This is the second CYOA I did. This one ended up having mostly-an-ending but not really. Just posting here for completeness’ sake.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART I:
Ed. Note: OK. So I feel like doing this again, though I realized I totally made a mistake with the breeding thing, since it’s so hard to keep track of an absurd amount of fluffies. So no wonder the house burned down.
So basically, what I’m going to do is a AU Reboot or whatever you wanna call it of this story, where it’s the same guy, but he never tried to become a breeder.
As before, I’ll probably post 1-2 every 1-2 days. Unless no one cares anymore.
HOORAY!
You have just decided to find yourself a brand new fluffy. Previously, you toyed with the idea of becoming a fluffy breeder, but after you woke up on the ground convulsing after a bizarre vision of yourself burning to death as a rat squeaked on the TV, you felt yourself sour on the idea. You know it’s irrational, but you still can’t bring yourself to think about it anymore.
Besides, best to start slow. If you end up loving having fluffies around, you can always become a breeder later.
You come downstairs and sure enough, you see some feral foals on the ground. They appear to have just weaned — which is lucky for them, as what you assumes to be the mummah is lying dead beside them, a victim of what looks to be a hungry cat.
You see before you Five Foals:
FLUFFY A: Filly. Pink. Pegasus. Asleep.
FLUFFY B: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Crying for his mummah to “wakesies.”
FLUFFY C: Colt. Brown. Earthy. Greedily sucking on his dead mother’s teats, despite the fact he clearly has all his teeth and can eat solid food.
FLUFFY D: Filly. Teal. Earthy. Nosing around for food.
FLUFFY E: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Staring at a moth.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?
You’d prefer one fluffy, but you could see yourself taking no more than two — however, if you took two, you would only want fluffies of the same sex, so you don’t have to worry about becoming a fluffy inbreeder.
Do you want any of these fluffies, or would you prefer to go to the shelter? Or something else?
Like before: I’ll pull the answer or answers I like best and incorporate them into the next one.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART II:
When we last left you, you were staring at 5 foals near their dead-via-cat mummah These foals are:
FLUFFY A: Filly. Pink. Pegasus. Asleep.
FLUFFY B: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Crying for his mummah to “wakesies.”
FLUFFY C: Colt. Brown. Earthy. Greedily sucking on his dead mother’s teats, despite the fact he clearly has all his teeth and can eat solid food.
FLUFFY D: Filly. Teal. Earthy. Nosing around for food.
FLUFFY E: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Staring at a moth.
You weigh your choices in your head. Though you’ve finally decided.
“Listen here, Fluffies!”
The fluffies all stop what they’re doing and look at you. Even the pink pegasus filly wakes up.
“Would any of you like a new daddy?”
“NYU DADDEH!??!” you hear every fluffy say in nigh-unison before they devolve into high-pitched babbling.
“That sounds like a yes! But I can only take two of you… but don’t worry, I’ll still help the rest of you find homes too!”
The fluffies are overjoyed. You can tell they each are hoping they’re one of the two you choose, but at least they’ll know you’ll take care of them either way.
“OK — I’m going to take… you,” pointing to the pink unicorn colt, “…and… you,” pointing to the orange unicorn colt. This way, you figure, at least, though neither are acting like smarties now, if they ever go that way, at least you’ll have a backup… AND an example to show what happens to smarties.
“OK you two, come over here, and I’ll pick you up and take you up to your new home!”
“Yay! Upsies!” shout the two chosen colts.
“New daddeh?” whimpers the pink filly.
“No, I told you, I can only take two fluffies, but I promise to help you as soon as I take your brothers inside.”
“Huu huu huu… miss bwuddas… huu huu” she simpered.
You hold the two colts in both hands, each fluffy hugging a palm. You tickle them with your pinkies and carry them in, where you place them in the safe room you had picked out, blue walls with white clouds painted on the wall. Light comes through the window, but the window is so high up you don’t have to worry about the fluffies escaping. Toys litter the floor, and there’s a blanket to make a nest in the corner. You even did a bit of rudimentary soundproofing so you could still watch movies with the subwoofer on and not have to clean up scaredy poopies.
With your new pets chosen, now comes time to deal with the rest of the family.
The rest of the family are:
FLUFFY A: Filly. Pink. Pegasus. Crying.
FLUFFY C: Colt. Brown. Earthy. Gone back to greedily sucking on his dead mother’s teats, despite the fact he clearly has all his teeth and can eat solid food.
FLUFFY D: Filly. Teal. Earthy. Killed a moth, and is psyching herself up to eat it.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?
A multitude of options are before you. You could take them to the shelter. You could call around and see if any of your friends want fluffies. You could simply snap their necks and save them the heartache of starving to death. You could do any number of things I haven’t mentioned!
BONUS QUESTION:
What do you want to name your foals:
FLUFFY B: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Playing with E in saferoom.
FLUFFY E: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Playing with B in saferoom.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART III:
You’re about to go back outside to see the remaining fluffies. As a reminder, they are:
FLUFFY A: Filly. Pink. Pegasus. Crying.
FLUFFY C: Colt. Brown. Earthy. Gone back to greedily sucking on his dead mother’s teats, despite the fact he clearly has all his teeth and can eat solid food.
FLUFFY D: Filly. Teal. Earthy. Killed a moth, and is psyching herself up to eat it.
You were genuinely about to take them to the shelter in hopes they’d find a loving family, but then you had a horrible, terrible idea. You got some Viagra as a gag gift a long time ago (See https://www.fluffybooru.org/post/view/47613 True Believers! — Ed.), and you’d always been a big fan of pep pills, just because, hey, who doesn’t like caffeine? You grabbed the bottles and put them in your pocket before heading out.
“Hey, you, uh, brown earthy.”
“Yu tawkin’ to fwuffy?”
“Yeah, you, get over here, I got some nummies for you.”
“But fwuffy wan nummies!” the teal filly gasps.
“It’s okay, these are special nummies just for uh, I don’t know, uh, Shitstain here.”
The brown fluffy perked up. “Fwuffy name Shitstain? Shitstain wuv nummies!”
Wow, little fucker’s so into getting food he doesn’t even object to the “bad wowdies.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Shitstain! Here you go!” You reach down with a healthy handfill of a mix of the two pills. Shitstain gobbles them down and then promptly drops dead. His corpse does have a hell of a boner, though.
“Huh. Guess it was too much for his little heart. Oh well.”
The two fillies cry at the loss of their final remaining brother.
Oh well, time for plan B.
“Oh no! That was an accident! I am so so sorry for what happened to your brother! Here, let me make it up to you with special huggies!”
“SCREEE! NU WAN!!!”
“Oh shit! Oh shit!! No, no, not that kind of special huggies! I mean huggies… that… are more special than normal huggies but, uh, not nearly as special as special huggies.”
“… wat yu mean?”
“Oh, fuck it,” you say as you grab each of the fillies. You tie their tails together and toss them over a powerline, as you’ve seen many pairs of shoes before. Luckily, you threw right, and the two fillies perfectly balance each other, resting on their tails’ knot.
“HEWP!! HEWP!! BAD UPSIES!!!” the two fillies cry.
“Heh, yep, that’s what I’d call that too. Wonder how long you’ll last?”
“HUU HUU HUU! NU WAN!! JUS WAN MUMMAH AN FAMBWY! NU BAD UPSIES!!” shrieked the teal earthy.
“FWY 'WAY! FWY 'WAY! FWUFFY FWY SISSY 'WAY!” the pink pegasus said, frantically buzzing her wings.
You turn to go back inside and think you see some crows out of the corner of your eye. You always liked crows. You remember watching a documentary that showed they can not only use tools, but they can work a few steps ahead? There was a study where the crow had to make a tool to get to something they could use to make a tool to get into something else to make a tool to get at food. That was awesome! Crows, nay, all corvids rule.
Anyway, it’s time to name your foals:
FLUFFY B: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Playing with E in saferoom.
FLUFFY E: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Playing with B in saferoom.
“Hey, guys! I think it’s time you got new names!”
You point at the pink unicorn. “Your name is Orange!”
“Owange wub nyu name!”
“And you,” pointing to the orange unicorn, “your name is Pinky!”
“Pinky… wub nyu name, buh nu no why pink bwudda am owange and owange fwuffy am pinky.”
“Don’t you like your new names?” you darkly intone.
“YUS! PINKY WUB NAME!! PINKY WUB NAME!”
“Good! Now, I imagine you guys are hungry! Lets get you guys fed!”
