This is an ongoing story
Gone Fishin’
Sugar Fucks Up
Sugar REALLY Fucks Up
Bill’s Garden Fiasco
Bill Gets Angry
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Bill had been working in the garage for perhaps an hour on the morning that Caramel had been attacked. There was only a minor sense of set-up needed: A hole into some plywood here, something special set up there. Ideas fired into his head rapidly and he simply moved along as they came to him. Once everything had been put into place for the session ahead of him, he whistled and walked out of the garage. Left it open. A few guests would be visiting.
Onwards to the back yard. He could guess that whatever unfortunate soul had decided to invade his sense of comfort would still be there. It was less of a guess and more of a certainty at this point.
“Fluffies! Hello, little fluffies! Come on out and play! I’ve got some ‘nummies’ for ya!” He called out to the backyard in a cheerful tone. It didn’t take long before there was a rustling of branches. Green, blue, yellow. A cluster of stallions advancing on him. Once they had been out, an equal number of mares followed. Pink, purple, red. One had a rainbow cluster of chirpies clinging to her back, another had talkie-babbehs following behind her hooves. The last was as round as a barrel with the swell of pregnancy. Each and every single one of them had a shit-streaked ass, crawled with bugs, and looked stupid as Hell.
“Nummies ‘fo soon mummah!” Giggled the pregnant mare.
“Nummies ‘n enfies ‘fo bestest smawty.” Asserted the blue stallion. Ah, the leader of this ragtag band. Bill jutted an index finger out, shook it out at him.
“Well come on. No use in standing around. Let’s go!” He began to lead them all off to the garage. The fluffies followed in close formation behind him, giving small teehees or congratulating themselves on how smart they were to find such an opportunity.
Once they were inside the garage, they would find their hooves walking across many blue tarps set out instead of the usual concrete floor of the place. The blue stallion looked around. Where were the nummies? He walked over to look inside a cardboard box.
“Wew am nummies ‘fo hewd!?” He asked impatiently, chewing on a bit of the box. Bill raised his garage door opener, depressed the button with his thumb. At the grinding sound of the door being lowered, one of the mares who could perhaps sense danger was close attempted to flee.
“REEEEEE! Bad noisie! Bad pwace!” She yelled out, attempted to squeeze past Bill. He raised one boot-clad foot and slammed it into her ribs, sending her flopping back. The chirpies which had been on her back were displaced to the floor, cheeping and peeping. Crawling around and trying to find a new sense of warmth.
Whistling to himself, Bill took a frog gig off the wall. A rubber gripped stick with four tiny barbed prongs on the end. Angling the tool down he’d lance a chirpy right through it’s tiny belly, blood and curdled milk drooling down to the tarp down below.
“Munstah am huwty babbeh! Hewp, hewd!” It’s mummah pleaded, though none stepped forward to try and help. One of the stallions curled up and buried his face against the covered floor, pissing himself and mumbling ‘Scawy!’. The gig lazily poked down again, another baby onto it’s barbed destination.
“Yeah, boys! Get on over here and help ‘em out!” Bill said jovially, gigging up a third chirpy. “Get me while the gettins good!” The fourth prong found it’s victim, the man dragging up the gig to get a good look at all of his catches. They bobbled and wiggled obscenely each time he moved the tool. The mummah stood over a remaining chirpy, defensively staring at the munstah man.
“Yew am munstah! Nu huwt babbeh! Mummah wub babbeh!” She said tearfully. Bill set outside the frog gig for a moment. It’d be needed here soon. Looked over to the blue stallion, the supposed smarty. Standing his ground at least unlike the one currently shitting himself on the floor. Taking a slingshot down from a shelf, he’d roll a ball bearing into it’s leather pouch. Aim it carefully up toward the mare protecting her baby.
“Wha dat?” She asked curiously, the man reeling his arm back and letting the ball bearing fly out like a flash of silver. The steel sphere tore into her remaining chirpy’s neck, sent it’s little brown head plopping back.
“Babbehs! BABBEHS! NU AM MUMMAH NU MOWE!” The mare screeched, promptly emptying her ass out onto the tarp behind her in grief. Shitting yourself was a weird way to mourn but it took all kinds. Bill took his gig up and made his way up to her. Slammed his boot into her once more, this time rolling the helpless creature onto her back. Holding the frog gig loaded up with her babies above the mare, he squeezed down on the mare until she opened her mouth up with a bellowing screech.
