Feral Fluffies Probably Shouldn’t Believe in Magic
>Everyone’s a got a job to do; yours just involves the wholesale slaughter of fluffies and tree trimming.
>Because they’re not legally animals, you could do all sorts of horrific things to them, but instead you keep it clean and painless.
>Mainly, you feed them directly into a wood chipper.
>Did you say clean? Perhaps not the best word choice.
>Still, extermination is a side job, and you get most of you business from tree trimming.
>Except today you’ve gotten a call from a guy that wants a huge extermination job. He’s looking at three to five thousand fluffies to be eliminated before dawn.
>Have to break out the trailer chipper for this one.
>Let’s see… Plastic liner for dump truck, check. Pressure washer for herding fluffies, check. “Sorry-Stick,” check. Fluffy costume… sigh, check.
>Crew assembled, and equipment ready, you roll out toward the target area: The parking lot of Spaghetti Land.
>Place opened yesterday, and the read parking lot is absolutely packed with strays trying to bride, beg, or burrow their way through.
>Fluffies can’t dig through concrete, that’s for sure, but they also know that their prize is only a few hundred yards away.
>With such distraction, it’s going to be hard to lure them into the wood chipper.
>Which is where the fluffy suit comes in. You got the idea from that ridiculous “Uni the Unicorn” show.
>The rest of the guys on your crew have called the suit “Unbelievably faggy,” and refused to put it on.
>It’ s just a mascot costume; what a bunch of damn whiners.
>Two of your crew stand set up the chicken wire to funnel fluffies into the chipper, while the others hook up the pressure washers.
>Balls, it’s hot in this fluffy suit.
>You waddle on your hands and knees toward the herd, and call out to them.
>”Fwuffies! Oh fwuffies! I found way in to sketti wand!”
>Every set of eyes turns to you, and smiles fill the faces of three thousand fluffy ponies.
>”Way in?” “Big fwiend wet us in Sketti Wand?” “Yay!”
>”NU!” yells a fluffy at the top of his lungs. The squeak is barely audible above the celebration, but the fluffies all turn to face a yellow unicorn fluffy.
>”Wemonaide smawty fwiend of big hewd, and I wead dem into sketti wand fwom big sawty wa-wa. Who you, anyway?”
>There’s always a smarty friend. They’re not generally any smarter, just more confident and outspoken.
>”I fwiend of Uni!” you ad-lib.
>At the mention of Uni, the stallions start popping boners and crying “Uni! Uni! Uni!” even the smarty friend seems interested in you now.
>”Uni say aww fwuffy fwiends fowwow me and I wead you to magicaw powtaw to Sketti Wand!”
>You’re beginning to see why your crew thinks this is the demeaning part of the job.
>But the fluffies cheer and fall into line behind you as you march them to the already running chipper.
>Holy fuckballs, this suit is hot. How do those lesbians do this for a living?
>Some fluffies quail at the tatto lumberjacks you call your crew but your ‘soothing’ voice reassures them.
>”Dese fweind hoomans make shure you be good fwuffies on way to sketti wand,” you say. “Dun cut in wine, dun push, and you no get sowwy wa-was!”
>At that, your crew turns their hoses on you, nearly knocking you over from the force of water.
>”Nuu!” you cry, flailing in panic. “Be good fwuffy! Nu wan sowwy wa-wa!”
>”Pwease dun huwt big fwuffy fwiend!” begs the herd. “He be gud!”
>You stand, sopping wet, but much cooler.
>”Now magik powtaw woud,” you explain of the wood chipper, “but take fwuffies to sketti wand! Step on movey ting, and covah eaws!”
>At your orders, the fluffies line up in rows of two to step onto the conveyer belt. The hunch down and cover their ears as they ride toward the top.
>As the first pair of fluffies cascade over the top, you quickly switch out of the fluffy suit and come around the rear of the massive herd with your own pressure washer.
>It normally takes about a half an hour for the fluffies to figure out what’s going on, but you’ve only run into that problem once.
