 
“Hey, um, colt, you won, you don’t have to do that…” The announcer winced and tried not to look at this third impossibility, but everypony could hear the gulp. “Uh, sure. Glean Slate, everypony!”
 
There was no victory lap, or hamming it up, or anything from Clean Plate. He waddled to the stairs to descend. This was too much for the stairs, which snapped one by one under his weight, sending him to the ground with a bounce. Clean Plate made an expression of annoyance, but his face was back in his feedbag. He was already eating again. Not so much standing as rolling back his hooves, he began plodding back home. His day was done, apparently.
 
“So, you’ll just come and get the prize later, then? Well, then ... Let’s all…” The announcer held his microphone. “Let’s all try to enjoy the rest of Ponyville Days and … just … try to put this event out of our minds and our dreams, shall we?”
 
Waddling home, Clean Plate was chewing his oats and already thinking about tomorrow. And his year’s supply of apples. He could almost taste it.
 
________________________
 
Smokey Rose had enough going on without having to deal with this latest issue. She adjusted her hat, pulled on her work boots, and trotted out of her office to talk to the new hire.
 
She had been worried about this colt. Working the garbage haul wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but it had to be done. Nopony wanted to haul trash away, but everyone noticed when it was still there. Everypony wanted to be a royal guard or a Wonderbolt. Nopony wanted to be a trash collector.
 
And when she’d first seen the colt, she wondered whether she had ever seen a fatter pony. She was amazed he could even walk. Foals these days didn’t know the value of an honest day’s work. Nothing like a few days of hauling a trash wagon to get the baby fat off those bones. If he was doing the work, that is.
 
She’d seen this before. Some new hire thinks they can buck the system, or pull something over the supervisor. They always have some wacky scheme: magically levitate the garbage; toss it into some portal; make it invisible; and so on. If those kinds of things worked, there would be no need for the Ponyville Sanitation Department. 
 
And, really, these numbers weren’t looking good. She’d put this Clean Plate colt on a really light route, mostly in the commercial row, but his numbers were … well, really light. She’d never seen someone shirk work for a whole week, come back with wagons so empty, and not even try to hide it.
 
Smokey Rose adjusted her hard hat and addressed two of the foreponies. “Where’s Clean Plate?”
 
The pair stared for a moment. “You can’t miss him,” said one, pointing at a hulking shape.
 
“What, is he behind the hot-air balloon?”
 
“No, ma’am. That’s the colt.”
 
Rose blinked, and then the shape began to come into focus.
 
At first, all she could make out was a lumpy shape -- a tall hillside of brown with bulging sides, at least twice as tall as any pony. Then it became clear that the shape had legs -- thick stumpy things pressed into the bulges. A dolly supported an enormous belly with stretch marks running up and down the sides, which quivered with tension and swayed with weight. Thick rolls of back fat had formed a hump larger than any camel’s. Stretched over his hindquarters was a cutie mark of a plate as big as a trampoline. Clean Plate’s face was a rotund mass in creases of neck fat and thick chins. He was sporting a new feedbag, which was considerably larger than his old one.
 
Rose felt a mix of emotions, mostly nausea. She flattened her ears, as she could see from the way Clean Plate’s bag was swaying that he was still eating.
 
“Uh, hey, colt. I wanted to talk to you about your route, aheh.” She choked back her rising gorge.
 
It wasn’t clear whether Clean Plate’s eyes were half-closed because he was bored, because he was tired, or because his cheeks were so puffy he couldn’t open his eyes all the way. There was a disconcertingly loud noise as he swallowed his mouthful. “Okay, boss,” he spoke in a slow and deliberate way, so that he could be heard through his feedbag.
 
Smokey Rose paused. Was this a joke? Was the colt wearing some kind of large disguise? The great mass sloshed before her when the colt let out a sigh, and there were more ripples when, unprompted, he started eating again. If this was some kind of joke, it was very elaborate.
 
“Errrrgh.” Rose took a few deep breaths. “I wanted to talk to about your returns. The foreponies here have been logging the refuse you’ve been bringing back, and as I’m reading these numbers, it’s looking a lot like… well… a lot like nothin’.”
 
Clean Plate kept right on staring and chewing. After a few moments, he forced another gulp, just as loud and as liquid as the last one. “Is that a problem?” he burbled.
 
