The Abuser’s Web Guide, Episode 13
By: Turboencabulator
Interocitor dials the focus on the camdrone in, still in his trademark plaid flannel shirt and
pixelated face. After a minute of muttering he puts the control pad down and clears his throat.
“Hey everyone, welcome back to another episode. This one is a bit different, we’re doing
sections entirely from mail call today. There were several fantastic ideas for segments, so I’m
rolling them together.”
He picks up the clipboard from the table, and flips through it. “We’ll start with a softball
though, and one that I’ve seen scattered around the internet in various forms.”
“Dear Interocitor.”
The video cuts to a bespectacled nerd making a strange noise and gesturing to himself and a
bearded man sitting next to him. They’re dressed identically, in red plaid and suspenders. A
laugh track plays, and then the shot returns to Interocitor.
“I want to know if there’s any reason, even besides a foal, that a fluffy should wear a
diaper. I heard derping sometimes requires it. Is this true? Or is it just used to punish?
Sincerely, a Curious Scientist.”
He puts the clipboard down and sighs. “I’ve gotten this everywhere and the answers tend to run
the gamut with various degrees of useless bloviating. The short answer, however, is unless you
are using them to humiliate your fluffy or otherwise punish them, don’t bother. If a fluffy can
walk, they can be litter trained, and even derped fluffies can be retrained. It’s part of their
basic programming to use a litterbox.”
“However,” He continues, flicking out a pocketknife. “If it’s a chronic problem, like a mare
being a cunt and not teaching her shitlets they need to be clean, you can effectively terrify
them into it with a simple pocketknife.”
The shot cuts to overhead, a foal squirming under Interocitor’s hand, his mouth stuffed shut
with the side of his little finger. “Simply take the worst offender, and using a sharp knife,
make a slit from the edge of its anus to the middle of the perineum.”
There’s a little flick, and a squeal of pain from the foal. The foal lets loose a jet of shit,
and Interocitor uses a cloth to firmly rub the feces into the wound.
“That’s it. The mare and its siblings will watch the chosen foal rot and die from
gangrene. Make sure the mare knows it is entirely her fault, and impress upon the other
foals that dirty babies die screaming.”
The shot returns to the usual white topped counter, Interocitor drying his hands in a towel. “I
would recommend against doing it for derped fluffies because they really need to learn
properly. Diapers are a crutch for lazy owners. If you have a fluffy that’s that disabled or
disobedient, relegate it to fodder for abuse and get a new one.”
He picks up the clipboard and flips through. “Let’s see, what’s the next shortest. Ah. Dear
Interocitor, I recently got my hands on two fillies, sisters, and had an idea for an abuse
project. I want to make the sisters hate each other and ideally fight often. They’d be doing
the abusing! Very efficient in my humble opinion. How would you recommend I get them to turn on each other? From Dwarf.”
“This one’s a classic, and easier in fillies than stallions or mixed-gender groups. You need to
first make them feel like they’re different. When one is sad, treat the other one slightly
better. If one wants a toy, get it for the other one. Give them slightly different foods. Don’t
tell them one is better than the other, let them assume it. This lays a foundation. Then, when
they’re huffy with each other, give them a wedge. Something to fight over. Like tell them you
only have room for one more fluffy, so only one of them gets a special friend, or babies.”
“You can of course play up variations on this, but one of the best things you can do is get
them to fight, divide the playroom or pen them separately, and then give each the favorite
things of the other. You get the idea. Best of luck though.”
“Now, we come to one of the really meaty questions.” He turns back to the clipboard and reads
off. “Hello Interocitor, I’m currently thinking of using fluffies to run a small herb garden
since I already use them for fertilizer, and was wondering just what their physical limits
were, like how much they can carry or pull, and how long they can do physical work before they
would give out and die. Any advice would be greatly appreciated. Sincerely, Herb the Herb
gardening Herbalist.”
“As a matter of fact, this leads us into one of my friends down the road. Let’s have a little
field trip. If they’re in.”
