BLOATER EXPLODER
By FoalOut4
Napple, my pet mare (a pegasus with red fluff, black mane) wants babies. I mean REALLY WANTS BABIES. She begs me day and night for babies. Ever since she saw Fluff TV: Babies!, she won’t stop talking about it. It’s gotten fucking annoying.
So last month I caved, and brought a wandering feral stallion inside to fuck her in exchange for some bargain bin spaghetti. She became pregnant, and spent the next few weeks singing tone deaf mummah songs to her “tummeh babbehs”.
When she finally gave birth, there was a problem. All four foals were stillborn. She cried and cried, trying to get her stillborn foals to wake up and make chirpies for her, trying to get them to drink her miwkies, and tried hugging them to try to get them to wake up, but nothing would work.
I told her they were special babies, “fowevew sweepie babbehs” that she could play with, but they could never wake up. I told her they are endlessly dreaming of sketties, huggies, and wuv.
I hooked up strings to the stillborn foals’ limbs and put on a puppet show with them. I put little nightcaps on their heads, and fit them in little pajamas, and had them dance around the saferoom on strings, telling their mummah it’s “forever sleepie time!” and that they are dreaming of eating sketties with Sky Fwuffy in Sketti-Land, forever and ever.
Napples cried because she had caught the news report where Sketti-Land had been blown up and replaced with the Freedom Foal. So that didn’t go over too well.
I put all four stillborn foals on her fluff, and she went to sleep.
The next morning, she had all four dead foals on her fluff, still in their night caps and pajamas, and carried them around with her EVERYWHERE she went, all day long for the next several days.
She ate with them on her fluff, slept with them on her fluff, and shit in the litterbox with them on her fluff. All the while with those cute little nightcaps and pajamas on them. It was morbidly cute.
By the third day they started to stink too bad, so I flushed the dead foals down the toilet, still in their nightcap and paramas, and went to figure out something else to fill the foaless void in her life.
Coming home from work the next day, I spotted one of those Foal-In-A-Can machines. It had dozens of rows of little foals trapped in the cans. I stopped my car and walked up to the machine.
Many of the foals in their cans were very lively. Calling out “Nyu daddeh?”, “Babbeh wan huggies and wuv!”, “Babbeh nee make poopies, huu huu!”, “Pwease gif babbeh nyu housie!”, and “Dummeh hoomin, dis is smawty can nao!”
Some of the foals were bloated and very sick, in intense pain and were screaming and crying. Some were even dead. I’d heard that they plug up their assholes so they don’t shit everywhere in the can.
I put in my money, praying to the sketti gods that I don’t get the smarty foal who says his can is “smawty can nao”.
CLING!
With my dumb luck, I get a fucking bloater!
A fat as a balloon, full of literal shit, bloater! The foal is brown too on top of being full of shit. But at least it’s alive! But in horrible pain!
The fat little foal is screaming in pain and is crying it’s eyes out. It’s eyes are bugging out and it’s mouth is wide open as it SCREEEEEs and EEEEEs over and over in the can.
Fuck, I’m not wasting my money on another one, so this one will have to do.
I get home, lay the foal-in-a-can on the kitchen table, and go tell Napple that I have a surprise for her. She’s in the saferoom stacking blockies. She instantly perks up.
“What suwpwise daddeh?”
I tell her to come into the kitchen with me. She follows me.
I pick up the foal-in-a-can with the screaming foal inside and present it to her. She looks at it curiously, but soon becomes very sad and very concerned for the foal when she sees it’s in intense pain.
“Dat am babbeh! Bu, why babbeh haf bad tummeh owies? Nappuw nu wan wittew babbeh tu haf bad tummeh owies! Am babbeh fuww of it mummah’s miwkies? Is dat why babbeh tummeh su big? Why babbeh haf bad huwties? Dis am make Nappuw haf saddie wawas tu. Huuuu, Huuuu!”
Napple cries and cries, as she holds the foal-in-a-can in her hooves. The little foal looks up at her, but can only cry and SCREEE and EEEEE in pain.
“Hmmmmm, I think I know how to fix this babbeh’s boo boos. All this little babbeh needs is huggies! After all, huggies makes everything better, right Napple?”
Napple stops crying and gives me a hopeful smile.
“Yus daddeh! Nappuw gif wittle huwties babbeh huggies! Nappuw gifs da bestest huggies evew! Dat make evewyfing bettuw!”
I take the foal-in-a-can from her hooves, and set it back down on the kitchen table.
I press the release hatch to get the foal out of the can. It slides out, squealing.
The bloated foal is now on the kitchen table, on it’s back, flailing it’s little hooves in all directions, still SCREEEing and EEEEEing in pain from all the built up shit in it’s gut.
I very carefully pick up the bloated foal, and hand it over to Napple.
She carefully holds the squealing bloated foal in her hooves, and smiles at it with tears in her eyes.
“It otay wittew babbeh! Nappuw gif wittew huwties babbeh da bestest huggies evew! Huggies make evewyfing bettuw!”
Napple gives the bloated foal huggies. VERY TIGHT HUGGIES. Within seconds, it has stopped squealing, and stopped breathing. It’s eyes are bugged out of it’s sockets, and it’s tongue is sticking far out of it’s mouth.
Napple squeezes the bloated foal even tighter, and …
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
Shit. SHIT. SHIT EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE!
The bloater exploded like a shit filled hand grenade!
I’m covered in shit, Napple is covered in shit, and half the kitchen is covered in shit.
After about a minute of absolute silence, Napple speaks …
“Why wittle poopie babbeh gu boom boom? Was wittle babbeh made of poopies? WAAAAAH! Huuuuu Huuuuu.”
(The End)