“Of course it’s a problem. You’re supposed to pick up the trash.”
 
It wasn’t clear at first that Clean Plate was nodding. It was more just a ripple of chins and neck rolls. He took a long, wheezing breath and replied, “I did.”
 
Rose rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, about that. I checked around, and nopony says their trash wasn’t picked up, but … well, we do the shoveling and the composting here, and the numbers don’t add up. What did you do with all the garbage?”
 
There was a long sigh. For a moment, Rose thought that Clean Plate’s balloon costume had finally popped a seam and was deflating. But the sigh ended with a moan that was somehow more unwholesome than everything else Rose had heard this morning. The colt finally spoke. “I ate it.”
 
One of the two foreponies behind Rose put his hoof to his mouth. The other said, “Be right back, gonna use some brain bleach.”
 
Smokey Rose was aghast. She’d thought she heard it all. And she could tell when foals were trying to use some evasion. They would hang their heads, or avert their eyes, or try some kind of flattery. But here, there was none of that. Just the confession of a big fat pony.
 
“Uhhhhhh,” was all Rose could say. When she accidentally dropped her clipboard, it fell on the floor with such a clatter that she jumped, thinking something had exploded.
 
“Is that...” Clean Plate huffed in a creaking way to get air into his bulging form. Then, his nose wiggled in his feedbag before he actually pulled his head from it. HIs chins and jowls flopped forward before he turned his head to the side. His jaw dropped as he eructed a burp that was louder than the lunch whistle. “Nnf, excuse me,” he muttered, lips flapping mushily. He wheezed a few more times, as the effort that it took to belch was exhausting. “Is that a problem?”
 
Smokey Rose’s eye twitched. “You’ve … been eating garbage?”
 
“Mmhmm,” Clean Plate grunted, stuffing his muzzle back in his feedbag. 
 
“All of it?” continued Rose.
 
“Mmhmm.” Clean Plate let out a happy little sigh. He was already chewing again.
 
“Uhhhhhh…” Rose shook her head to get some sense back into it. She scrambled for her clipboard. “Uhhh, according to the data for your route, over the last week, you …. you ate about one-thousand, six-hundred and eighty-seven pounds of garbage?”
 
“Unf,” was Clean Plate’s reply, followed by a quiet burp, an even quieter “’Scuse me”, and then a bold “I guess so.”
 
“And, uhhh,” Rose chewed on her lip a bit. “That doesn’t strike you as … not all that healthy?”
 
Clean Plate was barely understandable with his mouth full of oats. “I feel great.”
 
The forepony came back. “Annnnnnd he’s still here. You guys see this too, right? I’m not just dreaming? Somepony pinch me.”
 
Smokey Rose stepped back. “Hey, uh, you just can’t go around eating a half-ton of garbage every week. That’s not right.”
 
Clean Plate’s mass quivered, and Rose could feel the concrete floor tremor. “Is it against the rules?”
 
The other forepony couldn’t take any more and trotted off, looking greener than ever. His companion just sighed. “This has been the weirdest month.”
 
Smokey Rose could feel a migraine coming on. This was madness. This couldn’t be happening. “Uhh, not exactly, no, but … think of your health. Even if you don’t get sick, you’re getting a little … ”
 
Clean Plate’s ears perked.
 
“... big.”
 
Clean Plate’s reply was another deflating moan. 
 
Smokey Rose scribbled on her pad. “I’m p-putting you on leave of medical absence. Y-you need to see a doctor.”
 
Clean Plate chewed methodically. “Do I still get paid?”
 
Rose scribbled faster. “Sure, sure, anything, just … get some help. It ain’t right for anypony to be so fat.”
 
Clean Plate made a little squeal when he heard that. There was a long pause before he regained his composure. “Okay, boss.” There was a scraping sound from the poor wheels on the dolly supporting his belly. With a herculean effort of his thick legs, Clean Plate slowly turned around. Once he gained momentum, it was easier to wheel his great mass out of the main barn. The bent axles on the dolly made his weight wobble in an odd pattern. His many inches of flab muffled his noisy sloshes.
 
Smokey Rose watched the behemoth go, still not quite believing what she had seen. 
 
The forepony adjusted his helmet. “Makes you just want to stick him with a harpoon just to see what happens.”

