The Abuser’s Web Guide, Episode 17
By: Turboencabulator
The same familiar white table in a softly lit basement room is in frame. There’s mild shuffling
sounds, and Interocitor appears in frame, mosaic face and flannel shirt, and plops a pumpkin on
the table. It is carved to look like Jason Vorhees’ hockey mask.
“Halloween, people. Halloween.” He says, “One of the most fun times you can have with
fluffies. In either sense of that statement. Today we will be having a holiday special and a
special mail call. I have no idea how long this episode will be but anymore I don’t really need
to. Finally got a camera upgrade so now I can shoot for hours without having to change out the
media.”
“So,” he continues, adjusting his suspenders absentmindedly. “the Halloween season is important
for two reasons. One is that fluffies are indeed like children, and some places even set up
trick-or-treating earlier in the day for some. This is generally frowned upon here because it
also draws ferals faster than going into a public park and screaming ‘Free Sketti’.”
“This is also a good thing for us who have a, uh, complex relationship with fluffies. We’ll be
getting into that in due course though. So what are we covering, specifically?”
“First off we’ll be talking about the nice side of this. Appropriate candies and treats,
costuming with your fluffies, media that shouldn’t be too scary, and the like.” Interocitor
says, holding up some disks and a bag of candy. He places these down and, even through the
mosaic, his expression visibly changes.
“Then we’ll be talking about exploiting fluffy stupidity during the holiday season, beginning
with effective ways to conduct a cull. This will be in three parts, one for all you folks in
urban areas, a bit for the suburban dwellers, and then the last part, probably the shortest, is
for people like me out in the countryside, since we already covered the techniques in an
earlier part. After this we will look into the appropriate way to terrorize a fluffy.”
“Finally we will be demonstrating methods for killing fluffies by scaring them to death.”
Interocitor states, before losing his sinister affect and chuckling to himself. “Man it’s been
a hot minute since I had some serious fun with a big abuse project, this is going to be a nice
change.”
“Also, I don’t usually announce upcoming topics, but remember, we have November next, and
Thanksgiving. Keep an eye out for the premier of that, which will be well early enough for you
to start prepping your own fluffy for the meal.”
With that, he picks up a large Ka-Bar knife and stabs it through the pumpkin, which makes a
muffled scree sound and starts bleeding from the mask holes.
“Fluffies are also good if you want lots of blood, assuming you’re willing to put in the effort
to drain them. Or just use them in-situ like I have here. As a word of warning, I cannot
recommend using fluffies in live Halloween displays if they’re going to be suffering or
killed. While it’s wonderful fun, there’s too much risk of some hugboxing parent coming along
and throwing a shitfit.”
He turns to come around the table and then pauses. “Oh, one last note before we get into this
thing. It seems like I have some fans who also run other channels and I’ve been tagged in one
of these rotating challenge things to use my channel’s format to teach something. So within a
few episodes please keep an eye out for one just for the history buffs. Also, I’m going to tag
Ordinary Sausage to make an educational video on sausage-making.”
There’s another pause, and Interocitor giggles a bit. “Fluffy sausage. That’d be a funny
episode.”
He coughs and adopts a nasally Boston accent. “Today we-we-we-we’re going to be
making… Fluffy Sausage!” Then mimes holding down a fluffy and taking a cleaver to its
neck. “Oh god the-the-the blood is eve-everywhere!”
The shot opens with Interocitor and a woman also with a mosaic effect on her face. She’s a head
shorter than him and is taking measurements on a fluffy.
“And this marks the first time Mrs. Interocitor appears on camera.”
She waves and continues measuring.
“So, first off, costuming. Mrs. I is far more talented than I am with tailoring work, but even
a twit like me can get some good costumes put together by following some basic guidelines.”
She puts down the pad and slips the microphone off Interocitor’s shirt. “Did you already tell
them not to get store bought?” She asks. He shakes his head and she turns to the camera. “Don’t
buy store bought. I don’t care if you go to the highest end fluff store, halloween products
were already cheap garbage, halloween products for fluffies might as well just be plastic
baggies of landfill and lead paint.”
There’s a moment where she looks like she’s feeling up Interocitor, making him jump a bit,
before she comes away with the battery pack the microphone was attached to and clips it on her
own belt temporarily.
“You could’ve asked.” He says, fainter than normal.
