Fun Backyard Sleepover
Fun Sleepaway Camp
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Standing in the sweltering hot cabin which was quickly filling with mosquitoes and biting flies, Dot begged her new friend not to leave.
“Pwease nu Tuwip! Dewe am meanie munstah! Pwease bewieb Dot!” Claret had already exited through the screen door of course. Taking ahold of Tulip’s mane, the mare gently tried to tug her away from the exit. It wasn’t working though.
With a huff and a puff of her cheeks, Tulip slapped a hoof against the ground. “Wan mowe babbehs! Babbehs am most speciawest fing EBAH!” Fully tugging away, she scampered out of the cabin in full pursuit of one of the two stallions who were in the camp.
That just left her and the unnamed special orange mare. To her credit, she seemed well behaved and fully uninterested in what was going on. Just sticking her tongue out over and over and blowing spit bubbles. Well, meanie munstah only came for bad fluffies. Everyone knew that. Dot gave a cautious smile to her. The mare just drooled, lifted her tail, loudly shit directly in the center of the room.
Bad poopies. Oh cheese and crackers. MEANIE MUNSTAH WOULD BE HERE FIRST THING. What was worse? Leaving the cabin or being at the site where bad poopies went down? Well she was going to chance it, mostly because it now smelled like hot shit in here. Looking toward the screen door she’d book it out of the cabin and leave the orange one to fend for herself. It was every fluffy for themselves when Meanie Munstah was involved.
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The air was still today. No errant breeze to soothe away the heat. Even still, the Monster knew that bad poopies had occurred. Less of a physical stench from so far off still but a spiritual one. A shiver ran through his body, shoulders sloping as he made his way over to the cabin which now only held only one floor.
Boots stamping heavily on the wooden floors as he shoved through the screen door with enough force to tear it off rusty hinges, cold eyes examined the mess of poopies on the floor. Staring up to the stranger, the orange mare made gibberish sounds. Since he was wearing a Cinnamummah mask, it excited her! Cinnamummah was the best show on FluffTV after all. Meanie Munstah pointed to the bad poopies, to the mare. Held up a stick.
The mare’s name happened to be Cheese, wholly unoriginal but at least it had a purpose. Her big brother was named Mac! Usually he did all of the talking for her. Introductions, what she liked or disliked, things like that. It’s not like Cheese was really a bad fluffy either. Mac was the one who helped her go potty when it was needed and she didn’t make bad poopies to cause trouble. They were both supposed to go to camp together but at the least moment, he came down with an illness and needed to stay home.
Smiling up to the Cinnamummah mask, Cheese didn’t even protest as she was flipped onto her side and had the stick run along her back. A length of good strong rope cinched the fluffy against the stick, Meanie Munstah giving a small grunt as he lifted her up off the ground with one hand, gripping the stick and holding her out as they made their way out the door.
Bad uppsies? No it had to be gud uppsies because this was pretty fun! Giving several blurts of excitement, she flopped her limbs around as the stick bobbed and shook under her weight with each step. Being led off to a small collection of bushes, Meanie Munstah whipped her into it.
This wasn’t fun anymore. Cheese gave a warbling sound of pain as vicious thorns dug past her fur and wrenched against her flesh. Yanked back, small bloody pieces of fur and skin were left behind. Right back into it. Feeling the thorns dig against her mouth, snag against her top lip. It peeled away and dangled against the offending thorn like a fat moist slug. Why was Cinnamummah doing this to her!? She was a nice fluffy, not a meanie fluffy!
“Oo-ooo-oooo!” She tried to communicate but it was hopeless. It hurt so bad, and it was going to hurt worse when the third haul and cast back sent a thorn into the corner of one eye and dug down there. Sensitive flesh split, peeled away fur and skin to reveal part of her skull as the thorn rent a destructive path.
Finished with the thorns for now, he thrashed her all around various swaths of greenery. Poison ivy, stinging nettles, burrs. Just more misery to add to the gaping thorn wounds.
Crying pitifully, Cheese hoped it would all be over soon but the Meanie Munstah didn’t get his name for taking half-measures. Stomping on over to the outhouses which humans used when they used the camp, he flung open the door and brought her in to a superheated pit of stink. Looking up to the Cinnamummah mask clad face, she shook her head desperately as the stick dangled above the hole.
With a satisfied noise, the man plunged her all the way down into the bodily waste. Sagging more heavily now from the weight of it plastering onto her fur, he forced the fluffy up, down, up again. Never letting her down long enough to drown in it. It seeped into her open wounds, pooled into her mouth. No fluffy would ever want this. Possibly the wowstest feeling ever.
