The next day dawns bright and early, but is a fucking disaster.
You awake to the sounds of your father hammering away in the room next door. You rush in to the room just in time to see him rolling some old carpet down in your play room! Its where you hang out with your friends and play Nintendo Infinity!
“Dad! What are you doing to my play room!” you yell at your father.
“I’m sorry Anon,” your father says, sighing and looking up from his work, fastening the old carpet to the floorboards with a nail gun. “The fluffies can’t live in your sisters room any more, they need a safe room, and this is the only place.”
“But DAD!” you whine.
It is no use though. Your mom has insisted that the fluffies have a safe room, and your play room was the only room in the house that was “not being used”. You rage at the injustice of it, but your parents say that they can’t have fluffies pooping all over your sister’s bedroom. They obviously aren’t fully housetrained, your mother explains, and they’ll have to live in here until they can be trusted in the rest of the house.
The only upside is that you are now allowed a TV and your Nintendo Infinity in your bedroom. But you vow to make the fluffies pay.
“Fwuffy hab safe woom? Fwuffy WUV safewoom!”
Your family watches as the fluffies crawl and trot out of the cardboard box they spent the night inside, and into their new saferoom. Your father has nailed the old carpet down in place of the wooden floorboards, to prevent the fluffies from hurting their delicate hoof-pads on a rough and splinter-ridden surface. He has put toys, including balls and blocks for the fluffies to play with, and some cheap posters of fluffies playing up on the walls.
“Its still a bit rough around the edges, but it should be good enough…” he says, as your mom hugs him.
“Yay! Fwuffies WUB IT!” Princess Holly says, speaking for her siblings.
Princess Holly and Dora run out of the box, and start playing with the toys immediately.
“Yay! Dowa wuv toysies!”
“Pwincess Howwy WUB bwockies!”
But Barby does not come out of the box.
“Huu huu huu…” comes the sound of pitiful weeping from within the box. “Huu huu huu…”
“Oh no!” cries your sister, “Barby is crying!”
She reaches into the box, and fishes out the little red fluffy. Barby clings to her hand as if she had been drowning.
“Mummah! Need huggies… nu wike scawy box!” the pathetic creature cries. Oh how you long to smash its legs to jelly with a rolling pin.
“Its okay Barby,” your sister says, “You don’t have to stay in the box anymore, you have a whole saferoom to play with now.”
“Fwuff… Fwuffy hab safewoom? Fow Fwuffy? Weawy?” Barby asks, looking at the room from the safety of Candice’s little hands, and seeing her braver sisters running and playing already.
“Yes!” Candice says kindly but excitedly. “Its a whole room, just for you to play in!”
Your damned playroom, you think to yourself, venomously.
“I can see you kids are going to have a great time playing with the fluffies,” your mom says, smiling. “Play nicely now, and make sure they learn to use the litterbox properly.”
Your parents leave you for the rest of the day.
Playing with the fluffies seems to be a delight for Candice, and for them, but for you, it is an exercise in mental torture. Seeing them playing with blocks, you want nothing more than to smash their little fluffy faces to a bloody mess. Watching them kick a small rubber ball around the room makes you want to line them up on your roof and kick them as far as you possibly can, perhaps into the neighour’s yard, where his half-mad dog will eat them. Watching them have “huggies” with Candice and each other makes you want to squeeze them, and Squeeeeze them and SQUEEEEEEZE them until their eyes and asses and tummies explode. Even seeing them drinking from their waterbottle makes you want to see the fluffy ponies drown.
Candice and the fluffies are blissfully unaware of your murderous intentions of course. You want to carry out some kind of prank, or ruse, or anything to mess with them, but its hard to know what to do. You get sick of watching them playing so sweetly, so you get on your Nintendo and start playing a shooter with the volume up full blast. At first, the cries of “Scawy noisies!” and “Huu huu huu! Fwuffy nu wike bang-bangs!” are music to your ears, but Candice soon complains, and you parents yell at you to turn the volume down. Reluctantly, you agree.
The next day, at school, you spend all day plotting. Maybe they could “escape” into the yard? Might there be poisonous mushrooms they could eat? Or poisonous frogs? Could they somehow get into the neighbour’s yard, where his half-mad dog would quickly devour them? Better still, was there any way that one of them could die, and for it to seem like it was Candice’s fault?
Later that evening, you venture into the dark underbelly of the internet. Fluffy abusers post videos on strange Chinese versions of Youtube, and you watch fluffies screaming in agony as they have their leggies sawed off, and mummah fluffies crying as their foals are fed to Racoons in front of them. It is amazing, but it doesn’t slake your thirst for real life fluffy suffering. You have to get Candice’s fluffies somehow, but how to make it look like an accident? Or their fault?
The next day, you find the jackpot, Googling “Food that is bad for fluffies”.