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO FEED THE FLUFFIES?
You went shopping yesterday, so your pantry’s pretty full. You even picked up some fluffy kibble, since you’d been planning to get some fluffies for a while now. And, of course, you’ve got all the fixings for spaghetti — as well as ramen and ketchup. You also dug around and found some stale dry cat food from when you were feeding a stray that you hadn’t seen in a while. Though you figure, hey, apparently she’s taking care of herself now.
Your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Playing with PINKY in saferoom.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Playing with ORANGE in saferoom.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART IV:
It’s time to feed your fluffies — in case you forgot, those are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Playing with PINKY in saferoom.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Playing with ORANGE in saferoom.
You go to the kitchen and look around. You think about making the foals spaghetti as a special treat, but, well, it seems like a waste if you don’t make any for yourself, and you don’t really feel like spaghetti.
Though you do have an idea — you boil up some ramen and squirt on some ketchup. You dump some of the stale catfood on top as “meatballs,” which fluffies seem to like even though they’re supposed to be herbivores.
It looks absolutely disgusting, but you’re sure they’ll love it. Fluffies are dumb as shit after all.
You have the fleeting idea of dumping in some laxatives and watching them be betrayed by the “skettis”, but… you really don’t feel like cleaning that up. Though, you could see what would happen if you also added some quick-acting diarrhea meds to the mix, and see which wins.
Fuck it, let’s experiment!
Though since you do wanna keep your fluffies around for a little, you also add in some vitamins. You throw a handful of each of the three medicines into a food processor and throw in that hunk of moldy cheese that’s been in the back of your fridge for god knows how long. Voilá! Instant “parmesan!”
You think about throwing in a little bit of hot peppers too, but that’d just be putting a hat on a hat.
You take the two dishes of “sketti” into the saferoom.
“Orange! Pinky! It’s dinner time!”
The two fluffies bumble over as quickly as they can.
“FOODIES!!”
“I know! And since it’s your first day here, I thought I’d give you a very special treat! You won’t get it every day but–”
“SKETTIS!!!”
You had noticed the two fluffies’ snouts had been working overtime trying to sniff the intoxicating bouquet.
“Yes, Skettis. BUT FIRST. I need to go over the rules.”
“Wat wuwes?” Orange asks.
“These are the rules to be a GOOD FLUFFY. If you don’t follow the rules, you will be a BAD FLUFFY and you’ll have to get the sorry stick. Or the sorry box. Or the sorry whatever. You’ll be sorry, that’s the point.”
“Nuuuuuu!!! Nu wan be bad fwuffy!” Pinky gasps.
“Well, if you follow the rules, you won’t be bad! It’s really easy. There aren’t a lot of them. We’ll go over the rest of the rules after dinner, but here’s THE MOST IMPORTANT RULE: NO BAD POOPIES. ALL POOPIES MUST GO INTO THE LITTERBOX. Do you understand?”
“Yus! Whewe wittabox?” Pinky asks. He seems to be the smart one.
“I’m glad you asked. It’s right over there,” and you point to the large, easily accessible litterbox in the corner of the room. After all, you may like messing with fluffies, but you don’t like cleaning up fluffies’ messes.
“Otay!! Wuv wittabox!” Pinky says.
“Orange, do you understand too.”
“Yus! Owange make nu bad poopies! Aww poopies go in wittabox! Wittabox oba dere!”
“Good boys! It looks like you now get your skettis!” And with that, you set the bowls down in front of them. As expected, even though the godawful mixture almost turns your stomach to even look at, the fluffies scarf it down muttering about how much they “wuv skettis.”
Shortly after, the bowls are licked clean. You even saw them licking up the extra ‘cheese’ that stuck to the side of the bowls. They thank you, and start pushing the ball back and forth.
“Good boys! I’m going to go wash the dishes, and then I’ll come back and we can all play together!”
“Yaaay! Wuv pway!”
You figure it’ll take about 30 minutes for whatever’s going to happen to happen, so that’ll give you enough time to clean up. After making “skettis,” you notice that you’re no longer very hungry, so you figure you’ll have your dinner later tonight.
Once you’re done you re-enter the saferoom, and they’ve moved on to blocks.
“OK, boys! Do you want to play?”
“YUS!!!” the two yell.
“Yay! What do you want to play?”
“BAWW!!!” they yell.
Well, that’s odd. Thought they’d say blocks since that’s what they were doing. But whatever, fluffies gonna fluffy. So you start rolling the ball to the two fluffies. You alternate fluffies, as each of them generally rolls the ball back to you.
It’s probably been about a half hour — no clocks in the saferoom; it’s not like fluffies can tell time anyway — and it looks like the fun is about to begin.
“Ooo… fwuffy… nu… feew gud.” Orange says.
“Pinky… feew… fuww… tuu fuww!” Pinky says.
Huh, it looks like their bellies are a little bit distended… looks like they’ve got bad gas and cramps. You’ve got a bit of Beano in your pantry if it gets too bad, but… let’s ride it out a bit.
“Pinky huwt… nu no wat wong! Pinky wuv skettis!”
“Owange wuv skettis too!”
“I do have some more skettis downstairs if you want,” you lie.
“NU!!!” the two foals scream.
“Ooow… Owange wan make poopies bu’ nu can… but… Owange weawwy gotta make poopies…” and with that, the pink foal slowly and painfully waddles to the litterbox.
“Nu! Pinky need wittabox fiwst!” and Pinky slowly and painfully tries to get to the litterbox ahead of his brother.
The two foals are huffing and puffing as they crawl to the litterbox, slowly and weakly trying to push the other out of the way. They get there, but can’t make it over the edge, due to their bloated bellies.
"Here, boys, it’s okay, there’s enough room for both of you, " you say as you pick them up and put them each in the litterbox. You see both foals wince as the sand grazes their distended stomachs.
For a surprisingly long amount of time, the two foals lie in pain waiting in the litterbox. You’re about to go get the beano, thinking it might actually be physically harming the foals, but then the dam bursts.
“BIGGEST POOPIES!!!” Owange screams.
Pinky looks over confused. “Bwudda boy fwuffy nu hab – BIGGEST POOPIES!!!”
And almost in unison, the two fluffies strain out turds that are about half as big as they are. The going is very slow — the process is, surprisingly, not unlike giving birth. Only once the turds finally break off, a torrent of diarrhea coats the turds.
You swear you can actually see them literally deflate.
When they’re done, the foals continue panting. It clearly took a lot out of them. But after a few minutes, the foals get their strength back and climb out of the litterbox.
Pinky is the first to speak.
“Daddeh… fwuffies… tiwed… sweepie time nao?”
“Yes. You guys had a big day.”
You exit the saferoom, plug in their nightlight and turn out the light.
You gotta admit having a soft spot for Pinky. But, you also gotta admit, that was pretty awesome.
It’s time to think of some rules.
WHAT ARE THE RULES???
We already know rule number one: No bad poopies. And to Orange and Pinky’s credit, they’ve obeyed that one. But important as that rule may be, that can’t be the only one!
And, as always, your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Sleeping
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Sleeping.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART V:
A brand new morning! Time to give some fluffies some rules! Those fluffies, in case you forgot, are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Sleeping
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Sleeping.
You promise yourself you’ll swing by the tattoo parlor today to get these tattooed on your arm, Memento-style. That and “Don’t believe his lies.” Not about anyone in particular. It just seems like good advice.
Anyway, you walk into the saferoom and see the fluffies still sleeping.
“Good morning, boys!” you say softly. The fluffies stir and wake up.
“Gud mownin, daddeh,” Pinky says.
“Goo mown…” Orange says, slightly groggier.
“Did you guys sleep well?”
“Yus!” Pinky says.
“Buh…” Orange says. Good enough.
“Well, remember last night, I said that in the morning I’d share the rest of the rules with you? It’s that time. But first — what’s the first rule I gave you last night?”
“All poopies in wittabox! Nu bad poopies!” Pinky immediately parrots back.
“Nu bad poopies, poopies gu wittabox,” Orange mumbles.
“Good boys! Now here are the rest of the rules! I’ll make you tell me them back, to make sure you understand them, okay?”
“The next rule is that: Only one fluffy gets food for the day! And it’s whoever’s better at wrestling the other!”
“… Wat wasswe?” Pinky asks.
“It’s like a fight, but a play fight, so nobody gets forever sleepies or anything like that, okay?”
“…otay! Wuv wasswe game!”
“So what was that rule?”