“Shush.” She says, turning back to the fluffy she was working on. “Right, we’ll make this fast
since I know he wants to get to the murdering part.”
He opens his mouth to protest but before he can get a word out she shoves a cookie
in. “Here. Run the camera dear.”
With a grumble he goes out of frame and adjusts the shot.
“Ok. Everyone, all you need to do for costuming is to go online, go to any of the hugbox forums
for making clothing for fluffies, yes those are a thing, and get any pattern for making a
costume. They’re usually high quality and all you need to assemble them is a flexible tape for
taking measurements, a basic sewing machine, you don’t want to be doing long seams by hand, and scissors and other crap. And fabric.”
She turns the fluffy around, who protests. She shushes it gently. “You want to make sure your
pattern follows a few guidelines though. First is no covering the butt or groin. You all know
exactly why. But you also don’t want anything snug around the base of a fluffy’s tail. The way
they walk means anything there will chafe like you would not believe. And trust us, if that
gets infected from the feces you’re more likely than not to wind up with a very, very sick
fluff.”
She turns the fluffy around yet again, earning a sullen puffed cheek expression. “Oh relax Eve,
be patient for the camera.”
The fluffy calms down and glances at the lens before pointedly fake-ignoring it.
“Next, nothing around the neck that isn’t secured with velcro. Strangulation is too easy. You
also want to make sure any masks are thin enough that if it slips and blocks their vision they
can get it off easily.”
“Wan be pwetty.” The fluffy says, starting to puff its cheeks again.
“I know dear, but first we need to-”
“No. Pwetty now.” The fluffy says and stomps one squishy hoof, before grumbling a
little. “Pwease.”
“In a minute Eve, we need to finish measuring you. Speaking of which, make sure fluffy costumes
aren’t too snug, since they can chafe just about anywhere. These aren’t as bad as behind but
it’s still irritating for owners and can be very painful in the long run for fluffies since
their skin is naturally more sensitive.”
Eve lets out a long, eye-watering fart, a small splatter-mark appearing under where she
sat. Mrs. I coughs a few times. “Jesus Eve, what have you been eating?”
“Eve num wots nummies.” The fluffy said, puffing her chest out. “Bestest Eve nee’ wots food,
an-hrnunm”
Eve wiggled and struggled a bit as Mrs. I stuffed some scrap cloth in the fluffy’s mouth and
ran some vet-wrap around it. “Alright, alright. You were right, she is spoiled.”
Interocitor grunts his assent from behind the camera. “Your sister spoiled everything she
raised, dear.”
With a shrug, Mrs. I took out a long hemming needle and held Eve down. “Good thing I de-pooped
her just in case.” She said, using one hand to hold Eve’s head still and lift her eyelid.
In one smooth motion Mrs. I inserted the needle through Eve’s tear duct, then used the back of
a screwdriver to tap-tap-tap until the needle sank in a little bit further. Eve jerked softly
once, then her eyes began to lose focus. Mrs. I wiggled the needle up and down slowly before
withdrawing it and daubing at the single drop of blood with a tissue.
Eve simply sat, eyes glazed over, a rivulet of drool starting to run from the side of her
mouth.
Mrs. I continued. “Anyways, Generally we recommend being careful with what cloth you
pick, since some dyes can irritate their fluff and transfer if they’re not color-fast enough or
the production company doesn’t use decent fixatives. Also this is going to be resting on moving
areas, so something quite smooth like nylon or rayon is fine.”
“The one thing you should not do.” She says, with a sigh as Eve urinates where she’s
sitting. “Aside from forget to diaper your brain-damaged fluffies, is use makeup or things like
fake teeth, false ears, any of that. The adhesives on some are horribly irritating and might
pull out fluff, and it’s a guarantee that fake teeth will get swallowed. Makeup is almost
universally going to give them a rash.”
“Now, a bit of fun I’ve had.” She says, taking a fluffy costume out from a bin. “Take a fluffy
costume and sew fishing hooks in the hems. It’s fine going on, but as soon as it starts going
the other way, it hooks in. This, some fake wings and a fake horn if needed, a good splash of
fluffy blood and some vodka to get whatever fluffy you do this to drunk, and you’ve got an
instant ‘munsta’. Bonus points for itching powder and laxatives, but you dress a fluffy up in
the costume and release it into a feral den. There’s a nine-out-of-ten chance at least one foal
will be trampled.”
