Bill’s other wacky adventures
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Bill sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee from an incredibly shoddy mug. His daughter had made it for him one day in art class. It was lumpy, tilted dangerously to one side if completely filled, and had cracked on one side. Even if he got a lapful of coffee one day he wouldn’t trade it for any other. She was off at school and he was getting ready for a well deserved rest as he worked nights frequently.
“Wook daddeh! Wook!” Chirruped Caramel. She was usually a very calm and collected fluffy. To be honest, it was likely one of the few he’d taken a warming too. It was a far cry from the rotting sack of shit in the backyard: This one would fetch him the newspaper and ask permission to sit beside him.
“What’s the commotion, Caramel?” He asked, getting up from the table and patting her on top of the head. She was looking out the glass sliding door to the backyard. Ah. Just what he’d thought it was.
“Dewe am WOTS of fwuffies!” She said with some wonder. Indeed. there was a herd just having a nose-about his garden. You see, they were frequent visitors. He had never caught them but they’d chewed up all his lettuce and shit all over the ground. Six adults, a huge gathering of foals in various developmental states. A rainbow of shit-assed fuckers who were, at the moment, creasing his cornstalks over.
“Caramel. Run along and watch FluffTV. You mind me now.” He told her with a stern voice, the mare giggling and trotting off.
Bill had been waiting for his chance to catch them in the act. There was a little surprise out in the garage he’d put together. A modified miniature greenhouse. Narrow and long instead of tall. He’d removed one side panel and lined the the area with chicken wire. There were long, vicious looking spikes facing inwards. Something could get in there with slight difficult but they couldn’t be getting out without losing a few pieces of themselves or getting stuck. One of the top panels had been removed and replaced with a slat of plywood lined with insulation tape, a waterproof battery powered fan slotted into a hole cut into the wood. It wasn’t the prettiest thing but he would heft it up onto one side and get it strapped on a dolly, wheeling it out to the backyard.
(What it looked like pre-modification)
“Hello, fluffies!” He called out cheerfully so they wouldn’t scatter at the sight of him bringing up the modified greenhouse. He laid the dolly carefully over on it’s side, unstrapping it’s cargo and tipping it over to it’s proper orientation.
“Hewwo nice mistah!” One called out with just as much enthusiasm. A seafoam green mare with a blue mane and tail. She had a cluster of chirpies clinging to her back. “Wut dat?”
“Well.” He patted the side of the greenhouse. “I just happen to love fluffies so much that I brought you, why, your very own nest.”
They all gasped in unison. It looked like the bestest nestie ever! One of the mummahs hugged her talkie-babbeh.
“Wook babbeh…nyu nestie!” She cooed, the foal giving her a happy hug. “Babbeh su egsited!”
Bill went to the side of the little structure, motioning a hand to the entrance. “Well what are you waiting for? See for yourselves!”
They excitedly began to each squeeze into the greenhouse. There was little rhyme of reason to it: The adults seemed to have no qualms whether their foals made it in first. Bill was skeptical they’d all fit but they managed to. At first they didn’t even realize their predicament.
“Wub yew mistah nice pewson!” Said a yellow talkie-babbeh, giving a giddy ‘cheehee!’.
“Am hab skettis tu?” A red and purple unicorn stallion asked. Bill slapped his knee.
“Refreshments? Sure. Geeze, I’m a bad host.” Walking away, he’d go back to the house. First he’d hit up the pantry for several 2-liters of cola. Out back in the garage he would empty the cola into a garden chemical sprayer. Unused as of yet and he’d have to flush it out after this little escapade. A long roll of pink fiberglass insulation was grabbed up too. Carrying the chemical sprayer by the pump handle, he’d be out to meet the fluffies. By now they were noticing their cramped conditions.
“Um…nice mistah?” The seafoam green mare who had talked to him originally questioned. “It vewy smaww nestie ‘fo fwuffies.” They were worried, jostling together a bit. Foals were underhoof and he could see their breath fogging up the paneling of the greenhouse. It was August and already a zinger of a scorcher this morning.
“Don’t worry. Here, have some fizzies.” He turned on the fan positioned on top of the greenhouse, began to dispense the cola from the chemical sprayer. The controlled stream was turned into a fine mist as it was passed between the fan blades. The fluffies all looked up in wonder as the sweet stuff swirled around them. One stuck out their tongue.
“Yummy wawa! It am yummy wawa hewd!” They giggled and all followed what he was doing. They tried to catch the mist on their tongues but in all honesty, it was getting everywhere. The panels were coated in it, their coats, the ground. There would be no way in Hell they’d be getting anywhere near all of it cleaned up.
“And to eat.” He set aside the sprayer and tucked up the roll of insulation. Began to feed squares of it into the fan blade. It was shredded up and sent a cloud of fiberglass scattering through the air. Due to the cola, it began to cling to them. One who had lived with a human previously gasped.
“It am cottom candeh!” He squealed, going to num on some of the shreds of fiberglass. Most of them followed suit, though they’d soon find out that it was most definitely not nummies.
“Mouf huwties! Huuu! Owwies!” Cried a foal who was already weaned off of it’s mummah’s milk.
“Ba’ nummies! Nu am gud ‘fo fwuffy!” Declared another.
That wasn’t all though. All those fine, wispy shreds of insulation would have another effect.