“Fwuffies pway wasswe game!” Pinky shouts back.
“Wasswe,” says Orange.
“That’s half of it… what else.”
“Winna get nummies!” Pinky replies.
“Nummies?” Orange mutters.
“Close enough! The next rule is NO SPECIAL HUGGIES. What is it?”
“Nu speciaw huggies!” Pinky repeats.
“Aw, fwuffy nu wike dat one. but nu speciaw huggies…” It sounds like that actually woke Orange up a bit. You didn’t think a foal could sound so defeated.
“The next rule is always listen to your daddy, i.e. me! Your daddy is always right.”
“Daddeh awways wite!” Pinky says.
“Daddeh awways wite…” Orange says.
“The next rule is that when I give you a chore to do, there is no food until your chores are done! On days when you have chores, both fluffies get to eat, and there won’t be a wrestling match.”
“Fwuffies du chowe get nummies! Nu wasswe on chowe day!” Pinky says
“Fwuffy… get… chowe nummies for… wasswin’?” Orange says.
“Not quite, Orange. You don’t eat until you do your chores.”
“Nu nummies tiw chowes! Wat chowes!”
“Chores are jobs I tell you to do.”
“Wat job?”
“Damn, Orange, uh, look. I’ll tell you when something’s a chore, okay?”
“Otay!”
“The next rule: Don’t demand things!”
“Don’ demand tings!” they say in unison.
“Daddeh? Wat if fwuffies need something?” Pinky asks.
“Then you can ask politely, but if I say no, the answer is no, and you can’t ask again.”
“Otay! Pinky ask powitewy!”
You go through the next rules much the same way, which are:
- Everything in the saferoom except the litterbox belongs to Daddy, and you must ask permission to use anything except the litterbox.
- Smarties die.
- Daddy has no favorites.
The fluffies repeat all the rules back and seem to understand them, even when you quiz them on earlier rules. Good thing too, since that was pretty boring to go through. You pity anyone who was listening in on a dry call and response with fluffies about rules. Perhaps there was a more interesting way to put that. Oh well, what’s done is done.
“And good news! Today is a chore day, so that means that once you guys do your chore, you’ll both get fed!”
“Yaaay!!!” the fluffies cheer.
“Here, let me take you to this room. It’s the, uh, housey for the metal monster, only it’s a friendly metal monster.”
“…Fwiend metaw munstaw?”
“Yeah, exactly. Friend Metal Monster. Anyway, FMM here needs a bath. And you guys are gonna give it to him!”
“Nu wan baff!” Orange said.
“Well, you may not want a bath, but the car, or, Friend Metal Monster, whatever, needs one. So you guys are gonna give them to it. I’ll get you started!”
You fill up a bucket of warm, soapy water and dunk both foals in and put them on the roof of your car.
“Nuuu! Nu wan baff!!!” Orange yelled.
“I told you, you’re not getting one, you’re giving one to the damn car! Now do you remember the rule about daddy always being right?”
“…yus…”
“GOOD, now get to cleaning!” With that, you pour the rest of the bucket over the car.
“Now when I come back, I want this thing spotless. Then you guys will get nummies. Understand?”
“How cwean?”
“Well, your fluff is really good at buffing cars. And anything that is stuck on, well, you’ll figure it out. Maybe lickie-cleanies? I don’t know, you’re smart fluffies. You got this. Anyway, see ya, I’m walkin’ to work.”
DO THE FLUFFIES GOT THIS?
What do you see when you return home? How do the fluffies do cleaning the car? Do they do a satisfactory job and get fed? And if they get fed, what do they get? Kibble? Stale cat food? Something else? Were the bugs they lick off food enough? WHAT?
BONUS QUESTION:
What’s your day job?
The final list of rules:
- Only one fluffy is allowed food for the day; the fed fluffy will be the one who wins in a non-lethal fight.
- No special huggies.
- Always listen to Daddy, for he is always right.
- Fluffies don’t eat until they do their chores. Chore days will supersede the wrestling rule; on those days both fluffies will get fed.
- Don’t demand things.
- Everything in the saferoom except the litterbox belongs to Daddy, and you must ask permission to use anything except the litterbox.
- Smarties die.
- Daddy has no favorites.
And the fluffies:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Soaked in warm soapy water, peeping on the roof of your car.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Sleeping. Soaked in warm soapy water, starting to rub his belly against your car.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART VI:
You’ve just given the first chore to your happy foals, who are, once again:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Soaked in warm soapy water, peeping on the roof of your car.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Soaked in warm soapy water, starting to rub his belly against your car.
Eh, looks like they got this. Time to head to your job as a high school guidance counsellor!
The two fluffies are sitting on top of your car’s roof. Orange is quite upset, devolving into peeping rather than using words. Pinky, on the other hand, seems to figure that he’s going to try his best.
“OWANGE! Stawt gib cweanies to fwend metaw munsta!” Pinky shouts.
“*peep peep wawa peep bad fo peep” Orange replied.
“Nu cawe! Daddeh nu gib nummies if metaw munsta nu cwean!”
Orange finally gets the picture and starts slowly rubbing his body against the car roof while crying. After many forevers, the top of the car seems to be relatively clean. Not sure what else to do, Pinky slides down the windshield to start on the hood. Orange follows his brother, however he didn’t judge the right place to slide down, and gets stuck under the wiper.
“HEWP! HEWP!! OWANGE STUCK!!” the foal shrieked.
“PINKY COMIN’!”
Pinky slowly belly-slid towards his brother and sees him pinned by the wiper. Orange is terrified and goes back to peeping frantically. Luckily for Orange, Pinky happens to nudge the wiper enough for Orange to shift out from under it, though in his fear, he goes too far, and slides down the rest of the hood plopping on the floor in front of the car.
“Owwies!! Wowstest huwties!!!” Orange cries, even though he landed safely in some rags.
“BWUDDA OTAY?” Pinky yells down?
“NEED HUGGIES! But otay… Owange gess.”
Orange eventually waddled out of the rags and started to lick the tires.
“Nu taste pwetty! Fwend metaw munsta nu fwend at aww!” Orange shouts and gives the tire sorry poopies.
“NU!! OWANGE! Nao daddeh be mad! Yuu make bad poopies!! Yuu bweak wuwe!!” Pinky screamed.
“Nuuuuu! PINKY WITE!!”
“Owange! Num poopies su daddeh nu no!”
“Bu’ nu taste pwetty!”
“NU WAT NU TASTE PWETTY? SOWWY STICK NU TASTE PWETTY! NAO NUM POOPIES!”
Pinky’s logic sadly made sense to Orange, who ate the shit while crying. He even licked clean the tire where the shit had been.
Pinky slid down the hood into the rags and started licking the tires on the opposite side.
Orange, on the other hand, decided that licky-cleanies were the worst, and started trying to rub his belly on them, even though he’d long ago dried out, so it wasn’t doing much.
“Owange wike wubby cweanies! Owange… weawwy wike wubby cweanies…” and the pink foal started to quietly enf. The enfing got louder and Pinky eventually heard.
“OWANGE!! WUWE SAY NU SPECIAW HUGGIES! STOP!! Get nu nummies and sowwy stick!”
Orange gasped. “Pinky wite!! Owange stop! Nu-nu stick gu down pwease!” But it didn’t.
In fact, it was stuck in the crevasse between the inner rim of the tire and the hubcap.
“Nuuuu!! Owange stuck!! Owage stuck!”
Pinky ran over to see what his brother had gotten himself into this time. He found the foal awkwardly straddling the tire, pulling his special place, but the metal monster wouldn’t give him his no-nos back!
“Pinky hewp!” and with that Pinky started pulling his brother away.
“SCREE!! OWWIES!! WOWSTEST HUWTIES!! SCREE–”
And suddenly Orange’s screeing went up several octaves. Had any humans been around, they wouldn’t have even been able to hear it.
Somewhere, a dog barked.
Whew, a good day telling kids to go into careers that are ill-suited for them! You told one nerd to go into sales, despite the fact he could only talk into his chest and mumble! Ha ha, sucker!
Anyway, you open your garage and look at your car. Surprisingly, the fluffies actually did reasonably well. You would have done a better job, but considering you didn’t have to spend any time, effort or money, you’ll take it. You look down the car, notice the sides aren’t great, but, well, you weren’t sure how they’d get the sides anyway. As your eyes drift to the floor, however, you see… well, you’re not sure what you see. But it looks like a bloodstain on your hubcap, with Orange lying backward with a pool of blood on top of Pinky who is pinned beneath Orange. You look a little closer at the hubcap and almost puke — you see half of what you assume to be Orange’s dick violently torn off and wedged into where the hubcap meets the rim.