“Well, thank you Mrs. I.” Interocitor says, coming back into frame with a roll of paper towels
and some gloves. “Let me uh. Yeah we’ll just-”
The shot cuts.
The next shot opens with Interocitor setting a large file box on the white table. “Alright, so,
that should get you all started with getting your fluffies costumed, if they’re into that sort
of thing. Now, let’s talk about fluffy-appropriate media. There’s kind of a strange dichotomy
between the two ‘acceptable’ categories. On one end are things that would be appropriate for
fluffies to watch for the season. The other end are stories that are definitely not for
fluffies, but are too advanced for them to understand why it’s actually terrifying.”
He opens the box and begins rummaging through. “Normally we’d be doing this in my office but
the fluffing-room is basically empty right now. One of our local artists bought all the
fluffies up to skin and stitch into a giant mosaic sphere thing.”
“Ah.” He says, pulling out a few dusty tapes and DVDs. “Fluffies seem to handle physical media
better than streaming. They can connect that the ‘story’ is being told from the tape or disk,
but they can’t quite get the idea of servers and the internet. It helps them come to terms with
it being a story and nothing more. Though if you want to let your fluffies actually handle the
media you’re going to need disk caddies for DVDs or Blu-ray. Yes they’re still made, mostly for
special needs care facilities, though one of my former students had one. His CP made it quite
difficult to place DVDs accurately in a tray but he could use the caddies quite easily.”
“As far as films go, Fluffies and animation go right together. The bright colors are quite
attractive to them, and since it’s obviously not happening in real life, you can push the
envelope with how scary it is a little. Even fairly dim fluffies can tell that animation and
real life are two different things. If you have one that can’t, congratulations, you have an
actually mentally handicapped fluffy, and those are some of the most fun. Just make sure you
neuter or spay them.”
“Some of the titles I recommend would be things like The Black Cauldron, the Disney Robin Hood,
Monsters Incorporated, Spirited Away, and the like. In general I’ve found that fluffies tend to
be able to grasp fantasy better than science-fiction. You want to avoid things that blend
animation and real life, like Pete’s Dragon or Who Framed Roger Rabbit, because then the nice
clean line between ‘not real animation’ and ‘real world real people’ blurs for them, sometimes
to the point of causing paranoia, and paranoia specifically. I’m still not entirely sure why.”
He continues laying out tapes and dusting them off. “Generally you want to pick stories that a
fluffy can tell couldn’t happen to them, due to setting for instance. Your fluffy or fluffies
probably have expressed enough interest in media to you that you can get a feel on what they’d
be able to tell is fiction and what isn’t, so that lets you have a general guideline if you
want to venture out of animation.”
“You want to be careful though. I made the mistake of showing a few fluffs The Neverending
Story and when the horse drowns oh. My god.” He says, facepalming and sighing. “I had to get a
new VHS player, I was out of the room, that scene happened, and they tried to punish the VHS
deck by just completely saturating it with feces. There was screaming and crying. Just a
complete mess.”
“Something more appropriate in live action would be, say, that terrible Casper live-action
film, or Labyrinth, the Addams Family film. Ghostbusters is actually fantastic for fluffies,
since the comedy elements are decently accessible for them as well as being not too challenging
in the scary department.”
After thinking a bit, he snaps his fingers. “That’s right, one other thing is that fluffies can
handle black and white films a lot better than color ones. Both because the nature of the
format makes it obviously not happening now, and because older films tend to be more reserved
with the gore and whatnot.”
“Now, there’s the other side of the coin. I showed fluffies Hellraiser one year. Yes, they were
more terrified than anything, but they didn’t have trouble understanding that it was
fictional. I then showed the same fluffies Hannibal and one actually went insane thinking that
someone was going to cook his brain in front of him.”
He ponders for a moment. “I suppose it’s because Hellraiser is just so out there that it’s
obviously fictional, but Hannibal is a very realistic film. There must be some threshold of
absurdity that a fluffy can recognise. I showed those films to fairly mature fluffs as well, so
I think some more experimentation is needed.”
After a beat. “I should find a prop Lament Configuration and show it to one of the ones that
saw Hellraiser, see if it starts thinking Hellraiser was real too.”
