After long weeks of carnage in the fighting pits, Red Conan was sat in an abandoned warehouse, chained to a crumbling pillar. He had plenty of nummies, but no company, no hoomins, no fluffies. There were no toys and no FluffTV. Red Conan was bored, but such was the life of a pit fighting slave fluffy. At least he had a dirty blanket, to curl up on and keep warm in the Autumn chill.
Bright tiem turned to dark time, and just as Conan was about to fall asleep, Master Carl wandered into the room. He had been drinking the strong fire wawa, and stumbled as he walked over to Red Conan’s dirty nest. Then, Conan noticed that Daddy had a crowbar with him. Red Conan tensed. He had seen daddy beat a fluffy to death with a crowbar, after the fluffy lost a fight which his daddy had a lot of money riding on. Red Conan didn’t know how money could ride on a fight, but his daddy got very angry whenever any of his fluffies lost a fight, unless he secretly wanted them to, because the money was riding on the other fluffy.
“Hewwo daddah, um Conan mean Mastew Cawl,” Conan began, only to tense up as Master Carl raised the crow bar above his head and swung towards him!
CLANG!
“Go. Go. You’re free,” his daddy told him. Red Conan looked at the crowbar, and his chains. They were smashed.
“Go!” Daddy repeated.
Red Conan didn’t need to be told twice, and quickly ran from the warehouse, free at last.
“It has been surmised that perhaps
my lord was like a wild animal…
…that had been kept too long.
Perhaps.
But whatever, freedom…
…so long an
unremembered dream, was his.”
Red Conan was running for his life. A pack of wild Dawg-Munstahs had found him, rummaging in trash bags in a back alley, looking for nummies, Now the Dawg-Munstahs wanted to num Red Conan! If he had his horn-blade, he would have fought them, but there were three of them, so he ran as fast as he could. They were gaining on him quickly though, as fluffies are not fast runners. He needed to hide, quickly, or find a weapon! Conan ran around the corner in to another alley, and fell down some kind of chute, into a hoomin basement place.
It was very dark in the basement, and Red Conan could hear the Dawg-Munstahs making their barky talks in the alleyway above. Gradually, his see-places became accustomed to the gloom, and Red Conan was shocked by what he saw. There were bones down here. Bones of dead fluffies, of a powerful herd. But not just any herd. These fluffies had sorry sticks, and the “armour” that some fighting-daddies made for their fluffies out of empty sketty cans. Then, sat on a pile of blockies, Red Conan saw the skeleton of a giant toughie Unicorn. It was dressed in armour made of sketty tins, decorated with Red Coke Cans, and wore a massive double edged blade of a sorry stick on his horn.
“CWOM!” said Conan, remembering Old Mummah’s stories about the Fluffy Sky-Daddahs.
Red Conan dressed in the forever sleepy fluffies armour, and took a selection of their sorry sticks, including the big one which he managed to fit on his horn. Putting everything on was hard without another fluffy or daddy to help him, but somehow he managed.
Those Dawg-Mustah’s would pay.
Red Conan wandered the wastes of the Hoomin place known as TOWONTO. He had been a slave for so long, that he did not know what to do with his freedom. He thought back to when he had been a little baby, about a hoomin mummah called Claire, and his fluffy mummah, Jelly. Then he remembered. Revenge.
He had no idea where to find them though. He knew he was far to the East of where he had lived, but couldn’t remember if his herd had lived in Amewica or Kanada. Onwards he ventured, trying to find his way. Then, one evening, he saw another fluffy, lurking in an alleyway, half-hiding in a cardboard box, that was a home of sorts for her.
“Hewwo brave stawwion,” the fluffy said. In the fading light, he could see that she was a Unicorn mare, with white fluff and a pearl coloured horn. She had a red mane, and a wicked glint in her eyes.
“Come young stawwion, wawm yusewf in da boxxy, it nice an wawm,” she said, inviting him in, enticingly, but Conan was wary.
“Nu wan be wawm in boxxy?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids, “It neawwy dawk tiem, and da Barky Munstahs hunt fwuffies in packs.”
Red Conan decided it would be safer to stay in her boxxy for the night.
Venturing in, he sat down next to her. She stared at him in a way that made him feel excited and afraid, all at the same time.
“What do yu seek young Stawwion?” She asked him. Conan wondered if she could help him find revenge.
“Two Snek-munstahs, facing each udda, but da Snakes awe ONE!” he told her.
“Bwack Sun!” she said, “Bwack MOON!”
