Paul sighed when he heard the persistent tapping at the back door to his modest suburban home. He immediately realized that another feral herd had founds its way into his yard, and that meant hours of work cleaning up the mess. First, though, he had to deal with the herd itself. He stood, stopping to put on rubber boots and grab his trusty air pistol. He might hate the little bastards but he wasn’t a naturally cruel man.
If there was one thing that made him waver in that conviction, though, it was smarties. The little fuckers varied from mind-numbingly stupid to aggravatingly cunning, but one trait he found universal was their utterly irredeemable nature. Cruelty, depravity, and outright sickening behavior was the name of the game for the little assholes.
He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, bracing himself as he opened the door, preparing for a barrage of threats, demands, and, if the smarty was particularly stupid, pitiful attacks. When none of that happened he blinked in confusion, looking around at the herd in his still-pristine yard.
He couldn’t find the smarty. Usually it was obvious, since the greedy little bastards took most of the food and tended to be far fatter than their underlings. However, in this herd they all seemed, if not well-fed, at least scrupulously evenly underweight. Was this herd lead by one of the legendary smarty-friends, the alleged smarties that actually cared for their herd?
“Nu! Pwease! Fwuffy am sowwy!” came a pleading voice, and Paul saw a light brown fluffy held back by two fluffies, pleading and sobbing. “Pwease! Nu am time fow fowebah-sweepies!”
Well, that cleared that up. Irredeemable. Maybe the smarty was just more clever than most and had learned that being the fattest made it slow and an easy target for predators, or had learned that well-fed underlings meant more food overall. Either way, from the way the luckless shit-eater of the herd was acting they clearly weren’t any better than most.
He looked down at the shaking fluffy standing on his doorstep, far ahead of the rest of the herd. Given how it was acting, it was probably the sacrificial lamb, sent to make demands in the smarty’s place. Definitely an abnormally cunning smarty. Completely irredeemable.
“Pwease, nice mistuh…” the fluffy began, cementing Paul’s deduction about it.
“What do you want?” he asked, a little more calmly than he would normally under these circumstances. Don’t shoot the messenger, he muttered internally.
“Hewd am sowwy, nu wan make nice mistuh angwy…”
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m not going to give your smarty whatever he wants. Just go.”
“Pwease, nice mistuh, pwease kiww smawty!” the smarty(?) continued in a rush. Paul froze in confusion, and the fluffy took it as a sign to continue talking. “Pwease, smawty am sowwy, onwy wan nice mistuh gib fowebah-sweepies! Pwease nu huwt hewd!”
“What?” Paul asked dumbly. This clearly wasn’t a wan-die loop, but a smarty wouldn’t be asking to be killed otherwise. Was this some new variant he’d never heard of?
“Smawty nu can du it nu mowe!” the smarty sobbed. “Nu can fite it nu mowe! Nu wan du bad fings, nu wan’ huwt hewd! Nu wan wan gib bwown-fwiend huwties! Nu wan be bad-smawty! Bu’ nu can fite it nu mowe!”
“Nu!” the struggling brown stallion shouted. “Smawty am gud smawty! Poopie fwuffy am sowwy! Onwy make angwy! Nu wiww be bad poopie fwuffy 'gain.”
“NU AM POOPIE!” the smarty roared. “Aww fwuffies am gud! Aww fwuffies bu’ smawty…” He looked up at Paul again. “Dis am aww smawty can du fow hewd nao. Pwease.”
“No.”
Paul flinched slightly, seeing the smarty slump, but pressed on. “No, I won’t kill you. You don’t deserve that. I think you deserve another chance.”
“Nu! Nu wan anoda chance! Wiww onwy huwt hewd! Pwease, nu wan! Nu wan be angwy, nu wan be sewfish, nu wan hate bwown-fwiends! Nu wan be smawty nu mowe!”
“You!” Paul called out to the herd. “Do you want your smarty to die?”
There was a chorus of negative, despondent chatter. “See?” he continued to the smarty. “They don’t want you to die. So how about you live with me instead?”
“Nu…wiww onwy be bad fwuffy. Nu can be gud fwuffy nu mowe.”
“Let’s just give it a try. If you can’t be good…well, I think you’ve earned yourself a bit of being bad for a change. Come on.”
He hummed gently as he carried the smarty inside. It’d been a while since his last fluffy had died, and it was worth giving it another shot. Especially since the little guy was completely irredeemable.
After all, you can’t redeem something that doesn’t need redemption.
21 Likes
damn, really left the whole herd without a smarty!
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Was bit surprised how and I hope genuine a smarty felt sorry for all the bad things he did.
Wonder what happened to have that kinda reaction and request IF these are real.
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It wasn’t what he’d done, it was that he felt he couldn’t keep fighting the urge to hurt the other fluffies in his herd.
3 Likes
Wow thats something new indeed.
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Or maybe he’s the new Smarty.