Phil looked at the carnage in the Pillowfluff pen. It was obvious that somehow, another fluffy had gotten in there, and shat all over their faces. All of the mares were crying, and most of the babies were crying too. Phil had no idea what him and Frank were going to do to clean everything up. Then he saw the dead fluffy. Blood, guts and dead babies had exploded out of its vagina, and then its head had been crushed by another fluffy’s hooves. A set of bloody hoof prints led away, but quickly faded to nothing in the saw dust on the bottom of the pen.
“A smarty,” said Frank, “A fucking smarty, in the pillowfluff tank.” He sighed and lit a cigarette. “How the fuck did it get in? And where is it now?”
Frank and Phil had a quick look around the pen, but couldn’t see anything other than Pillowfluffs and pillows.
“Okay,” said Frank. "The pillowfluff pen doesn’t have any litterboxes, because they can’t get to them. For this reason, the pillowfluff pen, and the “poopy-pen” have a grill in the middle with a tank underneath. We sweep all the poop in there, and empty the tank once a week. We’re gonna have to go in there, clean the fluffies faces off with some paper towels, and then sweep all the poop into the tank. Looks like most of them shat themselves with fear.
Phil and Frank made their way around the pen. Cleaning the fluffies one at a time, they asked them what had happened. The fluffies either said nothing, or made up crazy stories about flying munstahs, or just cried. When Frank saw that most of the kibble bowls had piss or shit in them, he got even more mad.
"That fucking smarty has shat everywhere, and they’re all too dumb and scared to tell us where he is now.
Frank tried to ask where the smarty was, how it had got in, and how it had got out, but everyfluffy gave a different answer, all of which were total bullshit. Phil carried on cleaning the fluffies, making a note of the fact that fear buys silence in Grandma Jeanie’s Shelter, then, he saw a little red mare sat in the corner, mercifully shit free.
“Hey little fluffy dude,” Phil asked, “How come you didn’t get pooped on?”
The red fluffy looked up at him, tilted her head to one side, and spoke.
“Da poop munstah nu see fwuffy, fwuffy am in cownew. Sumtiems hoomin-daddahs nu see fwuffy too, miss out on nummies. Huuuu huu huuu…” it started to cry.
"Well, looks like you’ve got plenty kibble in your bowl.
“Fwuffy can hav tweaty?” the red fluffy asked, wriggling excitedly.
“Uuuuh, I’m not sure about that,” Phil said, and then he spotted it. The damn fluffy was just sitting on its legs! It wasn’t a pillowfluff at all.
“GOTCHA!” Phil said, grabbing the fluffy and picking it up by its ears.
“AaaiiiEEE!” the fluffy cried, “BAD UPSIES!”
Phil turned to face Frank, who was still cleaning other fluffies, and failed to see a little red unicorn colt run and hid between the pillow and the wall of the pen.
“Hey Frank,” Phil yelled, “I think I’ve found us our Smarty!”
Frank came over, and looked at the fat red fluffy in disgust. Seeing the poopstains down its rear legs, it was obviously the shitter. Bloodstains on its front hooves confirmed it was the killer of Marzipan too.
“You murdering little bitch!” said Frank, grabbing the fluffy, and sounding angrier than Phil could have imagined he would get. “Why did you kill Marzipan? And why did you crap on all the other fluffies?”
The red mare puffed up her cheeks, “DIS AM JEWWY WAND. JEWWY AM DA SMAWTEH! HOOMIN-DADDAHS GIV JEWWY TWEATIES OW GET SOWWY POOPIES AN SOWWY HOOFIES! YU… AAAAAIIIIEEE!” The red fluffy screamed as Frank put his cigarette out on her nose.
“AAAAIEIEIE! NU HUWT FWUFFY!” it begged.
“Too late BITCH” said Frank, we have a strict policy on violent or cannibal fluffies. WE CUT OFF THEIR LEGS. That way, you can still be a milkbag for some other foals. And you milk bags look full of milk. Did you see any babies with this one Phil?"
“Errr, nope, maybe her foals are still in the other pen?”
