It’s Saturday morning. The weekend following Princess Caroline’s becoming the first fluffy to make my SOB list. My parents have gone to a farmer’s market telling me they’d be home around lunchtime with some locally grown produce (and “whatever crap some art school drop out dupes your mom into buying…” he whispered to me with a wink, his disposition as sunny as ever).
“Look after your sister and Princess Caroline while we’re gone, bye sweetheart!” My mom says, kissing me on the cheek to my embarrassment. I hug her back. “‘Kay mom…” I say, in the awkward sullen teenager way that I despised but couldn’t seem to escape. It seems so cliche. But I’m 17 so maybe I’m too hard on myself. My dad fakes like he’s going to punch me in the stomach. “Behave yourself…” he says, getting a smile out of his sullen teenage son, despite my efforts to remain sullen and aloof.
“Sure dad. Enjoy the farmer’s market. Try to get mom to buy something wicker…” I say grinning.
My dad rolls his eyes. “I’m sure your mother will find some wicker garbage she hasn’t bought already.”
My mom shoots him a dirty look as they walk out the door. “Wicker ‘seasonal accessories’ I meant…” I hear my dad say as the door to the garage closes, and he digs himself deeper.
I’d always been an early riser. But Lizzy missed that gene and hadn’t been up before 10 or 11 am on a Saturday since she’d started school. I carefully opened her door around 8:30 am, as Princess Bitch-‘n-wine usually woke up a couple of hours before her. My mom usually dealt with the spoiled pink pegasus and let my sister sleep in on weekends. Since mom isn’t here, I’ll let Lizzy sleep, maybe get back in her good graces after dropping her fat pink fluffy after it had screeched like a stuck pig a couple of days ago, when she’d thrown a tantrum over my interrupting their tea party.
Wish that Miss Piggy looking mutant would get her throat cut… I think to myself as I hear the annoying bratty voice from the bottom of the staircase and begin to trudge up the stairs towards my sister’s bedroom. I carefully open the door, not wanting to startle the fluffy and awaken my sister who was a deep sleeper and might not have awakened yet, despite the high-pitched, non stop chatter from the evil Princess Caroline (‘may her Reign be Short’!).
I open the door to see my sister asleep on her little canopy bed that had been in my family since my grandmother was a little girl. Hopping around her like a coked up chihuahua, the fat fluffy shrills “…wakesy uppsy widdle Mumah Wizzy! It’s bwight time!…Mumah’s Pwecious Widdle Bestest Fiwwy wan pway bawl and stack bwockies and eat sketties and go to da pawk and pway hidey-seekies, and…”
“Shhhhhh! Don’t wake Lizzy up you dumb bitch.” I say after seeing Lizzy is still snoring quietly as her fluffy tugs at her down comforter and jumps on her and around her like the spoiled bitch she is.
“(Gasp) Pwincess Cawowine nu wike bad wowdsies, Not-daddeh.” Princess Caroline says with her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed at me in disgust. “Pwincess Cawowine gonna tellsies Widdle Mumah and Big Mumah that Not-daddy say meanie tings and bad wowdsies to Pwincess Cawowine. Big Daddeh gonna be wowstest maddies…” she says turning away from me with her nose upturned.
I manage not to drop kick the little brat right out my sister’s second story window, smiling at the thought of the fluffy pink pegasus yelling ‘Fwuffy can fwy!!!’ before hitting the concrete of our driveway below, glass showering behind her as she realized the moment before face planting that fwuffy could most certainly NOT fwy.
“Oh well okay Princess Caroline. I guess you don’t want the bestest treat I was going to give you….” I say turning to leave.
“Wait! Wait! Pwincess Cawowine wan tweaties!” She yells leaping from my sister’s canopy bed and eating shit face first into the plush carpet. Her little useless wings buzz impotently as her rotund form rolls towards me on the carpet. “Owchies! Hu hu hu! Pwincess Cawowine hab wuhstest fallie huwties!” The pink pegasus wails, my sister’s soft snoring falters, and she turns over away from the noise, sleeping through the fluffy histrionics.
“Be quiet Caro-Swine, you’ll wake Lizzy!” I whisper shout harshly.
“Hu Hu Hu. Am not Swiney—am fwuffy, Dummeh Not-Daddeh!” Princess wails.
