My First Fluffies Part 4 by Ryan Fullmer
The Tale of Fucktard
I exited my locked bathroom with a heavy heart. They’re going to be beaten to death? With what exactly? Are the cops going to whip out those classic billy clubs and simply wail on them until they expire? Granted they had done nothing to endear themselves to me but the idea of bludgeoning them into red stained globs of fluff was simply wrong. And how long had this practice been on the books? And why? Hopefully the police would be willing to wait a moment and explain things before…ahem discharging their duty.
I walked back into my kitchen, my fear of the fluffies replaced by pity. It was time for some more phone research to find out more on Utah fluffy law. It couldn’t possibly have changed so little in the twenty years since high school. As I walked back into my kitchen to wait for the police to arrive I heard loud crying and sniffling coming from behind my back door. Now what I forgot to mention is that my house technically has two back doors, one that opens into the garage from the kitchen and then another that opens from the garage into the backyard. The one I had closed in front of the fluffies had been the one going into the kitchen and it now seemed to have a crying fluffy behind it. So not all of them left after their pleas fell on deaf ears? I crept up to the door and pressed my ear to it.
“Huhuhuhuuuu! Wai daddeh weave fwuffy?” I heard the creature sob. “Pwease come backies daddeh! Fwuffy wuv daddeh su muchies! Nu ask fow toysies ow sketties, jus wan daddeh backsies! Huhuhuhu!”
Has this thing been sobbing behind my back door since I hid in the bathroom? How long was I on the phone in there? I continued to listen.
“Huhuhuhu, pwease come backies daddeh! Am sowwy fo be wowstest fwuffy. Nu knu wat du, but nebah du gain!”
Did it know I was on the other side of the door listening? I held my breath and tried not to move a muscle.
“Wai daddehs nu wuv fwuffy? Nu wan woose daddehs nu mowe! Ebewy time fwuffy get daddeh, daddeh nu wan fwuffy! Nebah teww wai! Huhuhuhu!”
Was this particular specimen abandoned? I already had vague ideas of repatriating the fluffies if I could manage it. Total Kill Law or not I had more respect for life than to just let the fluffies get butchered.
“Jus wan DADDEH! HUHUHUHU!” the fluffy wailed at max volume, causing me to jerk away from the door. “WAN HUGGIES AN WUV! FWUFFIES AM FOW HUGGIES AN WUV!”
This thing going to wail like this until I showed my face My sympathy was triggered and before I knew it I was opening the door. Laying flat on its stomach on the stoop was a green and yellow fluffy, its legs splayed out in a classic “sploot”, its face absolutely soaked with tears, boogers bubbling out of its nose and its body heaving with racking sobs. It was without a doubt the most pathetic thing I had ever seen in my entire life. I stared down at the thing in consternation as it continued to whine and blubber.
“Hey, fluffy…” I said, not sure what to say to this complete wreck of a creature. The moment I spoke his crying stopped. His eyes opened, his head rose off the cement steps and slowly turned to face me. His eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and he let out another one of those epic fluffy gasps.
“Daddeh…” it whispered in a tone of utmost reverence.
“Uh oh,” I said, realizing what was about to happen. Before I could slam the door shut the fluffy flew right at me and attached itself to my right leg. Jumping back with a yell I managed to keep my wits about me enough to remember to shut the door so no other fluffy could assault me with affection.
“DADDEH! DADDEH CUM BACKSEIS! DADDEH WEAWY WUV FWUFFY! WUV DADDEH! DADDEH AM BESTEST DADDEH! AM GIF BESTEST HUGGIES AN WUV TO BESTEST DADDEH!” the creature screamed as he held onto my leg.
“Auuugh! Fluffy on my leg! Leg fluffy! LEG FLUFFY!” I shouted back. The Benny Hill music commenced as I hopped about and kicked my leg like a can can dancer, trying to get him to lose his grip on me. We danced around the kitchen together like this with the fluffy soaking my pant leg with tears and snot as he continued to shout words of adoration: “FWUFFY STAY WIFF DADDEH FO EBAH AND EBAH! AM HAB BESTEST HUGGIES AND SNUGGIES AND PWAY AWW DA TIME! WUUUHUHUHUHUUUV DADDEH! FWUFFY KNU DADDEH WEAWY WUV FWUFFY AN WOUWD CUM BACK FO FWUFFY! WIWW HAB BESTEST WUN AN PWAY TIMES AND WAWMEST FWUFFPIWE FOW SWEEPIES TIME AN EAT BESTEST SKETTIES EBEWY DAY!”
I braced myself against my kitchen counter and tried to push it off of me with the heel of my shoe, and when that didn’t work I tried to force my foot between it and my leg. Each time the fluffy held on fast, howling about “DADDEH NEBAH WEAVE FWUFFY! FWUFFY NEBAH WEAVE DADDEH!” This thing was strong for a little guy! Yeah, I could have just ripped it off with my bare hands but I didn’t want to touch it! I had no idea where it had been!