The shot comes back with Interocitor dumping candy in a bowl. “Now. Fluffies and sugar. If you
have the patience to deal with hyperactive pygmy horses running around and screaming, I envy
you. Let’s start with store bought candy. Nothing with sticks, nothing with hard candies since
good luck getting a fluffy to not chomp down on anything sweet. You’re going to have your best
bet with things like Reese’s cups, tootsie rolls, candy corn, and other softer, chewier
stuff. I would avoid bit-o-honey though, that has a mysterious tendency to get stuck in fluff.”
“If you’re going to home-make your candies, I would recommend soft caramels, nougat, anything
soft and easily dissolved. On a healthier side, things like candied fruits, fruit leather,
sweet English puddings, small pastries, and similar are all great choices, though they probably
should be for your family only and not for handing out. I made the mistake one year of handing
out fresh Malasadas and it ran me out of flour.”
“This.” He says, tipping the bowl up. “This is fluffy candy. It’s touted to be sugar free, just
as sweet, and if you’ve watched this show long enough, you know that it’s garbage. Here’s the
punchline. Fluffy candy is sugar-free just like Haribo gummy bears are. Meaning it uses
sorbitol as a sweetener. It’s also a pretty serious laxative. In humans a cup of this candy can
leave you planted on the toilet more securely than Taco Bell opening an all you can eat
buffet.”
“Imagine what it does to fluffies.” Interocitor says. The shot smash cuts to a chubby mare,
crouched down, tail up, spraying feces against a wall like a firehose, screaming her head off,
one eye bloodshot. The shot cuts back after just a second to Interocitor. “So fluffy candy is
only for fluffies you don’t like. Or to give to fluffies who belong to humans you don’t like.”
“Or for the fuck of it. Whatever.” He says, shrugging.
The shot opens on Interocitor standing on the roof of a building in a metropolitan area, having
a cigarette. “Hey everyone. Sorry about the odd filming location, but it’s time to talk about
culls. If you’re a responsible fluffy owner, you should consider networking with other local
people and organize periodic culls of the feral population. Round my parts we have a little
organization of volunteers and we set up culls twice a year, once around Halloween, and once
just before the first big thaw. This way the ferals left play things off as being due to
‘munstas’ during Halloween, or are too locked down and separated to communicate well because of the long winter. The start of the cold season is a great time to kill off any fluffy herd
leadership, and when they’re starving and desperate at the end of winter makes it easy to
manipulate and trap them.”
“Here we’re in the city, though, which means that you need to be a bit more subtle. I don’t
advocate doing anything illegal, so check with your local by-laws and plan accordingly. A cull
here tends to be a distributed affair, with small teams of people handling one or two
alleyways, maybe an infested building. There’s enough ambient media that fluffies quickly hear
about Halloween and all the munstas and spook shit going on, so this is useful.”
He walks and picks up the camera, taking it over to the ledge and holding it over, pointing it
straight down at a moderate size herd milling around in a dead end of an alleyway. “Here the
best technique is to identify your herd locations and use the terrain to your advantage. Here
they’re trapped, which means you should try to get them to feel this area is safe in the weeks
leading up to the cull. Especially if you can get them to brag to other nearby herds they have
such a great place.”
There’s the distant sound of fluffies screaming and shouting, and the shot turns to show the
nearby junction in the alley filling with herds coming together and piling into each other,
then surging down into the dead end. They’re followed by humans in cheap rubber masks and
simple costumes waving around plastic weapons.
When the massed herds have all been pressed into the dead end, a door opens in the alleyway and an impromptu barrier is dragged out, made from plywood zip-tied to an extension ladder. A
pickup truck is backed down the alleyway and the first fluffy is picked up, its head put on the
lowered tailgate, and a hammer brought down on the base of its skull.
The screaming redoubles as the fluffies swarm and scrabble, trying to find a path out. Foals
are trodden underfoot by fluffies and humans alike, the smell of fear-shits and urine is an
almost visible miasma. Eventually none of the fluffies are left alive, the humans tearing apart
the dens, finding piles of chirpies. All are unceremoniously dumped in the back of the truck to
starve. The tailgate is put back up, the bed cap lowered, and the pickup trundles out to
dispose of the dead.
