Aaron
>You are Fran, a lady who can’t fucking stand all these goddamn fluffy ponies everywhere.
>They’re fucking everywhere, and all they do is annoy you.
>They shit wherever they feel like it, will beg for and sometimes demand food, and never seem to understand that they’re obnoxious, retarded vermin.
>A lot of your friends think they’re cute.
>You need better friends.
>One of them works for Hasbro Biotoys, and the other day he called you with an offer.
>“Hey Fran, want to try out the fuzzy pony?”
>“No, fuck off, Arthur.”
>“Wait, hear me out. I know you hate fluffy ponies almost as much as me. We need beta testers, and you’re someone who thinks fluffies are annoying. It’ll be a great opportunity to see if we can appeal to people who hate fluffies.”
>“Why the fuck would I want a fluffy in my house?”
>“It’s not a fluffy, Fran. It’s a fuzzy. An entirely new species. They’re a little bigger, a little smarter, and a whole lot better.”
>“So now there’d be two different types of hairy abominations roaming the streets at night? You’re a pretty shitty salesman, Arthur.”
>“What if I told you the fuzzy would never ask you for anything, would only poop where you told it to, and would obey every order you gave it with absolute obedience?”
>You consider it for a moment.
>“I’d say you were so full of shit it’s a wonder it isn’t leaking out of your ears as well as your mouth.”
>“But what if it’s true? Come on, Fran, please do this for me?”
>You sigh. You do kinda owe him a favor…
>“Fine. But if this thing soils my carpet, it’s going ass first into the garbage disposal so I can hear it scream all the way down.”
>“Deal. I’ll drop your new fuzzy off tomorrow. See you then!”
>“Fuck off.”
>It’s the day after, a Saturday morning.
>You have the whole day to yourself.
>Or you would have, but you volunteered to try out Biotoys’ newest version of the Sentient Shit-o-matic.
>Christ, this is going to end in blood. And poop. Fluffies always end in poop, the little shitbags.
>Arthur didn’t say when he’d be by to drop off the…fuzzy? Is a name change really going to make them so different?
>Whatever. You’ll just stuff the thing in the trash can if you don’t want it.
>You hear a knock on the door.
>Must be the prick now.
>You open the door. “Arthur, tell me again why-”
>There’s nobody there.
>You look around. Nobody to be seen.
>Goddamn neighborhood punks. You swear to God you’re going to-
>You look down.
>The biggest fluffy you’ve ever seen in standing before you, along with a pet carrier loaded with boxes, with more boxes on top. You can see a horn on its head.
>It’s just staring straight ahead. Has it even noticed you?
>That’s just your luck. Arthur drops off a retarded fluffy and doesn’t even stick around to say hello.
>Motherfucker.
>“…Hello?”
>“Hewwo”
>Well, at least it talks.
>“So, you’re the new fluffy pony I’m supposed to take care of?”
>“No am fwuffy. Am fuzzy pony. Am futuwe of biowogicaw toys.”
>You raise an eyebrow.
>“So what’s with all of this stuff?”
>“Fuzzy daddeh pwovide fuzzy pawaphnawia fow new owna. Haf bed, haf twavel case, haf toys, haf Fuzzy Feed fo’ nummies.”
>How nice. He saved you a trip to the pet store.
>“Well, fuck me.”
>The fuzzy pony mounts your leg and starts humping it.
>“Ah! What the fuck?! Stop that!”
>The fuzzy immediately stops and returns to its standing still position.
>You’re about to dropkick the little rapist into your neighbor’s yard when you remember Arthur mentioning that fuzzies obey all orders with complete obedience.
>You put your foot down. You’ll let that transgression slide, since it was kinda your fault. Gotta watch your wording around this thing.
>“Alright, come on in.”
>The fuzzy takes a few steps into the room, and stops right in the middle.
>You carry the pile of boxes over to your couch and start figuring out what’s all in them.