“Get! Off! My! Leg!” I said as I did my best imitation of karate kicks to punctuate each word. The fluffy eventually lost purchase with my pants and with a kind of “Thock!” popped off of my leg and went sliding across the hardwood floor on his backside. He hit the kitchen wall with a thump and sat there with a bemused look, his tail between his legs.
It blinked several times, astonished to see that he no longer had a hold of his daddy. It then looked at me, standing apart from it and staring at it as I caught my breath. I saw the tears begin to form in it’s fried egg eyes. “Daddeh nu wuv fwuffy…”
“Oh no, please! Don’t start…”
The creature let out a wail. “HUHUHUHUUUUU! AHHHHUUUHUHUHUHUUUUU! WAAAAAAAAH!”
“Crying again!” I finished, covering my face with my hands. The fluffy had flung it’s hooves over its face and was crying fit to die. It must have really, really, really wanted a daddy! Over everything else in the entire world! Was this part of their innate psychology? I could see how Hasbro would want the fluffies to love their owners unconditionally but this was something else. In fact so far the fluffies had proven to be riddled with neurosis. Invading back yards, crapping on people, running around with their eyes closed, emotionally disassembling at the first sign of rejection. Had they really been like this ever since they were introduced?
I could find that out later. Right now I needed to be able to hear myself think again. At minimum I knew one thing that would make fluffies listen to me. I took a deep breath and roared “FLUFFY, SHUT UP!” for the second time that day. The little green ball of sorrow jolted upright and stared at me with an “Eeep!” It also made a loud “Plbptlbptlbpt” sound and a yellow puddle developed around it. It had just pooped and peed itself.
“Gross!” I yelled.
“NUUUU!” squealed the fluffy. “Nu mean tu make bad poopies and peepees! Nu am bad fwuffy! Nyu daddeh pwease nu huwt fwuffy!” it begged for mercy.
“That’s not important right now! If you truly believe that I am your daddy you will obey me and remain silent!” I said, trying to leverage my position with him.
The fluffy looked up at me, tilted it’s head and said “Wha?” Did it not understand what I had just said? “Wha daddeh mean?”
“I mean that you aren’t letting me get a word in edgewise.”
“Wai daddeh make big confusie wowdies? Fwuffy nu undahstan!” it whined. “Fwuffy jus wan gib huggies an wub to daddeh!” It slowly raised its arms up to me, its eyes brimming with tears and its equine muzzle trembling. It blew a big snot bubble out of its nose and it popped. Was it aware of how heavy it was laying on the pathos?
“What I mean is…” I said, trying to force the conversation the way I wanted to go. “I need you to be quiet and listen to me.” Hopefully that statement was simple enough for the thing to understand.
“Otay,” it wheezed. “Wiww be quiet and wisten to daddeh. Den get huggies?” it asked, raising its arms to me once again. It was clearly obsessed with getting me to hug it. Speaking of “it” I could now see that “it” was a “he.” Thanks to his spread-eagled legs I could clearly see his dick and balls. Disgusting.
“I’m not hugging you until you’ve had a bath,” I said.
“Bu wawa am bad fow fwuffies!” it protested.
“Wawa is bad for fluffies???” What the crap was “wawa” supposed to be? “Leeeet’s just forget about that for now and try to get you cleaned up,” I said, deciding to leave the quest for the meaning of wawa alone for the moment. Better to focus on getting rid of the smell of pee and poo in my kitchen. “Just hold still right there…” I had to think fast before he started to ask for hugs again, or worse yet get up and try to pursue me, spreading his manure all over the place. Keeping my gaze on the fluffy I went to grab my rubber cleaning gloves and then went to retrieve a roll of paper towels cake pan. “Stay right there. Good little fluffy,” I said, trying to reassure him that my attention was still his.
The fluffy gasped and his eyes went wide. “Fucktawd am gud fwuffy!?” it shouted at me. I winced at his sudden increase in volume. I took note never to passively praise these things again.
Trying to think as fast as my frazzled brain would allow, I decided to just go ahead and lean into it. “Yes, yes, you are a good fluffy. Just please let’s get your mess dealt with…wait just a second, who did you say you were again?”
“Huh?” said the fluffy.
Just how simple did I have to be with these things? “Do you have a name?” I then asked very simply.
“Daddeh’s nyu fwuffy am Fucktawd!” it proudly declared.
“What kind of name is that???” A highly profane name, that’s what.
“Dat am namsie owd daddeh gif tu Fucktawd…” the fluffy said sadly, sniffling again.
“And it let’s me know a lot about your old dad in one word,” I said. It also raised an unending stream of very disturbing questions about this person.
