Fluffy Ponies Don’t Understand Federal Reserve Notes
>Concessions stands are normally super boring.
>But here at Spaghetti Land, every single day is a exciting because you can never tell how the fluffies are going to kill themselves.
>You are a Concessions Server in the glorious fluffy pony paradise known as Spaghetti Land.
>Or “Nummies Hooman” to the tragic balls of hair you call customers.
>You’ve been “wuved” more than you thought possible by thousands of fluffies already.
>Since opening day, you’ve been slinging out overpriced burgers, hot dogs, and French fries to the mass of humanity that has come to celebrate the joy of fluffies.
>You also serve what can charitably be called “spaghetti” to fluffy clientele.
>Huge bags of wheat flour, water, and some other stuff get dumped into a huge, automated machine in the belly of your giant fiberglass Spaghetti Mountain.
>It’s no weirder than working in a burger shaped drive through.
>It’s all automated too. Press a button, get a steaming plate of spaghetti. Press another, get a dollop of the cheapest marinara sauce known to man.
>The rumor is they weren’t originally going to serve spaghetti to the people, but some executive decided that was stupid.
>People love spaghetti. Not as much as fluffy ponies, sure, but people still like it.
>Oddly enough, the spaghetti you serve to people is actually pretty good. Nice thick sauce, fresh pasta from much smaller machines, even a meatball or two.
>Today, it’s really pleasant, and you’ve only seen two fluffies die.
>One got so excited about spaghetti that she danced a jig right underneath a golf cart.
>The other face-planted into his ice cream cone and drowned.
>Yesterday you watched a really fat fluffy try to hork down his entire plate of spaghetti in one mouthful.
>Sort of grim to watch the panic in a fluffy’s eyes as he choked on his beloved spaghetti.
>Even grimmer to watch the Non-Human Relations Specialists stuff him into a bag with the plateful of spaghetti still hanging halfway out of its mouth.
>Beats working at McDonalds though. And most of the fluffies at least say “Pwease!”
>Like the one you’re serving now.
>“Pwease mistah nummies hooman! Wan skettis! Wuv you! Pwease give fwuffy skeetis!”
>Odd, his owner doesn’t appear to be nearby, and he doesn’t have an “All Day Spaghetti Pass” on his collar either.
>“Sorry, little guy,” you tell him. “Spaghetti is seven dollars for a small, and ten for a large. It’s thirty five for an all-you-can-eat pass.”
>Sort of sad. They chow down on a meal that costs you fifty cents to produce, and wind up having it squeezed out of them an hour later when they get on a ride.
>Really, it was a genius maneuver on the part of the park owners.
>“Haf munnies!” he says, shaking his little rump.
>Thirteen dollars in rumpled bills and stained coins drop from his fluff.
>“Sorry, little guy,” you say. “This is all Canadian money. I need American dollars.”
>“Dis munnies doh!” he protests.
>Trying to explain the concepts of nationality, let alone international finance to a fluffy pony would probably just be an exercise in futility.
>Instead, you sweep up the change and bills, and hand over a large container of spaghetti to the fuzz ball.
>“Yay! Skettis!” cheers the fluffy as he stashes the container in his fluff.
>Normally they just gobble it down without a second thought, but the fluffy stares at you expectantly.
>“You want something else?”
>“Gif chang, pwease?”
>Sigh. A quick calculation reveals that the fluffy is due a dollar in change.
>You hand the fluffy pony a dollar bill, and he trots away with a smile.
>“What was all that aboot?” asks your supervisor.
>He’s originally from Vancouver.
>You show him the pile of Canadian money, and explain what just happened.
>He takes a closer look at the money, and just shakes his head.
>“Doncha know a counterfeit when you see one?” he says. “We don’t have pictures of Celine Dion on our coins, eh?”
>Son of a bitch.
>You just got scammed by a fluffy pony.
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The only logical, rational choice: brutalize the next fluffy you see.
3 Likes
haha That is priceless. 
hilarante, como minimo