Fluffies.
Fluffies are, in short, a genetic abomination handcrafted by Hasbio to pump out cheap and disposable beings to the capitalist machine. They are an affront to God, the natural order of the world, and to every sane human being. I detest fluffies with a holy burning. I see them on the streets and have to bit my lip until it bleeds to not ram them with my car.
Finally, this past Friday, I had enough. I was ready to turn the situations I had played a thousand times in my mind into reality. I am finally going to rid the streets, alleyways, sewers, and fields of these fiends. I will take the wheel and steer my town back to Gods original design for the balance of the world. The crusade begins now. Death to these infidels.
My beat up truck was equipped with my weapons of the Lord. A longsword that I admittedly bought off of Amazon, and a chainsaw with a dull chain. The longsword was chipped and dulled from my practice against trees for this very occasion, so I hoped with would bring a biting pain to the demons I would slay. The chainsaw was also carefully chosen for this job. I hoped the deafening noise would cause the furry bastards to shit, piss, and beg for their life at my feet. The dull blade of the chainsaw wouldn’t hear their pleas, and I knew it would sting.
I rode into town about half past noon. Fluffies hate moving in the dark, they are terrified of “munstahs”. So, I logically chose this time to make sure that they would be noticeable. I could see their neon fur from the road if they were out and about looking for food. Also, I didn’t want to wake anyone up with their crying and my chainsaw. I figured that this was a good time where no one would care about a little noisy work. The rodents commonly hide in places with shade, access to good garbage, and close to humans to listen to their begging. Alleyways would be my first target on my holy endeavor, as the rats group together next to bakery dumpsters and apartments. If this was a success, I might even hit the sewers next.
I drove around, keeping a watchful eye for the plump bodies of the heretics. Eventually, I hit the jackpot, a gaggle of about eight fluffies, what some would call a herd, crowded in an alleyway next to the local Chinese buffet. I pulled into the parking lot and anxiously climbed out of my truck. When I entered the restaurant I could hardly contain my excitement.
I went up to the hostess and explained my reason for being there.
“Hey, I was driving by here and noticed y’all have close to a dozen fluffies in the alley next to your dumpster. Can I speak to the manager to see about clearing them out?” I asked enthusiastically.
“Of course sir, I’ll get the manager. We don’t want those pests around here, they make the whole street stink.” She replied, heading off to the kitchen. After awkwardly waiting for a few minutes a kind looking man comes out next to the hostess.
“So, we’ve got a herd beside the dumpster? If you can dispose of them cleanly, I’m willing to pay you one hundred dollars.” The older man said to me. This caused my heart to leap. I could get paid to act out my violent fantasies, and to help correct God’s will for the world? Count me in. Although, the clean part would be an issue. I’ve got gloves in my truck, so I don’t think picking up corpses would put me down.
“Now I can get rid of the vermin easily, and their corpses, but I can’t do much about their assortment of fluids.” I calmly explained to the manager, trying to be as honest as possible.
The manager looked at me a bit disheartened, but he quickly rebounded. “Alright, seventy dollars if you can’t clean up their liquids. Does that sound fair?”
Honestly, as my first time doing this, I could very well be getting ripped off. But that didn’t matter to me, work isn’t work if it brings the heart joy. I quickly agreed, we exchanged PayPals, and I exited the building to begin my work.
Before I even saw the fluffies, I smelt them. It was a vile mix of shit and piss wafting through the air. I could even see some of the runnier stuff flowing into the storm drains. Then I could hear them. The most apparent of the noises was a rhythmic “enf, enf, enf.” Based on my time in research that meant a fluffy was fucking. There was also the occasional sob, laugh, and “dummeh fwuffy” being thrown around.
Instruments in hand, I rounded the corner to the alleyway. Two fat heads turned towards me, a mix of surprise and naive hope. The rest of the fluffies were focused on a gross mix of green and purple mounted onto another heap of fur. Counting again, I noticed that there were ten fluffies gathered together in this side street. One of the two that noticed me, a pink and blue mare with four peeping “babbehs” on her back, and approached me.
She waddled up to me and in her broken baby English said, “Hewwo mistah, pwease hewp fwuffy hewd. Fwuffies am cowd and wan wuv yu.”
I took a step back to examine this thing before it. It was a blue mare with a pink mane and tail. Her fur was matted and shit was pressed into her coat. She stunk to high heaven. Four small foals were on her back. The brown and pink one were asleep while the blue and green one were peeping and chirping. If I wasn’t so disgusted I might have found it cute. After the fluffy spit out her clumsily rehearsed adoption pitch, I got down on one knee and leaned into the fluffy.