“See-pwace huwties! OWWW! MUMMAH HEWP!” The yellow foal who had said it’d loved Bill lamented. They all started to jumble together. It itched! It hurt their eyes! It was growing even more hot and miserable. There was no escape. As the stuff ground down into their fur, it felt like the worst itchiness imaginable and they had no room to free themselves or try to give relief to their flesh. The one closest to the exit tried to shove itself out and received a the inward-facing spikes right into it’s face.
“MEANIE FINGS! WET FWUFFY WEAB!” The stallion sobbed, now bleeding from several places.
“Sit there for awhile. God almighty, it’s hot out here.” He turned off the fan, left to leave them for the house.
Inside Caramel was situated on the little pillow bed that Amy had bought her with her own allowance. She had a crayon clumsily situated in her mouth and was doodling on a page.
“Wook daddeh. Pit’cher ‘fo yew.” She proudly offered up the ‘pit’cher’, Bill taking it and observing. Tan, red, brown.
“Nice spaghetti.” He took a guess. Caramel clapped her hooves together at the fact that he was able to recognize it. She might be one of the sweeter ones but she was just as dumb as a brick.
Flopping down, he let himself snooze for an hour. When he awoke, he found Caramel situated back in her pillow bed. Good girl: She hadn’t gone off to peek through the backyard door. Raising with a yawn, he gave his ass a scratch and went to mosey on through to the backyard again.
Things in the greenhouse had escalated far more quickly than he could have imagined. The inside was a disaster. There were foals buried in piles of shits, heads poking out and begging to be released. The mummahs with chirpies were unable to get into position to allow them to suckle from their teats. Heat had baked the inside to a degree you could just tell. A sticky, stinking, maddeningly itchy mess.
“Hewp mummah! Buggies! Nu! OWWIES!” The yellow foal that kept chiming in screeched out and pleaded. Ants had gotten in through the entrance and were crawling all over her. Biting the cola-sticky, fiberglass dusted biotoy. There was such a lack of space to move that he watched as the insects swarmed over her eyes. Crawled in through her nose. They ate the soft parts first.
“SU MANY HUWTIES! MUMMAH, SEE-PWACES! NU SEE! OWWIES!” It’s mummah couldn’t help though. Couldn’t even respond. The mare had died standing up, locked in place against the crush of fur-covered bodies. Her own eyes bulged, swollen and fat tongue spilling out the corner of her mouth.
“Nice mistah, pwease hewp fwuffies! We am gud fwuffies! No desarb huwties!” The stallion who had asked him for skettis earlier pleaded his case. Bill raised an index finger, gave a shake back and fourth.
“You made your bed and now you get to sleep in it.” With that, he stood back up and went out on over to the garage. He’d fuck around in there for another hour. Not doing anything in particular: Moving tools around, checking drawers filled with bits ‘n bobs he had no mind of messing with, listening to the radio. Killing time and killing shitbirds. Well, according to his novelty beer clock enough time had transpired. Time to go out and see how things had progressed.
The greenhouse panels were almost completely covered in shit. The fluffies, in turn, had lost their various rainbow hues and were now just a palette of diarrhea. It wasn’t hard to tell that most of them had died. From the heat? Having a bunch of ants fill their orifices? Inhaling fiberglass? Heartbreak from betrayal? Take your pick. Those fuckers were as dead as could be. Putting on a respirator taken from the garage and shaking out a large contractor sized garbage bag, he’d remove the top panel containing the fan and begin lifting their stinking carcasses into the bag.
Once he had scooped out the majority he found something which quite honestly surprised him. A little blue colt. Well, some blue was peeking out around his eyes. Mostly brown at this point. Bill lifted him out by his mane.
“Nice mistah…su huwties…pee-pee pwace huwties…huu…” Bill got a good look at what he was talking about. Oh yeah. The ants had really done a number on his pecker. Were clustered around his shit-covered ass. Feasting, however slowly it might be. The man went over to a nearby tree, broke a dead looking branch off. Not one of those pussy, whip-like ones. This one had some heft to it.
“I used to be the pinch-hitter back in highschool. Say. You want a new name? How’s Crackerjack sound?” He asked, the foal showing confusion through his pain.
“C…Cwackehjak wub nyu namesie…pwease hewp pee-pee huwties nyu daddeh…!”
Bill looked down to the stupid little creature. He didn’t know how he’d gotten caught up in this. Was it really fair? Did it make any sense? The middle-aged man gave a soft whistle, curled his fingers, tossed the newly named foal into the air. He went tumbling up, caught Bill’s eyes as if time had slowed down. Bill tipped a devilish wink and sent his branch-bat against the fluffy as easy as old times. The fluffy’s body exploded as it connected with it’s bloated belly. Shreds of intestine and a few limbs were sent scattering across the yard.
Everything had been cleaned up. The greenhouse was sprayed out, he’d collected the pieces of the fluffy he’d struck apart, the contractor trashbag full of ‘em got dumped off in a dumpster somewhere. His daughter would walk in after being dropped off by the bus to find him sitting on the couch, gently petting Caramel’s head as they lazed about watching television.
“Daddy! See, I knew you loved fluffies!” She said with a big ‘ol smile. Bill returned one of his own.
“Caught me.”
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