Chocolate is very bad for fluffies, causing them to vomit, have diarrhea, and in some cases, even to die.
“Hey sis, how are the fluffies today?” you innocently ask as you wander into the saferoom
“Oh, hey anon,” your sister says, looking up from the fluffy beasts.
“Fwuffy hab made BWOCKY HOUSIE!” yells Princess Holly, sitting atop some kind of block castle that your sister has obviously made. “Pwincess Howwy am bestest-pwincess fwuffy! An wub bestest-mummah Candice!”
Her pride makes you want to rip her legs off one by one, leaving her as a helpless pillowfluff for the rest of her days.
Looking at the other fluffies, you see Dora and Barby running and laughing as they kick the rubber ball between them and across the room. The sight of their happiness makes you want to take their legs away too.
Instead though, you nonchalantly open your king sized bar of chocolate, and start eating it, piece by piece.
Dora is the first to notice, she wanders up to you, curious at the sight, and smell, of what you are eating.
“Wat am dat nummies Anon?” the little fluffy asks you, “Am it nice nummies? Fow fwuffies?”
“What, this?” you ask, “Oh no, this is chocolate, its not for Fluffies, you wouldn’t even like it.”
And, as predicted, Candice immediately joins in.
“Chocolate! How did you get that?” she asks.
“With my allowance you retard.” you tell her, eating another piece.
“Can I have some?” Candice begs you, “Pleeeeease?”
Normally, you would ignore her, or tease her, but today, you decide to be generous.
“Okay,” you tell her, “But don’t give any to the fluffies. They don’t like chocolate.”
“Okay,” says Candice, eagerly eating the piece you give her. Of course, the sight of the two of you eating chocolate makes the fluffies desperate to eat some.
“Chocwit? Wat am Chocwit? It smeww weawy gud!” Says Princess Holly, “Can bestest-Pwincess Howwy hab Chocwit nummies mummah-Candice? Pweeeeeease?”
“No!” you say, loud enough to make Barby squeak with fear, “Its not for fluffies!”
“Chocwit nummies? Fow fwuffies? It am gud nummies?” asks Dora.
“Gud nummies!” Echoes Barby.
“Gwow up, big and stwong?” asks Dora.
“NO!” you yell, its not for fluffies. “Candice, I’m leaving it up on this shelf, where the fluffies can’t eat it. You can have a bit more, but don’t eat it all, and DON’T give any to the fluffies.”
You place it on a fairly low shelf. Low enough that they can easily see it, but too high for them to jump and get it, although low enough for them to try. Then, you go back to playing “Scawy Loud Bang-Bangs” until your dad yells at you to turn it down again.
As predicted, the fluffies immediately start whining and begging for chocolate from Candice. To begin with, she resists their whining, playing at being mother, and almost talking in your mom’s voice.
“No, chocolate is only for humans, it is not for fluffies.”
“But fwuffy wan bestest-hoomin nummies! It nu faiw!” Princess Holly begs.
“Pweeeease can hab Chocwit!” pleads Dora, “Wiww gib bestest-huggies, an wub Candice fowevew!”
“Chocwit!” says Barby. You swear that fluffy is a little bit derped.
Candice continues to resist, telling the fluffies off.
“You are all being very bad fluffies,” she tells them. “Chocolate is not for fluffies.”
It might even have been effective if she didn’t eat a piece, mmmming at how good it tastes, and making the smell of chocolate waft into the fluffies ever so sensitive noses.
“Huuu huu huu huu huu…” comes the delicious fluffy weeping from the other room. “Mummah nu wub fwuffies nu mowe. Nu shawe bestest-hoomin chocwit nummies. Mummah num aww chocwit… Nu wub fwuffies… Huu huu huu… Mummah is meanie-mummah”
You pause your game to listen to what is happening next.
“Oh but I do love you fluffies… I love you so much… please don’t call me a meanie-mummah!” argues Candice, clearly upset.
“Den Pwincess-Howwy can hab Chocwit nummies? Weawy?” the self-proclaimed bestest fluffy asks. She is out-bratting the brat!
“Wellllll…” says your sister, “Okay… But don’t tell my brother,” she tells the fluffies, her voice dropping to a whisper “Its his chocolate!”
“Yey!” cries Barby
“Dummeh-fwuffy!” yells Princess Holly, before dropping her voice to a whisper, as Candice had done “Shushing when numming big-bwuddah chocwit nummies!”
“uh-otay,” says Barby, quietly.
The next thing you hear is the sound of fluffies nomming chunks of chocolate from your sister’s hands, and her giggling as their little tongues tickle her fingers licking the last crumbs of chocolate from them.
Feeding fluffies chocolate is like feeding gremlins after midnight.
First comes the hyperactivity.