“Here’s your nummies, asshole!” He forced the multiple prongs past her teeth, scraped back against her throat. She gagged, hacked, the man working the barbs to free the chirpies so she’d be forced to have a mouthful of them. The mare tried to spit them out but couldn’t given her position and his boot pressed down firmly against her. There was only one choice and that was to chew. She tried to chew the mouthful of corpses, managed to even get some down. Yet she couldn’t properly breathe or chew properly. Bill watched as a lump got stuck in her throat. Her chest heaved, hooves scrabbled around, she threw up. Small trickles of vomit pushed out the corners of her mouth, chewed up body parts attempting to bubble out and then sinking back down. Bill stood over here, watching her choke on her children. The mare gave a few final shakes, violent spasms to indicate her life was over.
By now the place was a goddamn madhouse. The fluffies (well, most of them) were trying to beat their way out of the garage with rapid flurries of hooves. “Hewp! Hewp fwuffies! Dewe am wowstest munstah! HEWP BABBEHS!” They cried out to no avail. There’d be no help coming.
Now he went about collecting all of the talkie-babbehs he could. They had huddled around their mother, suckling on their hooves or making scaredy-peeps. Each one he grabbed up had their hooves ziptied together. Little bundles of frightened fluff.
“Pwease mistah! Fwuffy nu do baddie fing!” A yellow filly whimpered as he’d gotten the three babies bound together. Over in the corner was a model train set he’d put up earlier. Usually it’d be set up during Christmas time, ringing the tree and cheerfully chugging along. It was August but it was a special time to dig it out of storage. Hefting the foal on over to the train, he’d set her down in the middle of the tracks further away from the locomotive. Said toy locomotive had been slightly modified: Several roofing nails had been glued around the cowcatcher.
Turning on the tracks, he took the controls. The foal’s mother could do nothing but stand beside the garage door watching in horror. Chugging forward, the train began picking up speed.
“A peanut sat on a railroad track…” Bill watched as the train truly begin to zip along. The filly whimpered.
“His heart was all a’flutter!” The train rounded a loop. He activated the whistle, sending a plume of tiny smoke up. “Round the bend came the number 10…” The train sent it’s nail-studded cowcatcher directly into the foal’s exposed belly. A howl of pain, blood seeping out against the track. “TOOT TOOT, peanut butter!”
Working the foal out from the nails and dragging along a coil of intestines as he did, he threw her aside on the tarp. Alive but, as they say, without a quality of life. This process was repeated for the two other foals, the man continuing to sing along as this went on.
“Why yew huwt mummahs babbehs!? Dey was gud babbehs! Wub aw da babbehs…” Their mother whimpered as Bill advanced upon her. The stallions were, meanwhile, trying to hide. Not well. Hell, even the blue one had fucked off and had his shit-covered ass sticking out from the corner of a box.
He didn’t have to answer her. Didn’t particularly feel like it mattered. Taking a coil of well-oiled bicycle chain down from a peg on the wall, he lashed out with it. The links caught her across the face, knocked a few teeth loose. She squeezed up against the corner of the garage door and he’d stamp on her tail, wind his arm back with a slink of metal.
“FWOWER SOWWY! SU SOWWY! NU MEANIES!” She tried to beg for mercy. None to be found here. Bending into it, he slapped the chain with as fiercely as he could. Continuing flailing back and fourth. Blood slicked, was flicked onto the garage door and all the way up to the ceiling. Finally her blabbering stopped. Nothing more than a ruined crater for a face left after the pummeling. Going to the shop sink, he’d run water over the chain and wash off fur, blood, brain matter.
The remaining mare was too fat to even run or hide. Getting to the garage had been a feat in and of itself. She was like a balloon of flesh and red fur. Bill bent down, scooped her up with a huff of breath.
“Yew gib gud uppsies tu gud soon mummah? Am bestest soon mummah. Teehee…wub yew mistah.” Apparently she had decided on the ‘cute and nice’ route for life preservation. Well, that was all well and fine. He was getting kind of tired of all the pleading and crying anyways.
“Yup. And I got the perfect thing for a soon mummah.” Bill brought the fat creature over to a paint shaker. He hated having to deal with the underpaid dorks they stocked retail with. Why did he need some guy in a smock to work a paint shaker for him? Bill went to fit leather straps around the mare, getting her affixed in place.
“Comfortable?” He asked, the mare giving a shake of her tail and a shy smile. Perhaps thinking that he was in fact going to be nice.
“Am su comfyble! Dank yew mistah!” She giggled, and he went to flip a switch on the shaker. Immediately, the mare felt herself begin to jolt and jostle around as it warmed up.
