Author’s note: this story is hella old, probably from 2012.
Dummeh, Ugwy, Nu Weggie Fwuffies
You are a “researcher.”
And by that you mean you’re getting paid twelve bucks an hour to observe fluffy ponies and ask them questions about why they do things.
It was either this or porn, and you’re thinking porn might have been less degrading.
You’ve been sponsored by a grant from Fluff TV to study just why they do the things they do.
The experiments you run are simply a matter of providing fluffies with a stimulous, recording how they react to it, then asking them why they did what they did.
You’d think with that with the inborn programming we gave them, we’d know why they act like retards all the time.
Turns out someone lost those files in the big PETA break out of… man what year did that happen?
Whatever.
Today you’re “on assignment,” which means observing feral fluffies in the wild.
It also means that the cleaning staff is busy power washing a week’s worth of fluffy viscera out of the operating theater.
Honestly, that “doctor” they have in there is more like a butcher, and you swear that he’s just got a raging murder boner.
Not that you can’t see where he’s coming from, but they are animals.
Sort of.
Oh yes, the research.
You’ve set a fluffy out in the park to play, except this fluffy is an amputee.
The local fluffies with owners are busy rolling her around as she giggles with delight.
They loudly proclaim “wuv baww fwiend!” as they roll her from fluffy to fluffy.
You make a note of it, but it’s well documented that domestic don’t mind amputees, so long as they don’t whine too much.
Ferals, on the other hand, seem to have a real problem with amputees, as you’re sure that small herd coming over the ridge will teach you.
Typical of a feral herd, they’re lead by a unicorn “smarty friend” waddling over the hill top.
What is not typical of a feral herd is that they stay away from the domestics in the park.
Considering you’ve seen your fair share of ferals get flensed for approaching domestics, it appears that this herd at least has learned to stay the hell away.
As your amputee fluffy rolls to your feet, you give her a soft shove in the direction of the feral herd.
The smarty only glares at the rolly-polly fluffy before laying into her with their leathery hooves.
Soon, the entire herd joins in the beat down with grunts and angry squeaks.
“Nu! Nu wan owies!” cries your amputee. “Why huwt fwuffy!”
“Dummeh, ugwy, nu weggie fwuffies git biggest owies!” growls the smarty between stomps.
You allow the beating to continue for a few minutes as you deploy the net.
You gather up your amputee fluffy and dump her lifeless corpse into a “Fluffy Disposal” bag.
Gotta save the dead fluffies to make " Flufficide," a unique spray that causes fluffies to literally melt before your eyes.
As seen on Fluff TV!
Let’s see… you’ll take the orange pegasus, the brown earth fluffy, and the unicorn smarty friend.
The rest, well they go into the back of the truck for further “research.”
Meaning you’ll sell the attractive ones and let Dr. Murderboner have the rest.
Pop them in the kennel and pull out your tablet to start recording.
Yes, you record every fluffy interview. Something about your predecessor molesting fluffies during the interview to “coax” information out of them.
Which explains why, when you started, so much of your data simply said “nu huwt poopie pwace!”
“Hello fluffy pony,” you say. “What is your name?”
“Wet fwuffy go!” shrieks the orange pegasus. “Nu wan cage! Wan outies! Pwease nu huwt fwuffy!”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say, following the script. “I just want you to answer some questions, then you’re free to go.”
“Nu huwt fwuffy?”
“Not yet anyway.”
“Fwuffy am Owange,” replies the pegasus.
“Alright, Orange,” you say, typing in the fluffy’s name. “Why were you beating up that amputee?”
“Wha’s ampuhtee?” he asks.
“The fluffy you were just beating the crap out of,” you remind him.
“Fwuffy nu membah dat,” he replied.
Useless.
Move on to the brown earth fluffy, who just stares at you with an unblinking scowl.
“What’s your name fluffy?”
“Bwownie,” he replies, and continues glaring at you.
“Why were you beating up that fluffy pony, Brownie?”
“Cause smawty towd Bwownie to give ouchies.”
Well, can’t fault his loyalty.
“How did it make you feel to give ouchies to that fluffy?”