“Vwoooom! Vwoooom! Fwuffy am Vwoooom-munstah!” yells Dora, “Gonna NUM udda fwuffies fow dinnah!”
There then comes the sounds of fluffies chasing each other in circles around your sister, who is laughing hysterically at their antics, as they exercise themselves into a frenzy.
“Hehheehehee!” giggles Princess Holly, “Chockwit am bestest-nummies eba! It am GUD fow Fwuffies! Pwincess Howwy WUB IT!”
“Vwoooom! Vwoooom! Vwooooom!” cries Dora.
“Chockwit! Chockwit!” giggles Barby as the others jump all over your sister.
Then, a short while later, comes the delusions of grandeur, and worsening of Smarty Syndrome symptoms in susceptible fluffies.
“PWINCESS HOWWY WAN MOWE CHOCKWIT! GIB CHOCKWIT TO PWINCESS HOWWY OW GET WOWSTEST SOWWY HOOFIES!”
“Nuu! Gib chocwit to Dowa! Dowa am bestest!”
“Chockwit! Chockwit!”
“Stop being bad!” Candice says, nearly crying, “I’ve given you all the chocolate already!”
“PWINCESS HOWWY WAN MOWWWWWWWWE CHOCWIT! GIB IT NAAAAAAAOOOOOW!”
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the grandeur and smarty phase does not last very long before the vomiting and diarrhea phase begins.
“Bu-bu-bu-BLUEEGRHHHHGH!” comes the sound of a fluffy vomiting, followed by the sounds of more fluffy vomit.
“BLEEEEEERRHHGHGHGF!”
“Uk-uk-BLRRRREEEEEEUURUGHGHG…”
“Oh no! Don’t be sick on the carpet!” begs Candice.
“Huu huu huu… Fwuffy hab sicky-wawas…”
Then, comes the sound of explosive projectile pooping
“Urghhh… Fwuffy make bad poopies!”
“No! Don’t poop on the carpet!” Candice practically wails.
“Huuu huu hhuu… Fwuffy can nu stop pooping!”
At this point, you decide to make your entrance.
“What the actual fuck?!?” You ask in feigned disbelief.
“Anon!” Candice cries, “I gave them a little bit of chocolate, and now they’re really sick!”
“What!?” You yell at her, “I TOLD you not to give them chocolate! Its poisonous for fluffies!”
The next few minutes are a frenzy of activity, as you sister and parents chase and capture the fluffies, which alternate between moments of hyperactivity, smarty syndrome, and pooping everywhere, before eventually being caught and “emptied” which consists of painful squeezing of the lower abdomen, in order to get the poisonous food out of them. Your mom and dad manage to capture Princess Holly and Barby, leaving Dora to you.
“Nu catch bestest-Dowa fwuffy!” she yells, trotting behind the gap between the bookshelf and the wall. It takes everything you have not to “accidentally” crush her to death between bookshelf and wall. Instead, you get a broom and beat her little fluffy ass until she emerges from the other side.
“Nuuu! Nu huwt fwuffy!” she cries, before crapping everywhere again and throwing up again.
Grabbing the little shitrat, you run to the bathroom, where your mom has Princess Holly above the toilet, and your dad has Barby above the bathtub. Your sister is stood there weeping in despair as your parents squeeze the poisonous chocolate out of the fluffies little bodies.
“Nuuu! Nu mowe squeezy-huwties! Huu huu huu!” wails Princess Holly.
“Blleeeurgghhgh…” cries Barby, as she vomits up more chocolate coloured sick, mixed with a little blood.
“Its squeezing time fluffy,” you whisper into Dora’s ears.
“Nuuu! Nu wan squeezy-huwties!” she begs.
You place your hands around the fluffy’s squirming, fat little body. Its pitiful wriggling make you want to crush the life out of it. Using all your strength, you squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze.
“AARHHHGG! STAHHP! STAHHHP!” Dora begs, “AEEIIEIEIE!”
You feel several of her ribs popping under your grip, and a torrent of poop explodes out of her ass, along with quite a bit of blood. Her crying is replaced with more vomiting, as the last of the poisonous chocolate escapes her mouth.
“There!” You say with an immense feeling of satisfaction, “I saved you!”
You place all of the fluffies in the bathtub, where your father hoses them down with cold water, making them cry even more.
Maybe keeping fluffies will be fun after all?
The next day, your parents take the fluffies to the vets. Princess Holly and Barby will be ok, but Dora has several broken ribs, and a broken leg, which sadly needs to be amputated. She will survive though.
Candice is very, very sorry. She promises never to feed the fluffies chocolate ever again, and apologies to you and the fluffies. You are sure she will live with the guilt of Dora losing her leg for the rest of her life, even though it is all because of you.
But you are only getting started with the fluffies.
What will you do next anon?
What do?