Smokey Rose shook with anxiety. “If he blows up on the property, you’re cleaning it up.”
 
The other forepony had just come back. After hearing that, he had to stick his head in a trash pail to dry heave.
 
________________________
 
Clean Plate waddled home, feeling fuller and happier than ever. But, after squeezing into his house and guzzling a few gallons of apple cider, he couldn’t make himself comfortable in bed. So he ate his bed instead. He slurped up the hay, he gnashed on the posts, and he slurped down the pillows. Still unable to sleep, he ate his bureau. He gobbled up his coat rack, bite by bite. He made appetizers out of his books, and then ate his bookcase. He rolled up the carpet and greedily snarfed it down. He had used his teeth to strip about a third of his wallpaper by the time he passed out.
 
But, after midnight, there was a crunching noise from Clean Plate’s house, as teeth sank into timbers.
 
________________________
 
Blue Line spotted the teal house from the air. According to his map, the neighboring house was supposed to be white -- but, strangely, it was blue.
 
He swooped down, spread his wings at the last moment, and landed perfectly. He was a royal guard, after all. He curtly knocked on the teal house’s door. 
 
“You there!” came a voice behind him. “Finally, you can do something about this monster!”
 
“Whoa, ma’am.” Blue Line immediately adopted his best posture. Ninety percent of these situations could be fixed with just a few kind words spoken with authority. “I’m Officer Blue Line of the Royal Guard. May I ask your name?”
 
“It took you long enough!” she trotted towards him. “Why did they only send one of you? There should be a whole army to deal with … with this!” Her hoof quivered with such agitation that it was hard to see what she was pointing at.
 
“Ma’am,” Blue Line unfalteringly said, “I’m going to have to ask you to please calm down and state your name.”
 
“Uuugh,” she rolled her eyes, exasperated. “My name is Vanilla Tuesday, and I live next door to that atrocity. I want him arrested!”
 
“And who is that, Ms. Tuesday?”

“The garbage pony! Clean Plate! Look, he’s right there!” She pointed at the brown house next door.
 
“... Behind the house?” Blue Line asked.

“He is the house!”
 
At first, Blue Line had thought that the blue house was an oval-shaped novelty structure. But then he realized that it was actually some kind of living mass. Instead of plaster or timber, there was … flesh. Quivering, stretched flesh. There were concentric rings in the front of the mass. In the dim morning light, Blue Line could make out that they were deep furrows. Two hooves uselessly wiggled, far above the ground.
 
In the center was a blubbery caricature of a face -- a wide mash of a pony muzzle, dipped into a feedbag. Every minute or so, there’d be a sign of life as the billowing cheeks of that face sucked oats from the bag and chewed with mechanical timing, and then there was a creaking noise, similar to a barrel being filled far past its capacity.
 
Blue Line whistled. “That’s one big pony.”

The ears on the fat little head perked, and the massive pony gave a happy sigh.
 
“Don’t just gawk at it!” Tuesday shook a foreleg. “Arrest him already!”
 
Blue Line scratched his head. “For what, exactly? If being fat and ugly was a crime, we’d hardly have any room in the jail, heh.”
 
“Not for the ugliness! For the trespassing! I reported a trespassing!”
 
Blue Line frowned. “I thought that was your property, over there.”
 
“Yes!” Tuesday shouted. “And look, he’s clearly over the line. My poor fence!”
 
In the shadow of Clean Plate’s bloated sides could be seen the smashed debris of a fence, the squashed leaves of a hedge, and a mailbox that was bent at an odd angle. The structure wobbled each time the curves of the fat pony stretched and receded with his breathing.
 
Blue Line scratched his head again. “Hm. He clearly is over the property line.”
 
“So haul his big butt off to jail!” Tuesday wailed.
 
Blue Line frowned. “I’ll have to correct the address on the report. It says 79 Macguffin Lane, not 75.”
 
“That was me!” shouted a new voice.
 
Blue Line turned to see a different pony. “And you are, sir?”
 
“I’m Shadow Rock, and I live at 75 Macguffin Lane, and I’m the one who reported Mr. Plate here trespassing on my property!”
 
