“Look man all I’m saying is there’s no way that’s gonna be clean. It just isn’t sanitary.”
“Pam? Have a little faith. I’ve been testing for months now.”
“Doug that’s not that fucking long and you’re not-”
“There’s one. Shut up.”
The two friends hunkered down as Doug approached the family. They were playing in a small clearing in the woods near the creek. Herds passed through sometimes, but the low human traffic combined with plentiful edible plants make this whole woodland palatable for fluffies who just want to play all day and bask in the sun.
Two babbehs were playing huggy tag away from the group. A small brown babbeh and a larger purple wingy babbeh. As they saw Doug step out of the bushes, they perked up. They were babbehs and didn’t know the danger that humans could bring.
“Nyu fw-HRK!” Purple wingie babbeh was silenced by a swift soccer kick to the throat. Before her brudda could scream, he’d been picked up and his mouth plugged with a thumb.
Doug brought the foal back to the campsite where he had his machine set up. It was about the size of a microwave, not counting the water tank on top. The steam coming from the pipe made clear: Water was boiled and ready to go.
He opened the top of the box and placed the babbeh inside. “Whewe babbeh? Wat dis pwace? Nu wike!” Doug ignored him and closed the top. “See Pam, he’s just in there. No prep.” She furrows her brow. “Noooo, see that’s not right. He’s all dirty and filthy and shit. Covered in woods stuff.” Doug laughs. “Watch this.”
He hits a button and a pump starts chugging as pressure builds. The babbeh can’t be heard, but he’s up against the glass pomfing his hoofsies on it trying to escape. Tears streaming down his face as he pisses and shits himself in terror. Then a pop. A hiss. Fog fills the chamber in an instant as water rushes into the tank and in mere moments is sucked back out. When the pump shuts down it whines to a stop and the faint shrieking of a foal can be heard.
Doug opens the top. Inside is a beet red and completely hairless foal, bleeding and bruised and screaming as loud as he possibly can. It’s raspy and dry because of the scalding water, but it’s potent.
Gone was the shit. The urine. The fluff. The grime. All of it. Just a terrified sobbing foal with no fluff and a digestive tract full of steaming hot water and air. Everything else was deposited in a waste tank below.
“HEEEEEEEEEWP! WAWA BUWNIES! BABBEH WAN FWUFF BACK! MUMMAH! WAN MUMMAH!” Doug winced. Loud little bastard. He closed the door and turned to Pam. “See? Clean. Somehow still alive, which is insane. Anyway now we just route the hot air from the campfire through the intake duct and couple it with the oil sprayer to flash fry him. Easy as lying.”
“No way. It’ll fuck up or something.” Doug shakes his head. “Oh ye of little faith.”
As he unfolds the intake and positions it over the campfire, a fluffy waddles into the campsite. He’s a stout orange unicorn with a sky blue mane and pre-puffed cheeks. “Whewe babbeh?” The two paused and looked at the fluffy blankly before returning to their conversation. Their guest stomped in frustration and shouted again. “DUMMEH HOOMINS! SMAWTY HEAW BABBEH YEWWIN! CUM WUNNIN! SMAWTY PWOTEC HEWD!” Confident he had their attention, he dug his hooves in.
"Now whewe am BABBEH?"
Doug rolled his eyes and pulled the Ruger .22 off his belt. “He’s over here.” He’d bought the small target pistol because he already had a suppressor that fit it, but it’s perfect for fluffycide. Hollow points. No muss, no fuss. As the smug smarty harumphs, Doug puts the gun to his temple and with a piff he’s gone.
The babbeh has been screaming and suckling his burnt hoofsies and sobbing as his chamber slowly heats up. Then there’s a click and the temperature jumps through the roof as a jet of oil hits him and he joins his father in the hereafter.
Seconds later, his crispy body is skewered. Within minutes, both humans are chewing his seared juicy flesh. “Okay y’know this actually worked.” Pam was suitably impressed. “So do you want a whole one?” Pam waved him off. “Nah, gotta watch my ass. Keeps trying to escape my jeans.” Before Doug can cajole her further, a mare walks up with four babbehs on her back.
“Dummeh hoomins! Whewe Smawty? Whewe babbeh?” When she wasn’t immediately answered, she puffed and screamed. “SCREEEEE! PAY TENSHUN TU PWINCESS! DUMMEH MISTAH! POOPY WADY! GIF BABBEH AN SMAWTY WITE NAO!”
Pam blinked. “I’m sorry hon, ‘Poopy Lady?’ Was that me?” The mummah huffed. “Wady wook wike poopies, am dummeh wike poopies tuu?” Pam leaned back and exhaled sharply. “Not what I thought I’d hear today.” Doug turned back to her, having gone and started cleaning the chamber. “What’s that Pam?”
“I think I might have one. Or four.”