“Listen fluffy, if you help me out here I’ll take you home to have a good time with spaghetti or something. Now, what’s going on here?” I calmly asked the fluffy. I wanted to get a feeling for what I was working with here, because I knew that once I cut the head off of a shitrat that the herd would try and run. I had to act logically in my order of killing.
The mare, who I have decided to call Wal-Mart, beamed at me. It seemed that just the thought of a nice bed and pasta was enough to piss herself in excitement. She did piss herself by the way, I am not joking about that. I was really uncomfortable.
Wal-Mart could hardly contain herself long enough to explain what the situation was. “Meanie smawty am wooking fow new daddeh fow hewd. Buh smawty am meanie an smawty and toughies giv bad speshuw-huggies tu mawe.” After taking a minute to process what the fuck Wal-Mart just babbled out, I think I understood. A smarty and his toughie friends were marching around looking for some sucker to take them in. Looking closer, Wal-Mart’s face was covered in bruises, so they must also not be very nice to the mares they keep around.
I decided that I would spare Wal-Mart a painful death. It took all my willpower to pat the multi-colored mare on the head for a good job explaining. Wal-Mart’s eyes gleamed and she laid down and began to sing to her babies. Despite being a rodent, I could still appreciate that it was pretty cute. I covered her with an old tarp I found in the alley and told her that if she heard something scary to not come out. She dumbly obeyed and continued singing under the cover.
With a newly forged hatred for the male fluffies in this herd, I approached the main group with gusto. The remaining nine fluffies were huddled in a group around a green and purple pig mounted on top of a whimpering brown fluffy with a black mane. Curiously, the brown fluffy didn’t have a tail. The various technicolored fucks around the mating two were either chanting insults, laughing, or kicking the brown fluffy all around. I marched up to the group and before they had time to say anything, I delivered a swift kick into the side of the green and purple hairball currently raping the brown fluffy. The entire group of fluffies screeched, shit, pissed, and stampeded to the back of the alley. Exactly what I planned.
As the mob of fluffies huddled against the dead-end they just sprinted into, the sobbing green fluffy, who I assume to be the smarty of the herd, slowly crept to his feet. I most certainly broke a few of his ribs with my kick and he had to have broken a few more upon impact. The little fucker, now covered in vomit and shit, had the nerve to approach me.
“Meanie… Munstah… Give smawty and hewd sketties an… housie… now…” This arrogant motherfucker. He had the gall to demand something out of me? I pick the smarty up by his tail and held him to my eye level.
“You and your entire herd is going to die.”
With that, I threw the smarty over to his group of shit covered beasts. The puke colored bastard landed hard on his head and I could hear the audible snap of jaw breaking. This incited a new batch of screams and cries from his herd. I smiled at their fear. Blinded by the joy of hurting a fluffy for the first time I almost forgot the one sniveling at my feet.
The mare at my feet was brown with stripes of black, missing her tail. She was bloody, covered in cuts and whelps. She was missing an eye and her front right leg. She was obviously starving as I could see her ribs and skull through her skin. She also appeared to be pregnant. Her babies probably wouldn’t survive if she didn’t eat soon. Yeah, they would probably die. Huh. That doesn’t sound as nice anymore.
I dragged the sickly brown fluffy over to where Wal-Mart was hidden. Wal-Mart’s singing had stopped and was replaced with shaking. But, she hadn’t left the safety of the tarp, so there wasn’t much to be upset about. I placed the brown fluffy, which I had named Hostess in my head, because she reminded me of a Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong was still gently weeping. A fresh rage burned inside me.
I stood up to my full height and began to unsheathe my blade. As I marched towards the mob of pests a lone fluffy approached me. It was a yellow stallion who, despite having tears still in his eyes and piss running down his leg, confidently walked up to me with his chest puffed out.
“Meanie munstah gib owwies tu smawty! Fwuffy gib munstah fowevah-sweepies!” The shitrat exclaimed while charging at me. Pathetic.
Just as the toughie was about to reach me, I swung my sword like a gulf club in front of me. This cut the muzzle cleanly off the stupid fuckers face, causing the rat to quickly crumble at my feet in a sobbing mess. When I looked down I could see the toughie’s nose and mouth a few feet away from him. The fluffy itself was gurgling cries through blood and tears, his hoofs feeling where his snout used to be. Just to be sure he wouldn’t run away, I plunged my sword into his hip, severing muscles and tendons. This caused him to jolt and send a stream of blood out of his newly opened face. If he hadn’t voided his bowels twice before, they certainly would have been empty now.