“I guess you’re too hurt for bestest treaties…” I say again turning and walking away. Princess Caroline springs to her feet miraculously recovered from her malingering. She follows me out of Lizzy’s room, chattering excitedly and prancing as well as a fatass pink pig-horse can, circling me and standing on her back hoofs, a glimpse of the spry foal she’d been for a few seconds before she started panting and wheezing, the energetic foal vanishes, replaced by the obese mare. “Hufff—wheeze—fwuffy…hurh—hurrrrh—no can make…hurfff-hurfff—good bweathies—heeeee—heeeeee—-what—what is bestest…hurrrh-cough cough tweaties?” She asks looking like that 5 seconds of exercise had her close to passing out.
“Come downstairs and I’ll show you…” I say casually strolling down the stairs.
“Pwincess Cawowine nee good upsies, Not-Daddeh…” she says plopping down on her wide ass and raising her marshmallowy hooves in a ‘good upsies’ pose.
“If you’re not a big fluffy, then no bestest treaties…” I say at the wide landing halfway down the stairs where the staircase turns 90 degrees left and leads down to our front door. I continue down the stairs and watch the stupid fluffy delicately try a front hoof on the first step down the staircase. She then hikes her back hoof down and sort of places her right front and back hoof on the step down and then clumsily stamps her left front and right hoof down nearly toppling down the stairs sideways before flattening herself on the wooden step terrified to move despite her fatass somehow being narrower than the steps. Only 12 more to go!
“Screeeeeeee!!!” Princess Caroline falls the last three stairs on her belly, legs splayed in a rapid thump-thump-thump before knocking into a small decorative table on the landing. She manages not to break her stupid fluffy neck and miraculously body surf without injury, a small stream of pee bouncing down the steps behind her. Thank God my mom must have taken her to the litter box before she left! But then I watch the decorative porcelain vase teeter on the little table and cross my fingers…
“Pwincess Cawowine am otay, Not-Daddeh…” she says to me with a surprised smile waving at me, as if I’d be relieved. “Pwincess Cawowine am good fwuffy! Not scawed of dummeh staiwsies! Now gib good upsies and wet’s get bestest twea—“ her triumph at the halfway point of a small stairway followed by her immediate demand to be carried is tragically cut short as the vase crashes down square on her fluffy head!
Her big cartoonish eyes that bulged when she screamed or ran 3 feet as though they might (hopefully, someday) pop-out of her stupid head, didn’t cross, but instead seemed to widen as though she might have a blind spot in front of her nose but had the rest of the room pretty much covered. She sat still like this in a wide eyed stupor for a one-Mississippi then crumpled on her side—her hoofs straightened and knees locked rigidly. Her eyes were closed and her jaw hung open her tongue resting on the landing’s hard wood as a small puddle of drool formed under her muzzle.
I could barely contain my excitement as I rushed to her side kneeling next to her and checking for a pulse. “Goddamnit….” I say feeling a strong pulse in the jugular I’d like to squeeze and squeeze. I smack her a few times, not quite hard enough to pop a tooth out. “Princess. Wake up! You broke mom’s lamp you dumb twat…” after about the fifth open handed slap her face fluff looks a little thin so I begrudgingly stop bitch slapping the knocked out fluffy. I shake her then, and realize her fluff kinda makes her glide over the hardwood like a fat pink mop.
I grab her scuff just above her useless wings and her tail and make a circular motion on the landing’s hard wood soaking up the drool and scaredy peepies and brushing the big chunks of the shattered vase into the corner.
Princess Caroline snored and went from rigid leggies to totally limp sketties as I whisked her across the landing round and round in a tight circle before releasing her to admire the gleam of the hardwood. Oops! I’d been circling her too fast and she slid like she was on an ice rink, her limp hooves flailing in every direction like a rag doll as she slid ass first down the last six steps her head clunking thump-thump! Then a pause as her big ass tipped her over the next three steps thump-thump-thump! as they clacked into the back of the limp fluffy’s head, then finally she rolled off the last step sideways flat on her back her hoofs splayed out wide like a fat fluffy starfish! Her battered head straight back and her mouth wide open like a ko-ed prize fighter.
I hadn’t thought she’d do quite so bad on the stairs. I checked her pulse. Strong as ever. “Fuck!”
“Nu…wike…bad wowdsies…” the battered fluffy said in a dazed voice, before losing consciousness again.
I went into the kitchen and began making Princess Concussion-wine the treat I’d promised her after I’d glued the vase together, the pieces broken more cleanly than I’d expected. I wonder if fluffies get CTE…?
