So, I was left alone, in my room, with a Daring Do book I was chewing on, because I read it and it kinda sucked. Why do ponies like this again? It’s written like something a nymph would read. I mean, who would dare write this and call it literature? It had just called a poem that was written in changeling, a bunch of scribbles that was probably not written by an intelligent being! I threw the book out the window, where it actually split in two halves upon me doing so. I tilted my head before grabbing a secret, emergency sledgehammer from under my pillow, and walked up to the window before breaking both sides with it. Windows are made for breaking, not for splitting in half!