I stepped past the bleeding mess and continued on to the main group. The wheezing and drooling smarty was cowering behind his herd. Two more toughies stood in front of four mares, hoping to protect them somehow. I could see them try and appear unfazed, but I doubt even they weren’t dumb enough to believe they had a chance.
I took my sword and swung it horizontally, letting go halfway. The longsword skipped across the ground, sending out sparks and echoing clanks on the walls. The sword went though the right toughies legs like paper, causing the animal to fall face first into the ground. The sword continued into the main ground, horizontally bisecting a mare and leaving a deep gash in another. The sword finally ended its skipping in the butt of the smarty, which let out a squeal from its shattered maw along with blood and tears.
There was a renewed round of begging and pleading from the huddle. Even the remaining unharmed toughie had taken the hint and started sobbing into the ground. One mare, a obese pink and purple bitch. notably splattered with blood from the bisected beast, waddled up to me with three small babies on her back.
“Pwease meanie munstah, gib nu owwies to fwuffy and bestest-babbeh. Gib foweva-sweepies to dummeh and poopie babbehs.” With that the fat mare shook two babies off of her back. They landed on the ground with cracks. One, a small brown baby, was dead. It had starved to death. The other was a crippled baby. It couldn’t move its back legs and only peeped and chirped in pain, despite clearly being old enough to be able to talk. I picked up the cripple and tucked him into my shirt pocket. I then leaned down and whispered in the mares hear.
“I will skin you alive in you do not crush your final baby.”
Standing back up I could see tears swarm in the mares eyes. She looked back at her final baby, a grotesquely fat talkie that was piping down his mothers ear. I could hear phases like “wan milkie” and “mummah sab bestest-babbeh” squeak through the baby’s rolls of fat. I doubt he could even see through the flabs hanging over his eyes. The fat mare looked up at me, then at her baby, then slowly slid him off of her back.
The baby immediately starting panicking. Peeping and chirping rang out in the alley as the fat talkie writhed on the floor. “Mummah! Mummah, sab babbeh! Mummah, babbeh has worstest-owwies!” The fluffy shrieked as his mother raised her hoof. Tears blinding her eyes, the fat mare slammed her foot as hard as she could on her pride and joy. I assume she wanted to kill him quickly, but in her grief she missed. She crushed the back side of her baby, leaving a smear of red on the concrete. The obese talkie screeched. “MUMMAH! WORSTEST-OWWIES EVA! HEWP! SAB BABBEH! HUHUHU!”
The mare couldn’t follow through. After mortally wounding her only child, she was recoiled in shock. Sobbing, she laid on the ground next to her tortured baby, licking his wounds. That didn’t help when I put him out of his misery with my boot to his head. The crushing action splattered “boo-boo-juice” across the bitch’s fat face. Causing her to weep even harder, pissing and shitting all over the place.
“Well, you tried your best, so I won’t skin you.” I said to the mare. I don’t think she heard. I don’t think she heard anything. Not the cries of her herd, not the whimpers of the toughie behind us, and certainly not me revving up my chainsaw. I brought the now active machine down on her neck, cutting through fat, bone, muscle, and nerves until I reached the other side. The mares head fell to the ground with a jiggle and a splat.
One mare made a break for it. She sprinted past the toughies writhing on the ground, and she ran right past me. I thought about letting her go, being somewhat impressed by her courage. Then I remember seeing that very same mare deliver a hoof into Hostess’ nose. That quickly encouraged me. I managed to catch her as she passed the no snout toughie. I grabbed her by the rear leg and heaved her up. She was heavy, had to be about 25 pounds. Regardless, I tossed her into the air. That was a horrible decision.
As she screamed and cried “FWUFFY AM GUD! NU GIB FOWEVA-SWEEPIES!” a constant stream of shit and piss exited her. It was vile. It was like staring up at acid rain. I can swear that for a second it blotted out the sun like the arrows at Thermopylae. Then it all came raining down. It covered the street, the fluffies, and my boots as I dove out of the range. The mare that had a been flipping through the air landed on her head. I don’t know if it killed her or knocked her unconscious, but it didn’t matter to me. I screamed in rage. I sprinted over to her slumped body and began kicking. I kicked, stomped, screamed, yelled, and finally cut the mare in half.
