Abuser's Web Guide EP 8 (Turboencabulator)

Abuser’s Web Guide Ep 8

By: Turboencabulator

Interocitor has a camera at the end of a selfie-stick, walking out of a grocery store, pushing
a cart.

“Hey friends, Interocitor here, part eight is going to be a fair amount of work, so I’m going
to apologize for what must be an unusually long gap between the previous part and this one. I
actually just finished uploading it yesterday, but filming this part looks to be a bit more
than I bargained for. We’ll see what happens though. In this part we’re going to be covering
the nuts and bolts of fluffy psychology. This will include things like fundamental drives, the
HasBio implanted stuff, herd dynamics, smartyism, and the wan-die loop. Plus we’ll of course
have some practical demonstrations of how to manipulate them in various ways.”

The shot cuts to inside his truck, driving along what appears to be a highway. “Now, you all
might be wonderin where we’re off to today. Well I’ve got a friend that grows a certain crop
down here in Kentucky and since I had planned to start with herds, this would be a great way to
illustrate why you don’t see as many wild herds as you would imagine, and we’ll be able to come
back with some fresh fuzzy faces to talk to.”

“Y’see, herds are a great place to start, not just because you’re probably going to be getting
fluffs from them, but because it can open a lot of doors if you can fluffy-whisper a whole herd
at once. People find it impressive. More importantly though, herds are a bit easier to work on
if you’re inexperienced. The group-think nature means you only need to convince one member, and the whole herd will follow. Even if they’re not the smarty, that’s a key thing. Convincing the
smarty, while a good option, is not the only one. Smartys run on ego, so if the whole herd is
on your side of an argument, the smarty will switch to your side. Probably manage to convince
itself the idea was theirs.”

“Coming up on the Kentucky state line, I’ll need to put the camera away so if you’ll pardon me,
I’ll rejoin you all when I’ve gotten to his farm.”

The camera turns on again, the view is from the top of a reasonably tall, semi-wooded ridge.

“Right folks, main reason we’ve come down.”

The camera pans, looking down one side of the ridge to a small, flat clearing. There’s a dozen
or so colorful splotches of fluff milling about.

“That is our herd. Now, my friend is a farmer, so you may be thinking that we’re here to wipe
out or control the herd to not get into the crop. In fact, we’re here for the opposite
purpose. We want these little goobers to find the field. Now, I’ve not gone off the deep end,
but see if you can figure out what’s going on before the reveal.”

“I’m going to get a headcam set up and ‘stumble across’ the fluffies in a minute, but let’s
cover herds first.”

“Herds form around one of two things, smarties, and safe places. Herds with smarties inevitably
migrate around until they find what they believe is a safe place, though they may detach from
there and move on after however much time they fancy. Safe places, in general, include shelter,
a nearby food source, and a certain ‘sweet spot’ kind of distance from humans.”

“You might think that a feral fluffy herd will want to be further away from humans but in a
study done last year it was found that essentially every feral herd is within five kilometers
of a human settlement or infrastructure. It’s mostly a psychological compulsion, but also
because that distance is slightly less dense with predator species. The distance will fluctuate
based on region of course, but they like us and want to stay near us.”

“Now, herds are very group-think oriented, and the more base the motivation, the stronger the
influence. So herds can be easily manipulated by talking about safe shelter, good food,
someplace to have babies, and if you can throw in ‘nice humans’ without seeming threatening,
all the better.”

“Smarties are a bit different. There’s two kinds, so-called ‘good smarties’ and the ones you’re
more familiar with. Good smarties are rare, mostly because they require a fluffy to have the
ability to plan or think beyond themselves. Spotting the difference is easy though. Good
smarties want to get away or avoid conflict usually, and generally are amenable to moving along
or listening to a human if it protects the herd and minimizes conflict. Everyone who has come
across the usual type of smarty knows what that means. Land, poop, food, demands after

“Good smarties you can reason directly with. Otherwise, it’s all about ego. They’re little
egomaniacs in plush-toy bodies, so anything to grab their god complex and stroke it will work
as a way to convince them. The lack of critical thinking skills is only surpassed by sovereign
citizen conspiracy types.”