What the fuck?
“What happened here? How did you get your, uh, special place ripped off?”
“Owange… cweanie… den… den fwend metaw munsta twick Owange into habing speciaw huggies and den Owange wememba wuwes and say ‘nu fwend metaw munsta dis bad’ and fwend metaw munsta say ‘ha ha ha metaw munsta nu fwend!!!’ and metaw munsta num nu-nu pwace! Suuuuu huwtie!!!”
“Pinky, is this true?”
“Nu, Pinky teww Owange Owange bad but Owange stuck so Pinky hewp and den metaw munsta num nu-nus.”
“Well, gee. It looks like you lied to me Orange. And I don’t like liars.”
“Nu wan sowwy stick!”
“No, you’re hurting enough right now, but I will have to punish you in a different way.”
“Nu… nummies?”
“No, you guys did your chores, so I’ll keep up my side of the bargain and give you both food. But, Orange, come here.”
The pink foal slowly crawls up to you and doesn’t notice that you’ve grabbed a spare pair of clippers from the workbench.
You pick him up and gingerly cut a square of fluff off his coat, clear to the skin. You’re careful not to cut the flesh, but he’s now got a huge, one-inch-by-one-inch bald square on his back.
“Nuu! Wan pwetty fwuff!”
“Well, you should have thought about that before you fucked the tire, now shouldn’t you? Anyway, let’s get you fed.”
You carry them both into the safe room, and disappear. You return with two bowls of kibble, only to see both Pinky and Orange in the litter box. They both crapped, but it looks like Orange has puked as well. Weird. Must be from the pain of his half-dick.
“Anyway, you guys can play with the ball and blocks if you want, and then it’s bedtime, okay?”
“OTAY,” they say in unison.
You leave the saferoom and go watch TV. After about a half-hour you hear the playing slow to a stop. When you go into check on them, you see the two of them covered up in a little mini-fluffpile, and Pinky’s even covering up Orange’s bald spot.
Awww.
You turn out the light, turn on their nightlight, and go back to watching TV, and think about what tomorrow holds for your little foals.
WHAT DOES TOMORROW HOLD FOR YOUR LITTLE FOALS?
Is tomorrow another chore day? A wrestle day? Something else entirely? Either way, it’s a work day for you, so you’ll probably want to figure out how to keep them occupied for a whole day while you lie to teenagers.
Remember, your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back. Sleeping.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Sleeping.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART VII:
It’s another new day! Let’s check on your fluffies, who are — why can’t you remember this simple thing?
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back. Missing half his penis. Sleeping.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Sleeping.
You walk into the saferoom.
“Good morning, fluffies! How are you guys this morning?”
“Guu mowning, daddeh! Pinky wuv you!” Pinky replies, bright-eyed and bushytailed — seriously, his tail’s coming in really thick. On the other hand, Orange doesn’t look so hot. His dick’s finally retracted, but the sheath seems to be dripping green pus. He doesn’t look like he’s slept at all.
“Well, today is going to be a wrestling for nummies day, but first, Orange, how are you feeling?”
“…Owange… hab… huwties… daddeh… ebewy… wowd… gibs… wowstest…huwties… daddeh… pwease… hewp… Owange… fwom… wowd… huwties… daddeh… otay?” Orange slowly panted out.
“Well, I got an easy way to help you right now, Orange.”
“…Wat… dat… daddeh… what… hewp… stop… wowd… huwties… on… Owange… daddeh… pwease… teww… Owange… how… tuu… stop… da… wowd… huwties… daddeh…”
“One word. Brevity.”
“…wat… bwevity… mean… daddeh… Owange… nu… know… wat… dat… wowd… mean… an… it… wong… wowd… so… gib… mowe… wowd… huwties… so… why… daddeh… use… meanie… wowd… to… gib… wowd… huwties… dadd–”
“IT MEANS SHUT THE HELL UP.”
“…scawy… Owange… stop… tawkies… nao… otay… daddeh?”
“GOOD.”
“…otay…”
“ANYWAY, we better take you into the vet to get you checked out. Will you be safe here, Pinky? You can play with the blockies while we’re gone. But just the blockies, okay?”
“Otay! Pinky wuv bwockies!”
You pick up Orange by the scruff and put him in a cardboard carrier you found when you were first thinking of getting fluffies.
“…nu… wan… sowwy… box… daddeh… pwease… nu… mean… tu… bweak… wuwes… daddeh.”
“This isn’t a sorry box, you already paid for your crime,” you say as you tap his bald spot. “This is to take you into the vet so he can fix your dick.”
“…otay…”
You still hear Orange softly sob, but you’re not sure if that’s due to the box or the pain. You bundle him into the car, drive to the vet and go on in.
Luckily, the vet is pretty empty. That may be because your vet isn’t exactly licensed. He’s your weird friend who happens to discover a knack for fluffy veterinary medicine while abusing them. Even though he’s an abuser, he does quite good work — that way he gets repeat business AND since fluffies are so fragile, the lack of anesthesia scratches his particular itch enough that he doesn’t mind that ultimately, it’s for the fluffy’s own good.
“Hey, Doc. Orange here was humping my car tire and got his junk stuck in between the rim and the hubcap and ripped his dick half off. Looks like it’s infected.”
“Wait, why was your fluffy humping your car?”
“Oh, I had him and his brother clean it.”
“…wait, what? How were they cleaning it?”
“I don’t know, but they did a pretty good job. I was at work.”
“But… why were they cleaning it? Why would you make fluffies wash your car?”
“Um, free labor? Duh!”
“And, uh, what happened here?” Doc points to the bald patch.
“Oh, had to punish him. One of the rules was no humpin’.”
“Even though he’s probably never hump again and had his genitals mutilated for humping, you decided to punish him ON TOP OF THIS?”
“Uh, yeah, you can’t be soft with these things. You of all people should know that.”
“Look, I mean, okay, you know what I do, and how I got so good but… like… this is just stupid.”
“Fuck you, can you fix him or not?”
“Uh, yeah, looks like his whole shaft’s gotta come off though. I’ll do the rest of the job, clean him out and give him a colostomy bag. When it gets full just dump it out over the toilet.”
“Awesome, sounds like a plan. How long will that take?”
“Oh, I don’t know, half hour? There’s some magazines out front.”
You go out and read an old issue of CatFancy. Doc doesn’t do anything with cats, just fluffies, but he still keeps CatFancy around. Guess he fancies cats.
A half hour later – thank god for soundproofing — Doc calls you in, gives you Orange back, with a hose leading out his sheath and to a small bag taped over his bald spot. You two settle up and take Orange home. He’s still crying, but not as hard, and it appears the “word hurties” have gone away, so that’s good. Oddly enough, he’s quieter now than when he had them.
You put him back in the saferoom and go pour a bowl of kibble.
You return to the saferoom.
“OKAY FLUFFIES! It’s time to play the wrestling game to determine who gets fed!”
DO THE FLUFFIES HAVE MOVES?
This is the first wrestling match! It is non-fatal, but whoever wins gets fed, and whoever loses doesn’t. What kind of moves do these fluffies have? Or do you have second thoughts and give them both kibble even though the rules are about wrassling. Or alternating days. Or with chores. Or something, you were kinda making shit up on the fly. Does Pinky take a dive, or does he see his opportunity? Or does Orange have the rage of injustice on his side after losing his dick? WHICH CUISINE WILL REIGN SUPREME?
Also: When you leave a comment be sure to include who you want to win the fight. (Or, comment just to vote, even.)
Your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. A colostomy bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. In visible discomfort and exhausted but much better than he was this morning.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Bright-eyed, bushytailed and ready to star the day.
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ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART VIII:
Orange just got back from the vet’s and you’ve told him and Pinky that it’s time to play the Wrestling Game to determine who gets fed today. Wait… Orange… Pinky… those names sound familiar… who are they again? OH YEAH:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. In visible discomfort and exhausted but much better than he was this morning.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Bright-eyed, bushytailed and ready to star the day.
(By the way, while you were getting the food you checked on your phone and found out that catheters are for pee, colostomies are for poo. Good thing it was previously established the guy wasn’t a real vet, or that would have been REALLY embarrassing. For him. Yes.)