Withdrawing from the outhouse he brought the stinking mare to the center of the camp where a welcome board could be found. Taking a pocket knife from his jeans, he unfolded it and slit the rope & stick from her body and cinched up a good amount of fat around her back. Slamming the blade through the fat, he hung her from the welcome board with the knife which had been buried deeply into the wood. Flies and bees had already starting amassing against the stinking prize, giving coughing breaths and crying as the sun beat down mercilessly onto her.
Meanie Munstah could think of no more a welcoming sight but there were more bad fluffies. He could feel it in his bones.
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While this was going down, the other fluffies were across the camp. Claret and Cosmo were nowhere in sight, and Dot was begging with Tulip to stop and come back.
“Nuu-huu-huu! Nu weab babbehs dewe! Dewe am bad fings comin’!” Watching in sinking horror as Tulip placed her babbehs next to a picnic table where they flopped against one another and wriggled around, Dot knew it was coming.
Sticking her tongue out at Dot, Tulip just waved her tail right in her face. “Am goan make babbehs. Shu’up dummeh.” Giving Dot a shove with one hoof, she sauntered into the cabin with the only stallion present, Ray.
“It am otay bebbehs. Dot am hewe.” She cooed to the little ones. Meanie Munstah wouldn’t get babbehs would he?
A fat purple one perked up and stuck his tongue out. “Bestie! Babbeh! Wan! Miwkies!”
Dot stared down to him. Began backing away slowly. Scratch that, Meanie Munstah would maybe get babbehs and she didn’t want to be around them when it happened. Maybe Claret and Cosmo could be helped though. Skittering off, she followed their scent in hopes of catching up to them before it was too late.
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A bestest babbeh was near. It flared in Meanie Munstah’s brain. He could feel them, red-hot like a poker where his thoughts raced like ants. The instinct brought him over to a picnic table where three little foals rested. Fat purple, two skinnier ones in brown and dull red. Unlike their mother, he was an equal opportunity distributor in pain.
Scooping the foals up, two hugged against his fingers as he carried them off to the arts & crafts cabin. The purple one puffed it’s voluminous cheeks out stupidly.
“Miwkies! Dummeh! MIWKIES!” He kicked a tiny hoof out against the palm that he was rested upon. No matter. Once inside the building, he set the lil’uns down on a long table meant to seat up to forty different people. It was a kind of lonely feeling using such a big space for one project.
Meanie Munstah walked over to a collection of art supplies and rummaged through it all. Found what he needed, bundling it all up in his arms and dropping it on the table with a clatter. A sheet of yellow construction paper slid out in place in right of him, the big fella dropping down onto the bench with a groan of wood.
Choosing the brown foal first, a long & filth-encrusted thumbnail dug down into it’s belly. Wriggled around, slit open all the way. Using two fingers to gently spread it open, he unveiled it’s tiny coil of organs and began looping it out. Once enough had been brought out, he set the creature which was peeping in pain to the side. Squirting glue onto the construction paper, he neatly arranged the intestines out so it framed the bottom of the page and stayed stuck on. The same process was repeated with his red brother though at the top.
Next was the belligerent purple one. The only one able to talk.
“N-Nu wan be bestest…” He whimpered out but that ship had already said. Picking the foal up and putting smackdab in the center of the page in a puddle of glue, he poked a finger down against him so it had time to dry. That was good enough. Once he was firmly pressed against the page, the Meanie Munstah took up a pair of safety scissors and firmly began to cut off limbs from the little moron.
“EEEE! WEGGIES! NEE’ WEGGIES!” Well of course he needed ‘weggies’, but so did the Munstah for his art project. Limbs found their way to the page, oriented this way and that in a pleasing display around their owner.
Grunting, he took a hot-glue gun out and leveled the tip against the foal’s eyes. Searing heat found it’s way into them, being blinded immediately with screeching peeping. He hunted through a bag full of googly eyes and finally found ones that were big and silly, fitting them against the leaking goo before it cooled and dried.
Almost done. More glue hit the page. Glitter! Dried elbow macaroni!
Meanie Munstah was very proud of this. The centerpiece was still peeping, mostly because he’d cauterized the stumps where his limbs had been with blasts from the hot-glue gun.
“Wan die…babbeh wan die…” He lamented. Not yet. There was someone to show this off to.