Blue Line trotted across the girth of Clean Plate, who was blissfully ignoring everypony and still chewing in his feedbag. Sure enough, his fat had spread over the property line on the far side, too. The picket fence had collapsed. The birdbath was crushed. Blue wasn’t sure whether he heard some forlorn chirping underneath it.
 
“Mmhmm.” Blue Line fiddled with his pad. “I’ve never seen somepony trespass on two properties at once.”
 
“Three!” shouted a new voice. Across the yard, behind Clean Plate’s plot, there was a neighbor’s house showing cracks in the foundation. The entire rear bay window was obscured by Clean Plate’s enormous rump. “Thank goodness I have curtains, or my foals would’ve woken up to see…” She couldn’t finish. She could only shiver as her skin crawled.
 
Blue Line nodded. “A case of triple trespass ... That sure is one for the books. And I’m pretty sure this violates some kind of zoning law.” He looked up to Clean Plate’s bobbing head, which loomed over him, buoyed by an unthinkable amount of tonnage. “You got anything to say for yourself, son?”
 
Clean Plate grunted, his head still in his feedbag. “Still hungry,” was his garbled reply.
 
Tuesday scowled. “How rude, talking with your mouth full.”
 
Blue Line looked back at Tuesday and Shadow Rock. “By the authority of Princess Celestia, I hereby deputize you. Cordon off this area, and don’t let him leave.”
 
Shadow Rock squinted. “He hardly looks like a flight risk.”
 
“I can’t take that chance. Also, I need to get some experts in on this.”
 
Tuesday’s anger was temporarily mollified by her curiosity. “What sort of experts?”
 
Clean Plate’s cheeks had swollen into spheres, and there was a terrible, animalistic noise as he finally flexed his raw throat powerfully enough to swallow. As his body stretched even further, the whole neighborhood could hear a noise similar to steel cables flexing on a swaying suspension bridge.
 
Blue Line frowned. “Maybe something like a bomb squad. Anyway, I’ll be back. Remember, don’t let him leave!”
 
He’d already zipped off into the air and was gone for a minute before the enormity of all this finally struck Vanilla Tuesday. “Did he say, ‘bomb squad?’”
 
Clean Plate’s chins and furrows wobbled as he worked to empty his feedbag. He finished yet another breakfast as the sun rose behind the horizon that was his bulk.
 
________________________
 
“I’m confused,” Twilight Sparkle fretted. “Does the waiver get filed in triplicate, or does the variance get filed in triplicate?”
 
Spike was standing on a pile of books so he could see over the podium, where he was flipping through a law book nearly three times his size. “Which one is the variance, again?”
 
“The variance is a dispensation... The waiver is a relinquishment.”
 
Spike looked up from the incomprehensible book and stared at the incomprehensible alicorn. “Are those even words?”
 
“One gives you something, the other gives something up.”
 
“Um… I’m sorry, Twilight, I forgot why we’re even in here.” Spike slumped, defeated.
 
Twilight petulantly flapped her wings. “There’s not been a minister of property for over fifty years, and this place is in complete disarray! All of these documents, property vouchers, filings, and such should have been categorized and filed years ago. Think of all the secrets of Ponyville’s history that could be lost in these files. What if there’s some forgotten mystery buried under one of these houses? Or some other strange magical happenstance that could threaten Equestria?”
 
There was a knock on the doorframe. “Hello?” Standing there was a tall pony in ceremonial armor. “I’m looking for the Property Officer.” He was distracted, staring into his little blue book of policy and procedure.
 
“There isn’t one,” sighed Twilight. “This office has been vacant for years. I can try to help.”
 
The officer looked up. “Princess Twilight! Well, maybe you can help. I’m not sure what to do with this perpetrator. It’s really outside of my authority.”
 
Twilight looked concerned. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s … big.”
 
________________________
 
“That certainly is big,” Twilight said, looking up at Clean Plate.
 
“Ugh, it’s horrible!” screeched Ms. Vanilla Tuesday. “You must do something about this… this thing!”
 
“Are you sure it’s even a pony, and not some creature in disguise?” Spike had stepped over the ruined fence and was examining Clean Plate’s jiggling side. He couldn’t resist giving that blubber a poke with his claw. The hide made a strained noise, then a loud gurgle that made Spike jump back.
 
Clean Plate stopped chewing for a moment, and followed that gurgle with a muffled moan.
 