“Teww da twufies!” I imagine a fluffy voiced by Will Smith demanding for a bunch of brain damaged fluffies, from the National Fluffball League.
“Enough! Focus Chef Danny!” I chide myself. I open the 48 oz can of pork and beans I’d picked up at the discount gas station on the way home from school yesterday. “‘Enjoy by’ well that’s not an expiration date per se….tonight we’re gonna party like it’s December 31st 2009!” I sing to myself, managing to fit the ‘Enjoy by’ date into Prince’s song.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life pork! And that goes for you too beans!” I say, giddy at my plan that Princess Caroline’s head trauma hopefully won’t derail, as I stir a pot of well-aged Pork ‘N Beans that was so dusty and old it wouldn’t ring up at the gas station register. The bored cashier eventually shrugged and handed me the can for free!
I mash up four large bananas and stir and stir and stir until the consistency was back to its chunky, disgusting, sloppy self!
“Pork and beans and bananas! PBB, bitch!” I yell the unconscious fluffy still snoring loudly. “No sweep pwetty, you fat pink bitch…” I say scooping her up like a big ole fat baby, then lobbing her onto the living room couch where I could watch her from the kitchen. She hit the couch and pancaked face down, despite no attempt on my part whatsoever to be gentle. I turn her on her side so she won’t suffocate. I open her eyes and shine a bright penlight in her eyes. Her pupils sorta contract. I guess. Sorta. I don’t know. Well back to bestest tweaties!
I finish stirring and ladel a big food dish full of pork n beans n bananas n freezer burned broccoli n cabbage that had probably gone bad—just as I hear a groan from Princess Swowen-bwain!
“Hu Hu Hu, hab biggest head huwties…” Princess Caroline said the knots on her head concealed by her big luscious mane that might prevent her from visiting the fluffy vet for emergency care she might desperately need! I always loved her long pink locks! I think to myself gleefully.
“Well then I guess you don’t want ‘bestest tweaties…”
“Gasp! Bestest tweaties aw fo Pwincess Cawowine? Tank yu! Wub bestest Not-Daddeh mostest!” I smile, gritting my teeth at how easily this bitch flip-flopped and just wubbed anyone who gave them sketties or toysies or fluf-teebee or whatever the spoiled brat wanted.
I sit the bowl of pork and slop in front of my sister’s pink-pony-pig-crime-against-nature and watch as Widdle Mummah’s Pwecious Fiwwy Pwincess sloshes brown slop all over the kitchen tile slurping and sucking so disgustingly it would make a hog blush.
Princess Eats-Like-Swine consumes at least double the portion a fluffy racing stallion might choke down, and lets out a belch. “BLLLUUURP! Excuse fwuffy. Hab widdle buwpsies…Teehee!” She giggles, conditioned by my families laughter at her adorable little burps when she was an adorable kitten sized filly, not realizing she’d went straight past mare and right to sow.
“Gross!”
“Pwincess Cawowine no am gwoss! Am good fwuffy and pwecious widdle fiwwy.
“You do look like Precious.” I say laughing.
“Pwincess Cawowine wan mowe…whampht am namesie of bestest tweaties?”
“This is called ‘Two Mash Kibble.’” I say smiling.
“Dis am dewicious nummies. Dis am nu kibbew!” She says dubiously.
“No it’s not kibble. It’s ’Two Mash Kibble’, totally different from regular kibble.” I explain confidently.
“Owww! Otay dis am ‘two mash kibbew’, nu da samesie as kibbew?” I nod. “Weww, den fwuffy wub ‘two mash kibbew’ mowe den anyfing!” She declares proudly as I fill her big bowl again. I pet her head and she jerks away. “Owies! Pwincess Cawowine headsie am sensitib! Nu touchies!” I look at her head and notice it is a bit wonky with lumps where it banged the stairs and broke a vase. But she didn’t appear derped, and her appetite was as robust as ever. Guess she lucked out.
She demands another bowl, and I tell her she’s had enough. She puffs out her cheeks and says “Dummeh Not-Daddeh, gib fwuffy too mash kibbew now!”
“Okay. But just remember I told you this was Two Mash Kibble…” I say pouring the rest of the stock pot into the bowl, wondering if a fluffy could explode from being such a fat fuck.
I wash the stock pot out and dry it, returning it to the cabinet and disposing of the telltale can of pork ‘n beans deep down in the garage trash which I’d empty later.