The camera is brought back to frame on Interocitor. “The same ideas can be applied to abandoned
buildings. Ahead of time, rig one up to prep for the cull, set it up as ‘the safest place a
fluffy can be’, and then induce the local herds to go there through fear. Then seal it off and
exterminate them. Be sure to do so in a way that is humane, remove the bodies, and dispose of
them someplace quiet. Don’t just dump them in a pile in the woods, we don’t want to screw with
the other local animals. Incineration or burial.”
“People might be wondering why bother being humane with fluffies when I’ve had multiple
episodes explicitly showing how to torture them. Which this one will include as well. The short
version is that it’s because it’s good for public relations. Culls only really work in urban
areas when the local population is alright with them. Cruelty is not an option.”
There’s a sound from the alleyway below, and Interocitor puts the camera back over the
edge. Two people in wellingtons and filter masks are hosing down the alleyway, rinsing the
feces and urine into the nearby storm drains, and disposing of the assembled nests and food
piles in the nearby dumpster.
“You want to have your culling organization leave the neighborhood better than when the
fluffies shat it up. After all, a cleaner city is good for both humans and domestic fluffs.”
The shot comes back with Interocitor surveying an empty lot in a suburban
neighborhood. “Right. This is actually the most difficult environment to conduct a cull in, the
'burbs. You lack the ability to easily funnel and control the movement of herds that a city
gives you, but you also have all the restrictions that you don’t find out in the country. This
particular neighborhood is one that has a homeowner’s association, and thankfully this one is
friendly to culls. Most are actually, there’s nothing that drives down the value of property
like ferals shitting everything up and screeching all over the place.”
“This particular association has had this lot left empty after the house here burned down a few
years ago. It’s specifically to enable better culling. If you don’t have an empty lot free,
you’re going to need to find someone who will volunteer their back yard or a similar space for
this. In the case that your HOA is full of hugboxing twits, you’ll need to break this up into
smaller operations all over the neighborhood, but for now we’ll work a larger example.”
“The first step is, well ahead of Halloween, to first mow and then fence the lot. A backyard
will need temporary fencing put up if it isn’t fenced in, specifically fencing that a fluffy
can’t see through. This is to enable the first step. The pattern here is the same as in the
city, and as in the country. Get them all in one spot, seal them off, and kill them. This time
though, you need to have the fluffies choose to come here, rather than be funneled.”
A pickup truck pulling a trailer with a wide mower on it pulls up, and the shot cuts to a
neatly mown, completely blank lot, fenced on three sides by other houses. A man is putting
plastic strips in the chain-link fence to block the view.
Interocitor is using a simple survey tool and a can of spray paint to mark out areas in the
grass. “So what we’re going to be doing is building a little fluffy roach motel. I’ve got plans
listed on the forums for what we’re doing here but all that’s necessary is to make a lot of
single-family shelters for fluffies as cheaply as possible. I’m just laying out rows of lots so
we know how many we can fit in here. You want to try and get an estimate of the number of
ferals ahead of time, add about twenty percent, and build for that.”
He goes over and through the newly installed fence on the final side of the lot and opens a
panel van, pulling out a simple, screwed-together box with a few wires on top. “So this is the
ones we’re working on. The user ‘Pencilneck’ on the forum came up with the idea for the lights,
I slapped 'em into a simple box. These are made from the cheapest plywood you can find
brad-nailed together and a hole cut for access, with a hinged flap that can be lifted and
latched.”
Carrying the box in, he goes to a corner of the fence and turns it over. “We have some short
dowel segments on the bottom so you can make sure it isn’t going to move. If you don’t want to
bother with dowels just sink some nails through the bottom.”
He places the box in its slot and presses down firmly, so it’s flush against one fence. “You
want to have as much of the fenceline covered by habitats as possible. The fluffies will try
and dig out, but if they can’t get to the fence itself, they’ll panic more and instead hide in
a box.”
The shot transitions to show the lot lined with boxes, but the middle mostly free. “Now, some
people would say to fill the whole thing, but this isn’t necessary. You need to provide
shelters for the smarty, toughies, and families. The lower caste fluffs get the field, but this
is wholly useable for our purposes. Just make sure every box is open and the lights are on when
it’s culling night.”