The onlookers had a mixed set of expressions. Most just stared, dumbfounded. Finally, Tuesday shrieked, “He’s horrible! Just horrible! Get him off my property and out of Ponyville and away from everything good and decent!”
 
“Seconded,” Shadow Rock flatly said. It was starting to sink in that this fat pony was a real thing, his real neighbor.
 
“Hm,” Twilight fretted. “We should probably ask him how he is feeling. Sir? ...Sir!” For reasons she couldn’t bring herself to say, Twilight didn’t feel like flying up closer to his face.
 
Clean Plate chewed slowly and methodically, then swallowed with a loud gulp. He slowly looked down. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice muffled by the feedbag tightly fitted to his muzzle, “if’n I don’t bow, Princess.”
 
Twilight wasn’t sure what to make of his tone. “That’s fine. Are you okay?”
 
When Plate shrugged. His forequarters wobbled, from his back all the way down to the bottom of his girth. “Little hungry.”
 
“Ahem, yes, sir, we can … we can see that. Are you in any pain?”
 
This time, Plate gave a dramatic sigh, and his rotund girth wobbled again. “Never felt better.” He punctuated this response by chewing again. There was still some feed in his bag.
 
“That’s good, at least,” Twilight replied. “Do you know what’s causing you to be so hungry?”
 
Plate’s voice was harder to understand, but he’d had practice talking with his mouth full. “I have a doctor’s note.” He softly burped. “’Scuse me. Or I did. I think I ate it. Sorry.”
 
Blue Line landed, and gave Twilight a piece of paper. “I’ve just checked with Doctor Horse. He gave me this.”
 
Twilight squinted at the note. “Hyperphagic eating disorder … Says there’s no known cure.” Her ears wilted. “That can’t be good.”
 
There was another burp, loud and heavy enough to swell Clean Plate’s feedbag. “’Scuse me again,” Plate mumbled, and resumed chewing.
 
Spike fidgeted. “Is there some kind of spell that would make him lose weight?”
 
Twilight frowned. “Not that I know of.”
 
Shadow Rock tried to be helpful. “I get letters in the mail telling me how to lose weight all the time.”
 
Vanilla rolled her eyes. “Those are a scam.”

“You don’t know that,” Rock protested.
 
Vanilla ignored him. “Can’t you just cast a spell to make him stop eating?”
 
Twilight frowned again. “You can’t just use magic to make ponies do things. I mean, you can, but you shouldn’t.”
 
Spike rolled his eyes. “Starlight learned that lesson the hard way.”
 
Vanilla shook with rage. “At least do something about our property! His fat may be against the laws of nature, but his trespassing is against the laws of Ponyville!”
 
Shadow Rock nodded. “Makes sense to me.” 
 
Blue Line, still professional about all this, addressed the princess. “I’m unsure how to proceed, ma’am. We can’t tell him to go back to his own property. He clearly won’t fit. And if we arrest him... Well, we don’t have a cell to hold him.”
 
Twilight’s tail twitched. “He needs help. He’s clearly out of control.”
 
Blue Line nodded. “I don’t disagree, ma’am, but he’s clearly a public nuisance.”
 
“Mmm. Spike, do you still have the law book?”
 
“Right here,” he hefted the tome in his tiny claws. It wasn’t dignified, but this wasn’t the first time Spike held up a giant book on his back so that Twilight could page through it.
 
Twilight flipped through the pages. “I knew I saw something. Here we go.” She cleared her throat. “Mister Plate?”
 
Clean Plate slowly opened his eyes. Had he been dozing off while he was chewing? This clearly was some sort of problem. 
 
It was the duty of a princess to always keep her dignity. “Ahem. Mister Plate, as a duly-recognized authority of Equestria, whose jurisdiction includes the municipality of Ponyville…”
 
Shadow Rock’s eyes crossed. “Are those even words?” he whispered to Vanilla Tuesday. She ignored him. Things were happening, and she might finally be rid of this weird neighbor once and for all.
 
Twilight continued in her most stentorian voice. “... I must inform you that you are in violation of the Ponyville Revised Code law 113-A, ‘Ponies of size.’”
 
Clean Plate’s ears perked. All this to-do was rousing him from his gluttonous stupor.
 
