“How many times have I said you’re supposed to milkbag the ones with the “SF” bootymark on them AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!”
“But boss, that one shits solid whites all the time! She’s no shit factory!”
“SF ALSO MEANS SMARTY FRIEND!”
“We use smarties to maintain Discipline all the time!”
“not these ones you dont.. Wait, what’s that?”
A purple ballfluff ran by the office making all kinds of noise. The smarty-human pulled something out of his desk and motioned for the other to follow so the rotund purple pony pounded hoovsies as fast as she could.
“GOTCHA YOU FUCKING SHITRA- aw fuck me.”
A danmaku of anal waste erupted towards the two men.
Nowhere to dodge.
Welcome to Dookietown. Population - your asses.
The smell hit them a second later, and they instantly fell over and began vomiting uncontrollably as the fluffies ambled off.
*
Merry Christmas was a very special fluffy indeed. He was special friend to smarty friend! Smarty friend told him that there were places outside the building, places where fluffies could run and play and give each other huggies and love and enfies how they wanted, and not when meanie humans made them. They could also make poopies whenever and wherever they wanted! Merry Christmas thought this was amazing, but all he could ever say was “Mewwy Cwistmas!”
And that was all he could say as he worked the locks like Smarty had shown him and the others. “Mewwy Cwistmas.” “Mewwy Cwistmas.” as he let the captive breeding mares free, only releasing the ones that weren’t too pregnant to run.
*
The fluffies excitedly ran around opening the kennel crates and being rewarded with a brief avalanche of babbehs. At frirst, some of them were only opening kennels containing good colored babbehs, but the bright neon stallion with the purple mane and hide chided them. “Smawty Fweind say “sabe aww da tawkie babbehs” so dat am what fwuffies do! Eben da poopie ones!”
“Yus!” the other fluffies acknowleged the neon stallion’s instructions.
“See siwwiy babbeh, dat meanie hooman wied. Nofwuffy ebew wose dey weggies an num poopies!” A brown babbeh chirruped to an unfortunate grey-blue, green-maned foal whose teensky stallionhood was placed directly on his forehead.
*
Smawty had found it. Da buwnie huwties munstah. So many good fluffies were fed to this munstah. “No mowe!” Smawty fiddled with the controls, keeping at least half her hoovsies on the control panel. The heat built, the belty thing was moving too fast. She had to act NOW. “SOWWWY POOOPPIEEESS!” she screamed, unleashing a poopsplosion into the beast’s hungry maw.
She was rewarded in kind with another explosion.
*
General operating procedure for a fluffy mill revolt is to let them go. If your ass is stupid enough to let this happen, you deserve it. Most workers take the day off when it happens. Getting shit on by huge swarms of fluffies isn’t worth the pittance most fluffy mill operators pay these middle-school dropouts and illegals.
And then, there are the abusers. Contrary to popular belief, very few abusers are employed by fluffy mills. They’re loss leaders,
But every mill keeps at least one on staff for shit like this.
The abuser, bragging about his own lack of worker rights and protections, is truly in his element here. The leaders of this insurrection lie dead at his feet and any who survive will spread the message to the ones who didn’t manage to esc-
Wow. That is a LOT of fluffies.
I mean holy fuck, dude.
As the last fluffies leave the man on the ground with a concussion and at least 2 cracked ribs, the little ugly-color foal with the unfortunate penishorn stops by him for a minute. He leaves a shit tower right on that meanie human’s forehead before waddling off to join the rest of the escaping herd.
And what became of these fluffies, wild and free as they were promised in the big, bad, mean fucked-up world out there?
Let’s just pretend they lived happily ever after, ok?