One bright-orange spot turns and unloads a torrent of brown on a red spot.

“Welp. Answered which kind of smarty we have. Let’s go have a conversation.”

Interocitor is walking through the woods, carefully following a fluffy trail, little bits of
fluff stuck in the branches and brambles like path markers. He nears the clearing and slows
down, listening to the high pitched rabble.

“Smawty, pwese nu be meanie, hewd hab biggest tummy-owwies.”

“D-Dummy tuffie Smawty know dat. Smawty awweady gib sowwy-poopies to stoopit nummie findew.”

“Huu-huu-huu sowwy Smawty but aww de gwass is yicky an de bewwies make fwuffies hab

There’s at least thirty-five, most of them chirpies or foals huddling under their mothers. They
all look a bit thin and bedraggled, in addition to being caked in dirt and shit. The only one
that looks well fed is the smarty, with the toughies a distant second.


All the fluffies look over at Interocitor, who took the time to sit down on a stump. He waves.

A few of the less bright fluffies wave back but the Smarty starts screeching and the three
toughies waddle up and form a line of stomping, puffed-cheek non-threateningness.


Interocitor holds up a finger. “Ahh, but that’s the problem. It won’t be for long.”

The Smarty walks up behind the toughies, eyes narrowing. “Wat dummy hoomin tawkin 'bout?”

A subtitle flashes up for a moment. Step 1: Destabilize their safety

“Well, you know how humans don’t really care when fluffies have a place and the humans want

The fluffies nod, most sad, a few with little huffs.

“That’s happening here. I was out for a walk out here to look for butterflies and heard some
builder-humans talk about how they were going to take away all the trees and grassies and put
down the black rock and make a human place here.”

The assembled fluffies began to chatter amongst themselves, clearly afraid.

“Hewd! Be QUIET!” The Smarty shouted, “De human WYING!”

“Why would I lie? I have my own nice place, and I don’t mind it if fluffies stay someplace as
long as they don’t make a mess or be meanies to other herds around.”

The smarty starts thinking, getting agitated again as the herd begins muttering. A few fear
farts are heard.

“Your nummie-finder probably didn’t find the farm, did he. It’s quite a walk from here so I’m
not surprised.”

Another subtitle. Step 2: Offer a way out of a bad situation.

The smarty glances over at Interocitor, then at the nummie-finder. “Dewe a fawm?”

“Oh yes, it’s huge, and really close to the treeline. I bet you could dig out dens and eat from
the farm and nobody would ever know.”

The smarty stomped over to the nummie finder, bucking the smaller stallion in the side. “DUMMY

The demoted fluffy starts sobbing. “Pwease, nu, dun make fwuffy cwean poopie pwaces, can dig ow sweepy-time watch?”

“Poopie pwace cweaner. Ow you wan be new enfie toy fow tuffies?”

Interocitor sighed. “Hey, you know if you want to make it to the farm, you’ll need to start
moving. It might get dark soon.”

Subtitle: This was at 11 AM. They are that stupid.

“Smawty know dat.” The smarty turned to his herd. “Hewd, time to move again. Hoomin pwomise
fawm. If dis a twick, gib da hoomin fowebba-sweepies!”

Interocitor chuckled. “Oh don’t worry. It’s a huge farm. There’s lots of plants with big, juicy
leaves that fluffies love to num on. But. There’s something you need to do first.”

The smarty turned back, one eye twitching with impatience. “Wat dummie hoomin wan.”

“Well,” Interocitor shifted, putting some artificial concern in his voice. “There’s a lot of
you, and the babies are going to need a lot of food when they get to the point they’re not
babies anymore. That might make the farmers notice you.”

The fluffies look around at all their young.

“We weave some no-good babbies.” The smarty said, shrugging.

“That would be a bad idea too.” Interocitor said, and pointed up the ridge. “I was up there
yesterday. There’s a dark-runner in the area. I heard it.”