“Hewp! Nu wike! Dis am bad feew!” The pregnant thing whimpered, fat body jiggling around helplessly. Bill bent forward and cranked the power up. What had been manageable before now turned to absolute torture. The mare began to be seized from side to side violently. Bill could hear her teeth click together, jaw snapping open and closed.
“REEEEEE!” She cried out, sending a fan of diarrhea into the air. It splattered against the wall. What followed next were a series of would-be chirpies shot out from her cooter at what had to be record speeds. Their bodies would fly into the garage refrigerator, sliding down the white plastic with trails of blood before finally sinking limply to the floor.
“MUU-UUU-AAAA” The mare screamed. “BAAA-AAAAAA-BEEEEEEHS!” Each word was drawn out from the force of being shaken around. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut, too. Being so rapidly jostled caused her to bite her tongue with such force that it popped out from her mouths and went to the floor, blood drooling out from her mouth. “EEEEEEEEE!”
Bill simply stood there and watched with closed arms. Eventually she just went completely still. Well. Relatively. Turning off the paint shaker, he bent closed to get a good look at her. Head seemed awfully swollen. He was no doctor, let alone for one of these things, but he could guess that what passed for a brain in these things had been sent up against her skull far too many times. Leaving the body strapped in, he’d turn to the door leading into the house.
“Don’t worry, fellas. I’ll be back for you soon.”
He went back into the house to check on Caramel, washing himself off first. In the kitchen he would empty a jar of applesauce into a pot, put some vanilla extract and honey into it. This was something his own mother always made for him when he was sick. Incredibly sweet, hot, the perfect panacea for a mid-winter cold or whatever belly bug you could catch. Walking into the living room he would find Caramel on her basket bed, looking ashamed of herself and slightly scared. The reason why was obvious: she’d messed herself. After being attacked it wasn’t likely she could make it to the litterbox on her own for awhile. Bill understood.
“Sowwy daddeh…Cawamel sowwy…weggies huwties.” She said shamefully, Bill scooping her up carefully so as to not get himself messy. Bringing her to the sink, he began to wash her off for the second time that day. “Stay her a sec.” He told her, going off to drag her soiled mattress into a garbage bag. Put a bunch of old towels down in the basket. It’d have to do for now. Scooping her out of the sink and putting her down on the towels, the fluffy looked up to him with wonder.
“Dank yew, daddeh.” Bill ruffled the top of her head and went to get her the applesauce which had begun to bubble on the stovetop. Pouring it into a bowl, he went back into the living room and sat down on the floor beside her. Scooping up some of the sweet stuff, he blew on it before plopping a spoonful into her mouth. The mare gave a giddy giggle and a flail of her front hooves.
“Dis am BESTEST nummies!” She said, looking happy for the first time that day. Bill smiled, scooping more into her mouth after being assured it wouldn’t be too hot. She put away the whole bowl in no time, the man clinking the spoon down in the bowl and getting up with a groan.
“I’ll be back soon, kiddo. Don’t get into no trouble.” Bill glanced to the television. Some incredibly poorly animated show of a fat brown mare flying through space with her babbehs. Jesus this stuff was bad.
Back in the garage, he’d stretch out and give a sigh. The stallions had come out from hiding and were trying to scrabble their hooves against the garage door.
“Open up, dummeh! Stoopi’ dummeh!” The yellow one growled. Oh, this one had a horn. Perfect. Sneaking up behind the gaggle of fluffies, Bill snatched a hand out and caught the unicorn by his tail. Dangled him upside down.
“Hewp! Fwends hewp! Munstah am HEWE! Gib sowwy poopies!” He looked up to Bill, the man walking over to a rough slat of wood. Even looking at it one could see multiple splinters angling up. In other words: A cheap piece of shit that a kid wouldn’t even scavenger for a backyard clubhouse. Bill transferred his grip from the fluffy’s tail to a bunch of fur and whatever skin he could get ahold of on his back.
“Let’s see if you’re any good at sanding, cocksucker.” Bill brought the fluffy up, began to shove him up roughly against the wood. Splinters caught in the stallion’s flesh, making the process slow. Grunting, putting his elbow grease into it, he buffed the fluffy against the wood. Ground his horn down into it, breaking off bits and pieces at a time. Blood, fur, bits of skin were left behind on the rough surface.
“NU MOWE! HUWTIES! ZIPPEH SOWWY!” The unicorn begged for lenience, Bill lifting him away from the wood to get a good look. There were splinters everywhere. One had popped through his eyelid and stuck with a dry jaggedness into his eye. His belly had caught most of them, a veritable forest of little bald trees. Amusingly, found a rather cruel looking piece jammed squarely into his ‘no-no stick’.