She waddles over to the couch “gib Pwincess gud upsies to cowch Not-Daddeh!” I lift her up and she coos as I stroke her mane, careful not to touch the knots on her head, but instead of carrying her to the couch where she wanted to no doubt sleep off her Jabba the Hut sized meal, her pooched out pink belly making audible grumbly noise, I carry her like a freakishly obese baby, cradling her head and nonexistent neck in the crook of my arm the other beneath her fatass, her tail swishing as she cooed at being babied. Which might have been pleasant had her fluff not been soaked in scared peepees and muzzle, throat, and chest fluff not discolored by the brown pork and beans that she’d slurped and snorted like the pastel pink sow she looked more and more like everyday.
The salty sweet stench of pork and beans aside, she did look cute with her heart shaped hoofsies folded up in front of her.
“Cooo-coooo—Good upsies! Cooo-cooooo…Pwincess Cawowine hab biggest heawt happies, Danneh-daddeh!…coo-coooo…” she coos in that soothing way that fluffies do, almost like a dove, one of the few verbalizations fluffy ponies made that wasn’t grating like the sing-song baby talk that they never grow out of.
“Oh when I let you stuff yourself with Two Mash Kibble I’m ‘Danny-Daddeh’ but when I tell you to put your blocks away I’m ‘Not-Daddeh’, huh?”
Princess smiles nodding. “Das wight!” I laugh and Princess does too daintily covering her snout with a hoofsie, which would have been cuter without the blood of a thousand cans of pork’nbeans poured down her face and chest.
“You need a bath Princess Sloppoline…” I say as her tummy gurgles loudly, “heehee. Tummeh noiseies so woud…”
“You are just too cute! I can’t believe how much you’ve grown into a big fluffy.” I say pretending I’m straining to barely hold her up.
“Nu! Pwincess am just widdle babbeh fiwwie, ownwee just gwow up and no have to dwink Mammeh’s behstest miwkies!” She says in a perpetual state of filly-hood. A very un-widdle-babbeh-esque gurgle rumbles up from her pink fluffy potbelly as I carry the fluffy little beach ball into the bathroom. “Are you still a fluffy made for Huggies and Wuv?” I ask knowing the biotoy’s programming was too strong to ever deny it.
“Huggies make everyfing bettah, Siwwy Danneh-Daddee!” The pink fluffy pony says reaching her hooves up to hug my neck. I squeeze her hard around her bloated stomach.
“Ackkk—nu…wheeze …nu make huggies so stwongsies, Danneh-Daddeh…ugggghhh…fwuffy nu can make bweavsies so gud…” I squeeze tight seeing Princess’ eyes bulge out in the bathroom mirror as I give her a long bear hug. I slowly let up on the pressure, tempted to squeeze until her eyes pop out of her skull and her intestines shoot out of her ass, but I don’t—although, I do allow myself a smile at the though of that fluffy pony’s face as she says, ‘biggest tummy sketty poopies’ before falling over dead.
“Taste sickie wawahs…” Princess says as I set her down and draw her a bubble bath.
“Pwinvess Cawowine nu wan hab baffsies! Wawah am bad for fwuffies! Open dowsies for fwuffy nao!” I calmly grab an issue of US Weekly off the top of the toilet and turn and catch her with a lightning quick WHAPP! WHAPP!, forehand and backhand rolled up magazine to her face and snout deflating her puffed up cheeks and flared nostrils. “SCREEEEEE! NU HUWT FLUFFY! “ Princess Caroline screams, letting out a stream of scaredy peepees. “Am owny wi—“
WHAPP! * WHAPP! WHAPP! I cut off her ‘widdle-fiwwy’ bulkshit with some fresh magazine swats to her mouth. “Hu-hu-hu-hu…!” She blubbers snot and tears pouring out of her face, as I grab her by the scruff and slam her sobbing face into the puddle of piss, swatting her ass with a hairbrush of my sister’s that was knocked to the ground during Princess Caroline’s most ill advised tantrum, deciding it to be a more substantive paddle and superior to the rolled up US Weekly that I’d whipped across her face.
The smooth wood of the back of the hair brush makes a satisfying crack! crack! crack! as I swat her fat ass, she SCREEEEES and raises her tail but the fluffy’s combat repertoire is weak padded hoofsies, an even weaker bite, and sorry poopies, which fluffies like to announce, as though a stream of liquid shit’s target wouldn’t take sowwie poopies if the biotoy didn’t demand it.