The fluffies go silent. One toughie looses his cheek puff, standing normally. “Wut a

“It’s a monster in the darkness.” Interocitor said, lowering his voice and looking around. “Any
darkness. It can’t go in the light, so nobody really knows what one looks like. It eats small
animals in the forest. If you leave foals behind, alive or dead, it’ll find and eat them. Then
it can really easily follow your smell to your new dens and eat all of you too. I’ve talked
with a human smarty and they say that one dark-runner will eat a herd in just three dark

The fluffies have all clustered close behind the toughies, looking around at the shadows. Even
the smarty has lost some of his bravado, nervously looking into the darkness of the alcoves in
the ridgeside.

“I’ll make you a deal though.” Interocitor said, standing up. “We all go to the farm, then when
we’re there I’ll take the babies you don’t want. That way you have done something for me, and I
have helped you. I know a place where bad babies can be used for good things.”

The Smarty looked around. “An de dawk-wunner?”

Interocitor chuckled. “It won’t get near the farm. It’s too well lit. You know how us humans
like their lightbulbs.”

The Smarty grumbled, stomping. “Take us to de fawm, hoomin.”

The assembled fluffies gathered up their young, the rejects being carried on the worker
fluffies. They followed Interocitor as he led them through the brush, breaking down a neat

Interocitor watched as the fluffies neatly placed their filthy, unwanted offspring in a
high-walled tray. A mixture of chirpies and foals, crying that they were good babies and didn’t
want to go. One got a punch in the face.

“Dummie nu-pwetty babby nu steaw gud mummah’s miwkies. Hatechu. Why you no be pwetty fow
mummah?” The mare said, a dull, stupid hatred in her eyes. She looked up at Interocitor, with a
happy face. “Fankyoo fow takin bad babbies, nicey hoomin.”

“Of course.” Interocitor said, leaning against the back of his pickup.

The clay-red stallion, recently demoted to cleaning assholes, was being forced over towards
Interocitor, along with a radiation-hazard green mare.

The Smarty was behind, and said “Dese fwuffies nu gud. Take dem tuu.”

Interocitor nodded and, pulling on a pair of gloves, picked them up and put them on the
tailgate. “Right, that’s twelve babies, and two fluffies.”

The Smarty huffed and turned away, leading his herd down the hill to the tobacco
plantation. Interocitor picked up the tray of infants and began bottle-feeding the chirpies.

The mare looked over. “Yu nu huwt babbies?”

“Oh no. And you two are safe. You see, I knew you had a meanie herd. So now you two, an these
foals are coming with me, and we’ll have a nice safe place in my house set up for you.”

A foal, the chubby little stallion with a bloody nose, perked up from his
crying. “Hoomin… hoomin be daddeh?”

With a chuckle, Interocitor nodded. “Oh yes. All of you are coming home with me.” As the
fluffies cheered and wiped away happy tears, he reached back, one handed, and pulled out a
stack of paper bowls, pouring salad mix and fruit bits in them, for the weaned foals and the
two adults. “Here, have some real food. Your herd is going to be having a rough time.”

The red stallion huffed, looking after the group of fluffies, now at the edge of the
field. “Dummy hewd. Twy be gud fwuffy an dey meanie aww de time.”

The mare is moping quietly. “Smawty say am tuu nu-pwetty fow huggies.”

“Well,” Interocitor said, putting the chirpies together in a little felt pocket, letting them
form a fluffpile. “They’re getting what they deserve now.”

The fluffies looked up at him, curious.

“Tobacco is a plant that humans grow not to eat, but because it has happy-feeling stuff in
it. In humans it’s just a little happy feeling. If fluffies eat it though, they can’t stop
eating it.”

The mare gasps. “Da buwnie-sticks. In da city my speciaw fwiend twied eating de widdle yellow
fings fwom buwnie-stick and he went fowebba-sweepies cuz he no eat nuffin ewse.”

“Right. This is the plant those are made from. Now imagine what it would do to a fluffy if they
ate whole leaves of that stuff.”

After a moment, the mare giggles. “Gud.”

“Let’s get you all squared away so you can sleep.”