“Maybe, we’d better take a look,” Frank nodded towards the other pen.
“Wha? Weggies? Nu take Jewwy-weggies! Jewwy need weggies for wun an pway an give huggies! Pwease daddah! Pwease nu take weggies! PWEEEAAAASE!”
Frank just shook his head in disgust, and threw the fat little fluffy into a sorry box. Phil knew it was going to be a good night.
Jelly sat in the sorry box. The dummeh hoomins shouldn’t have noticed! Her plan was perfect! The other mares had been too frightened to say anything, but then the Snake-Daddah had turned up and ruined everything. Jelly knew she would escape though. They would never take her weggies. The Claire-daddeh had threatened to take her leggies before, but it had never happened. No, Jelly knew she would escape. She was too smart for the dummeh-hoomins. She just had to think up a smart IDEA, like Snowflake used to do. The only problem was, whenever she tried to think of a Snowflake-like idea, an image of her dummeh-two wegged sister would pop into her mind, with Snowflake declaring: “DOOOOOOM!”
Jelly tried really hard to think of an idea.
Phil licked his lips in anticipation. He had persuaded Frank that he would be able to amputate the fluffy’s legs easily, as he wanted to become a vet and had read all about it. Frank had checked he knew what he was doing, and talked him through the checklist and procedure. Once Phil had convinced Frank that he could cope on his own, Frank had retired to the backroom, to watch TV and drink whisky. Phil waited until midnight, by which time, Frank was fast asleep again.
Walking into the holding-pen room, Phil turned on the lights.
“Bwight tiem? Awweady?”
“NUU! IT AM SNEK-DADDEH!”
“SNAKE-DADDAH! WUN! WUN!”
Phil walked over to the sorry box which was holding the red fluffy, dragged her out by her neck, and placed her on the counter-top. From here, all the fluffies in the B and C grade pens could see her. It was where he had put the TV for last night’s entertainment, but tonight would be a live show.
“Okay Fluffarino’s, same deal as before. YOU ALL HAVE TO WATCH. Any fluffy that doesn’t watch, will be SNAKE FOOD. As a reward for watching, I have a can of Alphabetty Spaghetti for each pen! Woooooooooo!”
Many of the fluffies were wimpering with fear, but plenty of dumb and feral fluffies were excited about the sketties.
“OKAY RED,” said Phil, smacking her down onto the table, “Its SHOW TIME.”
The little red fluffy wriggled and begged to be set free. Then it tried to bite him. Then it puffed out its cheeks and tried the whole Smarty act. Then it somehow managed to shit itself. Phil just laughed and strapped it down. Setting up his video camera, he pressed record, and also plugged it into the big TV, so that the other fluffies could watch.
“Yey! fwuffy wuv Teebee! Wat show am dis?” one particularly stupid fluffy asked. Red continued to struggle, but was strapped down and unable to escape.
“Now little fluffarinos, when amputating a fluffies legs, its very important to use anaesthetic.”
“Wat am anasfettik?” asked one fluffy, “wat am am-poo-tate?”
“Oh yes, I’m forgetting you guys know nothing about veterinary medicine,” Phil replied, “Amputate means CUTTING OFF LEGGIES, and anaesthetic is medicine to make sure there are no owwies. But today my little fluffies, I am going to use a new and untested anaesthetic. Today, we are going to use… VINEGAR.”
The red fluffy looked up at him with fear in her eyes. The stupid creature looked as though she was only just realising that this was actually for real. Phil filled up the syringe with cheap vinegar, and approached the helpless creature.
“Nu! Pwease Snake-Daddah! Pwease nu huwt Jewwy! Jewwy am sowwee! Pwease nu taek Jewwy-weggies,” the fluffy begged, sounding increasingly desperate. He cries for mercy would make this abuse video GOLD.
“Haha, so the fluffy has a name,” Phil laughed, “Tell me if the vinegar works to make the owwies go away Jelly, its for science!”