“To wit,” Twilight put on her reading glasses to read the fine print. “Recognizing not only the goal for Ponyville to be a gathering place for all kinds of creatures, but also the need for the proper accomodation of its citizenry, no creature shall be permitted to claim residence if they exceed fifty hooves in two or more dimensions.”
 
Twilight let those words hang in the air. 
 
The silence was interrupted by Vanilla Tuesday. “So … he’s too big to live here? Finally, some good news!”
 
Shadow Rock couldn’t resist looking over the princess’s shoulder. “That’s a law?”
 
Twilight nodded. “There’s some commentary. The law was added to keep large dragons from moving in.”
 
Spike scowled. “That’s discrimination!”
 
Twilight didn’t have a response to that. “It’s the law. Large creatures are a drain on local resources. There are plenty of other places to live near here. They can still come and go. They just can’t build a giant house in Ponyville.”
 
Vanilla Tuesday added, “Or outgrow a house.” She shouted at her neighbor. “You hear that, you tub of lard? You have to move!”
 
Clean Plate’s reply was, as always, without inflection. “Okay.”
 
Again, there was a pause.
 
As the senior officer on the scene, Blue Line felt it was his duty to speak up. “Sir? That means we’re evicting you. You have to leave the city limits.”
 
Twilight was quick to add, “Unless you agree to let us help you!”
 
Spike nodded. “Yeah, no one’s smarter than Twilight! We could find a cure for your eating problem!”
 
Clean Plate chewed slowly and ruminatively, before answering, “I’ll leave.”
 
Spike crossed his arms and beamed. “Good. That’s settled, then. We’ll get straight to the Canterlot Archives and look … wait, did he say he wanted to leave?”
 
Twilight hadn’t stopped frowning. “He did. Ahem.” She raised her voice, “Mister Plate, with all due respect, you can’t keep eating like this. It’s not good for you, or for anypony. Please let us help you.”
 
For the first time, the ponies could make out some emotion on Clean Plate’s face, a gleam in his eyes... of passion, of desire, of want. “I like eating.”
 
Shadow Rock sheepishly chuckled. “Who doesn’t?”
 
Vanilla Tuesday shoved him. “Nopony likes getting fat!”
 
It was hard to tell if the soft, blubbery mass that was Clean Plate’s face could glower. “I like getting fat.”
 
Blue Line, “Sir, your weight is in clear violation of the law. We’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
 
Clear Plate’s hooves weren’t even close to the ground. He let out that strange sigh of his, as he chewed another mouthful. “Little help.”
 
Blue Line was finding it very difficult to keep a straight face. “Miss Sparkle, I hate to impose, but could you just levitate him out of here?”
 
Twilight Sparkle wanted to say no, but there was a crowd watching her. “I can try.”
 
Her horn glowed. A purple aura surrounded Clean Plate. His mass quivered, shook, wobbled, and gurgled. But, even after a few minutes, he didn’t budge.
 
Twilight frowned. “He must weigh over a ton. Two tons, maybe. He’s too heavy to levitate or teleport.”
 
Vanilla Tuesday’s face was ashen. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
 
Blue Line nodded. “I was afraid of that. I’ll get a team together. He looks round enough that we can roll him. The question is, where?”
 
Spike was scratching his head. This was a weird day, and it was getting weirder. “Downhill, I guess.”
 
Blue Line took to the air, “That’s good enough for me.” 
 
Twilight said, “Wait! We should ask whether he has anywhere else to go.”
 
Vanilla Tuesday made a noise of displeasure. “If he had anywhere else to go, he wouldn’t be here. Good riddance to bad blubber, I say.”
 
Shadow Rock stared up at him. “I don’t really think he cares at this point.”
 
Twilight Sparkle was still displeased. “We can’t let him ruin his life like this. We have to help him. Come on, Spike. Let’s get back to the Canterlot Archives and see what we can find.”
 
“Yes, ma’am!” saluted Spike, and they were off.
 
Clean Plate said nothing, he just kept chewing. And wondering what he’d have for lunch.
 
________________________
 
Deep in Froggy Bottom Bogg, one of the four heads of the dreaded hydra rose. The creature was quite irritable, as its scales had gone dry. The water level in its damp cave had receded. Scratching its flanks, the hydra’s other heads slowly awakened to the strange sound coming from outside. It was a strange mix of squashing, sloshing, and slurping. And some other unpleasant noise.
 