“Daddeh mummah nu wike namsie. Say namsie am meanie wowdie. Buh Fucktawd stiww wuv namsie! Wuv owd daddeh!” said the fluffy. This display of loyalty would be heartwarming if it weren’t so stupid. The unfortunate implications of his name were making me rethink my whole goal of sending the fluffies back home, at least for…sigh Fucktard.
I knelt down, set the paper towels and the cake pan down next to him and started thinking of how to pick this kid up. His little puddle of feculent had managed to stay under his butt. I guessed the fur on his backside was absorbent enough to prevent a huge mess. Eugh. I knelt there for a while, breathing very shallow so as to not breath in too much of the stench.
“Wat am daddeh doin?” asked Fucktard.
“Working up the courage to touch you I guess,” I answered. Who knew where these things had been. Fucktard’s fur looked like he had been trying to clean the roads with himself. Figuring I might as well pick him up in the usual way I moved in and attempted to scruff him.
“BAD UPSIES!” he squealed before I had a chance to get a grip on him.
I yanked my arm back. “What!? What happened? What did I do?”
“Daddeh gif bad upsies! Daddeh twy tu huwt fwuffy!”
Upsies??? Did he have squicky cute words for everything in life? “How am I supposed to pick you up then?” I demanded.
“Howd fwuffy wike babbeh!” he cried.
“I am not cradling you, no way,” I emphatically refused. Fucktard began to sob and sniffle again. “Let’s try the sides then.” I carefully laid my hands between his fore and hind legs and gently squished and poofed his fluff as I tried to test my grip without upsetting him further. Once I was sure that I wasn’t going to drop him and that he wasn’t going to cry I at last managed to pick him up.
The change in his attitude happened almost immediately. For a brief moment his demeanor shifted from sad to confused as he left the ground, as if he was wondering how he was suddenly flying. The moment he realized I was holding him the tears and sobs ceased and his muzzle split into a massive grin.
“Heehee! Wike upsies! Daddeh gif upsies!” he squealed, giggling and wiggling his legs around.
I paused and stared at him. His reaction to being picked up gave me tonal whiplash. So much so that I began to consider whether or not Fucktard was mentally ill. The poor thing had a swear word for a name and seemed to like it! Shaking my head vigorously to clear out the confusion, I then gently placed him in the cake pan, thus removing him from my floor and ensuring that he could not track anything anywhere.
“Wai fwuffy am in metaw boxie?” asked Fucktard.
“Um…to keep my floor clean,” I explained, keeping it simple and truthful.
“Fucktawd nu wike cowdie metaw boxie,” he sniffled.
“Well, stay in it for me for just a bit longer please.”
“Otay nyu daddeh…sniffle”
I could now wipe up the floor without obstruction. I seemed to be dealing with bodily fluids a lot today; first my own and now this fluffy’s. To his credit he stayed in the cake pan as I had asked and watched as I handled his vile little waist pile.
“Can Fucktawd hab cweansies tu? Nu smeww pwetty,” he sniffled at me.
Tossing my used paper towels into the trash I grab some new ones and try to pat Fucktard down as best I can. I was right. His fluff was very absorbent. With every wipe I squeezed brown and yellow liquid out of his already foul ass and had to suppress my gag reflex. Another pile of soiled paper towels later and Fucktard still did not look or smell any better despite being dryer. “That will have to do until you have a bath,”I said.
“Buh wawa am bad fow fwuffies!” Fucktard reitereated.
“I still don’t know what wawa is but that is not important right now. Right now I want to find out more about your old daddy.” I picked up Fucktard’s cake pan and sat him down on the kitchen counter. Now that he was closer to my height, interrogating him would be much, much easier.
“So then…” I began, “Does your old daddy have a name?”
“Daddeh am daddeh!” said Fucktard.
“That’s not what I meant. What is his name?”
“Huh? Fwuffy daddeh am Daddeh!”
This was getting me nowhere very fast. “So you’re telling me that you don’t know your daddy’s real name?”
Fucktard looked at me bemusedly. “Nyu daddeh makies nu sensies! Wha fwuffy caww daddeh cept daddeh?”
That was, remarkably, the most profound and insightful thing I had heard a fluffy say yet. “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “But for future reference I want you to know my real name at least.”
“Huh?”
Right. I have to keep it stupid. “My real name is Ryan,” I said, patting myself on the chest.
Fucktard’s face dropped and he began to tear up again. “Nyu daddeh nu am nyu daddeh?”
And the profundity was gone. His daddy was going to be his daddy or nothing else. “Never mind. I’m your new daddy. But I can’t help you find your old daddy if I don’t know his name or where he lives!”
“Owd daddeh nu wuv fwuffy nu mowe!” he cried.
“How do you know that?”
