Fuzzy Pony Trials
>You are a responsible fluffy owner.
>Not stingy with the hugs or treats, and quick to the sorry stick when fluffy pony misbehaves. You know how the fluffy brain operates, and you use it raise good fluffies.
>Still, you’ve had six fluffy ponies this year.
>Ricardo chewed through an electrical cord and fried his brains.
>Daisy ate an entire bottle of aspirin before you could pick up the tablets.
>Baldwin got snatched by a hawk.
>Jersey picked a fight with a bunny and got eviscerated.
>And Alex just exploded for no good reason at all.
>Now the local breeder wont sell to you because he thinks you’re an abusefag.
>Tried picking up some strays only to find that they weren’t interested in coming home with you because they were headed to “Sketti Land,” whatever that is.
>So now you’re a fluffy pony owner without a fluffy.
>Pick up the phone and call one of your friends to see if he wants to hang out. He asks you about your fluffies, and you tell him that you are sans fluffy at the moment.
>“Well, I can get you a very special fluffy,” he says. “I know that you’ve hit a string of bad luck, and I know that you’re a great fluffy parent. I’ll drop him off later.”
>Sweet, free fluffy.
>A few hours later, there’s a knock at the door. You answer it to find a pure white fluffy pony staring straight ahead with crystal blue eyes.
>“Hewwo,” says the fluffy, looking up at you.
>…weird, he didn’t ask for “nummies” or to “pway.”
>“You belong to someone?” you ask the White fluffy.
>“I Pwopety of Hasbwo Biotoy. Pwease wetuwn fuzzy dere.”
>“Anon!” says your friend. “This is a brand new type of fluffy pony and I want you to test him out for a few days.”
>Say what now?
>“We’re getting ready to roll these guys out at the opening of Spaghetti Land. You know, the big ass fluffy pony amusement park?”
>Oh, right, that thing.
>“Anyway, I wanted to get some last minute field data and I can’t think of a better person than you. So here’s a bag of fuzzy food, and some instructions…”
>“I feed my fluffies spaghetti and fluffy chow,” you tell your friend.
>“Fuzzy no wike spaghetti.”
>Okay, now that you’ve never heard before.
>“Yeah, they don’t eat spaghetti,” says your friend. “They only eat fuzzy food. Contains vital proteins to keep them alive.”
>“Sounds like a racket,” you say.
>“Trust me,” says your friend. “When you’ve spent a couple days with fuzzy, you’ll never want another fluffy pony again.”
>Your friend drives off, leaving you with the fuzzy pony standing on your doorstep. You keep expecting him to walk in, but he just sits there, staring straight ahead.
>If he weren’t breathing, you’d swear that he was just a stuffed toy.
>“Fuzzy, come in,” you say.
>The pure white fluffy strides into the house, stops, and continues to stare straight ahead.
>You read over the instructions to find that Fuzzies respond to voice commands to the best of their abilities and will not do anything they’re not instructed too.
>Hrm… can’t keep calling him fuzzy. Gotta think of a name, something to fit his weird, creepy little personality.
>“Fuzzy pony, your name is Klaus,” you say at last.
>“Awk-now-dege,” says the fluffy. “Fuzzy 000078 name Kwaus.”
>Ten minutes with the guy and he’s already freaking you out.
>“Follow me Klaus, and I’ll show you where the litter box is.”
>Claus dutifully follows you around as you show him the safe room full of toys and his litter box.
>You walk away for a minute to find a treat for him, only to find him unmoving in the exact spot you left him in.
>There’s enough toys and blocks in here to make a fluffy pony go mad with joy. "Why aren’t you playing, Claus?
>“Hooman nawt teww Kwaus pway.”
>“Jesus, call me Daddy,” you say.
>“Daddeh nawt teww me pway,” he repeats.
>“Just… play,” you say, backing away from the monotone baby voice. “Play, and eat, and use the litterbox when you have to.”
>The next few days are full of the same thing. You find Klaus dutifully pushing around blocks, or rolling a ball into the wall, but he doesn’t seem to be having fun.
>In fact, you can’t read him at all, and you’re really good at telling what fluffies want.
>After a week, you’ve noticed there’s been no accidents, nothing’s broken, and there’s never a sound from Klaus other than the pattering of hooves on carpet.
>Klaus is unfailingly polite, always thanks you for meals, and says that he “wuvs” you whenever you ask him to.
>He’s not manipulative, or selfish, or noisy, or bossy, or stupid. He’s not pushy, or rude, or sweet, or anything really.
>He’s not the bundles of fluff and failure that you’ve come to love.
>Maybe he just doesn’t know how to be a fluffy because he was raised in a lab. He’s got no personality, and you think you know how to fix that.
>Manage to find a fluffy pegaus name Rainbow
>Rainbow greets Klaus with huggies and bouncing around like a lunatic. Klaus just stares ahead with his normal blank expression.
>“Klaus, I want you to be friends with Rainbow,” you tell him.
>“Wainbow fwiend, Awk-now-dege,” says Klaus. “I wiww pway wif Wainbow.”
>A week later, and nothing’s changed. Klaus still roboticly plays while Rainbow dances around and runs into things.
>Her constant jabbering doesn’t even seem to register to him. He just play, eats, and goes to the litter-box like you told him too.
>He’s really starting to freak you out.
>At the end of the third week, you’ve finally figured out what bugs you about Klaus.
>He’s not a fluffy pony.
>Fluffy ponies have personality. They’re accident prone. They’re stupid. They’re noisy and messy and nothing but trouble.
>But that’s their appeal. Their fun to have because they have the mentality of a slightly retarded child.
>This fuzzy is just a living robot, and it creeps you out.
>Call up your scientist friend to come and get Klaus.
>“What’s a matter?” he asks. “Did he do something wrong?”
>“That’s just it,” you tell him. “he didn’t do ANYTHING I didn’t tell him to do.”
>“I’m pretty sure that if I’d told him to stay put, he’d have just stayed in one spot until he died.”
>“That’s the beauty of it!” says your friend. “They’re the perfect pet. They listen and do what they’re told. They’re fuzzy and cute and…”
>“They’re boring,” you tell him, handing Klaus back.
>“Daddeh!” whines Rainbow. “Gawt weggies stuck in mop! Hewp Wainbow! Pwease!”
>“And if fluffies are anything, they’re never boring.”
Fuzzy Pony Trials