“Yes!” cried Red Conan, “Yu know dis? Fwuffy hav seen it, a wong tiem ago…”
“Fwuffy can teww Wed Conan,” the Unicorn mare told him, “But dewe am a Pwice to pay…”
Red Conan was humping the Unicorn mare. She was squealing and screaming as he Enfed and Enfed and Enfed, filling her delicious special place with his aching no-no stick. As he Enfed her, she saw visions of the future, and visions of the past, which she shreiked and wailed to him in her passion.
“Da wun… yu seek… is in da City… of VANCOOOOVEW…”
“Yes! Yes! ENF ENF ENF,” Red Conan yelled, in pleasure, but also remembering that Mummah Claire had once said their home was in Vancouver.
“Yu must… seek… Da SNAAAYKE DADDDEEEEE!”
“Yes!” said Conan, “ENF ENF ENF!”
“Daddeeee… name… am… PHIWWWWWWWWWWWW!”
“Yes! Yes! YES!” Conan Enfed into the rampant mare, spilling his special juice inside her. Suddenly, he noticed, she had BAT WINGS on her back! She was a wingy-pointy MUNSTAH FLUFFY!
The Alicorn Mare stood up and turned to face him, laughing like a Banshee and running out into the Alleyway. Red Conan chased her outside, and she ran straight into a fire which some hoomin TWAMPS were sitting next to, trying to keep warm. Her fluff ignited instantly, but she just kept on running and shrieking with laughter. Even the hoomins were terrified.
“Dis am owny da beginniiiing!” She wailed, “Da END wiww come fow us AWW!”
Red Conan looked on in horror as her fluff burned fiercely, and her face started to melt as her fat fed the fire.
“It wiww END da ownwy way it can! Fwuffies wiww die, in da FIWES, in da EAWFS! in da WAWA! AAAEEEEEEIIIIIII!!!” She screamed and exploded, but her soul carried on screaming and was carried into the night sky.
“AWW WIWW FAWW! AWW WIWW PEWISH!” he heard the munstah fluffy’s soul screaming. And just like that, she was gone.
“CWOM!” Red Conan gasped.
Phil supposed it was a good deal.
In return for letting the g-men monitor his congregation, and put radio trackers on some of his recruiter fluffies, he was allowed to carry on as before. Well, almost as before. There were rules he had to obey now, or he would wind up in jail, or somewhere “worse”, whatever that meant.
The meeting had been very strange. All those g-men and scientists, talking about how they could “control the fluffy swarming this time” how it could be to their advantage somehow. They had the idea that, so long as the Skettyland Myth was not televised, the fluffy herding could be controlled. Phil remembered their arguments well.
“Skettyland!” a government minister had been arguing, “You know that happened last time! Millions of fluffies, making a pilgrimage to the promised land, dying by their thousands on the highways, causing wrecks, breeding and shitting everywhere. And then they descended on the city! The fires, the evacuations! A whole city lost to the Fluffy menace, and all because of an amusement park and Uni the fucking Unicorn!”
“And a sizeable chunk of those feral megaherds ended up on our side of the border once it all came to a head. It wasn’t just an American problem,” added a man from animal control.
“Its not like that any more Michael,” some shady intelligence character. “There are strict laws about advertising to fluffys on television now. One can’t promote a promised land to them any more.”
“So what the hell is this dope fiend peddling to them? Skettyland? Its the exact same idea!”
“It is not the same idea,” said the cigarette smoking man who had interrogated Phil just two nights earlier. “Mr Cachioli is not talking about an actual place, just an idea. A dream if you will. He is not telling the fluffies that Skettyland is a physical place they can go to, its more like Heaven than Mecca.”
"But the herd! It was over 600 strong last night! All asking “Wewe Snake Daddah?” the man interjected, putting on his best fluffy voice for sarcastic emphasis.
“Still, you have to admire his technique,” the cigarette man countered, “Fluffies have learned to run away from animal control teams, despite our best efforts, but they are running to the Snake Daddy.”
“That doesn’t mean this will end well. Six hundred is approaching mega-herd size. If it grows any further, if they move somewhere en masse…”
“That won’t happen though. Mr Cachioli has, how shall I put it, a… fondness for feeding fluffies to reptiles. His business partner has quite a venture from it, franchising his Reptile World store. If they make money from feeding fluffies to snakes and selling the occasional Alicorn, I see no harm in that.”
“But the risks!”