“Naw, hoss. Y’aint done yet.” The fluffy was shoved facefirst into the wood against, rubbed up and down with a cruel slow approach. He could have used a tool to expedite this process. Where was the fun in that though? More skin and blood left behind on the wood, a macabre canvass. Bill flipped him around.
“PWEASE NU! ZIPPEH SOWWY! WUT ZIPPEH DO!?” He asked, Bill clenching against his front legs and briskly moving him up and down against the panel.
“POOPY PWACE! SPECIAW WUMPS! HUWTIES SU HUWTIES!” The stallion sobbed and squealed as splinters were (largely) introduced to those incredibly sensitive areas. Giving a grunt, the man hurled him against the garage door. Hard. Not hard enough to kill it (yet) but given how it got up on three legs, stumbled around and collapsed, it had hurt. A lot.
“Alright, Green Bean. Where the fuck you get off to?” He could spot the blue one, again hiding behind a box. ‘Ol Blue was last on the list. Scanning the garage, he finally found the one he wanted. He’d lifted up a bit of tarp and scrabbled under it to try and hide. Honestly, it was one of the better attempts he’d seen today. Sauntering over, Bill took him by the tail and hauled him out.
“N-Nu….NU HUWTIES! You am gib nyu namesie…teehee…Gween Bean. Gween Bean wub nyu namesie. Nice daddeh.” Ah, he was trying the tactic that the pregnant mare had gone with. Trying to be nice and appeal with cuteness instead of pleading. That hen didn’t lay eggs, as his mother used to say.
“Yup. Green Bean.” He agreed. “And boy am I hungry.” The fluffy was hefted up to a huge hand-crank meatgrinder. Passed down for years and years in his family. Bill liked to make his own sausages, bologna salad for gatherings with it. Typical shit that dad’s loved. Placing the stallion into the grinder back-hooves first, he gave a smile. Grabbed a handful of it’s mane shoved down.
“N-Nyu daddeh? Dis am fun gamesie? Gween-Bean scaredies…huu…” Whimpering, the fluffy would quickly find out that Bill’s games were only fun for one person in the room in this instance. Grabbing the crank, he began to grind down it’s hooves. This thing could pulverize just about anything you fed through it as long as you had the arm strength to keep cranking.
“HOOF HUWTIES! DADDEH, HEWP GWEEN-BEANY! OWWIES!” He began to crank faster, huffing a bit. The fluffy was dragged down slowly. It’s back legs began to disappear into the grinder. Honestly, Bill was a bit scared the bone and fur would clog it up. Yet the extruder pushed out a bizarre looking, foul smelling paste. Perfect.
“WUMPS! DADDEH, NU SPECIAW WUMPS!” ‘Green Bean’ pleaded as his balls were fed into the grinder. The rest of his genitalia were next. Meat, bone, fat, fur. This shit wouldn’t pass meat inspector standards.
“HAECHU NYU DADDEH! NU WAN HUWTIES! NU FEEW WEGGIES! SCREEEEEE!” The grinder had got to it’s guts by now after chewing through everything else. Bill gave a few huffs, wiping sweat from his brow. Letting go of the fluffy’s mane, he left it there sticking out of the meat grinder. Exsanguination was a promise of course. He’d just have to sit there thinking about it though, being kept alive by adrenaline and some dumb hope that his ‘new owner’ would suddenly have a change of heart and ungrind half his body.
“Big Blue! I’m coooooomin for you!” The smart who was still hiding behind the box gave a small ‘huu’. A tiny plop of shit exited out it’s ass as Bill came stomping in from behind him, dragging him up by his neck.
“I got somethin’ real special for you, boy.” Bill said with a knowing smile.
“Huuu! Nu am smawty nu mowe! Am gud fwuffy! Am…omwy wittew babbeh?” He asked hopefully.
Bill didn’t offer him a response immediately. Instead he went to strap a welding mask over his head. An incredibly poor fit that he had to kind of jerry-rig in place but it would have to do. The fluffy looked plain ridiculous but that didn’t have any importance to anything. Tucking the struggling, now masked creature under one arm he went over to the panel of wood his friend had been sanded against.
“You hurt my little girl, Big Blue. Shouldn’t have done that.” Was he talking about his daughter, or Caramel? A mystery left to the readers. Hefting up his pneumatic nailgun, he’d pop a few nails into the fluffy’s limbs so that he would be crucified against the slat.
