My name is Paul. I have one hobby.
It all started when my beloved fluffy Maribell wanted babbehs. I told her I didn’t want a bunch of babbehs and that they are a big responsibility, but she insisted. She’s neutered so she knows she can’t have her own, but one afternoon when we were walking down by the Fluffy Park, she spotted a brown and green soon mummah babbling happy little songs to herself and her tummeh babbehs.
She was just barely able to walk, looked like she might burst at any moment. I approached with a smile. "Hello! You look like you’re a soon mummah!" I was laying it on thick and she was eating it up. She gasps in surprise. “Das wite! Patwisha am soon mummah! Hab wots ub tummeh babbehs! Gon be bestest mummah!” I chuckled and patted her head. “Well I’m looking for a soon mummah to live in my big warm house with me and Maribell here.” Maribell stared at the bloated mare wordlessly.
“Uhhmmm, das otay nice mistuh, Patwisha hab speciaw fwend fow nummies and keep mummah an tummeh babbehs safesies. Fankyu stiww!” Huh. Unexpected. "Well at least let me give you bestest sketties." That got her attention and she practically leapt up. “Skettis? Mummah nu hab sketties since wibe in big wawm howsie pwace! Hooway!” She started waddling towards us but paused. “Can…can wait fow speciaw fwend?” Damn. “No, but how about this. We’ll go to my house, you start eating spaghetti, and I’ll come back here to fetch your special friend!” The idea was agreeable to her and she trundled off with us.
Once inside I got some cheap ramen and gave it to her. I told Maribell to take care of her so her babbehs will be strong and I returned to the park. By her nest I saw a very nervous looking stallion. He was a blue unicorn and…no. Wait. No he isn’t. That’s not a horn.
It’s a motherfucking party hat.
“Oh wow! A party fluffy!” He turned suddenly. “Nu! Nu du dat nu mowe!” I crossed my arms in mock thought. “But you have the hat.” He stomped and huffed. "NU! Dis pwetty pawty hat am onwy fing Bwian hab! Pwetty hat make Bwian feew speciaw an bwave! Bu nu am dummeh pawty fwuff nu mowe!" Fine. Whatever. I’ll change the subject.
“Looking for your special friend?” He perked up. He’d been trying to brush me off but now I had his rapt attention. “Wha? Whewe? Ou knu Patwisha? Whewe soon mummah Patwisha? Whewe Bwian an Patwisha babbehs?” I chuckled. Got him. “She’s at my house having spaghetti. Do you want to come?” His demeanor changed entirely. He started prancing around yelling “Skettis! Bwian gunna hab bestest nummies! Wub sketties! Wub nice mistah! Fankyu!” I led him home three blocks and entered through the garage.
It was well lit and my car wasn’t inside, so he followed without worry. As he reached the inner door, his celebratory dancing and singing was basically just "Sketties, sketties, ske-tties!" I hit the button to close the loud garage door and he jumped. Shit himself too. “Screee! Scawy! Nu wike woud noisies! Sabe Bwian!” He started to clutch desperately at my leg nuzzling his big fuzzy snout on my jeans.
I grabbed a ziptie from my workbench, looped it, slid it over his snout, and pulled it so tight it drew blood. He tried to scream but it was just a soft “MMMMMMMHUHUMMMM” sound. He was pawing impotently at his snout with his hooves when I clipped the excess plastic with my wirecutters. He resumed struggling only to slice open his right front hoof on the sharp plastic edge. I lifted him by his tail, made sure to snap my wrist a bit to separate the bones. I took him over to the big trashcan full of grass clippings and dropped him in. “I’ll be back for you.” He looked up with his big sad eyes as if expecting explanation. “Hey, be glad you’re a Party Fluff. Otherwise I’d have just zip tied you and kicked you out to starve.” He slumped. Defeated.
I went back inside and Patricia was happily eating spaghetti and singing soon mummah songs. Maribell just looked bored but perked up when she saw me. “Daddeh backsies! Can hab babbehs nao?” Jesus. One track mind.
I went to our guest and picked her up by her scalp mane. She started hollering and thrashing. “Nuuuuuu! Bad upsies! Bad for soon mummah! Bad fow tummeh babbehs! Nu wike!” Her kicking and wriggling didn’t do much but tucker her out. I entered the garage knowing that her mate could hear her. I plopped her down on my workbench. My plan had worked. She was now JUST big enough that she couldn’t walk. “Hewp! Sumbuddy hewp soon mummah Patwisha! Meanie hoomin am munstah! Wan gib fowebba sweepies tu tummeh babbehs!” I laughed a deep belly laugh. “No, but my little girl in there wants foals and she gets what she wants.”