“Okay boys, this is just a fight to see who gets fed. Nobody’s gonna die, I’ll call it before that happens. Anyway, to start, Pinky, you get in that corn–”
“Daddeh? Pinky nu wan wassle game. Owange hab huwties, owange get–”
“OWANGE WAN NUMMIES!!!” the pink foal screamed as he bashed into his brother. Orange poked his horn into Pinky’s side. Good thing they aren’t sharp — had it pierced the skin, it’d have been bad.
Orange climbed on top of his stunned brother, slapping him in the face with his hooves.
“OWANGE WAN NUMMIES! OWANGE HAB HUWTIES! OWANGE HAB NU NU-NU PWACE NU MO! OWANGE HAB NU FWUFF PAWT, OWANGE HAB BAG OWANGE HAB NUMMIES”
You pull Orange off the orange foal, and Orange is still batting at the air for a few seconds and screaming before he even realizes he’s being held by his scruff.
“Owange win wasswe daddeh?”
“Um… yes. But next time you have to wait until I go over the rules. Um. Jesus.”
You set Orange down, and pet Pinky. Thankfully, nothing’s broken, it looks like Orange’s attack was fierce yet uncoordinated; he landed maybe one or two good hits if that, beyond the intial horn-ramming that is.
“Huu huu… owange… win… nummies… daddeh. Pinky… wose.”
“I know, buddy, and I know what you were going to say, and I’m proud of you.”
“Pinky get nummies fow pwoudies?”
“Ha ha, no way, little buddy, that’d be against the rules.”
You give Orange his bowl of kibble, and a bowl of water. You’re a bit shocked at Orange’s bloodthirst, but you kinda get where he was coming from, too. Pinky seemed to forgive his brother, so you will too. Though you’ll have to keep an eye on that… maybe see… if you can make him more nuturing…
And with that, you had a great idea. You pop your head into the safe room and tell them they can play with the ball, but you’ll be back in a little bit.
A half hour later, you come back to the saferoom. As expected, they’re playing with the ball, and it looks like Orange’s catheter is working; you’d estimate the bag is about a fifth full.
“Orange, could you come over here, please?”
The pink foal waddled over.
“Now, Orange, I know you had special huggies with the, uh, friend metal monster the other night.”
“Sowwy! Sowwy! Nu mow huwties!”
“No, Orange, it’s okay. You’ve already been punished for that. It wouldn’t be fair to punish you again. That’s not why we need to talk. See, you’re a daddy now, Orange.”
And with that, you place before him five matchbox cars.
“Now, see, their mommy is too big to fit in the house, so YOU’VE got to take care of them.”
“Owange… daddeh? Owange… su… happeh!”
“Now, Orange. Babies aren’t just for fun. It’s your job to help them grow up. You’ve got to teach them to talk and how to make good poopies and behave. After all, that’s what a Daddy does.”
“Owange be bestest daddeh!” Then he got nervous… “…odda…odda … dan yuu daddeh.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.” You tousle Orange’s mane.
“Now, I don’t think they’re hungry, but you’ll have to keep on top of that too.”
“Wat babbehs eat, daddeh?”
“Well, I don’t know! I’m not their daddy! You’ll figure it out, though. Now play with your babbies, and be sure to feed them, teach them to talk and make sure they make good poopies!”
HOW DOES ORANGE RAISE HIS LITTER?
How does he treat them? What do they look like? What does he name them? How does he feed them? All that other stuff! You know by now how this goes, whaddya wanna see?
Your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Believes he is the father to 5 bouncing baby matchbox cars.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Hungry as he did not eat today. Bruised but otherwise happy; doesn’t seem to hold anything against his brother. Is nosing the ball back and forth alone.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART IX:
You feel as if almost a week has gone by, despite it only been a few minutes since you gave Orange his “litter” of cheap toy cars to raise. Weird. This time you feel like you need the refresher on the fluffies, who are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Believes he is the father to 5 bouncing baby matchbox cars.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Hungry as he did not eat today. Bruised but otherwise happy; doesn’t seem to hold anything against his brother. Is nosing the ball back and forth alone.
“Now, OK! I’m going to go do some work or something while you raise up your foals.”
And with that, you head to your guidance councillor job. The day may be half over, but for times like this you set up a crude simulacrum of yourself out of tape and a mp3 saying “did you ever think that maybe you deserved it” on loop. You’ve bailed on work several times and no one’s even noticed. Makes you wonder why you show up. But then you remember. It’s for the kids. Bossing kids around.
Pinky’s been watching all of this with confusion. Life’s a regular soap opera around here! Or, well, it would be if Pinky had any ideas what a “soap opera” was. Hell, he’s not so sure on “regular.” But at any rate, he sees his brother has a pile of metal munster babbehs, and Pinky might not know a lot, but he knows one thing: Babbehs are for Play.
Pinky runs over and tries to play with the babbehs, but he’s clumsy and trips on one. But OH NO! ITS ROUND LEGGIE PULLED OF! AND THE NO-FLUFF METAL BACK THING IS CRUMPLED IN!"
“Nuuu!! Pinky sowwy!! Pinky sow–”
“NUUUU! BESTEST BABBEH!!! OWANGE FAIW YUUU! OWANGE AM WOWSTEST DADDEH!”
“Owange… mebbe… fwuffies… fix dis?”
“Pinky!! Dummeh babbeh kiwwew!! Wat yuu nu bowt fix”
“Owange, wisten to pinky! Pinky make messie, pinky fix messie. Pinky nu wan huwt babbeh, Pinky huwt tuu, Hoofie huwty!” Pinky raised his hoof to show a slight cut in the hoof that had already stopped bleeding. “But Pinky nu babbeh huwt wowstest! Su Pinky fix! Pinky num, den daddeh nu nu babbeh gone! Owange hab suuuu many babbehs!”
“PINKY NUM BABBEH?!” Orange looked over at his brother horrified.
“Pinky nu! Num babbeh bad! But else daddeh nu babbeh foweva sweepies! AM ONLY WAY.”
With that, Pinky bent down over the babbeh’s dead body and picked it up in his mouth and bit down.
“OWWIES!!! BABBEH GIB MOWF HUWTIES!!! BAD BABBEH!!!” Pinky screamed and stomped on it again.
“Nuu! Dummeh pinky nu gib foweba sweepies to foweba sweepie babbeh! Tuu many foweba sweepies!!” Orange started bawling.
The babbeh continued to crumple under Pinky’s hooves. But then he had an idea. If Pinky couldn’t num the babbeh, he could hide it instead. Pinky nosed it into the litterbox since it was the only thing he knew was his and buried it like a good poopie.
Ah, it feels good to be home. You wonder how the foals have been holding up with their new “babies.” You enter the saferoom and see a crumpled car half-buried in the litterbox. Jesus Christ, how cheap were these things? They must have been made out of foil. You’re about to call attention to the “dead baby” in the litterbox but you’re distracted by Orange’s sobbing.
“Orange, buddy, what’s wrong?”
“NU HAB BESTEST BABBEH!! HUU HUU HUU!”
Well, that’s part of the mystery solved. But you think about having some fun.
“Why, Orange, that’s a good thing! Only bad fluffies have bestest babies! That’s mean!”
“Huu Huu… nu hab bestest babbeh…”
“Yes, you don’t, because you’re a GOOD fluffy!”
“…Owange… guud… fwuffy? Fo’ nu hab bestest babbeh?”
“You bet! Now how are your babies doing?”
“Owange pway wib babbehs, but nu no how to gib nummies…”
“You haven’t been feeding them? That’s horrible! Once their mother hears that she’s sure to sue for custody!”
“Wat custody?”
“She’ll take all the babies back!”
“Nuuuuuu!!!”
“In fact… oh oh, I hear the phone ringing in the other room! I bet that’s her lawyer on the phone right now, going to claim custody!”
In reality, it’s nothing. But Orange is so upset, he didn’t notice there wasn’t a sound. Oddly enough, Pinky’s really on edge too. He didn’t come over to say ‘hi’ either. Huh. Weird.
But anyway, you leave the room for a minute and come back.
“I’m sorry, Orange, but that WAS her lawyer. She wants custody. You’re going to have to give back ALL the babies,” you tell Orange as you start picking them up. You still pretend to have not noticed the car in the litterbox.
“OK, Orange… are these ALL the babies?”
Orange and Pinky get really, really nervous.
“…yu…yus… daddeh… dat aww babbehs.”
“Pinky, is that true? Orange isn’t trying to hide one of his babies, is he?”