Jelly looked at the needle getting closer and closer to her legs. Phil giggled as he stabbed it into her front leg, plunging it in deep, and pressing the syringe until it pumped over 50ml of vinegar into her leg.
“AAAIIEIIIEEEEEYEYE!” Jelly shrieked, as the stinging liquid forced its way inside her muscles and under her skin, making it bulge obscenely as the fluid was far too much.
“Nuuuuuuu! Nu huwt fwuffy! Pweeeeeassee!” Jelly cried again, but Phil just went onto the next leg.
Ignoring the cries and squeals of the fluffy, Phil injected each leg with an excessive amount of vinegar. Just to make sure she was enjoying herself, he squirted a similar amount of vinegar all over her cigarette burned nose. Not content with her shrieks of pain from this, he squirted more vinegar up her nose, until she was choking on it and spitting vinegar out of her mouth.
Jelly’s cries were attracting the attention of other fluffies, begging Phil not to hurt her:
“Nuu! Nu huwt wittew fwuffy! It onwy wittew fwuffy! Pwease Snek-daddeh!”
“Nu huwt fwuffy, nu take fwuffies-weggies!” Others pleaded.
Turning towards them, Phil made a mental note of those that were hiding their eyes or turning away, before reminding them of their fate should they not watch it all.
“Now fluffies, if you’re ever going to chop off a fluffy’s leggies, its always best to use a nice, sharp, meat cleaver,” Phil help the cleaver aloft, letting the light shine on it, then brought it down hard and fast.
The cleaver bit deep into the wood of the counter-top, and the fluffy screamed in agony, before noticing that it had landed inches away from her front legs.
“Hahahahaha you stupid fluffy! I’m not going to use a cleaver on your legs!”
“Wha? w-w-weawy?” Jelly asked, “Snake daddah gunna wet Jewwy keep her weggies?”
“No!” cried Phil, “I’m going to use a ROLLING PIN instead!”
Phil brandished the rolling pin in the air, letting the fluffies see it, letting Jelly beg again and again, until her pleadings became a continuous high pitched squeal. Then he brought the rolling pin down hard on her back legs, crushing them and feeling the bones snap and shatter as he did. Watching the bones pierce her flesh and stab her in her sides. Phil brought the rolling pin down on her legs again and again, like a mallet, turning them into a pulp. Jelly’s screams were unbelievable.
Half way through, he waited, letting the fluffy catch her breath.
“How are you feeling fluffy?”
“Uuhhhhgh…” Jelly gurgled, and he noticed that she had thrown up and nearly bitten off her tongue. “P-p-pwease… nu huwt fwuffy mowe… fwuffy am sowwee,” it said, apparently so scared it had forgotten its own name.
“Too late for that,” Phil said, as he brought the rolling pin down repeatedly on the fluffies front two legs. Jelly screamed again, and Phil laughed as he reduced her front too legs to a pulp. He then asked the fluffy if she wanted him to cut the leggies off with the cleaver, to make the pain go away. Jelly was so desperate with pain that she readily agreed. Phil then used the cleaver, removing the mushed pulp of her legs, and making her scream even more with the white hot pain of the blade.
“Now, its time to cauterise!” said Phil, “That means, BURNIES!”
Phil plugged in an electric iron, and waited for it to get hot. While it heated up, Phil reminded Jelly of all the things she could never do any more.
“Nu more wun,” Phil said, in his best fluffy voice, “No more pway. No more huggies. No more wuv. No more poopie in da witterbox!” he sang, remembering the show on FluffTV. “No more happiness.”
Jelly bawled her eyes out, clearly realising that her legs were gone forever.
Then, Phil cauterised her bleeding stumps by burning them with the electric iron.
Jelly shrieked like a banshee, no doubt experiencing pain beyond anything he had earlier inflicted. Her flesh hissed and sizzled as the iron burnt it raw, and she screamed and screamed and screamed.
“Now its time for a special cream, that makes the owwies go away, and ensure’s the stumps heal up properly,” said Phil, to his audience of shocked and terrified fluffies. “Should I give Jelly the special cream?”