“So this is the first part, we have a place for all the fluffies to go. The second part is
getting them to go there. If you can train or raise some ‘hewpews’, have them go around to all
the ferals they can find in the neighborhood and spread the story of, uh, really anything to
make this lot sound like paradise. Say a fluffy bought it and is making a bestest safe place
for all the fluffies to hide from the munstas. Tell 'em it’s an open bar, whatever gets them
here.”
“Then you don’t let them in.” Interocitor says, holding up a tape recorder. “Play happy fluffy
sounds during the day, snoring, cooing, and fucking fluffies at night.”
“Then stop. A day or so before the cull night. If ferals ask, tell 'em they were all whisked
away to skettiland or something.” He shrugs. “You all get the idea.”
“On cull night, you open the gate, put on some lights near it, and all around the neighborhood,
have the volunteers go out in costume at night and scare the ferals. A few might run off
elsewhere, but most should make their way here. Slow moving threats like zombies are
particularly effective, because the fluffies will hunker down somewhere if they believe they
can’t outrun the threat.”
“Next up. Cull night.”
The shot opens on a high view of the lot, a large open middle area, a dug out latrine in the
center, and some food scattered about near the back of the lot. The distant screeing and
high-pitched nonsense of fluffies is already audible in the dimming light. The open fence-gate
is well lit, and electric lanterns are on stakes in the field. Each of the habitats has a warm
light shining from inside, a few with flicker LEDs to add to the warmth and cheeriness.
Soon fluffies are streaming in, babbling and crying, or looking around in wonder. A volunteer
has come along and painted all the boxes and the inside of the fences bright colors, and soon
the assorted smarties, toughies, and pregnant mares have filled the habitats, the remainder
taken up by the eldest or brattiest fluffies. After a period of fast motion, the streaming in
stops, and the herds are at play or eating, poopie babies being dumped in the shit-pit. A few
scuffles here and there are broken up by toughies. After a while, the fluffies all gather into
piles and sleep.
Then people in dark clothing creep up to the fenceline, one silently swinging the gate shut. A
few bundles of firecrackers are thrown into the middle of the lot, and all hell breaks loose.
The sound of hundreds of screaming, shitting fluffies fills the air, and a mighty stampede
starts, every fluffy running for one of the habitats and throwing themselves in, rapidly
filling them all. People jump the fence and close the doors on the full habitats, prompting the
fluffies still outside to divert and force themselves into another habitat. Eventually the
boxes are full of screeching, begging, soiled fluffies, all securely latched closed.
The shot cuts to Interocitor’s cam drone as he walks through the field and up to the pooping
pit. A gentleman behind him begins turning out the lights on the habitats, making the fluffies
scream louder.
“Well this was more effective than last year.” Interocitor said. “Most of the fluffies are
boxed, and the more in a box, the easier it is to kill them.”
The camera turns to show the pit has around thirty brown or dark tan fluffies in it, none older
than middling adolescence. They’re all sobbing, confused, and watching the humans milling
around them.
Then the first shovels-full of dirt cover them and the screaming, higher pitched, starts again,
mixed with begging as the young fluffies are buried alive.
The camera turns back to Interocitor going to one of the habitats and taking the light socket
out of the roof. He then places a hose in the hole and turns it on.
The fluffies within start to scream and fight back, but the box rapidly fills up with
water. One by one the boxes of fluffies are drowned, then picked up, inverted to allow the
water to drain better, and put in one of the various trucks or vans.
“Make sure you dispose of these properly as well.” Interocitor says. “Even filled with damp
fluffies these habitats should burn well. Remove the wires and batteries of course, though.”
“Out here.” Interocitor says, gesturing to a field. “The world is your oyster. If you recall an
earlier episode friends of mine set up a dug out pit rather similar to how we handled the
suburb infestation. Set up traps in the woods, build wooden super-habitats for fluffies and
burn them down in it. You have basically free reign, so get with your friends and set up a
cull. Keep your good herds out of it though, they’re worth protecting.”
“Since we’ve already covered this one, I’m going to instead splice in some footage of perhaps
the grandest cull I’ve witnessed, out in Arizona.”
The shot cuts, slightly lower in quality, showing a shallow box canyon filled with thousands of
fluffies, shot from the top ridgeline, about a dozen feet up. A loud crash is heard, and a
metal wall is dropped into place, sinking a few inches into the ground and sealing off the
fluffies. Dozens of ranchers and the like walk up to the edge of the canyon and throw water
balloons, making the fluffies below splutter and whine, complaining of ‘burny wawas’ and
‘no-smeww-pwetties’.