I digress. I saw this coming a mile away. “Take sowwie poo—“ Princess Caroine’s royal command will remain forever incomplete, and I have to make peace with the fact that I’ll never know what she was going to say! “Take sowwy poo—SCREEEEEEEE! Nu! Nu touch fwuffy’s poopie pwace! Am ownwy fow fwuffy to make good poopies! Am no for stuffin fings up dere! Tamphke dummeh poopie pwace pwug out of fwuffy, Nao!..SCREEEEE!!! Hu-hu-hu-hu…poopie pwace hab wuhstest hurties an nu feew pwetty…Hu-hu-hu-hu!”
I’d opted not to jam the brush handle up the fat mare’s ass as I don’t feel like changing diapers for the 3, maybe 5 years tops, before the fluffy’s heart gives up trying to supply blood to this Shamu-ass looking bitch.
Instead I’d jammed a cute little frog washcloth up there. And it had been a very snug fit, a green finned frog leg dangling out for retrieval.
I picked up the bloated pork’nfluff and tossed her in the water from waist height. Her hoofsies had no traction on the wet floor of the half filled tub and her hooves shot out from underneath her and she smacked her snout into the side of the tub thrashing about in the 5 inches of water as though caught in a riptide, bubbles and suds sloshing this way and that. I grab her by her mane and jerk her head up, above the water. “Hu-hu-hu-hu! No huwt fwuffy am good fwuffy! Owwies, what am in poopie pwace? No feew pwetty-hu-hu-hu!”
I say in a somber tone “ I’m afraid it’s your frog wash cloth…he was so upset you were gonna give Danneh-Daddeh sowwy poopsies that he hopped right up your poopy place, and he won’t come out until you promise to never try that on anyone who lives in this house ever again!”
“Fwoggy Fweind?!? Nu! Nu fwoggy fwiend! Nu hop up fwuffies poopie pwace! Am gud fwuffy! Poopie pwace am onwy for poopie! Nu am fow fwoggies!” I shampoo Princess Caroline’s fluff and she starts to coo, then will stop and step uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, but I’m not going to clean shit out of this tub—so enjoy having a frog up your royal ass, bitch.
I drain the water and let Princess Caroline shiver in the tub as I go and check on my sister and make sure she’s still asleep. Yep still sleeping like an angel. Well enjoy it. Tonight might not be so restful…
I walk in and although she weighs 1.5 to 2 fluffies at least she still looks small with her wet fluff clinging to her little fluffy frame. “Danneh-Daddeh…fwuffy sowwy fow nu doing baffytime…can Daddeh pwease teww fwoggie fweind to make hoppsies out of fwuffy’s poopie pwace? Am just fow poopies, am nu fow fwoggie fwiends…”
I reach down with a big poofy towel and begin drying her fluff off. She coos and thanks me for the ‘bestest feel good towleh dries’.
I pick her up still wrapped in the big towel and take her to the bathroom sink. I pull the wash rag out of Princess’ ass over the sink and to my surprise there’s not geyser of shit. I guess the bananas in the Two Mash Kibble was working as planned.
“Tank you fwoggie fwiend! Pwincess Cawowine pwomise nu eba make sowwie poopies again!”
Ppppppffffrrrrttttt!!!
Princess Caroline’s somber promise is interrupted by her loud trumpet of flatulence that instantly smelled like a diaper filled with rotten cabbage.
I look at her in disbelief and revulsion. The chunky pink fluffy face reddens and she looks at the ground awkwardly.
“Oh my God! Princess Caroline! You’re disgusting. A princess does not do that! Ever!” I say dropping her on the ground. She face plants but the towel she’s tangled in breaks her fall. I turn and walk away and she chases after me. “Fluffy sowwy Danneh-Daddeh! Nu mean to make wohstest tootsies! Am good fwuffy!”
I stop just outside the bathroom door. “Fwuffy sowwie fow makesies nu smeww pwetty tootsies! Am axe-ee-dent! Fwuffy nebah makesies wowstest tootsies ebah again!”
“Well, don’t ever fart like that in front of Big Mammah or Big-Daddeh! And never, ever, ever do that in front of Little-Mammah! That’s how our last fluffy got forever sleepies!”
Pppffffrrrtttt!
“Nu! Nu! Stop it sowwy tootsies!” Princess exclaims. I walk towards the staircase to get to my room.
Pwease! Pwease!
Fwuffy pwomise! Nu make sowwy tootsies ebah again!”
