[Fall of Cleveland 30] “Fluffy Feats of Strength” (Author & Artist: Vanner) {FB ID: 1432}

Fluffy Feats of Strength
>You are a teenager from Cleveland
>You’ve secured a summer job as a “game operator” for Spaghetti Land
>Really you just hit the button when the fluffy plays one of the carnival games so that it wins.
>Your experience at Cedar Point from last year was pretty helpful, but the interview mostly wanted to know what you thought about fluffies.
>You never had one, but they’re sort of cute, you guess.
>After a quick background check, you’re just another polo shirt wearing schmuck pressing buttons for nine bucks an hour.
>It’s not bad really, but your job training was weird.
>Mostly it involved making sure that fluffies didn’t kill themselves on the games.
>How anything could hurt itself on these games, you have no idea.
>Fluffy basketball has a ball tied to a string that rotates through the basket when pushed. Maybe they could get tied up in that?
>Maybe the nerf “knock down the monster teeth” could put out a fluffy’s eye?
>Hell, the most dangerous thing is probably the arcade. It has an modified skee-ball machine where every ball scores a hundred points.
>A fluffy could probably crawl up in it and get whacked by the wooden balls, but that’s about it.
>How could anything go wrong at a “Test Your Strength” that goes off at the slightest touch?
>You also got paired with a fluffy companion to help you interact with the customers.
>Your fluffy is a pretty pink pegasus named “Filly.”
>She’s mostly just sits at your feet to draw in the fluffy stallions.
>“If onwy a big stwong fwuffy wud wing dis beww faw meh!” she chirps as a fluffy and their owner pass. “Dey win big pwizes!”
>Such smooth moves from the fluff ball immediately draw the attention of purple fluffy stallion.
>You smile as a fluffy approaches. The fuzzball is clearly enamored with the pictures of an absurdly muscled fluffy flexing and your pink companion.
>“Pwetty fwuffy wan me wing beww?” he asks his owner. “Dis fow stwong fwuffies?”
>“That’s right, Atlas,” says the owner. "Why don’t you ask the nice lady if you can try?
>“Wan twy! Wan twy!” he says, jumping up and down. “Atwis swongest fwuffy!”
>Adorable.
>“Only the strongest fluffies can do this,” you say. “It’s not for weak, girly fluffies.”
>At that queue, Filly jumps off the platform and onto the padded catapult mechanism for the strength machine.
>The flashing green ball goes up about a foot, and clanks back down.
>“It too hawd!” Filly whines. “Need big, stwong fwuffy wike Atwis to wing beww!”
>You fluffy friend is a natural sales… thing. She steps down off the padded mat, and smiles.
>Atlas screws up his face and starts stomping his hooves.
>“Atwis wing dat beww fow you!” says the purple stallion. “Gif you biggest pwizes!”
>He leaps from the platform and onto the catapult pad.
>The ball flies to the dizzying height of a foot.
>“Uh oh!” you say. “Looks like some fluffy’s not strong enough to ring the bell!”
>You smile at the owner, nodding toward the price list.
>The owner discretely hands you a ten dollar bill.
>“Try again Atlas,” you tell the fluffy. “I’m sure that a big strong fluffy like you won’t let a pretty mare down.”
>Atlas climbs back onto the jumping platform and stomps his hoofs, clearly trying to psyche himself up.
>After a moment, he leaps high into the air…
>Well, it’s actually less than a foot.
>But Atlas slams into the catapult pad with all the force of a wet towel.
>You put a foot on the win button, and the bright green ball flies up the backboard. The bell clatters with a cheerful chime.
>“I WIN!” atlas yells. “Atwis am stwongest fwuffy! Gif biggest pwize to pwetty fwuffy!”
>Atlas selects a big stuffed hammer, and presents it to Filly.
>“Ow, fow me?” asks Filly. “Tank you! Bu you keep it to wembeh meh!”
>Atlas give filly a big hug, and walks away with the big stuffed hammer clutched in his teeth.
>You’re pretty sure that they trained Filly by having her watch Betty Boop cartoons. She’s just so good at manipulating fluffies.
>You notice a green unicorn still over near a bush. He’s been standing there for about fifteen minutes.
>His owner is nowhere in sight, and he’s just staring at the flashing green ball as it goes up and down.
>He’s kind of creeping you out. You radio for someone to come pick up the lost fluffy when he waddles out of the bush toward you.
>Filly notices him waddling up. “If onwy a big stwong fwuffy wud wing dis beww faw meh!” she says.
>“Filly, we only do that to fluffies with owners,” you remind her.
>“Sowwy!” she says. “I twy wemembeh!”
>The green fluffy unicorn waddles up to you and glares.
>“Hi fwiend!” says Filly.
>“Shut you mouf, swut,” snaps the green fluffy. “Wan dat baww! Gif dat baw ow gif big ouchies!”
>Holy hell, you didn’t know fluffies could talk like that.
>“Now that’s no way to talk to a lady,” you tell him, trying to keep you cool.
>Don’t want to lose this job like your gig at the mall when you punched that creeper in the mouth.
>“I nawt twakin to you, munster!” the fluffy yells. “Wan dat baww and I gunna take it!”
>The fluffy barrels past you and Filly. You take a step back, and your foot accidentally depresses the “win” switch for the strength tester.
>The unicorn bounds off the platform and ricochets off the jump pad toward the ball.
>Just as his mouth wraps around the flashing ball, it rockets up the machine.
>You watch in horror as the fluffy’s head flies towards the bell, and turn away just as the muffled clunk of fluff on bell reaches your ear.
>It’s followed immediately by a horrible pop that sprays fluffy skull and brains all over your area.
>Filly defecates herself in fear as the decapitated corpse of the green fluffy splatters against the midway.
>An eyeball lands at your feet, and you feel your corn dog lunch returning with a vengeance.
>As you hang your head in a trashcan, you hear the whine of an electric motor pulling up and the familiar voice of your supervisor giving instructions.
>You look up from the trash can to see a crew has already gotten rid of the fluffy pony’s body and started cleaning up the scene.
>“You okay, Anonette?” he asks.
>“That was horrible!” you tell him. “He just jumped at the ball and his head…! Oh god, the sound! I’m going to have nightmares!”
>He kind of chuckles, and shakes his head. He pulls a flask from his pocket and offers you a swig. You happily accept.
>“We tried to fluffy proof everything,” he says. “But as you can see, the fluffy’s creativity in killing themselves knows no limits.”
>“If you’d like I can put you on concessions,” you say. “Worst you’ll see if a fluffy choking on their own hoof or drowning in a large soda.”
>Food service? Ick. You’d rather deal with fluffy guts.
>“No, I can handle it,” you say. “Besides, I like Filly.”
>“Who?” your boss asks. “Oh, your companion fluffy. Yeah, don’t get too attached, they have a nasty habit of winding up like… well that guy.”
>He thumbs back to the now sparkling strength tester.
>“Welp, gotta go,” he says. “I’ll check back on you in an hour.” He hops back into the golf cart, and speeds away for other clean ups.
>You look over to Filly, who is now smiling and trying to pull in customers.
>“If onwy a big stwong fwuffy wud wing dis beww faw meh!” she says, sashaying around the midway.
>If an adorable little pegasus fluffy can get over it so quickly, so can you. You and Filly are a team, and you’re in this together.

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Feats of strength? Fluffies celebrate Festivus?

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