Then when the fluffies were good and saturated, someone throws a molotov cocktail, and the
entire super-herd of gasoline-soaked fluffs goes up in a screeching ball of flame.
The shot guts back to Interocitor sighing again. “Good god that stank.”
The shot comes back on Interocitor behind his table again. “So, culls. You have lots of
options, just be sure you’re working within the law. Now it’s time to move on to individual
torments. Every fluffy is different to some extent, but believe it or not, you don’t need a
costume for this. A fluffy is most afraid when someone they love turns out to be a ‘munsta
hoomin’. You then simply need to figure out their psychological pressure points, which in a
fluffy tend to be fairly simple.”
Interocitor pulls a whiteboard into frame and starts jotting down a list. “So, common
psychological pressure points are mating, their fluffy family, legs, genitals, playing, eating,
and ‘wuv’. Your own fluffies may have variations on this but these are the most common ones in
your garden variety domestic fluffy.”
“Believe it or not, psychological horror is incredibly effective on a fluffy when it’s applied
to one of these pressure points.”
The shot cuts to a fluffy on a table in an immobilizer frame. Interocitor is seated in front of
the stallion.
“Daddeh, why in no-weggy-move fing?” The earthie stallion asks, confused, squirming a bit.
“Oh, I don’t want you to run away.” Interocitor says, then smiles.
“Wh-why nu wan wun?” The stallion asks, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof. “Yu fink Sammy
wan wun?”
Interocitor nods slowly, staring at the stallion.
“Huu daddeh, why yu fink Sammy wan wun?”
Interocitor remains silent, shrugging a little, and watching.
“Pwease daddeh, Sammy no do nuffink wong, no gun wun.” Sammy says, shaking a bit more. “Pwomise no wun, pwease wet go?”
Interocitor just stares.
“Pwease daddeh nu huwt Sammy? Sammy good fw-fwuff.” Sammy says, urinating in fear a little.
Then he notices what he did and jumps with a little eep sound. “NU! Nu mean make bad pee-pees,
huu huu huu Sammy sowwy daddeh!”
Interocitor just stares more.
The shot fast-forwards, Sammy getting more and more agitated until suddenly, at normal speed,
Sammy begins just screaming.
“PWEASE DADDEH NU TAKE WUMPS AN NU NU STICK NU WAN HUWTIES-” Sammy screams before beginning to hyperventilate, and promptly passes out in the frame.
The shot guts back to Interocitor at the table. “He’ll be fine, I’m going to play it off like
he had a really bad nightmare. But that was just letting the fluffy’s own imagination run
wild. All you need to do is make it seem like something is off, that you’re not in your right
way, and a fluffy that cares about you will drive itself nuts.”
“If however you are feeling more theatric, and you don’t care if a fluff survives, there’s the
old standby of a hell house.”
The shot opens with Interocitor turning on the lights in an outbuilding. The interior is full
of brick walls, only about knee high, and black curtains hanging down to the top of the
walls. The floor and brick walls are done up with fake blood, a fluffy head on a pike, and
other gruesome decorations and gaffs.
“So, this is the hell house a bunch of friends and I put together for this season. Rather than
being for the entertainment of fluffies or children, this is specifically to give a fluffy one
hell of a terror-filled experience. If the fluffy isn’t killed, either by you or out of fear,
they’re generally left either completely traumatized or insane.”
He starts walking through the maze, over walls, pushing the curtains apart. “This place is
rigged with some simple stuff. A fog machine, some spoopy lights, we’ve got a few Bluetooth
speakers around for ambiance, and of course we have our unwilling assistants, which we will
come back to later.”
“This is meant to be a permanent thing so we used brick walls, but anything that’s a
fluffy-proof barrier works fine. Mind there’s no little hidey-holes that you don’t intend there
to be, and I recommend pooling a little cash and setting up some cheap wi-fi cameras through
the space to make finding the little goobers a bit easier. Also you want to calibrate the flow
rate of your fog machine so the fluffy isn’t able to hide in a fog plume or something.”
“So, now we have the space established, let’s introduce you to an assistant.”