Interocitor is crouched next to the smarty. The fluffy is laying on his side on the bare dirt,
his eyes bloodshot, his face seemingly hanging off his skull as he slowly chews the remains of
a tobacco leaf. The herd is around him, chirpies drunkenly feeding from nicotine-saturated
teats. A mare vomits, then eats the leaf chunks out of the puddle, too focused on the ‘happy
nummies’ to notice her bestest-babbeh has suffocated under her breast.

A six-wheeler pulls up, dragging a cage on a trailer. Interocitor stands up and helps the
farmer, his face also blurred, to load the herd into the cage.

“So that’s this herd taken care of. The fluffies will be kept on a minimum of nicotine to make
sure they’re obedient. It’s a long future of being worked ahead of them, but they’re still
better off than they would be.”

Interocitor is bathing the mare, now more of a mint green, and she’s giggling merrily and
poking bubble-bath bubbles with her nose. The clay-red stallion, now a proper fire engine red,
is sitting to one side, wrapped up in a towel and giggling as he wiggles around in it and paws
his hoofs along the surface of the rough cotton.

“You two must’ve gotten into some real dirty places. Well, it’s nap time. You’ll learn what
times are what, don’t worry.”

He transfers the stallion to a pen, and after quickly drying her off, the mare joins him.

Interocitor turns to the camera. “I caught these two making eyes at each other on the way back
here, so… yeah we’re going to be having a litter from them soon I bet.”

“But, let’s get on to fluffy psychology as it pertains to the individual. We’ll begin with the
fundamental needs.”

He walks over in front of a whiteboard and draws a pyramid. “Now some bright spark over at
HasBio studied basic psychology so we know that the fluffy motivation is based on Maslow’s
Hierarchy of Needs.”

“Down at the bottom, we have the basic physiological needs. Fluffies need food, they need
water, rest, and shelter. However, a fluffy is engineered to be a pet or toy. So they will
prefer food from humans or for humans over anything else, and they will seek out human
domiciles or structures for shelter, or at least proximity to them.”

“Next up, safety needs. Fluffies only defense is feces, so this culminates in having a safe,
hidden shelter, or, you guessed it, a human to protect them. As you work up the hierarchy,
every step is based on a fluffy’s relation to a human. This is why ferals can never truly be
independent of humans. It’s literally wired into them on an instinctual level.”

“However, fluffies also have more than just these drives. A fluffy is sentient, and quite
stupid. Their emotional drives are on par with a young child, barring alicorns, and their
general cognitive ability is not much better. If you go by Loevinger’s taxonomy of the stages
of ego development a fluffy tends to stop at a version of the Conformist stage, but it also
tends to jump the early stages because fluffies have a pre-programmed baseline of behavior.”

“From now on, please remember that what I’m talking about does not apply to alicorns. They’re
head and shoulders more capable than baseline fluffies.”

He turns and draws a few diagrams while he’s speaking. “Now, a fluffy is basically running on
primitive drives which have been co-opted by a toy company. Their need for companionship is in
service of making them want humans, they are hard wired to want to breed because breeding is
how you make more fluffies to sell, they’re given inherent fears like the dark and abandonment
to maintain control more easily.”

“In the end, you can describe a fluffy in good mental health as essentially following a
utilitarian method of decision making. What maximizes the positive and reduces the negative is
the right choice in their mind. The place that this fucks up is the things the fluffy puts in
the positive and negative categories is not firmly nailed down.”

“Smarties put ‘personal self-aggrandizement’ and other things in the positive side and
‘personal discomfort’ in the negative side. Bad mothers put ‘pretty babies’ in the positive
side, so forth and so on. Pretty much all behavioral issues come because a fluffy was taught
bad balances.”

“The problem is that this utilitarian method is hooked in with dopamine. Smarties get addicted
to being in power to the point they think they can overpower humans. Bad mothers or disobedient
fluffies think they can ‘prove’ they’re right to the human and this gives them pleasure.”