Interocitor is seen hugging a portly woman and then turning to the camera. “This is my friend,
who we will refer to as Lulu for safety. You wanna take it?”
Lulu claps her hands, grinning in her voice. “Sure. Y’all asked a question about fluffies and
gardens so ‘s no wonder Inner-oster came ta’ me. Come ‘round behind the house and meet ma’
herd.”
The pair tromp around behind the neatly kept ranch house, stepping through a gate. There’s a
large, fenced in garden, deer proofed and with bird netting strung high over arched ribs of
pine. The garden rows are narrow, wide enough for one plant, but long and separated from the
next row over by a foot wide path of close fit, smoothed limestone. The middle was a yard wide
limestone boulevard, covered by a peaked roof.
There were about two dozen fluffies working the garden, happily chattering to each other and
weeding. A plump mare bounded up and pawed at Lulu’s foot.
“Mummah? Find buggie-munsta on pumpy-kin. Fink it a meanie wun.”
Lulu nodded and gave her a scritch. “Alright, Delia, I’ll come take a look. Thank you for
telling me.”
Delia cooed and bounded off, going back to carefully eating weeds amongst the tops of carrots.
The pair walked down the middle aisle, watching the fluffies. “See, once you get a good stock
of well-behaved fluffies, you can start gettin 'em to unnerstand the idea of de-layed
gratification.” Lulu says, crouching down by a row of pumpkin vines, searching through the
leaves. “Gotta keep an eye out for the intell’gent ones. Those’re the ones you want. Teach 'em
to wait for the harvest, to wait fer their human to cook and prepare the foods, and that
everyone shares in the bounty.”
She pulls a caterpillar off the vine and nods. “Right.” She looks around and spots an
earthie. “Hey Travis. Get the spray cart and do the pumpkins?”
The earthie perks up from his weeding. “Yes mummah!” He says, and trots off to the end of the
path, getting in front of a cart and nosing into a harness, pulling it along.
“He loves pulling things, Travis. He might not be the brightest earthie I’ve found but he’s
such a hard worker.”
Travis stops, kicking a swing arm out, and bites down on a switch, walking and pulling a little
battery powered pump on a cart, spraying over the row of pumpkins. Then, after letting the
switch go, he backs up, pushing the swing arm back in, and turns around to haul the cart back
to the parking space.
Lulu turns to the camera. “Yer gunna want your earthies to be yer haulers. Pegasi seem to have
the best nose for plant rot and ripness, so teach 'em what things smell like what. Unicorns are
in the middle so let ‘em show ya their tendancies an’ you work with those. Yer alicorns are
gunna be best suited for mindin yer other fluffies. Gotta work to make sure the flock doesn’t
treat 'em with resentment though. They’re not overseers, they’re more like nurses.”
The shot cuts to an alicorn pulling a water cart, moving it around to the various teams of
fluffies who rush over and suck down cold, clean water from the trough mounted on the
side. Another cut, and two more alicorns are helping a stallion stagger into the shade.
“Now, fluffies that are used to the work, yer gunna want them to not work durin midday. The
three hours after sun-up, an the three hours before sun-down are yer best bets. I prefer mornin
shifts for mine, and don’t let them work more than three hours. Two if yer pegasi are on the
soft side.” She says, sitting at a table and pouring iced tea. “An keep your poofier fluffies
trimmed, ya let 'em get too much heat-stroke and it brings on all sorts of health problems.”
“Teach 'em what plants are weeds, and what plants are for produce. Most weeds are edible and
can be deeeee-licious if you do 'em right, but they make great food for the fluffies. Ya teach
‘em that, teach the unis to use their horns to dig holes fer dumpin’ in, then cover up when
they’re done, the delayed gratification, an keep the rhythm a-goin for work in the mornin
outside, an play the rest of the day. Keeps 'em healthy, and seems to make 'em better behaved
too.”
She sips the tea. “The key is to get 'em to work in teams, so they chat and have fun even when
they’re doin th’weedin. Harvest is still gunna be up to you, but keep all the stalks and such,
and ya got yourself silage to mix in with their feed and keep their nutrition up durin the
winter.”