>You know you’re going to have an issue here.
>For the first thirty minutes, fluffies sit down on the conveyer belt, cover their ears, and slowly ride to their gory doom.
>With everything sealed off by black plastic, they can’t see the bits of fluff and gore that come spraying out of the back of the wood chipper.
>But your chipper starts choking on all the bit of internal organs, bones and fluff.
>Signal the crew to halt the ramp while you hose down the inside with cleaner.
>It’ll only take thirty seconds, but with fifteen hundred fluffies still clamoring to get into Spaghetti Land, you suspect it’s not going to go as well as you’d hoped.
>You climb the rap in a single leap, and start hosing off the internals when the crowd starts to panic.
>”Why nawt move?” Wan go sketti wand!” “Meanie fwuffies takin aw skettis! Wun!”
>Now the crowd control starts.
>Fluffies start pushing and shoving their way toward the ramp in a kerfuffle of swinging hooves, fluttering wings, and sparking horns.
>Your crew at the ramps keeps the down with quick blast from their pressure washers, but one manages to slip through to the ramp.
>Meanwhile, your other two crew members have been pushing the plastic barriers so as to complete enclose the fluffies.
>The ones at the rear that they’re boxed in, and start to panic.
>Mob mentality is something fluffies are really good at, and the whole lot is filled with shrieking ten seconds later.
>”Wan go sketti wand!” “Dun huwt fwuffy!” “Nuu!”
>You hop off the ramp at hit the switch to restart the chipper.
>”Jig is up!” you yell to the crew. “Move it up and let’s get this done.”
>The next half an hour consists of you and four other guys herding fluffies via pressure washer into the chipper ramp.
>Predictably, fluffy ponies drown.
>The smart one who try to run are rewarded for their cleverness by having their heads torn off by 3000psi of water.
>They’re not very sturdy, these fluffy ponies.
>Still before the sun rises, you’re down to the last fluffy, the smarty friend Lemonade.
>He stands among the blood and ankle deep shit, puffing his cheeks at you and stamping his feet.
>”You no kiww Weomonade!” he shouts. “You twick fwuffies! You bad hooman munster!”
>Pick up the the fluffy by the scruff and he howls in pain. That’s right, these critters don’t have a scruff like cats or rabbits do.
>Well that’s his problem, not yours.
>”Why the hell did you come here anyway?” you ask, as you walk to the chipper.
>”Sketti wand a pwace of sketti and huggies!” he snaps, trying to bite your fingers. “Meanie hooman munsters take way sketti wand!”
>”We built this place, you idiot,” you tell him. “This place is going to revitalize Cleveland, and it’s not going to do it by letting in a bunch of grubby ferals like you.”
>With that, you heave the creature head over tails into the chipper, which jams just as you toss him in.
>God damnit. Grab the pressure washer to hose out the guts one last time.
>Ah hell, that smarty friend is still alive. It looks like it jammed just as got pulled into the blades.
>Lemonade is pressed against the wall, the blood, gore, and bone fragments of three thousand of his friends dripping on him like some sort of fucked up water torture.
>His yellow fluff is now stained orange with not only his blood, but the blood of a herd he once led.
>He’s sobbing, trying to shovel his belly and intestines back into his body with stubby hooves that don’t quite reach.
>”Pwease… dun… huwt… fuwffy…” he chokes. Every breath he takes spills more of his guts onto the chipper blades. “Onwy… wan… skettis…”
>He continues weeping for a moment before he lays his horned head against the blades.
>The sobbing stops and he breathes no more. Those big blue eyes stare up at you, as if to beg for help, but the light inside has gone out.
>The chipper starts back up, and the fluffy disappears in a spray of fluff and crimson.
>What a depressing way to start the day.
>You’re hosing down the chipper when one of your crew approaches, handing you a phone.
>”Ace Tree and Fluffy Extermination,” you say. “How can I… Lakefront State Park? Five hundred? Alright we’ll be there in an hour.”
>Looks like it’s going to be a long day.
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