I wake up early in the morning at 5:00 AM. I get dressed, eat breakfast, drink coffee and brush my teeth. I am once again ready to go on one of my morning walks, looking forward to my day off. It’s cold outside, but not cold enough to warrant wearing layers of clothing due to the fact that I know my body will begin to warm up once I start moving. I step outside onto my front porch and breathe in the morning air.
“PBLBLLBPT!”
What was that? It sounded like… no. It can’t be. Not now.
“HEY DUMMEH! THIS SMAWTY LAND NOW! GO AWAY OR ILL GIB BAD POOPIES!! PLBTTTTTTTTT!”
It’s a smarty. I hear stories all the time of them trying to hassle people exactly like this. Why did Hasbio program THIS into their brains? There’s no other explanation as to why they ALL talk like that in the exact same way and use the exact same opening statement. Bizarre.
“You better fuck off before I destroy you.”
“GIB. SKETTIES. NAO!!!”
It’s actually very common for people to outright kill smarty fluffies on sight, but I’ve never actually had the opportunity until now. I don’t think I’m going to hurt this thing right now, he’s too stupid and pathetic for me to invest that much time into him.
Plop
And it just shat on my porch. And it’s sticking it’s tongue out at me. No way.
“SKETTIES!! SKETTIES NAO!! NAOOOOO!!! NAO NAO NAO NAO NAO!!!”
He’s stomping his feet in spoiled rage. Somehow I don’t feel like the world is going to benefit from this thing being alive anymore. I guess today is the day that I get to test out a method of dispatching fluffies that I haven’t seen anybody else think of yet… Cool!
I pick the smarty up with my hands by his torso and hold his face up to my face. His limbs are flailing in what appear to be punching motions. I don’t get how punching me in the face is going to make me give him sketties, but whatever.
I wait for him to stick his tongue out again. “PLBTTTTT”. There we go. I open my mouth as wide as it possibly can, and without warning, I chomp down hard on the shitrat’s tiny muzzle.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! MMMMMGGMMGGMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! NMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!”
Yeah, try to scream with your mouth held closed. I release the pressure on my jaw to inspect the injury. His tongue then falls clean off of his face and down onto the porch floor below. Before he has time to continue screaming I hold his mouth shut with my fist, squeezing as hard as I can onto his muzzle. Holding him like this, I swing him high up and then hard as I can onto the floor.
SNAP.
I’m not sure what I just broke. Probably everything. I let go of my grip and drop him to the ground like a discarded toy.
“REGHGHGRRGHGGghrghrgr… huu huuu huuu… uuu… uuuu… ehuh… orry… oest owwie…”
It can’t talk correctly anymore due to it’s severed tongue, which now lies in front of his face directly in his sight.
“The worst has yet to come, faggot. Get ready”.
I pick him up roughly with my right hand. I then grip his torso with both of my hands and squeeze hard. I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze as hard as I can for a good 20 seconds straight, the entire time the smarty is helpless and gasping for air, choking on his own blood. I cease squeezing.
I open my mouth once again as wide as I can and chomp on his muzzle, and I chew. His muffled screaming is frantic and frenzied as I chew away at the cartilage making up his nose and mouth, spitting what I rip off onto the porch below. Before long, and with much less effort than what I was anticipating, I completely chew the muzzle off of the smarties face, leaving only mutilated scraps on the floor beneath. What remains of the fluffies face is a gaping hole with only the eyes and forehead remaining, and the esophagus and windpipe are both clearly visible beneath all the pouring blood. The fluffies shouts and wails have been reduced to gurgling, reminiscent of a pot of boiling water but thicker and slower.
I then work on the rest of his face. Before the fluffy can succumb to blood loss, I jam my thumbs as hard as I possibly can into his eye sockets. I be sure to dig my nails in and around the inner socket before pulling my thumbs out. What was once a pair of terrified, shocked eyes is now nothing but two bloody holes. The fluffy has now stopped making noise.
I bite into his forehead and work my way down, spitting out chunks of flesh as I go. I try to be as thorough as I possibly can. Eventually blood stops being drawn from my bites, likely from the fluffy having been bled out by the complete obliteration of its snout. I work my away around what was once his face until nothing but a bare skull remains.
I take the freshly dead corpse out onto my backyard and stomp wildly, being sure to bury it into the soil. I stomp until there is nothing recognizable of the fluffy left, only being recognizable as some sort of biological remains.
I go back inside and wash my hands and face, cleaning any trace of fluffy blood from my body. I go back onto my porch with a broom and some cleaning supplies and spend the next 10 minutes cleaning off both the fluffy gore and the turd it left behind. After I am done there is no trace of what I just did anywhere to be seen.
I finally start my walk, content with my life. I feel like today is going to be a good one.