“Owd daddeh make biggest shouties and thwow fwuffy out of nice housie!”
“He threw you out of the house? Why?”
He started crying again as he explained. “Fwuffy nu knu! Fwuffy aways gif bestest huggies an wuv to daddeh! Nebbah make bad peepies or poopies! Aways twy an pway wif daddeh! Buh daddeh nebbah wan to pway or hab huggies wiff fwuffy huhuhuhuuu!” He snorted and sniffed to clear his booger clogged sinuses. “Aways say huwtie wowdies to fwuffy an sumtimes fowget to gif nummies and wawas! Daddeh jus nu wike fwuffy huhuhu! Uh fwuffy stiww wuv daddeh. Daddeh gif namsie to Fucktawd. Fwuffy sposed to wuv daddeh.”
His story of trying to be a loyal pet to an indifferent owner would have tugged at the heartstrings if the baby talk hadn’t totally killed the delivery. I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I mentally translated what he had told me. “How on earth did you end up with an owner who never actually wanted a fluffy?” I asked him.
“Fucktawd am pwesent! Am big supwise!” said Fucktard, suddenly cheering up again. “Daddeh-mummah choose fwuffy fwum fwuffy stowe! Daddeh-mummah say am bwing fwuffy tu nice homsie an be daddeh’s fwuffy!” he excitedly explained.
Of course I had to decipher the explanation first. I got the part about him being purchased as a gift though. “What on earth is a daddeh-mummah?” I asked.
Fucktawd giggled a bubbly, high pitched giggle. “Siwwy nyu daddeh! Fwuffy hab owd daddeh, an owd daddeh hab mummah! Am daddeh mummah!” he happily taught me, cheering up even more now that he got the chance to educate me. I simply must take another detour and mention this creature’s mood swings again. At this point I wanted to compare them to the worst forms of bipolar depression but human manic episodes are defined by extreme hyperactivity, overwhelming obsession, endless chatter and eventual self destruction. This fluffy appeared to be, god help me, actually cheerful. His look of happiness clashed horribly with his tear and snot stained fur that he had been sobbing into just seconds before.
“So you were bought by a daddy-mother to be given to a daddy? Oooooh!” It hit me like a revelation. “You’re old daddy is a child. You were bought for him by HIS mother. I get it now,” Now things were all coming together. His old daddy was most likely a disinterested middle schooler, habitually neglecting his unwanted pet. Only a 12 to 15 year old would think of naming their pet Fucktard. Stupid woman, never trust a boy of that age to take an active interest in another living being! “But how did you get hooked up with that Smarty outside?”
“Huh?”
Drat, I did it again. “Why are you following that Smarty?”
“Fucktawd was outsidies, twying to get back in homsie thru da dow. Daddeh nu wisten and weave fwuffy fow many fowebahs! Den Smawty cum, say am pawt ob hewd! Gif wostest sowie hoovsies to Fucktawd! Nu wet stay wiff daddeh and daddeh-mummah! Nao nu can get back homsie huhuhuhu!” Just as quickly as he had cheered up he was back to sobbing again.
So that was the story of Fucktard. His deadbeat kid owner finally gets sick of him and tosses him out in the front yard just in time to get pressganged by a feral smarty. He probably had a normal name of some kind but I seriously doubted I’d ever learn it from him. He was far too devoted to his lost cause of an owner to go by anything other than his profane nickname. Nor would I probably ever get so much as an address for his home from him either. Not that I wanted to send him back to his living situation but the owner’s mom might like to know what became of the family pet. I’d have to find alternative methods of locating his erstwhile family to inform them of their miscreant son’s misdeeds.
“Thank you….ugh Fucktard. That is everything I wanted to know,” I said, grimly nodding and trying to show him sympathy.
“Can hab huggies nao?” he asked, raising up his arms.
Crap. “Oh God…I uh yes ummm…I did promise you didn’t I?” A promise is a promise Ryan! Time to embrace the dirt and feces encrusted fluffy! I “hemmed” and “hawed” and looked around me, trying to by time as I thought of how to avoid actually hugging Fucktard. In desperation I settled on giving Fucktard some headpats and prayed to God that he would be satisfied with them. As my pink dish gloved hand touched his head he closed his eyes and giggled. Phew! Crisis averted!
“Hehehee! Fucktawd wuv head patties!” He said, and he closed his eyes and began to rapidly rotate his torso as he waved his front legs about.
“Uh, yes, you are a very good fluffy. Thank you for answering all my questions,” I solemnly praised him. He then started to thrash about where he sat in a manner that was perversely adorable.
“Fucktawd am gud fwuffy! Fucktawd am gud fwuffy!” he said back to me.
“You fall to bits at the slightest sign of affection don’t you?” I said, but he didn’t hear me. That is when I heard the knock at my door.
Oh boy…
