You’re a fluffy abuser. You like to come up with new and creative ways of killing fluffies and putting videos of your exploits on the internet. You’re not much into torture, just killing. Tonight, you’ve come up with a good one.
You have a small herd trapped in a dead-end alley. One, the smarty, has positioned himself between you and the other four adult fluffies and their foals, but all are backed into a corner now.
“P-p-pwease, mista! Nu huwt fwuffies! Nu am bad fwuffies! Nu teaw apawt twash, nu make bad poopies, nu boffa hoomins! Fwuffies jus twy tu suwvive! Pwease, nu huwt fwuffies!”
You chuckle menacingly and pull your butterfly knife from your pocket. Unhooking the latch, you twirl it open, then twirl it closed again. It took you weeks to figure out how to do it right, and your knuckles are covered in lots of thin scars from where you cut yourself practicing. You actually had to watch a youtube video to figure out how to hold it properly. Now though, you’ve gotten pretty good, and are twirling and flashing the knife menacingly, showing off; this is gonna look great in the video. Everyone at school is gonna think you’re a scary badass. The fluffies are mesmerized by the flashy display, and you see the smarty has made ‘scaredy peepees’. Good. Gooooood…
“N-nu huwt, pwease! Nu huwt fwuffies wif shawp fing!”
You laugh maniacally, twirling the butterfly knife around, listening to it click and clack as it opens and closes, the blade glistening menacingly in the glow of the street lights. Finally, you tire of twirling it around and point the blade at the fluffies. The smarty gulps audibly and backs up into the rest of his herd.
“Nu squish fwuffy!”
“Oh, you fluffies are in for a real treat tonight!”
The smarty still looks scared, but asks hopefully, “Nummies?”
“No, you idiot. You’re all going to die. My knife you see… is coated in poison. The smallest cut can be fatal.”
The smarty’s eyes get big and one of the fluffies behind him starts crying in earnest now. They’ve started to figure out that you really do intend to kill them. You twirl the knife again, then hold it up near your face, letting them see how big the blade really is.
“Take care! My knife… has quite a burn.”
You lick the length of the blade slowly, just like the crazy tough guys in all the movies you watch, anticipating the effect of the poison on the fluffies as you cut them. You taste something bitter and your tongue immediately goes numb. Oh shit…
“I shouldn’t have licked it.”
You fall over, paralyzed. It’s getting hard to breathe now. Well, at least you know that poison formula you got off the internet works.
The smarty sniffs your face and you try to yell at him, but no sound comes out.
“Dummeh hoomin! Yoo get whut yoo desewve fow twyin ta huwt gud fwuffies!”
Arrogant little shit rat, if you could move you’d… oh no. No. Not that. Please, no! No! No! No! NOOOOOOOOOO!
The smarty turns and points his ass at your face. You get a close up view of his puckered anus as it slowly expands and a torrent of fluffy shit pours into your face. The stench is overwhelming, but you don’t have to smell it for long; the shit covers your mouth and nose and oxygen deprivation makes you start losing consciousness.
You’re going to die because of your own stupidity. They’re going to find your corpse in an alley, covered in fluffy shit, and they’re going to laugh at you.
Worst of all is the fact that your cell phone is sitting on a nearby trash can, filming all of this and streaming it live to all your social media accounts. You wanted to show how badass you were with your poison knife and now they’re all laughing at you for being a dumbass. If you somehow survive the poison and suffocating in fluffy shit, you’re going to be the laughingstock for the rest of your high school career.
When death comes, you embrace it.
