You don’t own a fluffy. You’d like to, though. You’re always laughing at their antics in the flufftube videos, the best segments on America’s Funniest Home Videos (hosted by Ron Paul; you’re a little surprised he’s still alive at his age) are always the ones featuring fluffies, and you’ve read all about them online.
Still, it’s not the same as seeing them in person and seeing how they interact with each other. So you decided to drive down to the nearby fluffy park and watch the fluffies there.
There’s a big gate blocking access to the parking lot, but it opens automatically with the push of a button. You hold off on pushing the button though; there’s a woman chasing a big white and blue fluffy with a huge red bow tied around her neck and the fluffy is making a beeline for the gate.
“Heeeewp!”
“Clara, you get back here RIGHT NOW, young lady! I swear, if you got knocked up again, those babies are going RIGHT UP YOUR ASS!”
Huh. That woman doesn’t seem to be the most stable person you’ve ever encountered. She grabs the fluffy, tucks it under her arm, and swats its rear continuously while walking back to her car and ranting angrily. You push the button, drive through the gate, and park.
The park itself is also fenced in and gated. The chainlink fence is tall enough for several large trees to be contained within the park, with wire mesh stretched across to make a ceiling that keeps out birds of prey and other aerial pests who could harm the fluffies or make a nuisance. You note no fluffies near the gate and slip through it, making sure to latch it behind you.
Ah, perfect! You see a bunch of people standing around or sitting on benches, smoking, staring at smart phones, or keeping a close eye on their fluffies. Several people brought lunches and are eating at picnic tables. One couple laid out a picnic blanket on the grass and are constantly fending off a horde of fluffies who are all begging for nummies.
Time to watch some fluffies and see if they’re really the right pet for you!
There’s some militia-looking weirdo with a pedophile mustache and camouflage jacket sitting in the grass, petting a yellow fluffy that looks like it got run over and dragged by a semi-truck for a mile. They’re both watching a green earthie and a bluish-purple pegasus bounce around in the grass, playing with a ball. You give them a wide berth; the guy looks like the type who’s a little too into guns and the mutilated fluffy in his lap is probably an indication that he isn’t all there. At least, if he did the mutilation himself. You have no way of knowing. The other fluffies look happy though.
Next, you see a couple smaller fluffies who look like foals that were just recently weaned. Their tails are wiggling behind them as they prance along, giggling, and chase a butterfly. Cute.
Then you spot a bright orange unicorn sitting in the grass by himself. You decide to say hello.
“Hey there, little guy! What’s your name?”
The fluffy doesn’t respond for several seconds, then looks up at you disinterestedly and chants, “Bwood. Bwood. Bwood. Bwood. Bwood.”
Oooooo-kay, yeah, that’s not even a little bit creepy. Uh-huh. You back off and the unicorn sniggers, then shouts, “GOTCHA!” and runs off into the bushes laughing. Huh. They have a sense of humor? Interesting. Still kinda creepy though. You hear him shout, “BOB SAGET!” from somewhere in the foliage.
Another fluffy you can’t see rustles through the bushes next to you, leaving a trail in the foliage Bugs Bunny-style as it runs off wailing for the parking lot.
“DADDAAAAAAAAAAAH! Meanie stawwion wapin Fiwwy agin!”
Too bad fluffies have that cutesy speech impediment, because you have no idea what it just said. Moving on!
There’s a group of five pegasuses… pegasi… there’s a pegasus. And there are four more of the same kind. Yeah. Anyway, there are five of them, and they’re all taking turns climbing up on a large pile of rocks, fluttering their wings, and leaping. The rocks are clearly made of styrofoam with spray paint, but they’re the tallest thing around that the fluffies can climb on. The ground surrounding the ‘rocks’ is made of foam padding with a layer of astroturf on top; from what you’ve found in your research, the fluffies are probably convinced these are real rocks and real grass, while in reality this is something the park staff came up with to keep pegasi amused without hurting themselves.
“Fwuffy FWYYYYYYY! OOF! Awww…”
“Wawdo tuwn neks, Wawdo tuwn! Wawdo FWYYYYIN! UFF! See? See Wawdo fwy?!”
Too cute. You know from your research that winged fluffies are obsessed with flying, but it’s physically impossible. Smart thinking by the park staff though.
