You’re Applefluff’s owner. Your adorable little fluffy is locked up in her safe room with her toys, and you’re reviewing some shows designed for fluffies to make sure they’re suitable for her to watch.
You’ve basically given up on FluffTV. Most of the shows are mindless, even by fluffy standards, though the one starring a Judge Judy-esque fluffy is pretty hilarious. You have a strict policy of banning Babies! from your television because you don’t want your cute little mare to get any ideas about starting a family of her own. And the commercials are just plain irresponsible and just barely this side of legal. Once Applefluff got it in her head that if she didn’t eat a specific brand of canned spaghetti (which you’re convinced was recalled for human consumption because of the green dye in it, then relabeled and marketed for fluffies), then she would wither away and die from starvation. She kept begging you and begging you for the ridiculously over-priced spaghetti the commercial assured her was the only way not to starve to death, and finally you bought her a can. You’ve seen fluffies wolf down instant ramen covered in ketchup, convinced it was gourmet spaghetti, and even she thought this stuff tasted questionable. Fortunately, you managed to convince her that the magic spaghetti worked with just a single dose, and she never asked for it again.
You did, however, spend three days trying to get to quit crying every time she deposited a green turd in her litterbox. She thought the green poopies were out to get her, somehow.
So, yeah. FluffTV can take a long walk off a short pier.
Fluffy Theater? Let’s see… huh. Both dumbed-down classic plays acted out by fluffies and with fluffies as the target audience, and regular versions of classic plays starring fluffies meant to make humans laugh at the terrible acting and even worse production values.
Romeo and Juliet? You watch the ten second preview of the play.
“Uh, nu! Womeo has taken wongest sweepies!”
Then the fluffy presumably playing Juliet starts crying for real, forgetting it’s pretend, and the Romeo fluffy quits playing dead and starts crying too, though he’s not sure who it is they’re crying for. Geez.
Hamlet. Interesting, but you’ll pass. Hamlet again- wait, in Klingon?! You click to see the ten second preview and a bunch of tan and brown fluffies with rubber foreheads glued on are barking at each other in a made-up nerd language. Paaaass!
Waiting For Godot? Hell no. Into The Woods? That might be entertaining. Allright, enough Fluffy Theater, let’s find something different.
Mr. Sorry Stick, an educational show for fluffies. Reading the synopsis reveals the show has two series of episodes; the ‘light’ episodes all end on a happy note. Good fluffies get to play with special visitors (all created by CGI, unlike the fluffies), and bad fluffies are tempted by two bad fluffies named Do-Wat-Wan and Badpoopies and get punished by Mr. Sorry Stick, an anthropomorphic CGI riding crop. In the end, everyone learns a valuable lesson and even the naughty fluffies get to play and have a good time at the end, now that they know better. The ‘dark’ episodes all come with a warning label asking owners to view the episodes individually to decide if they’re appropriate for their fluffies, and are definitely less of a ‘friendly lesson’ and more 'scare ‘em straight’. The light episodes might be ok, but the darker ones you’re going to pass on; poor little Applefluff would probably be traumatized. She had a hard time getting all the way through the fluffy ‘horror’ movie The Poopies That Didn’t Stay in the Litter Box. She snuggled up against you and anxiously sucked her hoof throughout most of the film, which was only thirty minutes long; the twist ending (which any four year old would have seen coming, but totally blew your fluffy’s little mind) was that the poopies weren’t coming to life and leaving the litter box to become bad poopies, it was actually the butler (a black-and-white fluffy colored like a tuxedo cat) making bad poopies so he could steal the family fortune. Somehow. You never did figure out how crapping on the carpet would allow the butler to steal an inheritance from the fluffy family he worked for, but Applefluff never questioned that plot hole, instead marveling at the clever twist ending to what had been, to her, a very scary movie.
Now, since you’d spent so much effort telling her the movie wasn’t scary, but funny, she laughed along with you and reenacted the more ridiculous parts of the ‘horror’ movie. Speaking of which…
You creep up to the safe room and open the door as quietly as possible, peeking in. Applefluff hasn’t noticed you and is focused intently on stacking a third block atop two others she has stacked.
“Applefluff!” you call, startling her into dropping the block.
“Daddeh?”
“It’s terrible!”
She perks up, her face scandalized. She thinks you’re being serious for a second, but devolves into a grin as you speak again.
“The poopies! They’re- ALIVE!”
“Oooo-oo—h nuu-uuu-uuuuu!” she wails, holding a hoof across her face dramatically and ‘fainting’.