Interocitor carries a fluffy in to his abuse chamber in a carrier and sets it down, getting his
workspace ready, and scrubbing up.
“Assistant in this case means ‘fluffy I’ve modified into a monster’. I’ve been practicing some
new stuff for some vids down the line but got diverted into some fairly extreme fluffy body
mods. Let’s demonstrate a few right now.”
He drags out a svelte earthie mare and puts a clamp around her mouth immediately. “Shh, no
talking. This is my show.”
The mare struggles as Interocitor holds her in place, rump over the trough in the bench, and
carefully uses a cold pack to force her to void her bowels completely. “Hygiene is of paramount
importance in this kind of surgery.”
She whimpers and groans as her bowels cramp, every dribble being forced out. Interocitor uses
the overhead spray to rinse her down, then he puts her firmly in a leg immobilizer and straps
her in.
“Right, I’m fortunate enough to know a machinist so this was easy to get, those of you who
don’t know metalworkers will need to go to the Alenix surgical supply catalogue.” He says,
putting a head immobilizer on the mare, carefully securing her in place.
The mare looks around, eyes darting as she urinates in fear. She begins to fruitlessly struggle
as Interocitor picks up a scalpel.
She starts trying to scream, muffled by the clamp as Interocitor carefully runs the scalpel
around the crown of her skull, carefully peeling the scalp off. A quick change of tool and a
series of small holes are drilled in the mare’s skull, then tapped for threading.
He picks up a surgical saw, carefully cutting above the ring of holes, until he completely
removes top of the mare’s skull. A quick, fluid cut and the dura matter is removed, exposing
the mare’s brain. Interocitor picks up a perspex-and-brass cover, placing it over the hole, and
screwing it in to the tapped holes.
“There, the start of a halloween fluff.” He says, and shows the mare a mirror.
She stares, then starts vibrating, until a trickle of foam drips from her nose and she passes
out in the frame.
“Well at least I can work in peace now.” Interocitor says.
Interocitor puts down the finished mare, her hoofpads replaced with metal plates on struts, the
exposed brain dome illuminated from behind by an LED, her jaw split into two segments and
filled with teeth just firmly tapped into the flesh. She’s heavily sedated.
“Right, a few more like this to release in the maze with our victims, and that’s that
finished.” He says, turning back to the camera. “You’re going to want to prepare helpers like
this within a few days of your fun, otherwise infections tend to take over past that.”
“Now, a lot of you are going to be hoping for some footage from inside the hell house, but our
little fluffing group has actually set up a Patreon to help keep the culls going and the
footage will be available there.”
“Needless to say most fluffies die of fright when they see a few monstrosities like this one
are in the maze with them. Especially since most of them are insane and don’t realize they’re
monsters now.”
“So, this brings us to the end of the halloween segment of the show. Be sure to keep an eye out
for our upcoming episodes, working with disabled fluffies, the thanksgiving cooking special,
and more.”
He hauls a plastic tote out from below the tabletop and immediately digs through, pulling out
one.
“Dear Interocitor, what do you do for a living?”
“Currently I am a 3D model rigger and animator.” He says, putting the note to one side. “Before
I taught computer science at a technical college.”
He reaches for another. “Dear Interocitor, for the past few months I’ve been trying to raise a
fluffy, but most of mine die from the dumbest shit. Eating rat poison that they’ve been told
would kill them, licking electrical outlets, one even died by forgetting it needed to urinate
until its bladder burst. What gives?”
“I’m betting you’re getting fluffies from a knockoff Fluffmart.” Interocitor says with a
knowing nod. “They’re basically Fluffmart factory seconds forced to inbreed. We’ll do an
episode on intelligence augmentation for fluffies soon but for now, I’d suggest going to a
shelter and finding a well-tempered earthie.”
Another note is drawn. “Dear Interocitor, what’s the most effective way to sterilize a mare
without her knowing?”
“I recommend Alenix’s ‘No-mummah special sketti kibble.’.” He says, putting the bin back under
the table. “It’s just a single can of wet food that destroys every egg in the mare. On
occasion one survives but by then it’s become so damaged that if the mare does give birth it
would probably not survive the outside world.”
“Well folks, thanks for tuning in again. We’re coming up on twenty episodes hot and fast, so
hopefully you’ll tune in for those as well. I’ve been Interocitor, you all take care.”