“Are negligable, if we control this properly…”
The cigarette smoking man had gone on to lay down the law. The rules were, no talking about Skettyland on TV or the Internet. That, Phil could agree to. What good would it do him anyway? He couldn’t get more Alicorns that way, or could he? Still, he understood that if the idea of Skettyland spread on TV or online again, there could be another Cleveland.
The second rule was radio tracking collars for his recruiter fluffies. That was no problem, Wanda had suggested cute little cultist robes for the most devout fluffies, to match her high priestess outfit, so adding collars would be easy.
The third rule was the one Phil had a problem with. All that Pied Piper shit, leading the fluffies to their doom. The idea of setting them all on fire does sound good though, and the flamethrower presentation was amazing! The screams as those shit-rats roasted in their own fluff was music to Phils’ ears.
Still, Phil wondered why a bunch of government spooks would want him to lead a fluffy megaherd out of Canada and into the United States.
“Hello. My name is Alice, and these are my fluffies, Humphrey, Wendy and Rebecca,” the little girl was saying to the camera. “And today I am babysitting my cousin’s fluffies, because she is away for the weekend. Her mummy and daddy are looking after them really, but I get to play with them. Say hello to Youtube Fluffies.”
“Hewwo WuuCHoob!” squeak the fluffies.
“Now,” Alice continued, “Claire’s fluffies, that’s my cousin, Claire, are called Snowflake, Strawberry, Blueberry, Banana and Nutella. They are all named after foods that fluffies like to eat. Snowflake had to adopt the babies, because their real mummy was a bad fluffy.” Alice started to speak in a seven year-old’s whisper, and the fluffies could blatantly still hear her. “she had to go to a shelter.”
“Mummah! Mummah! Humpfwee wan be on Fwuff Teebee!”
“Silly Humphrey!” Alice said to her green stallion, “This is Youtube not FluffTV!”
“Um… can fwuffy be on Chuu Choob?” Humphrey asked. In the background, the younger fluffies were crawling all over Claire’s lap. Alice swung the camera around all over the place, before focusing back on Humphrey.
“OK, you are on Youtube now, what do you want to say?” She asked the green fluffy, who suddenly looked very confused.
“Ummm… hewwoo chuu choob, fwuffy name am Humpfwee. Humpfwee wike huggies an wuv and singy songies.”
“That’s good Humphrey, but do you want to tell Youtube who all the other fluffies are first?”
“Ok mummah, dis am Webecca,” the camera focussed on an Orange fluffy with a green mane, “She am funny fwuffy dat wike pwetend be munstah! An dis am Wendy,” he continued, as the Camera moved to a yellow fluffy with a green mane, “She am pwetty fwuffy, Wendy an Webecca am sissies,”
“Good fluffy, and what about the others,” the little girl interjects.
“Dat Nana, she am wittew yewwow fwuffy, an dese are Bwuebewwy, Nutewwa an Stwawbewwy,” the camera pans over the bed, showing the fluffies sitting on the duvet, cheering and waving when their names are mentioned.
“An dis fwuffy, dis fwuffy am cawwed Snowfwake. Snowfwake am a PIWATE fwuffy! Snowfwake Saiw da Seven Seas, and Steaw AWW DA NUMMIES!” the excited green fluffy said, as the camera pans down to show a white unicorn fluffy with wheels instead of back legs, wearing an eye patch and a sad expression on its face.
“Say hello Snowflake!” the little girl squeaks.
“H-hewwow,” the crippled fluffy says timidly. The Camera pans back to Humphrey, who inhales deeply and prepares to sing.
“Wewwwww…” he begins, eager to sing his song.
“Dummah fwuffy,” another fluffy voice interupted, “Wet Stwawbewwy on ChuuChoob.”
A fat little red fluffy starts pushing Humphrey out of the way, even though Humphrey is fully grown and she is little more than a baby. Humphrey, being a gentle fluffy, lets her have her way.
“What do you want to say to Youtube Strawberry?”
“Stwawbewwy hav PAWTANT news fow AWW fwuffies. Stwawbewwy wan teww Fwuffies 'bout Sketty-Wand. Stwawbewwy wan teww fwuffies about da SNAKE DADDAH, who is da WAWD an PWOFET of Skettywand…”
The camera zooms in, and the little girl listens to the strange story that her cousin’s fluffy is telling. The other fluffies listen too, transfixed by the tale of a land with mountains of Sketties, a land free of pain and sadness. In the background, almost to quiet to hear, the mother fluffy is weeping.
Later, on youtube, the story goes viral.