“…n…n…nu…daddeh… aww…babbehs…”
“Good, because I don’t want to have to explain to their mother if even ONE baby is missing.”
“It… am… otay… .daddeh,” Pinky sputtered. Orange glared at his orange brother.
You take all the cars into your study. You notice that there’s one with the same color as the one in the litterbox and you pull that one aside, and throw the rest away. Worst $5 ever spent. Talk about shit that’s fragile and broken by all.
You kill a bit more time and come back into the saferoom.
“OK, she’s got all the babies and she says things are fine… however, there are some more rules. Orange, you have to give half your nummies to the babies for child support. Also, since you didn’t feed them, you don’t have visitation rights. Only Uncle Pinky can see them.”
“NUUUU!” The obviously frazzled Pinky shouts. You had a feeling he might react like that. He must have “killed” the other baby.
“Anyway, it’s night time so it’s time to go to bed. You guys had a busy day!”
You turn the lights out and when they fall asleep, you quietly clean the litterbox, including the crumpled car. You still have the pristine car that looks just like this “dead” one — and you know that it might be time for a ghostly haunting.
HOW ARE THE FLUFFIES HAUNTED?
I mean, by the car, obviously. They’re haunted by the toy car that looks like the one they “killed.” Well, Pinky killed. Let’s be clear here. Anyway — what does the Ghost Car do? (Keep in mind it’s just a cheap toy car and not an actual ghost, so it’ll have to be stuff that, you know, You can do to the toy car.)
REMEMBER, your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Believes he is the father to 4 bouncing baby matchbox cars and one dead one his brother stepped on. The cars are “living” with their “Mother” (in the trash). Sleeping.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Hungry as he did not eat today. An emotional wreck over killing the “baby”. Sleeping.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART X:
So your fluffies who are, uh, uh, uh:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Believes he is the father to 4 bouncing baby matchbox cars and one dead one his brother stepped on. The cars are “living” with their “Mother” (in the trash). Sleeping.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Hungry as he did not eat today. An emotional wreck over killing the “baby”. Sleeping.
Oh yeah! But anyway, they’re sleeping, but you’re soon to put a stop to that. You’ve got a toy car that looks just like the “babbeh” Pinky “killed.” So you decide it’s time for a haunting.
You dip the car quickly in vaseline and flour to give it kind of a ghostly, ectoplasmic look, and toss it into the saferoom. You’re about to go to phase two, but you see Orange stirring in his sleep. He must be having a nightmare. Poor little guy. Too bad you can’t look into his brain and see what his nightmare is.
ba-dum
ba-dum-da-dum
ba-dum
Strange mechanical music fills Orange’s ears. It’s dark, and he feels alone in a strangely large saferoom. You think you hear small voices
“daddeh! bad daddeh!”
“bad bad daddeh!”
“bad daddeh! daddeh! bad!”
“wy nu gib nummies daddeh! bad daddeh!”
“daddeh!”
Orange slowly looked over and saw two of his babies rolling through the door.
“Nu! Daddeh say yu wiv wit mummah nao! Nu foweva sweepies!”
“nu gib nummies! daddeh! bad!”
The music seems to be coming from the litterbox. The litterbox grows and then explodes with milkies.
“bad daddeh! nu num babbeh! daddeh! bad!”
The other cars started chiming in with the “bad daddeh” chorus.
Suddenly, the window high above on the saferoom wall slides up.
“bad daddeh! nu nummies! bad daddeh!”
The other two babies are climing up and over the windowsill to come into the room.
“Nu! Nu, babbehs! Nu no! Nu no nummies! Nuuuuuu!!!”
Orange backed away in terror. Unfortunately, he slipped in the pool of milkies coming from the litterbox and fell on the litterbox babbeh, crushing it and cutting yourself."
“nu! nu huwt babbeh! bad daddeh” the litterbox baby wheezed.
“boo-boo joos!!! BOO BOO JOOS!!” the other cars screamed deafeningly and disappear.
Orange is so scared he breaks down crying.
“…huu…huu…huu…huu”
Wow, it must be a bad one. Orange is even crying in his sleep. Well, you’ll wake him up soon, you guess. Though you start to feel a little bad about it.
“You could just shove the car up Pinky’s ass and be done with it.”
You hear a weird voice in the back of your mind. You’ll have to up your meds. They’re back. You shake the thought out of your head and go back to your plan. At least it’s not as cruel as that.
You slip into your garage, and honk your car’s horn. You then scurry back to see what the foals are going to do.
Both have been jolted awake and both look like they’re about to shit themselves with fear. Thankfully, Pinky didn’t eat yesterday and Orange was always diligent about going before he slept, so both were out of ammo. Thank god, you don’t want to clean that up.
“AAAAA AAAAA AAAAAA BABBEH BACK!! BAD DADDEH!! SOWWY FO BAD DADDEH!!! AAAA!!!” Orange just starts screaming. Huh, maybe he DID kill the litterbox foal after all. You could have sworn from how Pinky was acting that HE was the culprit.
“PINKY FIX DIS!! PINKY FIX DIS!! PINKY MAK NU BABBIES!” Pinky frantically screams. Since he’s so intent on fixing the baby, maybe they both were involved? Whatever, they’re both getting haunted so it doesn’t really matter. Though if they’re both guilty, you’re doubly glad you didn’t listen to that weird voice.
“NU! PINKY DU NUFF AWEADY! PINKY BAD BWUDDA!” Orange shouted.
“NU! DAT WAS AKKSIDENT!! PINKY TEWW YUU!! PINKY FIX BEFO! DADDEH NU EBEN NO BOUT FOWEVA SWEEPY BABBEH! PINKY GOOD FWUFFY!” Pinky screamed back.
“PINKY GIB BABBEH FOWEVA SWEEPIES!!” Ah, mystery solved.
“OWANGE NU GIB BABBIES NUMMIES!” Pinky shot back.
“OWANGE… am bad daddeh… huu huu huu…” Wow, target acquired and obliterated.
“YUS! NU WET PINKY FIX!” Pinky screams back. He walks towards the “ghost baby” and… jesus christ, he’s humping it? Well, trying to — looks like the ghost car crushed immediately, cheap pieces of crap.
“NUUUUU! NNUUUUUUUUU!! OWANGE NU HAB BABBEHS AND NAO OWANGE NU HAB FOWEBA SWEEPY BABBEH!!! OWANGE HATE YUU! OWANGE HAAATECHUUUUUUUUUUUU” Orange screamed and ran with his horn aimed directly at Pinky’s throat.
“HOLY SHIT GUYS OKAY THAT’S ENOUGH.” You run and grab the two foals off the ground before Orange can make contact with the orange unicorn’s neck.
Unfortunately, Pinky’s all slimy from the vaseline and you drop him.
“OWWIES!! OWWIES!!”
“PINKY DESEWB OWWIES! BAD FWUFFY!!”
“PINKY TWY HEWP! NAO HEWP PINKY!!”
“…nu.”
Oh shit! You reach over and turn on the lights so you can see what happened to Pinky…
WHAT HAPPENED TO PINKY?
He’s obviously alive since he’s talkin’, and he’s not derped, but what’s wrong? Will he be okay? Does he need to see the Doc? And here’s a reminder, your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Enraged at Pinky for “killing” his “babies” (really ultra cheap toy cars). Is in your hand right now.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Hungry as he did not eat today. With an undisclosed injury. Upset that his brother is mad at him. Crying in pain.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART XI:
OH SHIT it feels like you passed out for a couple of months. Or several. Man, what the hell is wrong with you. I know you hate taking care of yourself but godDAMN.
Anyway, to get you back up to speed, your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Enraged at Pinky for “killing” his “babies” (really ultra cheap toy cars). Is in your hand right now.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Hungry as he did not eat today. With an undisclosed injury. Upset that his brother is mad at him. Crying in pain.
You gotta go back through your memories to get yourself up to speed on what happened.
A few days ago… shit, has it only been a few days? You took in a couple babies after their mom died via cat.
The rules you’ve previously set up:
- No bad Poopies
- Only one fluffy gets food for the day — whoever beats the other at wrestling.
- No special huggies.
- Always listen to Daddy, he’s always right.
- Sometimes Daddy will assign chores; on those days, both fluffies may eat, but there is no food until the chores are done.
- Don’t demand things; ask polietely
- Everything in the saferoom except the litterbox belongs to Daddy, and you must ask permission to use anything except the litterbox.
- Smarties die.
- Daddy has no favorites.