“Giv speciaw cweam!” the fluffies agreed, “Nu huwt Jewwy nu mowe!”
“Giv Sketties, fwuffys am watch Teebee wike Snake-Daddah say,” said some other, greedier fluffies.
“Oh you’ll get your sketties alright, right after I apply the special sauce… er I mean cream.” Phil reached into his abuse-bag and drew out something very special.
“As a science experiment, I am going to use an unusual special cream for Jelly’s stumps.” Phil explained, “I am going to use… DA DA DA DA DA DA DA… Drumroll… CHILLI SAUCE. Uncle Bob’s Insanity Chilli Sauce to be exact.”
“Nu! Dat buwny!” cried a single feral fluffy, who had no doubt encounted the sauce once before and never forgotten the experience.
“Naw, its not that burny,” said Phil, “although I am going to put some gloves on first, just to make sure I don’t get any on my hands.”
Phil then loomed over the crying fluffy, and liberally squirted Uncle Bob’s Insanity Chilli Sauce all over her freshly cauterised stumps. Jelly’s screams began anew, but this time they didn’t stop. The burning just went on and on. To make sure she really got the message, Phil inserted the nozzle of the insanity sauce dispenser into her special place, and squeezed. He hadn’t thought it possible, but her screams actually seemed to increase in intensity. Phil pulled the nozzle out, inserted it into her poopy place, and squirted some hot sauce in there too. Then he did the same with her eyes, ears, nose and mouth.
By this point, Jelly was half screaming and half choking. Desperately trying to get the intensely burning sauce out of her every orifice. She gagged, and threw up, nearly choking on her own vomit. Phil was concerned for a moment that she might choke and die, but Jelly was not that lucky.
“What to do with you now, what to do with you now…” Phil wondered.
“Uughghg… need wawa… ow miwkies” Jelly gasped, unable to comprehend the pain she was experiencing, her every breath agony.
“I’m sick of hearing your screams, and you can’t tell Frank about this,” Phil said, bringing the rolling pin down on her head.
From the Pillowfluff pen, Red Conan watched, wide eyed and terrified. He could not believe what the Snake-Daddah had done. Phil carried Jelly over to the pillowfluff pen. Maybe he would put her down on a pillow nesty? Then Red Conan could give her huggies and make it all better, but no, Conan watched as Phil lifted the grate off of the poop tank in the middle of the pen, and threw Jelly’s legless body down into the poop.
“Don’t worry dudes, she’s not dead, just sleeping for a bit,” the Snake-Daddah said, before replacing the grill.
Even though his mummah was horribly mutilated, Red Conan did not cry. Red Conan wanted revenge.
Jelly woke up from an horrific dream. Snowflake and mummah-Claire had been doing things to her, horrible things, like cutting off her leggies, and putting burny sauce all over her. Jelly had begged them to stop, but they had just laughed and carried on, calling her a dummeh-stoopid-poopie-fluffy and hurting her even more.
When Jelly came to, she realised the pain was real. She was in a dark sorry box, and the pain was like fire! Her face, her legs, her special place and poopie place, everything burned horribly, and throbbed with her every heart-beat. Jelly tried to call out for help, but a dull ache made her realise that her jaw was broken, and when she tried to move her tongue, a sharp stab of pain made her realise it had been cut out of her mouth. Jelly was only able to make a feeble wimper.
Some hours passed, and Jelly threw up again. Somehow, she managed to pee and poop a little, which washed a bit of the burny sauce out of her places, and her tears meant that her eyes and nose cleared a little. After a couple of hours, she realised that the sorry box she was in stank of poopie and pee-pee, and that she was sat in about an inch of total filth. The box was quite big, and the only way in was a set of closely spaced iron bars at the top of the box, like a cage, but with light coming in from above.
Jelly looked up and blinked. It was hard to focus her tear streaked eyes, but she managed to see several foals looking down at her.
HELP! Jelly tried to say, but nothing came out beyond a pathetic gurgle of blood and pain.
“Munstah!” said one of the foals, “It am a munstah! In da poopie tank!”