“Fine. But this better be the last time. Now, say ‘fluffy can fly!’ if you want me to carry you up the stairs…”
Princess Caroline smiled in anticipation. “FWUFFY CAN FWWWWYYYY!” She shouts.
I scooped her up in a bath towel and swooped her up and down in my arms as I climbed the stairs. She giggles and laughs and is delighted the whole way up.
“Danneh-Daddeh! You are da bestest Daddeh ebah! Dank you fow wetting Pwincess fwy!” She says.
“Oh don’t mention it…” I say carrying her like a baby into my room upstairs. I pull out my phone and FaceTime my mom.
“Hey Mom. Just here with Princess Caroline. Whom I just gave a bath.”
“Hewwo Big-Mummah on wittle teebee….tee-hee-hee!” Princess giggles.
“Hewwo Pwincess!” my mom says in her usual saccharine soaked baby-talk with which she addressed the bright pink fluffy.
“Danneh-daddee feed Pwincess Two-Much-Kibble den gib Pwincess bestest baffytime!” Princess explains.
My mom smiles. “See Danny? i’ve never seen Princess so excited to eat kibble! She loves you so much! I told you if you’d just spend some time with her you’d be the best
of friends….”
I continue towel drying the little fluffy to her delight. “Cooo—cooo!…oh big-Mummah, big-Mummah!…aftah bestest baffytime Pwincess fwy ovah stawes! Pwincess can fwy!” Princess exclaims her big eyes wide with excitement at sharing her big news!
“Princess!” I say sternly “I don’t know what’s gotten into you this morning but you can NOT fly! When you need to use the stairs you tell me or Mummah or Big-Daddeh and we will give you good upsies! Stairs will give you wohstest huwties!”
“Buh, Danneh-Daddeh…” Princess begins to protest but my mom cuts her off.
“Princess you are a pretty pegasus but your little wingies are pretty, but you can’t really fly, understood?” my mom says wary of the pegasus’ well known dangerous delusion that they can fly.
“We need to watch her, mom. I had to run up the stairs this morning, she was at the top of the stairs bragging about how she could ‘F-L-Y’…” I say, concerned for our pwecious wittle pegasus.
“Wuh Danneh Daddeh spewwing?…sketties?”” Princess asks hopefully, food never far from her fat little mind.
“Did my sullen teenage son just express concern for our little fluffy?” my mom says smiling, quick to point out even a modicum of affection for the fluffy pony my dad or I might express. “See Danny? I told you if you’d just spend some time with Princess your relationship would dramatically approve…”
I look away smiling despite myself. “Okay, Mom, you were right….” I say rocking the little fluffy in my arms while she coos adorably.
“Danneh-Daddeh take bestest, adowable hoofsies?” She asks batting her long eyelashes at me before gently and playfully booping my nose and petting my face with her soft suede hoofsies.
This brings a smile to my face and makes my mom squeeee with cuteness overload.
“She hasn’t done that since she was a little filly! I’d better go before I go into a diabetic coma! Be back soon! Love you! I’m proud of you, Danny!” she says beaming with pride at her teenager making good with the spoiled fluffy.
“love you too, Mom.” I say ending the Facetime call and rocking the little fluffy to sleep, her soft cooing turning to gentle snoring. I set her in bed next to my little sister, Princess’ tail right in my sleeping sister’s face. I gently shut the door leaving it open just wide enough to peak through and watch the calamity unfold.
I wait about 2 minutes before…
PFFFFFFFFRRRRRRTTTT!
I watch my sister, her eyes still closed, make the most disgusted face. “ohhhh gross! Princess get out of my bed! that’s disgusting.” my sister shoves the little fluffy, still asleep, off the of the bed. She lands with a thud followed by a ‘Ppfffrt!’
“Widdle-Mummah! Pwincess sowwy! Nu mean to make nu-smeww-pwetty tootsies! hu-hu-hu-hu…!” Princess cries, her pink face red with embarrassment at her very un-princesslike gas.
I stifle a laugh as tears stream down Princess’ embarrassed face, and she dejectedly walks over to her little stuffed dog bed in the opposite corner of my sister’s room.
“Ppprft!” another fart escapes Princess’ fat ass as she plops down into her dog bed. “Hu-hu-hu, nu! Pwease poopie-pwace! Stop making da tootsies! Fwuffy am good fwuffy!”
I stifle a laugh, wondering how long the pork n’ beans will give our little Princess very unladylike farts from hell.
