I take a step back to admire my handiwork. My uncle may be an idiot drunk perv, but I have to admit, some of his ideas aren’t so bad.
It’s been a couple of busy weeks for me, and it’s almost time for me to move on. In a couple of days, I’m heading out to meet up with Gary, and then we’re going shitrat hunting. It’s gonna be a good time. We’re good friends and allies in abuse.
Once again, let me paint you a word picture.
Doofus, as I have come to call him, is in his cage, sobbing through his ball gag again. He’s down a pair of hind legs, his horn, an eye, and his genitals, and up several scars, cuts, bruises, and burns. I can’t do the story of what I’ve been doing to him justice, so, unfortunately, I’ll leave it up to you to draw your own gruesome conclusions. A buddy of mine, a film student, diehard abuser, says that works great in horror movies.
The foals I hadn’t already tortured to death in front of Doofus, after, every time, promising I wouldn’t kill this one, a blatant lie, are impaled on spikes, along with the corpses of the foals that weren’t too mutilated to impale. Like I said, that was a good idea. Doofus has a clear view of this grisly display, hence the crying. The cans are all empty. One of them, as promised, is currently up his ass, preventing him from shitting in his cage. His belly is visibly distended. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. Despite the constant physical and psychological abuse on my part, he has followed my orders to the letter. I just felt like it. And I was getting sick of the shit.
Another masterpiece. All I have to do is kill Doofus, dispose of the evidence, clean up the crime scene, and I’ll maintain my plausible deniability. After I take a few pictures for posterity, and record Doofus obediently repeating what I told him about the nonexistent value of his life, sure I’ll get a lot of good comments on FluffChan’s /fa/ board. And no, it’s not a fashion board.
Just as I finish uploading the video, I hear the barn door open.
Shit! Shitshitshitshitshit!
I turn, in horror, and then let out a sigh of relief. For once, I am actually happy to see that it’s just my uncle.
He’s blind stinking drunk, again, and scratching his nuts. I knew he’d catch something from those whores.
He’s so drunk, he doesn’t even notice me. He’s at the level of drunkenness where he forgets his wife left him, and is talking to her as if she’s in the room. I kind of miss Aunt Amy. She was hot. Though I know why she divorced him, and I don’t blame her. I’ve seen how bad he is at keeping it in his pants. I’m a remorseless fluffy abuser and even I think he’s messed up.
From first-hand experience, I know he won’t remember a thing. He won’t remember why he came in here, or that I was here. That last part is important.
I’ve just seen the opportunity to kill two shitrats with one stone. I don’t have to clean up the mess, and I can cover my tracks.
If I play my cards right, I can trick him into thinking this was all his doing! Hey, he’s done it before, and he can barely remember what he does when he’s fershnickered. (Thank you, Mr. Rosenberg, for teaching me that word. I didn’t like him, but I’m certainly no anti-semite. All people are equally terrible in my eyes.)
There’s a thump, as my idiot drunken uncle blacks out on the soft barn floor. I go over to check him. There’s a pulse, he’s still breathing, he’ll probably be fine. Won’t remember what he did, but he’ll be fine. I drag him over to the area where I practice my craft, and sit him up next to the workbench. Doofus looks at my unconscious uncle in curiosity, forgetting his current predicament.
I step over to the cage, and look Doofus in the eyes. Er, eye.
“Listen to me very carefully, Doofus. I am going to take you out of the cage. If you try to run, you know what will happen. I am going to carry you over to this nice mister, who needs a friend and a hug right now. If you try to hug me, shitrat, you know what will happen. You are going to stay by his side, and hug him, and keep hugging him. If you try to leave, or stop hugging him, I’ll know, and I’ll come back and put you on a spike like those little shitrats over there. Understand?”
I point over to my masterpiece, turning the cage to give him another look, just so he gets it. I’m banking on the shitrat belief that humans are omnipotent ensuring his obedience. Doofus silently nods. He’s probably going to obey me just because it means he finally gets a hug. I’d think it was sad if his mere existence didn’t disgust me.
“One more thing. If any other humans come in, and ask you any questions, the only thing that you are allowed to tell them is that this mister is your monster daddy, and that he gave you all those wounds and put all those baby shitrats on those spikes. If you say anything else, I’ll know, and I’ll find you, wherever you are, and eat your other eye. Understand?” Okay, that’s a bluff. I draw the line at actually eating shitrats.
He nods again. Good. My brilliant scheme can now unfold.
“I am going to let you out now. If you do everything I have just told you to do, this is the last time you will ever see me. If you don’t, then the last time you will ever see me is when I hunt you down and kill you slowly. Got it?”
He nods a third time. This time, it’s not entirely a bluff. I stuck a cheap GPS chip in him the day I got started. It’s not one of those Flufftopia chips, designed specifically for the shitrats they sell, but it works just fine. I probably won’t bother to hunt him down if he disobeys.
As promised, I open the cage, grab Doofus by the scruff of his neck, and place him in my uncle’s lap. Doofus immediately starts hugging him, visibly relieved to finally be recieving some physical affection, even from an unconscious drunk with an STD. Dude didn’t even wrap it before he tapped it. Disgraceful.
Doofus is still crying, but this time they’re tears of joy. Again, it would be sweet if it wasn’t so disgusting. I suppress the urge to vomit. I can’t stand how saccharine shitrats were designed to be.
Then, after changing into the clean clothes I already had prepared, and checking one last time to see that Doofus is still following his orders, I exit the barn.
I make my way to the house and run inside with a look of feigned panic on my face, telling my parents that I just found Uncle Chris passed out in the old barn with a bunch of impaled fluffies.
They buy it, hook, line and sinker.
Suckers!
: Yer so edgy, ye just might cut yerself with all that edge you got going on there…