Anyway, Orange is fucked up because a couple days ago, you told them to wash the car. They did so but their method somehow involved Orange fucking the tire. Pinky pulled him away, ripping his penis off. And to punish him for lying about not fucking the car, you cut off his fur, hence the bald spot.
The next day, to fuck with them, you threw out some ultra-cheap toy cars and said that they’re Orange’s babies from fucking the car.
Unfortunately, while playing with the car/babies, Pinky damaged one, and in trying to fix the problem, Pinky tried to eat the “dead” baby, but when that failed, hid it in the litterbox. You found out when taking the babies back because the Momma Car has “Custody.” You’re pretty sure this makes sense in context.
Anyway, the fluffies were “haunted” by the dead baby, resulting in Pinky trying to hump the ghost, further crumpling the car.
Orange is enraged that Pinky has not only killed the baby, but also the ghost baby, so you pick Pinky up, but accidentally drop him.
AND THIS IS WHERE WE CAME IN.
You look down at Pinky on the floor. Orange is still in your hand, and is clearly still mad, as he just refused to help his brother. Better still hold on to Orange before he tries to finish the job.
Luckily, you know Pinky’s still alive and hasn’t been derped, because he’s still speaking. Or at least he was, now he’s sobbing that Orange is mad at him. And, presumably due to the pain.
First, it looks like — oh, christ. For a second you thought that the heavily vaselined “Ghost” car had gone up Pinky’s ass, but it turns out that he’s just gotten his ass cheeks pinched in the crumple.
As for his legs, it looks like his left rearleg is broken and he’s crushed his testicles… but surprisingly he doesn’t seem to be crying for his “special lumps.” Perhaps he can’t feel them?
You poke at the orange foal’s hindquarters and sure enough, Pinky doesn’t react. You poke up to his neck, and nothing. It looks like he’s paralyzed from the neck down. Great. Sounds like we’ve got another vet trip to make.
You put Orange back down in the saferoom and put Pinky in the carrier you’ll use to take him to the vet in the morning, so Orange doesn’t end up killing him. You tell the fluffies to go to sleep and you’ll deal with it in the morning. And with that you go back to bed.
In the morning you tell Orange that the wrestling game will be postponed while you take Pinky to the vet. (Well, again, your friend who didn’t even know what a goddamn colostomy bag was.)
“Hey, Doc, yeah, this one looks bad.”
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you do to him this time?”
“I didn’t do anything! Well, actually, yeah, this one was me. Force of habit. Anyway, yeah, I accidentally dropped him , and he’s paralyzed.”
“Well, shit. Not much I can do for that. Want me to stomp him?”
The injured fluffy finally stirred. “Nuuuuuu, nu stomp Pinky!”
“Yeah, no, let’s not do that. What can you do to help him out?”
“Uhhh, not much. Clean up his wounds. Probably should amputate that back leg, not that he’ll use it anymore. Though… huh, I do have an idea…”
“Go for it!”
“Uh, I didn’t say what it was.”
“Don’t care! I got more important things… man, I feel like I just blacked out for almost a goddamn year. What do you think?”
“Dude, I’m barely a vet. Fucked if I know.”
“Oh. Anyway, what’s your idea?”
“You care now? Whatever. Anyway, i got a cheap half-busted RC car. I’m gonna attach him to it so he can move around.”
“Neato. Do that! Anyway, i’ll go to work. Call me when he’s ready.”
A few hours later, he calls and you set up the dummy that yells at kids again, and duck out to get Pinky. He’s sutured to a chassis-less RC car, but the wheel from the remote control has been soldiered in front of Pinky’s face so he can steer. Looks like he put the wheel on a simple switch for the acceleration, so when Pinky presses down a bit, it goes forward.
“How’s he go backward?”
“Eh, couldn’t figure that part out and got sick of fuckin’ with it. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Sounds good. I’ll just keep an eye on him.”
You settle up with the Doc. Pinky’s feeling much better now that he can move again and his pain seems to mostly be gone, thanks to the drugs. You take him home and set him down with his brother.
“Now listen, guys, we need to talk this out. Now, Pinky, I told you, the rule was no special huggies. First, I need to punish you for that,” you say as you trim off the 1"x1" square of fluff, same as Orange.
“But now that we’ve punished you for that, WHY were you giving special huggies to the ghost car?”
“Pinky gib foweba sweepies tu babbeh, but if gib speciaw huggies to ghost babbeh den get mowe babbehs, and ebwyting good again!”
“Pinky… twy… fix babbehs?”
“Yus! Nu wan huwt babbehs OW Owange!”
Orange is overjoyed and lumbers over for a hug. The brothers are reunited.
“And I have to come clean too. The ghost car wasn’t real. It was a joke I was playing on you guys. I didn’t think it’d result in Pinky fucking a ghost car to death.”
“Waa? …Daddeh ghost caw?”
“Uh, i mean, not literally but kinda?”
“Daddeh bad!”
“Why Daddeh huwt fwuffies?!”
“… Thought it’d be funny.”
“Weww, nu funny! Daddeh meanies!”
“Daddeh meanies!!”
If they had eaten at all today, you’d think they’d be about to give you sorry poopies. Good thing Pinky hasn’t eaten in a day and a half.
“Look, I’m sorry, I went too far. How can I make it up to you?”
HOW DO YOU MAKE IT UP TO THE FLUFFIES?
And finally, here are your fluffies:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Hungry. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Sitting in the saferoom staring in disbelief at you. Is shocked you’d be so mean. But hey, he’s cool with his brother now!
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Very hungry as he did not eat yesterday nor today yet. Down a left hindleg, and paralyzed from the neck down, but hooked to a bitchin’ RC Car body that can go forward and steer. Sitting in the saferoom staring in disbelief at you. Is shocked you’d be so mean.
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART XII:
Good, whatever hit you last time appears to have passed. You look at your fluffies and immediately recognize them as:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Hungry. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Sitting in the saferoom staring in disbelief at you. Is shocked you’d be so mean. But hey, he’s cool with his brother now!
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Very hungry as he did not eat yesterday nor today yet. Down a left hindleg, both testicles and paralyzed from the neck down, but hooked to a bitchin’ RC Car body that can go forward and steer. Also missing a patch of fur. Sitting in the saferoom staring in disbelief at you. Is shocked you’d be so mean.
You’ve just revealed that you’ve been fucking with them with the whole ghost car thing, and are looking to make it up to them.
“Look, I’m sorry, I went too far. How can I make it up to you?”
Orange looks at you and says “…hookews?”
“OK, first I’m curious where you learned that word. You’re only a few days old. But beyond that, no. Not only does it break one of the rules — no special huggies — it wouldn’t matter anyway. Your dick is completely missing, his doesn’t work, and he’s paralyzed besides. So while I appreciate that you’re helping out, that’s a big ol’ no, buddy.”
Pinky’s stomach rumbles. “…Sketties?”
“That’s a good idea, Pinky! And since I’m making it up to you guys, no wrestling needed today! You both get fed!”
“YAAAAY!”
“And I’m gonna make 'em extra special!”
“Uh oh,” Pinky says.
Whoa, you had no idea these things could pick up on patterns so well. There goes the plan of spiking it with molly to get them to love you again and laxatives, just because. Time for plan b.
“No, I promise! These are going to be great! Not only will it be spaghetti, it’ll be deep-fried for that extra deliciousness! And same with the meatballs, sauce and cheese!”
“YAAAAY” Orange says. Sounds like you’ve won him over.
“An’ nu twicks? Nu meatbawws made of bwuddahs and sissies?”
“Shit, Pinky, damn, give me some credit. I promise, I have not made you guys eat any fluffies, jeez. Besides, crows already ate your siblings.”
“NUUUUUU!!!”
“Ah, shit, shouldn’ta mentioned that part. I mean, your sibs are in Skettiland. Which, to be clear, is 100% separate and has nothing to do with the sketti you’re about to get.”
“Skettiwand? Yaaay!” Orange is the easiest to fool. But surprisingly, Pinky seems to have bought it as well. You’re just that smooth.
You’ve been experimenting with your Fry Daddy recently, and you’ve got a pretty good recipe for beer-batter if you don’t say so yourself. (Because while you’re narrating every friggin’ thing you do, you do it INSIDE your head because you’re not nutty, after all.)
So, you go to work — first you cook the spaghetti noodles, spoon them out into appropriate serving sizes, batter 'em, and deep fry 'em in the Fry Daddy. Next, you make the meatballs — a mix of seasoning, beef and Jimmy Dean sausage — cook them fully, batter 'em, fry 'em and throw 'em on top.