She pondered for a moment, slowed by adrenaline. “N…nu! Nu! Udda fwuffy nu can hab Patwisha babbehs! Babbehs nu am fow udda fwuffy! Nee mummah!” She was terrified and started puffing her cheeks to feel brave. Her eyes told the story her face was working to conceal. She’d already lost.
I got more zipties and looped them carefully around each leg. All the way up at the hip joint. Then I pulled each of them as tight as I could. Should cut off blood flow. She was yelling and begging and screaming and sobbing. It was annoying, so I got a can of WD-40 and started spraying it in her face whenever she spoke up. Eventually, after vomiting a few times, she got the hint and shut the fuck up.
I moved her to a small pen I’d been building for a project and aligned her with the food and water tubes. I grabbed some headphones, plugged them into my tape deck, and turned on the “weggies hatechu” tape I’d made with Maribell. She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her weggies telling her she’s a dummeh and a bad fluffy and that they’re not going to walk for her anymore because they hate her and want her babbehs to die.
This way I was able to drag her mate out of the clippings. He was caked in grass, shit, and blood. He looked miserable and kept trying to suckle on his wounded hoof before remembering that his mouth was sealed.
I held him aloft by his neck scruff and brought him around to the side yard. Here I held him up and socked him in the gut a few times to empty him out. Fertilized the bushes. Then I got my wirecutters out and clipped the tie, releasing his mouth.
Immediately he spit out chunks of teeth and a weak sob followed. “Huuuuu, sowwy teefies, nu mean make wowstest chompies an bweak aww teefies huuhuhuhuuuuuu…” He was miserable to be sure, and I helped expand on his misery by tearing his faded party hat off his head. “Nu! Pwease gif Bwian pwetty pawty hat! Wub hat fwend! Make Bwian feew wike pointy fwuffy!” I crumpled it up as he “nuuuuuued” at me then shoved it in his mouth. He tried to spit it out so I shoved it back harder and harder until he gave up and started chewing. It took a while, but he got it down. “Huuuuuu sowwy hat fwend… Nao Bwian nu speciaw nu mowe.” I held him to my face. “Okay Party Foal, here’s the-” He found his voice and cut me off. “Nu! Nu am pawty fwuff nu mowe! Nu am dummeh foaw! Am big fwuffy! Gunna be daddeh! Ou nu huwt Speciaw fwend Patwisha nu mowe ow Bwian-” Now it was my turn. I slapped him.
“Stop. You’re not Brian. You don’t have a name. You’re just a party foal now.” He puffed his cheeks and tears streamed forth. "Nu! Nu faiw! Bwian am Bwian! Nu pawty foaw! Nu dummeh babbeh! Nu gunna be wefewee nu mowe! Nu eben hab pawty hat! Dummeh hoomin make…make Bwian…huuuuuuu su sowwy pwetty pawty hat…"
I returned to the garage and grabbed my Gorilla Glue and a small plastic funnel. I applied the glue to the rim and pressed it down on his head. He was yelling about hurties and pwease stahp but the glue set quickly. When I let him down he tried frantically to remove it. When that just hurt his scalp, he started stumbling around bumping into stuff in a blind panic. “Nuuuuu! Weggu ub Bwian! Dummeh nu-pawty-hat gu way!” I picked up an extension cord and lashed him with it. “SCREEEEEEEEE! NUUUUU! OWWIES! NU HUWT BWIAN! BWIAN AM GUD BW-” I kept hitting him. “No. You’re Party Foal. That is your name. Remember your name. If you use that ugly stupid name again, I’m not going to just hurt you.” I wheeled around and pulled the headphones off of the mare, then spun her to face her mate. “Bwian! Speciaw Bwian sabe Patwisha an babbehs! Hewp!” But he was broken. “Huuuu sowwy speciaw fwend, hoomin am scawy meanie munstah an twick B…twick…huuuuuu twick Pawty Foaw…” His mate sobbed. “Nuuu! Nu faiw! Wai Bwian nu hab pwetty namesie nu mowe?” He choked back tears and explained. “Hoomin nu wet hab owd namesie. Onwy wan Pawty Foaw tu hab dummeh nyu namesie. Hoomin…hoomin gib huwties if nu wissen…” Patricia understood. Hoomins are powerful. “Huuuu su sowwy. Patwisha awways wub ou, speciaw fwend. Nu cawe bout namesie ow pwetty hat ow nuffin. Ou awways Bwian tu Patwisha.” He huuhuued hopelessly. He knew he’d lost. He knew I’d taken everything from him.
He thought I’d taken everything from him.
While they concluded their tearful reunion, I retrieved a small box with two prongs. I placed them right on her forehead by the frontal lobe. “Say goodbye Patricia.” She got a “Wha?” out before I zapped her.
She awoke a few seconds later, staring at the father of her children, the light of her life. Blankly, almost innocently, she spoke. “Nyu fwiend?”
Now I’ve taken everything from you, shithead.