The hydra cautiously poked a head outside the entrance. What it saw was so odd, it had to look at it with two more pairs of eyes just to decide what to make of it.
 
It was clearly some creature, but of a size it had never seen before. It was a mass of blubber covering at least an acre of the swamp, with undulating rolls of flesh that rose and fell in clear waves. The hydra saw why the water was gone; this monster’s bloated head was face down in the swamp, its cheeks distended as it sucked untold gallons of muck into its mouth. Countless chins dangled as it reared up (or rolled up, it wasn’t clear), vines and leaves clinging to its blubbery sides. The monster’s tiny eyes could barely be seen over these bulges, a muzzle made wide with more fat than any cow. Was it a pony? If so, it was a very big pony.
 
This monster, this Clean Plate, locked eyes with the hydra, and there was a frothing of drool from his insatiable maw. Finally, something to eat after all the frogs. He bent over and pursed his thick lips. Before the hydra knew any better, a great suction pulled it away from its lair. The serpent clawed deep furrows in the ground. But as soon as the tip of the hydra’s tail entered the pony’s mouth, it was beyond hope. With gulp, it was another snack in Clean Plate’s feast.
 
The pony sighed. He ate that... whatever that was... so fast that he hardly had a chance to taste it. But his shrug was indistinguishable from his corpulence’s jiggling. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the eating. 
 
________________________
 
Applejack’s sobs echoed in the emptiness of Canterlot Castle’s throne room. “I c-can’t help but feel responsible f-for all this...”
 
Rarity patted her on the back. “There’s no way you could have known, darling. Besides, it wasn’t your cider that made him this way.”
 
Pinkie Pie squealed, “Do you think it was me?? Do you think my cooking makes ponies into fat monsters?! I don’t know if I can ever look at cake the same way again!!”
 
Rainbow Dash scowled. “We’re not going to look at anything the same way again if we don’t stop that big blue balloon from eating everything and everypony!”
 
Eager to end this nightmare as soon as possible, Fluttershy spoke up. “Twilight, you said you had an idea.”
 
“Yes!” the princess blurted, levitating a book. “There are ancient records of an event like this. What happened was -- “ 
 
“Wait,” said Spike, spreading his arms. “Did you feel that?”
 
A moment later, the castle was torn from its foundation. Everypony squealed with horror and surprise as the floor tilted, then slid into a monstrous, stretched maw. There was so little time that, even as the Pegasi took wing, they couldn’t escape through a window or arch fast enough. In just a single gulp, Canterlot Castle was sucked inside, then crushed in the gullet of a greedy, insatiable monster.
 
The sound of the gulp was still echoing over the landscape when Clean Plate sighed with disappointment. He thought Canterlot would taste better than Ponyville. Or Appleloosa. Or Las Pegasus. Or any of the other places he had eaten on the way here. Not one for remorse, he surged forward again and ate, in one bite, the mountain on which Canterlot used to rest. He did like eating.
 
________________________
 
Princess Luna sighed. “I cannot believe I am back here.” Her head was low as she examined the moon’s all-too-familiar bleak landscape. “I truly cannot believe why I am back here. And with you.” 
 
Discord was in remarkably good cheer. “It really is something to see, isn’t it? Just look at it!”
 
The two of them stared down at Earth. Or what used to be Earth, anyway. It was now a blue sphere of pony fat. It wasn’t completely round. They could see tidal waves of fat jiggling across its surface, like a huge soap bubble. Clean Plate’s gluttony had consumed every last scrap.
 
Luna shook her head. “So... what happens now?”
 
Discord stroked his beard. “Well, I can think of several things.
 
“One: All that fat builds up in him until he explodes.

“Two: He gets so hungry that he starts to eat himself, getting smaller and smaller, and then...” He held the thumb and index finger on his paw close together, then suddenly spread his arms. “Poof!”
 
“Or three: He finds some way to eat the moon. Which, given his track record of eating celestial bodies, seems like the likeliest option.”
 
Luna’s sigh was loud, but there was no echo. “So... this is how it all ends?”
 
Discord patted Luna. “If it makes you feel any better, at least you’ll be reunited with your sister.”
 
END

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