There’s a guy in a business suit; something about him just screams ‘lawyer’. Maybe it’s his birth control glasses. And who wears a suit to a fluffy park? He’s squatting down in the grass, stroking a peach colored mare with green mane and tail; you can tell it’s a mare because it has two tiny foals with it. A stereotypical surfer dude with bottle blonde hair is standing there with his hands stuck in the pockets of his cargo shorts, chatting with lawyer guy. At his feet is another mare, purple and blue, with a trio of larger, and presumably older, foals. Both ‘mummahs’ are showing off their babies to each other and grinning, while a brown stallion with red mane and tail tirelessly trots back and forth, fetching berries from a nearby bush and giving them to the proud mummahs in equal shares. You watch him make several more trips before taking a few berries for himself and snuggling up to the purple mare. Must be her ‘special friend’, as they’re called.
You walk along a ways further, and a little mare, bright pink with lavender mane and tail, bursts from the bushes screaming, “HEWP! HEWP! NU AGIN! FIWWY NU AM MAWE! NU AM MAWE!”
A big red unicorn stallion tackles the smaller mare, then roughly mounts it and starts humping away vigorously.
“ENFENFENFENFENFENFENFENF!”
“SCREEEEEEEE!”
Wow. Mating fluffies are loud. You’re pretty sure mares will get pregnant almost 100% of the time when they mate, so you hope this one’s owner is prepared for that. Still, not your place to interfere. The little mare thrusts it forelegs out to you in the ‘give huggies’ gesture and screeches enthusiastically while the stallion pounds her from behind. Yeah, you didn’t come here to watch fluffy exhibitionists, so you’ll just move along.
There’s a big green unicorn highstepping across the grass, with a grey mare and a trio of foals, brown, orange, and bright green, all in a row behind them, also highstepping. They look like they’re in a parade. Adorable.
There’s a little girl, surrounded by a small mob of fluffies, all of them babbling excitedly while she grins and tosses bread crumbs all around her. She has a fat fluffy with no legs strapped to her chest in a baby carrier, and it enthusiastically gobbles down the bread crumbs she passes to it in between tossing handfuls to the other fluffies.
You smile and walk deeper into the park, circling around to return to the parking by a different path. Oops!
Right there in the path is a bright yellow pegasus going to town on a pale lavender earthie with rainbow mane and tail.
“Enf enf enf!”
“Yeep yeep yeep!”
“Um…”
They both freeze and look at you with horror. Finally, the mare stammers, “P-p-pwease nu teww daddeh! Wowwipop wan babbehs!”
The stallion mutters, “Mummah gun kiww me…”
“Uh, I promise I won’t say anything.”
“Fank yoo!”
“Fank yoo, nice mista!”
You step around them, a little perturbed that they’re rutting right there in the middle of the path instead of in the grass like the others you saw, and keep walking. You can hear them resume their mating behind you, not even waiting for you to leave.
“Enf enf enf!”
“Yeep yeep yeep!”
Ok. Note to self: whichever gender fluffy you decide to get, get it fixed so that shit doesn’t happen.
Continuing down the trail, you see an enormously fat white and chocolate brown spotted fluffy with garish aquamarine mane and tail munching on some greens planted there for the fluffies to browse on. At first you think it’s a pregnant mare, since they swell up like beach balls, but then you notice the fuzzy balls dangling below its poop-stained anus. It’s not pregnant, it’s just morbidly obese. It notices you and swallows its mouthful of greens.
“Whu yoo wan? Yoo haf nummies?”
“No, sorry.”
“Meh.”
It resume its devastation of the local foliage and you move along.
“Whoop!”
You nearly step on a pink unicorn running across the trail.
“Nu can catch, mumma tuu fast!”
A powder blue alicorn runs by right behind it, giggling.
“Gun getchu, spechow fwen!”
Four foals are running right behind, three having a good time and the tail end charlie crying, “huuhuu, nu wun way!” and spraying feces all over the trail. Gross. Other than the crap, amazingly cutesy little family dynamic they’ve got going. You step over the poop and keep walking.
There’s a brown unicorn sitting on the trail, watching a butterfly. It notices you and cheerfully says, “Hewwo!”
“Hi there! What’s your name, little guy?”
“Fwuffy name am Dammit!”
“Wait, Dammit?”