Interocitor leans in, clearing his throat. “Now, Lulu, what are the limits for work on these
fluffies?”
She thinks. “Well, weedin work they can do three hours safely b’cuz ambient heat and
whatnot. Earthies if you keep 'em trimmed and they’re conditioned, they can drag a canvas with
ten pounds on it, or thirty if it’s a wheeled cart. That’ll wear 'em out fast but if ya break
it up and have a rotation of 'em, say no more than thirty minutes across the work day, they’ll
do fine. Now that’s assumin yer workin them every few days, not daily. Earthies are the
workhorses, so to speak, so that’s basically the safe maximum.”
“That’s for, what, you’ve got twenty fluffies and a half-acre of land?”
“That’s right, fifteen can do it if ya push 'em but I don’t want to burn my fluffs out.” She
said, chuckling. “An it’s not fully planted, but fifty per acre if you’re havin 'em weed every
few days. If you’re doin daily weeding and rotate plots, you can do twenty-five an acre,
dependin on the blend of types ya got.”
Interocitor turns to the camera. “Alright, well I think we’ve taken up enough of Lulu’s time,
let’s get back for the last segment and let her get on.”
Lulu waves to the camera before the scene cuts.
Interocitor plunks down a big basket of produce with a sigh. “Looks like we’re making
ratatouille tonight.” He says.
Then he looks up at the camera and pops his knuckles, picking up the clipboard. “Right, next
question. Dear Interocitor, I have a feral herd problem in my area, and while I don’t lament
the… Abundance of test subjects, I’ve grown a little bored of the usual ways I pit the herds
against each other. It just never seems to last.”
Interocitor snorts. “Don’t I know it. Anyways, My question is this, having seen the fluffy
‘religion’ in the sewers, how would I go about establishing such cults amongst the herds, and
have them become self-perpetuating? I find the idea of a fluffy cult screaming ‘Blood for the
blood god’ and ‘Skulls for the skull-throne’ immensely amusing. How would I go about about
reinforcing these cults against human logic, for that matter? Wouldn’t want some goody-goody
breaking the system with a few choice words, after all, since I also want them to help keep the
local stray cats and dogs healthy, too. Maybe also training methods for them to lure said
animals to vet offices, and the like, so I should also ask; How do I make fluffies
self-sacrificing to the degree of making them walk willingly into the lions mouth?”
“That’s from DanteVael. It’s a fantastic question, and will be the subject exclusively of the
next episode.”
“Not really, but I had ya for a second. We’ll be covering it here, I just need to organize some
things first, which is why this episode has been so long in the making.”
Interocitor is running an eggplant through a mandoline slicer, in a sunny kitchen. “So I
figured after the cult was shown last time this would come up sooner or later. Now, if you’re a
run of the mill fluffy owner, or a day-hobby abuser, this is not going to be something you will
be doing. And unfortunately for DanteVael, human-proofing a fluffy’s mental workings is only
possible with extreme smartyism, which rather defeats the purpose.”
“However, constructing a self-perpetuating fluffy cult is something that an individual can do,
given enough time and space, and if they put in the work. But before you ever grab your first
feral, there’s planning to be done.”
The camera turns to a kitchen table, with an array of items laid out upon it. “You’re going to
want to put together a little work kit for this, something you can use for research. A good
notebook, pens, hi-lighter if you’re a book-defacing heathen, reporter’s notepad that you can
carry around, monocular, a pocket sound amplifier for listening at a distance, a field
recorder, some fluffy treats, undrugged this time, and most importantly is a goddamn library
card. If you don’t have one, get one, they’re free, you illiterate bastards.”
“Every area has a fluffy population, and every fluffy population has a rudimentary kind of
folklore. Go out and get data. Listen in on them, listen to the stories the parents tell their
foals, or if the ferals have elders, the tales they tell. If you can talk with one fluff or
two, have a sort of interview. You’ll need to be subtle, but you can learn a lot. Also, don’t
fall into the trap of thinking that every fluffy believes in skettiland. That’s a Hasbio thing
and out in feral populations it’s treated like adults who still believe in Saint Nick.”