You’ve had sauce in the freezer since the last time you made a big batch, and take two bags out. One for you, and one you’ll slice in two for the fluffies’ portions. Batter the frozen sauce, dump in the Fry Daddy, and fish out when it looks done. You figure by now the sauce inside the batter is probably thawed by now.
Finally, you cut a few slices of paremsean off the block of the fresh stuff you had in your fridge, batter it, fry it, slap it on top, sorta like a square mozzarella stick, only not a stick and not mozzarella.
It actually looks pretty good if you do say so yourself. (You feel your heart shudder. Probably unrelated.)
“Food’s ready guys!”
As you carry the spaghetti to the boys, you notice out the window that it’s dark now. Shit, that took longer than you expected. Pinky hasn’t eaten in two days and Orange only last ate yesterday morning. Well, this will certainly fill 'em up!
You walk into the saferoom and put the bowls down in front of the foals. “Dig in, boys! And, while I’m thinking about it, let me get a ramp for you, Pinky, so you can drive up into the litter box.”
“Tank yu, daddeh!!” the foals say in unison and start eating. Such polite fluffies! Maybe you should lay off 'em for a while.
As they start chomping and from the sounds of it, really enjoying the fried sketti, you find an old board and put it up to the litterbox. Good thing Pinky’s a unicorn, otherwise he might use the ramp to try some sick jumps to “fwy.”
You realize that would have been awesome and make yourself sad.
After that, you go and have your portion of the dinner. Jesus christ, this IS good. You mix everything up with your knife, and sure enough, the cheese has gotten a bit melted (not that parmesan is a super-melty cheese by nature) and the sauce is fully liquified inside the pocket of batter. It’s lovely, and you dig in, and once you’re done, clean things up, getting rid of the spent oil.
You walk back into the saferoom and see the foals have stuffed themselves. Orange has a distended belly and Pinky is sitting at a strange angle on the RC car body, presumably because he’s also got a distended belly. But thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be pulling at his sutures, so he’s fine.
Suddenly… your guts start to burble. Oh, dang, too much fried food. Oh well, nothing the bathroom won’t solve… RIGHT NOW.
You run to the bathroom and while there will be no further details given, everything worked out a-OK. But you hear something from the saferoom.
“POOPIES!! POOPIES!! BIGGEST POOPIES!!!” Orange yells and starts waddling as fast as he can to the litterbox.
“NU! BIGGEW POOPIES!!” Pinky yells and smashes his face into the wheel to go at full speed at the litterbox. Pinky, thanks to the wheels, has the speed advantage… but too much of one. He tears up the ramp, launches himself over the litter box and smashes his front wheels into the wall.
Aside from the jolt, he’s fine — though he’s slammed ass-end deep into the litter. He can’t hold it, and shits with great force.
Unfortunately, the force of his oil-shits sprays litter out of the box and into Orange’s eyes.
“SCREEEE!!! SEE PWACES HUWTIES!!!”
And with that, Orange is blinded, and runs off in the opposite direction of the litterbox. He runs as fast as he can into the other wall, bops himself against the wall and, though he doesn’t derp himself, does knock himself out. After all, he was running at a top speed of .75 mph and all.
As Orange goes down, he lets forth a torrent, which forms a spray of greasy diarrhea a foot and a half out from his asshole.
“daddeh… daddeh…” Pinky gasps.
“Damn, that was totally worth it,” you say as you head out of the bathroom. You notice that the foals seem awfully quiet.
You pop your head into the saferoom and survey the scene.
“Well, Pinky, you’re a good boy, and you made poopies in the litterbox! Good boy!”
Pinky attempts to wag his tail, but it’s buried in the shit and litter.
“But uh, next time, try to keep the litter IN the box, okay?”
You look over. “ORANGE! What is this! You made BAD POOPIES! Orange! Orange?”
The pink foal is still passed out, so you walk over and shake him until he stirs."
“Owange… hab… huwties… gib… huggies?”
He looks up at you with sad, red eyes.
“No, Orange, huggies are for GOOD fluffies. Look at this!” You turn his body around to see the spray of shit.
“YOU MADE BAD POOPIES.”
“Nuu! Owange nu mean tu! Had see-pwace hurties!”
“Oh, so your eyes hurt, so you thought, ‘oh, i’ll just shit all over the floor, that totally makes sense.’ Yeah, I don’t care. Time for your punishment.”
WHAT HAPPENS TO ORANGE?
Your fluffies are:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Is staring at his bad poopies in horror.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Very hungry as he did not eat yesterday nor today yet. Down a left hindleg, both testicles and paralyzed from the neck down, but hooked to a bitchin’ RC Car body that can go forward and steer. Also missing a patch of fur. Still lodged in the litterbox, looking upward while his rear is deep in a mixture of sand and his own shit. Still softly calling out “Daddeh?”
ANOTHER GODDAMN CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE THING
FLUFFY NOT-BREEDER MAN GUY PART XIII:
You’re staring over your fluffies:
ORANGE: Colt. Pink. Unicorn. Missing a 1" square patch of fluff on his back and his entire penis. He’s been cathetered, and his catheter bag is taped to his back on his baldspot. Is staring at his bad poopies in horror.
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Down a left hindleg, both testicles and paralyzed from the neck down, but hooked to a bitchin’ RC Car body that can go forward and steer. Also missing a patch of fur. Still lodged in the litterbox, looking upward while his rear is deep in a mixture of sand and his own shit. Still softly calling out “Daddeh?”
“Well, Orange, you’ve been a bad fluffy, making bad poopies ALL OVER the saferoom.”
“Nuuu! Daddeh! Axxident! Axxident!” Orange bawls in between sobs and peeps.
“Well, you know the rules. First part of your punishment is to clean this mess up.”
“Bu’ how?”
“Gotta eat da poopies, dummeh!” Pinky shouts from the litterbox, still staring up at nothing. Apparently, he’s been following along after all. “Yu nu figuwe out how dis wowks yet?”
Taken aback, you reply, “Uh, yes. Pinky’s right. You’ve got to eat the poopies.”
“…nu wan…”
“Well, if you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t have shit all over the room. And for talking back, i’m going to take Pinky out of the box and play loud sorry music for you!”
You pick up Pinky and put him back on his wheels so he can move. As you go to get the speakers from the other room, you think you hear Pinky leaving the saferoom. Whatever, you’ll get him later. Instead, you lug the speakers back to the safe room and place them in the small part of the saferoom that hasn’t been covered in shit. You then go to your computer and load up a playlist of '90s Eurodance No-Hit Wonders, and put it on at full blast. Who knew those bluetooth speakers would come in handy?
Anyway, it’s been a long day, and since the saferoom’s soundproofed anyway, you figure you’ll just head to bed. Orange will probably have it cleaned up by morning anyway.
Mmm, good sleep. You dreamt you watched a lost episode of Duckman. That show was awesome, they shouldn’t have cancelled it all those years ago.
You head to the saferoom and… huh. PInky never came back, and it looks like the combination of the deafening sound and having to eat an absurd amount of shit finally did the little guy in. He’s dead, shit flowing from his mouth. Looks like he barely even made a dent in it too. Goddamn, you’ll have to clean that shit up.
“PINKY! PINKY!!”
Oddly enough, there’s no answer.
Pinky was happy, his dummeh daddeh forgot to close the back door, and you were able to drive away. Though he’s not a big fan of his cart, he’s gotta admit it’s much faster than his old legs were. And there’s a bit more traction too, making it easier to navigate certain bumps in the road.
Pinky made his way outside and drove down the block in the middle of the night.
WHAT DO: DO YOU WANT TO FOLLOW PINKY AND HIS ADVENTURES, OR DO YOU WANT TO FOLLOW THE HUMAN AND SEE IF THERE ARE NEW FLUFFIES TO GET?
FLUFFIES IN PLAY:
ORANGE: DEAD
PINKY: Colt. Orange. Unicorn. Down a left hindleg, both testicles and paralyzed from the neck down, but hooked to a bitchin’ RC Car body that can go forward and steer. Also missing a patch of fur. Decided he’d have a better life as a feral — or perhaps with a new daddy — than living with this psycho.
[END OF FILE — basically around this time I’d gotten a new job that took most of my time, plus that I was losing interest, and i think the commenters were too. Though, there WAS fan art of Pinky and Orange at the time, that I loved!]