“Fortunately, fluffies are made also to be highly emotional creatures. And one of the things
that is directly and pretty much indelibly built into them is that they want human affection
and approval. They want to feel loved by a human. A fluffy that thinks a human cares for them
is happy. It can be living in the shittiest safe room in a crack den but as long as their human
snuggles them and cares about them, they can be the happiest, most well-adjusted little
goofball you’ll ever meet.”

“This is the foundation for fluffy psychology. They want to fulfill their basic needs, they are
motivated by the HasBio urges, they want to maximize the positive and minimize the negative,
and they want a human family to be with. You can go out and find the most hardened, scarred,
and aggressive stallion on the streets, and if you can make them feel like you care, they’ll
want to go with you.”

“Naturally there are some ways that this fucks up. Smarties tend to be told they’re the best
from a young age, and if things get ingrained in this developmental period, it’s very difficult
to get out. We already covered the hormone triggers with bitch mares back when we were talking
about fluffy gestation.”

“Now, we come to derping. Psychological derping is the result of trauma which causes the fluffy
to no longer process information correctly. If we use the vocabulary of software, we could say
that the fluffy had reached an invalid state. It’s essentially running off the rails, but this
also means it tends to ‘fall back’ to simpler drives. Being nice, listening to humans, and
breeding are all there, but the ego is much simpler and they’re more docile in general.”

“Sometimes derped fluffies retain memory, sometimes not. I’ve not noticed any particular
pattern that would let you control this, but psychological derping falls primarily into three
categories. Emotional overload, psychological overload, or sensory overload. The easiest to
implement is sensory overload, I once managed to do it by taking a fluffy to a Sunn O)))

“Emotional overload is as you’d expect, just give it such a rollercoaster of emotion it can’t
handle it. Psychological overload is the most difficult, it’s sort of the fluffy version of
yelling ‘this statement is false’ at an AI in a science fiction movie. Except fluffies
generally don’t understand paradoxes, but I’ve had wonderful results experimenting with showing
fluffies M.C. Escher prints.”

“Now, this of course means that since a fluffy is basically mentally handicapped when it’s
derped, you’re going to be spending time re-training it, or having one of your fluffy buddies
help their derped friend learn how to do things correctly again. Litterbox training is going to
take some time, and some fluffies never quite learn not to try and hug mirrors or enf their
building blocks or something of that nature.”

“Finally we reach the favorite of many an abuser, the wan-die loop. This is when a fluffy has
lost all hope, and fundamentally cannot cope with its circumstance. It takes time and finesse
to purposefully and with control whittle a fluffy’s emotional state down to where you have
managed to erode away its naivete, its hope, its dreams, all of the little white lies it has
been told, until all that’s left is the fluffy’s understanding that it is worthless, unwanted,
unloved, and completely without recourse or respite. If there’s any tiny corner of the fluffy’s
mind that has a single spark of light in it, the wan-die loop might not trigger.”

“Inducing a wan-die loop is a creative and strategic process. Too fast and hard and you might
derp it or drive it to outright suicide. The wrong approach and it’ll just dig in to its
psychological refuges and you’ll need to crowbar it out. A correctly done wan-die is to leave a
fluffy in an emotional twilight, bereft of anything but existing in a cold, bleak, uncaring
place with only death, but lacking the motivation to do anything.”

“The real fun is when you manage to put it firmly in the wan-die state, and then manage to
bring it back out again. I’ve got a personal record of going through this cycle four times over
the course of a nine month period, and then something interesting happened. Like metal being
flexed back and forth, eventually, the fluffy snaps. This isn’t derping or wan-die, but actual
out and out insanity. Sometimes it’s gibbering lunacy, sometimes it’s psychotic violence, but
eventually it just cracks.”

“That’s the long and the short of fluffy psychology. I recommend you play around with it on
your own and get a feel for the way fluffies operate in person. Sometimes they can surprise you
and a lot of the really good abuse needs to be tuned from fluffy to fluffy.”

He picks up a bucket and drops it on the table. “Hey ho, it’s mail time!”

A sheet is fished out and read. “Greetings, Mr. Interocitor, My name is Diana Whiterock and, on
behalf of the company Invicto S.A., I would like to thank you for all the knowledge you have
given us in each episode of your program.”