“Yuh! Wike daddeh awways yewwin, ‘Dammit, get uff cowch’, ‘Dammit, mowe poopies on fwoow’, ‘Nu, Dammit, Ah nu mean make mowe poopies on fwoow’! Daddeh siwwy.”
“Yeah, I bet he is.”
Dammit resumes watching the butterfly flutter about, fascinated, and you continue down the trail, trying not to laugh. He really thinks his name is Dammit from his owner yelling at him! Hilarious!
There’s a greying orange earthie fluffy, clearly ancient by fluffy standards, using his two forelegs to keep a pair of obviously angry younger fluffies separated while they shout insults and try to hit each other. The older fluffy shouts in a loud monotone, “BOB DOWE DUSN’T HAFFA TAKE DIS KINDA CWAP! BOB DOWE IS UH CYBOWG!”
Uh, okay…
Oh, there’s a little foal. A very pretty shade of pink, with a mane and tail that are an unfortunate puke green with a yellow stripe running through it. She’s sitting in the middle of the path and looking confused.
“Nicey mista? Pwissy nu can fine mummah! Nicey mista hewp Pwissy?”
“Oh, you can’t find your mommy?”
“Nu! Pwissy wook efewwy-whuh, bu nu fine mummah!”
“I’ll help you. What does your mommy look like?”
“She taww, haff pwetty brown mane, bwue eyesies, and pwetty smiwe!”
She pauses a second, then adds thoughtfully, “Oh! Mummah is hoomin wike yoo!”
Yeah, you think you got that.
“Ok, why don’t I take you up front where all the… mommies and daddies are and we’ll see if your mommy is there?”
“Yaaaaay! Fank yoo, nicey mista!”
You pick her up and tuck the little fluffy under one arm, stroking her with your free hand while she babbles to you about all the fun games she plays with ‘mummah’. This is the first time you’ve actually touched a fluffy; she is SO soft. It’s like petting a kleenex made of kittens.
You arrive back at the parking lot and the area with benches and picnic tables without incident, and a little girl of maybe ten shouts, “Prissy!” and comes running over. Brown hair, blue eyes, yeah, that’s probably her.
“Hey, I found her back there. Seems she got lost and couldn’t find her way back.”
The trail made a loop, so all she had to do was follow it in either direction and she’d find her way back here, but you can’t expect a fluffy to know that, especially one as young as this.
“Oh, Prissy! Thank you, mister! My parents were gonna be real mad at me if I didn’t find her soon.”
“Pwissy wub mummah!”
“Prissy! We’re gonna have skettis for dinner!”
“YAAAAAAAAAY! Wub skettis!” The little girl bounces back to her smiling parents, filly hugged tight, and Prissy waves at you over her shoulder as they get in the car. You hear the dad announce, “Who waaaaaants… SKETTI?”
“Pwissy! Pwissy! Pwissy wan sketti!”
You can’t help laughing. That’s so adorable, you’re gonna need an insulin shot.
You head back to your car and exit the gate, but then you notice a handful of fluffies OUTSIDE the fence encircling the park. They all look really dirty, and have their hooves up on the fence and are looking inside longingly. You roll down the window and can just barely make out their high-pitched baby talk.
“Huuhuuu, nu faiw! Fwuffy wan pway wiff baww!”
“Huuuuu, fwuffy wan mummah an daddeh! Why nubuddy wuv fwuffy? Huuhuuhuuu!”
“Fwuffy wan nicey nummies! Fwuffy suuuu hungwy, haf wowstest tummeh owies! Pwease wet fwuffy inside!”
Ferals. Hmmm. You know it’s risky, but maybe you can take one of them home with you, at least on a trial basis. Sort of use it as practice for when you buy your own fluffy; if you like it, you’ll just keep it as a pet. If it’s personality is crap, you can get rid of it and learn from the experience. What could go wrong?
Famous last words.
But you never get a chance to find out. As soon as the ferals notice you get out of the car and approach them, they all run off screaming, one waiting long enough to hug its crotch and whimper, “Pwease nu kick no-no’s agin!” before running off. You hear faint cries of, “munsta! munsta, wun!” as they disappear into the bushes surrounding the fluffy park.
Too bad. But hey, still a learning experience, right?
You get back in the car and head home, chalking today up as vital research into owning a fluffy pony.
Now, do you want an earthie, a pegasus, or a unicorn? You think you’d rather have a stallion than a mare. Oh man, so many decisions!