>After some unwrapping, you have:
>1 pet bed with blanket
>1 pet carrier
>1 small inflatable ball
>1 set of Duplo blocks
>1 litterbox with shovel and fluffy litter
>1 fluffy food bowl
>1 bag of what’s labeled as Fuzzy Feed
>1 instruction manual titled ‘Your Fuzzy and You.’
>Just what you wanted to do on a Saturday. Read about pet care.
>You look over your couch. The fuzzy is still standing there.
>“Hey, fuzzface, get over here.”
>The fuzzy pony walks around the couch until it’s standing in front of you, looking at you with blank blue eyes.
>Creepy.
>“You got a name, fuzzy?”
>“Fuzzy 000079 no haf name. Name to be pwovided by new owner.”
>“Okay, let me think…well, you have that nice white fur and pure blue eyes. As far as fluffies go, you’re like the master race. I think I’m gonna name you Aaron.”
>“Aknowedged. Fwuffy 000079 is Awon.”
>Christ, he’s like a robot.
>So already leaps and bounds above a fluffy.
>He hasn’t shit on your carpet or begged you for food yet.
>He did sorta fuck your leg, but that was kinda your fault.
>“Well, may as well get to know each other. What do you like to do, Aaron?”
>“Awon wike do whateva owna wan’. If owna say pway, Awon pway. If owna say sweep, Awon sweep.”
>You’re liking the sound of that. A pet that does exactly what you tell it to.
>This might not be as shitty as you thought.
>“In that case, I want you to sit there until I tell you what to do.”
>“Fuzzy undastan’.” Aaron sits and waits.
>You pick up the instruction manual and give it a read.
>It reads more like a guide to commanding a droid than a living being.
>They don’t even eat, sleep, or poop unless you tell them to. The manual suggests that forgetful owners issue a standing order for fuzzies to perform these tasks when they feel the need.
>You’re not forgetful, but you’ve never taken care of a pet before. Best nip that potential issue in the bud.
>“Aaron, do you need to eat or poop now?”
>Aaron shakes his head. “No, owna. Awon not hungwy, no need make poopies.”
>“Alright. Just go ahead and eat or poop whenever you need to, okay?”
>“Okay. Whewe boww? Whewe wittabox?”
>For fucks sake, they’re right in front of him on the pile of fuzzy crap.
>“Are you blind? They’re two feet from your face!”
>“Aknowedged. Boww and wittabox awways be dere?”
>You look at the manual.
>After you have found a suitable spot for the fluffy’s bed, litterbox, and food bowl, be sure to point them out to the fuzzy. The fuzzy will not forget where they are located once they have learned.
>Oh. He needs to have his stuff pointed out first.
>You put the food bowl in the kitchen and the litterbox by the back door.
>“Aaron, come over here.” You point out where each object is, and he nods his head.
>You know that fluffies love their ‘nummies’ so you look up what you’re supposed to feed the fuzzy.
>Fuzzies, like their fluffy predecessors, are herbivorous, and can digest any plant matter. However, due to their genetic makeup, a certain key protein vital to their continued life functions cannot be produced by their bodies. Biotoys brand Fuzzy Feed is the only foodstuff that contains this protein. Without a minimum of one Imperial cup of Fuzzy Feed per day, a fuzzy’s body will slowly break down until its death after three days without Fuzzy Feed. Please make sure to always have an adequate supply of Fuzzy Feed available in case of emergency.
>That explains the food bag.
>You can smell a racket from a mile away, though. You would bet your whole bank account that Biotoys made that protein bit happen on purpose so fuzzies would need to buy their brand of food.
>Clever enterprising bastards.
>You open the bag of Fuzzy Feed.
>Looks kinda like dry dog food, only in much smaller pellets.
>Kinda like muddy brown Cocoa Puffs.
>Shrugging, you pour some into Aaron’s dish.
>“When you’re hungry, go ahead and eat your Fuzzy Food or whatever it’s called.”
>“Aknowedged.”
>You sit back down and browse the instruction manual some more.
>All in all, it sounds a hell of a lot easier to take care of a fuzzy than for a fluffy.
>After about half an hour, you look up.
>The fuzzy is still standing there.