“OWWWIES! Nu huwt! NU HUWTIES! Am gud fwuffy! HUU!” The sound was muffled behind the welder’s mask which had been forced onto it. Setting aside the nailgun and moving to one of his favorite tools of all, the man gave a laugh.
“The only good fluffy here is the house. Hurt. Because of you. You give any ‘special huggies’ lately?” He asked this, already knowing the response. These things didn’t think too briskly.
“…Nu…’cept dummeh mawe. Dummiest mawe nu am gib nummies. Gib mawe wowstest enfies!” He said, confessing to what he had done. Bill watched with some disgust as the creature popped a boner, apparently not too bothered with having it’s limbs nailed to a piece of wood to get it up. Jesus Christ, they should grind these things up for a new form of Viagra.
“Yeah? You’re a dirty bird, pal. Let me clean up your act.” Bill held up the nozzle of his trusty power washer. This thing could strip the worst grime and muck off wall paneling or your driveway in a matter of seconds. It had all sorts of warning labels. He sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. A powerful concentrated fan of water hit the fluffy.
“NUUUU! SU BAD HUWTIES! SMAWTY NU AM SMAWTY! DUN WAN HUWTIES!” But that didn’t matter. Scraps of fur were being shorn off as easy as could be. Skin flipped back, cut against water being forced out with such force that it might as well be a blade. Angling the nozzle down, he would blast off the creature’s cock and balls after peeling away several layers of flesh.
“NEE’ SPECIAW WUMPS! NEE’ NU-NU STICK! WAN ENFIES!” The stallion bellowed behind the mask, amazing Bill. You would think it’d have bigger problems right now, but no. Still wanting to take it to pound-town. Bill continued to powerwash the little fucker until all the fur and skin had largely been washed away on his front, leaving a disgustingly vivid scene of exposed muscle. Honestly it was near enough to make him want to lose his breakfast.
“Big Blue, you ‘aint looking so hot.” Getting up to the fluffy and removing the welding mask, Bill tossed it to the side. This was the reason why he had fitted a mask over his face. So that his eyes and mouth still worked plenty fine.
“Huuu….EEEEEE….” He cried and screeched to himself. Bill went over to a garbage can usually only in his mind during the winter months. Flipping open the lid, he got a big scoop of rock salt. Walked back over to the fluffy, giving a low whistle.
“Pwease nu…HUWTIES. EBYFING HUWTIES!” Naw. He didn’t know what pain was yet. The man scattered the rock salt out over the flayed creature, massaged in the large chunks as if he were kneading it into a steak.
Haf. Haf. Several large breaths before it screamed again, eyes seeming as if they were about to pop out it’s skull. Bill responded by getting up, fetching another scoop. Poured it on, kneaded it carefully.
“Alright. Time for a walk, asshole.” Putting on his workgloves as the wood was so damn splintery, he grabbed an edge and dragged it out of the garage. Thankfully, he didn’t have any neighbors. At least any who would care. Elderly pensioners and the such. This was a nice neighborhood. Out into the backyard they went, the fluffy being plopped down right in the sunniest place he could find.
“You sit here and think about what you done, buddy. You think for a good long while.” The fluffy gave a few peeps and cheeps, unable to even talk anymore. Bill went on inside again, stopping to wash himself off at the kitchen sink. He’d make himself a strong pot of coffee and sit down to watch television with Caramel.
“Dat am Cinnymummah. She wook wike Cawamel.” The mare told him, pointing a hoof at the television. Huh. It did look like her. A lot fatter, albeit. The man pat a hand down on top of her head.
Every so often he got up to check on Big Blue. He was getting quite popular. A flock of birds had gathered around him. Pecking down, tearing off chunks of exposed meat. One had taken out an eyeball, tossing it in the air as if playing before gobbling it down greedily. Bill smiled. My he loved nature.
“Wan dancies, daddeh?” Caramel asked as he entered the living room again. It still hurt to stand up but she wanted to make him happy. He shook his head.
“You rest for a bit.” Bill slumped down on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the end-table. He’d have to go clean up the garage soon.
“…Daddeh, am Cawamel be soon-mummah?” She asked him suddenly, looking to the man with wide eyes.
Giving a slurp from his coffee, he thought on how to answer. “Do you want to be?” He didn’t know how these things reacted to, well, being violently assaulted. Not being either a female or even of the same species, it wasn’t his idea of how they felt about it.
The mare thought for a moment. Then gave a nod. “Cawamel nu wike bad huggies…’bu wub babbehs. Cinnymummah am say aw babbehs gud babbehs.”
Bill gave a shrug. “Guess you’re a soon-mummah then.” Caramel gave a squeal of excitement from her bed.