“Oh no! The poopies! They left the litter box and- and- they’re on… THE CARPET.”
“Eeeeeeee! Save me, daddeh, save me!”
She runs in circles, giggling, and you scoop her up in your arms and tickle her fuzzy belly, eliciting more giggling. Then you press your lips against her belly and blowing, making a loud PPPFFTHRRRRRRBBBBBT noise. Your little fluffy howls with laughter and you instantly regret touching her fur with your lips. Yeah, it’s gonna be bath time soon.
“It’s Friday, little Applefluff. Know what that means?”
“Bwushie, bwushie!”
“That’s right! It’s time for good little fluffies to brush their teeth!”
You carry her into the bathroom and set her on the floor while you get out the tube of toothpaste specially formulated for fluffies (most toothpastes intended for humans causes fluffies to bleed from the gums.), wash your face and especially your lips in the sink, and grab her tooth brush. Once a week, every week, you carefully scrub her teeth. Most fluffy owners never brush their fluffy’s teeth, but you read that good dental hygeine can extend the lifespan of fluffies by an average of two years, thanks to reducing oral bacteria, keeping the teeth intact and cavity free, and avoiding dental abcesses. You started brushing Applefluff’s teeth right after she broken a tooth (she opened a kitchen cabinet and dropped a pressure cooker on her head trying to ‘help’ you clean the kitchen), at the vet’s recommendation. She freaked out the first time, convinced the bubbles from the toothpaste meant she was ‘sickies’, but now she likes watching you brush her teeth in the mirror and blowing bubbles into the sink. It took a few times for you to convince her the toothpaste shouldn’t be swallowed and that it wasn’t nummies though.
Your phone rings. Dammit, why do you even take it out of your pocket when you get home?
“Stay here, sweetie. Daddy needs to get the phone. Be a good girl and don’t mess with anything.”
“Otay, daddeh!”
You’re Applefluff! You love daddy! He gives your teefsies bwushie-bwushies to keep them sparkly pretty and clean! Daddy was about to give you bwushie-bwushies, but his talky-boxy thing was chirping for attention. You don’t know why it does it; it doesn’t need nummies or huggies, but it chirps at daddy anyway and then daddy hugs it to his face and talks to it. Maybe it gets lonely.
Hmm, hmm, hm-hm-hm-hmmm! Daddy makes you so happy! You like making daddy happy too! Right now you’re being a good girl and not messing with things, even though you REEEEEAAAALLY want to explore!
Oh! Suddenly, you have a REALLY great idea! You’ll surprise daddy and help him with the bwushie-bwushies! You can put your bwushie and put the toofy-pasties on it and have it ready for him. He’ll be so pleased with what a clever, helpful fluffy you are!
You see the toofy-pasties thing on the edge of the big bowl daddy fills with warm wawas to give you your bathies and pick it up in your moufsies. Then you set it on the floor and look at it.
Hmmm. How do you open it again? You think hard, trying to remember what daddy does to open the toofy-pasties. Oh! He TWISTS it! You hold it still with your front hoofsies, bite the end of it, and twist. Owies! It hurts your moufsies. That’s not right. You bite the end again and twist the other way.
Success! The end came off! You drop the thing of toofy-pasties and dance in a circle around it. Daddy will be so proud once he sees how helpful and clever you are!
Now you need to get the toofy-pasties out of the thing so you can put it on the bwushie! Daddy squeezes it with his not-hoofsie, but you don’t have one of those. You think for a second, then it hits you. So obvious! You rear back on your hind legs and use your front hoofsies to stomp and SQUISH the toofy-pasties out!
Damn telemarketers. You need to get back to the bathroom before-
“EEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Sigh. Not even thirty seconds. A new record.
“Daddeh, hewp! It buwnies!”
You run into the bathroom and discover your fluffy is running in circles around the bathroom, kicking and bucking, wailing in terror and pain. Oh geez. She found your tube of Ben-Gay (you could’ve sworn you remembered to put it out of reach) and somehow squeezed it out all over the bathroom rug. And all four legs. And her belly. Geez.
“Appuwfwuff just wanned tu hewp daddeh wif bwushie-bwushies! EEEEEEE! Why huwt Appuwfwuff?! Huuhuuhuuu!”
Oh geez, she thought it was toothpaste. You grab your spastic little pony and set her in the tub, turn the water on, and start washing her legs and belly while she sniffles and whimpers.
Looks like bath time came early this week.
applepluff seriously listen what your daddy say! Almost every damn time!