>If it weren’t for the blinking and subtle motions of its chest as it breathes, you’d swear it was a stuffed toy.
>“Do you want to play or something, Aaron?”
>“Awon do wha owna wan’.”
>“Then go play with your ball or something. Your mime act is creeping me out.”
>“Kay. Fuzzy pway wiff baww.”
>The fuzzy walks over to its ball and starts pushing it around. Its expression remains the same.
>You turn on the TV and watch a few shows.
>Oh, that Drew Carey. Such a card.
>My Little Pony? That shit’s still running? It should have ended after two seasons.
>Freaking brony manchildren. It’s probably because of them that it’s still around. The damn thing won a few Emmy Awards already.
>Oh hey, it’s Barbarians at the Gate.
>Love that movie.
>Around 5 you get up to make dinner.
>The fuzzy has been pushing his ball around the room the entire time.
>“You hungry, Aaron?”
>The fuzzy stops playing and looks at you.
>“Awon hungwy, wan Fuzzy Feed.”
>“Then come get it, fuzzball.”
>Aaron obediently trots into the kitchen and starts eating from his bowl.
>You nuke a Lean Cuisine because fuck it, it’s the weekend.
>After you eat, you go back to the couch for more TV.
>“Aaron, get over here.”
>Aaron sits by your feet.
>“Lay down next to me.”
>The fuzzy jumps up onto the couch and curls up next to you.
>He’s pretty soft and warm.
>So this is why people own pets.
>You never saw the appeal before. Seemed like a pain in the ass to you.
>But you’re starting to understand.
>You watch another movie, occasionally petting the fuzzy, who does not respond.
>When you figure it’s time for bed, you place the fuzzy’s bed next to yours and tell him to go to sleep.
>Aaron lies on the pet bed and falls asleep immediately.
>Looks like Arthur had a good idea for once.
>The next morning, you walk outside with your cup of coffee.
>Typical summer Cleveland morning.
>You call for Aaron to sit next to you and enjoy the day.
>He sits next to you. You can’t tell if he’s enjoying the day or not.
>You see a blue blob waddling down the street.
>Oh fuck, here we go.
>A stray fluffy. Looks pretty beat up, too. Must have lost a fight with another stray over some garbage.
>It sees you sitting on your front porch and makes its way up your walkway.
>“Nice wady haf nummies fo Seabweeze?”
>“No, piss off, you little shit.”
>You kick at the disgusting stray. The fluffy ducks, but doesn’t leave.
>“Pwease, hooman? Fwuffy so hungwy, meanie fwuffy take nummies. Gif nummies?”
>“I said piss off!”
>You toss the remainig quarter of your coffee and it splashes on Seabreeze’s face. She cries out in pain.
>“Owwies! Bwack wawa buwn fwuffy! Why huwt fwuffy?!”
>She’s still not leaving, though. She must be pretty desperate.
>You sigh. “Aaron, any chance you could get rid of this pest for me?”
>You say it half-heartedly, expecting the fine art of murder to be beyond his capacities.
>“Aknowedged.”
>What?
>Aaron gets up and stand before the stray fluffy, her hooves still trying to rub the burning hot coffee off of her face.
>“Big fwuffy hewp Seabweeze? Gif hugs?”
>Aaron says nothing, moving to Seabreeze’s side and pushing her over on her back. He then puts a hoof on her throat and presses down.
>The stray fluffy starts flailing her hooves like crazy, not understanding that her new friend is choking her to death.
>After two minutes of slowly weakening struggles, the fluffy lies still.
>It’s dead.
>Aaron grabs the fluffy by its neck with his teeth and drags her off of the walkway and onto the sidewalk past your mailbox.
>He then walks up to you and says, “Fwuffy extewminated.”
>You drop your mug in shock.
>It shatters to pieces below you.
>Holy shit, your new pet just killed a fluffy without any hesitation or mercy.
>That was so awesome!
>“Aaron, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship. Let’s go inside.”
>“Kay.”
>“Watch out for the broken mug.”
>“Aknowedged.”