Yes, that’s exactly what your script says. “Ouchies.”
“Bwownie wuv gif ouchies,” replies the brown earth fluffy. “Wan give ouchies aww fwuffies, buh onwy awwoud gif ouchies to fwuffies smawty fwiend say awe dummies.”
Creepy.
“Wuv gif ouchies,” he repeats. “Ouchies make no-nos bigg and hawd.”
Oh, what the hell.
He continues to babble on about how he enjoys stomping and hurting other fluffies while you move on to the smarty friend.
Predictably, his cheeks are puffed up and he glaring at you.
“Alright, smarty,” you say. “Why did you beat up that amputee?”
“Dummeh hooman nu nuffin!” he barks at you. “Fwuffy was ugwy, dummeh, nu weggie fwuffy!”
“How do you know she was a dummy?”
“Cause haf nu weggies!” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“And why was she ugly?”
“Cause nu haf weggies!” he shrieks as if you’re testing his patience.
“Alright, ‘nu weggies’ isn’t that useful an answer, Smarty,” you say to the fluffy. “Why is a fluffy ugly and dummy just because they don’t have legs?”
The fluffy looks at you as if you’re stupid.
Of course, you are the one conducting interviews with fluffy ponies, so you might well be stupid.
“Fwuffy ugwy if nu weggies cause dey awe uwgy,” explains the fluffy. “Pwetty fwuffy haf weggies an wingies, ow hownies, or pwetty fwuff. Nu weggies means ugwy fwuffy. Aww fwuffy nu dat!”
“And let’s say she didn’t have wings, would that make he still ugly?”
“Nu haf wingies, nu haf pwetty fwuffy, den ugwy even if haf weggies!”
“And what’s pretty fluff to you?” you ask.
These question matter because it helps you to gauge what domestic may like.
“Pwetty fwuff is soft and nu ugwy cowwah wike sickies or poopies. Best fwuffies is nu cowwah hownie fwiend wike Smawty!”
Of course he thinks white is the best color. Freaking unicorn supremacist fluffies.
“Alright then,” you reply, making note that ferals prefer white. “Why is a fluffy without legs a dummy?”
“Weggies bown on fwuffies,” he explains. “If fwuffy wose weggies, den fwuffy haf to be dummiest dummeh evah.”
“If nu keep twack of weggies, den how smart can fwuffy be?” he asks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Which, really, it is. You’ve never lost YOUR limbs
Then again, you’re not a fluffy pony.
Well, that give you the data you needed.
You pack up the tablet, and pull a bottle out of your bag.
“Wha’s that?” asks Brownie.
“Oh this is just Flufficide,” you say. “It activates the merge fault in your DNA that causes fluffies to melt into harmless organic puddles.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t have you spoiling the rest of the herd with your interactions,” you say, turning the nozzle to stream. “But I am sporting and I’ll give you a five second head start.”
You open up the cages for Brownie and Orange.
“Thank you for participating in our survey, and feel free to direct any complaints to Fluff TV.”
The fluffies sit there for five seconds, trying to process what you’ve told them.
A moment later, Smarty watches in horror as his friends dissolve into screaming puddles of organic goo.
“See?” you tell him. “This is why you answer questions when people talk to you.”
“Pwease nu wan sowwy spway!” he begs. “Dun huwt Smawty!”
“Nah,” you say. “You’re too pretty to hurt. After all, you’ve got all your leggies and pretty fluff.”
“D…dats wite,” he sobs. “Nu am dummeh, uwgy, nu weggie fwuffy.”
“But you are a smarty,” you say, pulling a taser from your belt, “and that shit won’t fly.”
As you put the cages back in the truck, and toss some kibble at the fluffies crammed into the dog crate, you can’t help but ruffle Smarty’s white fluff.
“You ready to be a daddy, Donald?”
“Donawd be gud daddeh!” he says. “Donawd be gud fwuffy! Donawd wuv babehs!”
Of course you do, Donald.
Research tells you that freshly reset fluffies love darn near everything.
Even dummy, ugly, no leggie fluffies.