“Well you’re quite welcome, I didn’t realize this little series would garner attention from

“Even so, it hurts to admit that our company was not prepared for the invasion of these pests
and their rapid multiplication.”

“Ha, I’m sure there are plenty of companies that share that sentiment.”

“Therefore, I would like to know, if possible, whether the milk produced by these ‘creatures’,
as well as their meat, is viable for consumption by the general public and, likewise, whether
it is practical to use their skins as fabric for sophisticated brands. — this while we prepare
to contain all these ‘bio-toys’. In addition, our company would like to send you a symbolic
monetary amount as a ‘Thank you’, so if possible, please provide an address on the next episode
so that we can send the check. Kindly, Diane Whiterock, board member of Invicto S.A.”

“Well donations are always accepted at my P.O. box, which you can find listed on the
website. As far as fluffies go for meat or other purposes, I’m afraid you’ve missed the boat
somewhat. Here in the US we’ve been eating fluffy meat for nearly a decade and fluffy pelts and
fluff have been used for everything from hypoallergenic winter-wear to tapestries. The milk
tends to spoil quickly due to its high glucose content, but it’s been used for things like
ice-cream for the lactose intolerant, as well as for feeding livestock if there isn’t enough of
their own species milk available. People generally don’t like to drink fluffy milk because it’s
ridiculously fatty and sweet, but it has been dehydrated and pilled for some types of dietary

“The real boon has been fertilizer production, since fluffies have a digestive tract somewhere
between a pig and a rabbit. Shove anything in reasonably edible condition in the front, you’ll
get rich, nutrient-dense manure out the back. Lots of fiber to keep it from being the
disgusting squirty slurry that fluffies are known for and you’ll have both happy fluffies and
happy crops.”

“Just to prove what I mean.” He says, picking up a football sized bud of marijuana and putting
it on the table.

“Friend of mine managed to grow this off fluffy fertilizer I produced. Needless to say it’s

He put the bud back under the table and fished out another message. “Dear Interocitor, my
fluffies are on a strict no-television policy but I want to provide them some entertainment
beyond just music and little toys. Do you have any advice?”

He nods, and takes out a small bluetooth speaker. “Audiobooks. If you won’t read to your
fluffies yourself, which I would recommend you do, there are plenty of good children’s books in
audio format. A bedtime story makes an excellent transition to sleep time, and the social time
spent with your fluffies does wonders for their behavior and mood. Regardless of age, fluffies
love a good bedtime story. I have a cycle set up of classic children’s literature that gets
read, including things like the original Winnie the Pooh books, In the Night Kitchen,
Paddington, and even some more sophisticated works like Alice in Wonderland or The Phantom
Tollbooth. The alicorns can appreciate more adult books as well, like A Wrinkle in Time or the
Harry Potter books.”

Fishing out another message, he reads, “Interocitor, do you think fluffies go to heaven?”

“No.” Interocitor says, folding the message and putting it away. “I’m not a religious
individual, and do not believe in heaven. Therefore fluffies wouldn’t be going to it.”

“Thank you all for watching these installments. If there’s any further requests for episodes I
will be more than happy to continue. See you all next time!”


"Gud afternoon, interocitor, mah name ees angus an’ mah granddaughter got been talkin’ aye lot een mah head dat ya know how terr deal wit these unfortunate, disgustin’ an’ useless worms called fluffies.

Thuh question ees, i wuz hired terr set up aye farm dat got aye damn herd on eet, an’ mah granddaughter said we can use eet. So i wanted terr know how these bags uh fur get organized within thuh herd, an’ thuh role uh each one, an’ eef i can choose aye reliable smarty terr run things while i’m not round.


Sir, I am Mr. Angus’s granddaughter, you can call me Nora, I also have a question. Is it true that fluffies similar to the characters in the My little pony series behave like their counterparts?

My grandfather found a filly identical to AppleJack and we wanted to know if we can put it to work on the farm. :slight_smile:


Angus and Nora McKing"


I’ll include this in a part 9, there’s a few ideas brewing for it.