“That’s the first data source. The second is going to be the library. Look into works on
mythology and religious studies. Now, while his work on human folklore is, in my opinion,
dogshit, you can get a lot of good ideas and structures from the works of Joseph Campbell,
particularly the Masks of God series of books. What you’re looking for is a way to build a
simple series of myths and folklore that you can disseminate into the fluffy populations as a
first stage, a way to inoculate a population with ideas that you can later use to manipulate
them.”
“So the question now becomes, what ideas do you need? Well the first thing you need to do is to
set up traits that allow your work to be maintained rather than diluted. So a form of
self-isolationism needs to be cultured. This can be done with stories of a specific area being
‘special’ and needs to be protected, or you could go for the hard sell and devise a way for the
fluffy population you’ve chosen to be special themselves. Alternatively, you could introduce
stories of how every other fluffy population is somehow wrong, or corrupt.”
“Next needs to be a ‘voice of god’. A source that appears to be chosen or special in some way
that the fluffies can use as a focal point. Some people might want to set themselves up as a
wise human, others might want to go the prophecy route and have a chosen fluffy be the one who
hears the stories in a cloister, really whatever method you want. In the sewers this was a
priest class, chosen because they could open tinned food, which they interpreted as being
‘chosen’ by the humans.”
“After this, you need a way to quash dissent, and culture wonder and rank. Take a look at
Catholicism for good examples on this, the various degrees of punishment, from saying whatever
proscribed magic words, up to excommunication. There needs to be a reason to follow the system
you’re setting up, and it needs to be amazing. Abrahamic religions have the state of the soul
in the balance, for instance. Wonder and rank, through ritual, ornateness, the alien-ness of a
priestly language or dress, and the separation of the populace into groups, all work together
to make a very specific structure in your population.”
“They need to come to the belief that their group of fluffies is somehow better off in the
cult. That it’s something valuable, and worth protecting and perpetuating, but deviation is
dangerous, both to the errant individual, and to the cult as a whole. Generally, the more
narrow your orthodoxy, the more fervent they will be about this. Once you’ve gotten this
established, you present the fundamental choice.”
“Obedience or the ultimate penalty. Whatever your system is, it needs a terminus for the
fluffies to see as a ‘last chance’. On the bad side, it might be some iteration of fluffy hell,
or just obliteration and nothingness. On the good side, whatever reward is native to their own
original folklore, amplified suitably. But to get to the good side, there are things they need
to do to ‘prove, purify, and prepare’. They must be ‘spiritually pure’ enough to enter, which
is usually accomplished through ritual of some form. They must prepare, which could be framed
as being an upstanding member of the cult. And they must prove, which may be demonstrating
their belief in the cult by accomplishing tasks.”
“You want a fluffy to bring dogs and cats back to a shelter? That’s their proving task. They do
that, say, three times, they get a ritual to move up a rank. They eat their own runt? That’s
proving their dedication. Up a rank. A mother finds her own foal is questioning the cult and
endangering their futures? If she kills it without remorse, she goes up a rank.”
“These systems work together to make the cult a self-propagating system. Granted, a human could
come along and wreck things but let’s be honest, fluffies are kind of useless for large scale
work, unless you teach them raid tactics to shit everywhere on someone’s property when they
piss you off. Constructing a fluffy cult really is more for fun and to fuck with them than for
anything serious. Except for that one guy I knew who did it to run a fluffy brothel. Turns out
sex cults make fluffies really keen on being very good employees for sex work.”
“There’s tons of options and variations you could do with this sort of thing, just be sure if
it fucks up, you off all the population you were working with, so they can’t warn other groups
about you or you might need to move areas of focus or wait a few months for them to forget. One
of the most fun you can do is to set up a death cult and get them to self-terminate.”
“Anyways, I’ve rambled on long enough folks, still not sure what I’m going to do for episode
14, if there is one, but we’ll see what happens. No mail time since this episode was the mail
time. You all take care now.”