The only unharmed fluffy that was left was the toughie that was still grovelling on the ground. The only mare left was the one that had been delivered a deep wound to the side by the sword. I walked over to the toughie covered in his own waste and stepped on his head. His legs quickly flung into trying to force his head out from under my boot. I applied more pressure. His eyes bulged, his nose and mouth bled, I could hear his skull and teeth cracking. I applied more pressure. One eye popped out, his ears began to release a trickle of red fluid, and he tried even harder to free himself. As he finally gave up and let his wriggling legs lay limply at his side, I applied my full body weight. The toughies skull collapsed under me, blood pooling under the broken head.
I repeated this process with the other toughie, who had been “huhuhuing” for the past three minutes. It was significantly easier this time, as this fluffy didn’t have the legs to try and escape. For the last mare, I settled for a simple chainsaw to the head. I didn’t want to waste all my energy for what I had planned for this smarty.
The smarty had been trying to hid under the bloody corpses of his herd. It wasn’t working, although it did turn his puke green fur to a nice shade of red. His broken jaw let out a constant flow of red saliva, and I had just noticed that he had bitten off his tongue. I picked up my sword, who still had the smarty plunged on it, and carried it back over to the final toughie, the one without a snout. He was weakly trying to limb away into the street. I delivered a swift kick to his head, and it was lights out. It probably didn’t kill him, but he would bleed out regardless.
I took my instruments back to my truck. I slid the smarty off my blade and into the bed of the truck, took a towel and wiped down my tools, and set them gently behind my seat. I then backed my truck into the alleyway and began cleaning up. Thank the lord my paint job was already red, otherwise I would have been mighty pissed about the mess. Every time I went to put another dissected fluffy in the back of my truck I passed the covered Wal-Mart and the passed out Hostess.
When I was done packing up corpses I reached into my pocket where I had hid the infant fluffy. It had died. It wasn’t from trauma, it had simply given up the ghost. It reminded me of a mouse I used to have as a child. One day, my father caught me playing with this mouse and beat me. He said “Vermin like mice have no place with humans. It isn’t as God intended.” My father then made me drown that mouse.
Maybe, even if fluffies aren’t one of God’s creations, maybe that aren’t that bad. God had, after all, allowed to be made. He had clearly made room for them in his grand plan. I slid the baby back into my pocket. I would bury it. I then uncovered Wal-Mart.
“Nice mistah be fwuffy and babbehs nuw daddeh?” She said as she came out from the tarp. Her big eyes looked up at me and I couldn’t help but feel pity for the most pathetic creature in the world.
“Yeah, yeah, get in the truck…” I opened the door and helped the beaming Wal-Mart inside, placing her on the middle seat. She was crying the entire time, I assume out of joy or relief, but the mind of a fluffy is an enigma. When she got settled into the seat she counted her babies and began to sing to them about pasta and warmth.
I approached the last fluffy behind this random Chinese buffet. I crouched down next to the one I named Hostess and patted her one the head. Normally, I would expect her to scream and cry after all she had been though, but she just inhaled sharply and cried. Despite her wounds and shitty fur, I pulled her onto my lap and placed a hand on her shivering head.
“I’m going to be your new daddy fluffy. I’ll take care of you…”
I picked her up and placed her in the seat of my truck next to Wal-Mart. I heard that fluffies could be pretty racist, but it looks like I got lucky with Wal-Mart. She immediately started to administer “bestest-huggies” to her fellow fluffy.
Using the seventy dollars I got from the buffet job I took Hostess to the vet. She had to be put under the whole time or she would freak out around all the people. After they got her stitched up, I set up a safe room in my barn. It had toys, a litter box that Wal-Mart quickly took to, and two nice beds. I gave both of my new fluffies spaghetti twice a week and would even read them bedtime stories sometimes.
As for the smarty, I had him in my shed. He was strapped to the wall next to a box of nails. Every day I would go inside the shed and give him a chance to say sorry. Funny enough, he would never say it. So, every day, a new nail got added. Maybe someday he’ll get it.
And so, I’ll still hunt the infidels and bring them my righteous fury, but only the sinful ones. The smarties, the bitch mares, the best babies, and the toughies will taste my steel. For the others, I plan on opening a free range fluffy farm. Just about 10 acres of field for the kind hearted fluffies to live on without fear. It is what Jesus would have done I think. And if not, who really cares.