Scooby stared at the glowing red lights on the rear of Doctor Ron’s vroom monster, as it growled away into the night. Part of him wanted the wizard to change his mind, to come back, and make everything better, with his magic sky-monster machine. Another part of him wanted to give Rainbow the bestest huggies, to make her run and play again, but he knew it was no use.
Rainbow was lying, dead, in a stinking rain soaked alleyway.
Dr Ron had offered to take her, and bury her somewhere, but Red Conan didn’t want that. Dr Ron offered to take them all to safety, as even though the Snake Daddy was out of town, his herd would still be hunting Conan, Scooby and the kidnapped Princess Plum. But Red Conan didn’t want that either. And so Dr Ron had left.
“Wed Conan nu cawe if Snake-Daddah hewd come,” the toughie said, still looking at the body of his fallen special friend. “Wed Conan wiww giv dem aww wowstest owwies,” he added quietly, with bitter resolution.
“But Cownan,” Scooby protested, “Da Snake Daddah hewd wiww kiww us, we should wun away,”
“Dey wiww come an give you FOWEVEW SWEEPIES!” said Princess Plum, still struggling in the net the fluffies had stuffed her into. “But fiwst, da Snake Daddah wiww giv yu wowstest owwies, or make yu nummies fow Snek-Munstas!”
Red Conan wandered over to the fanatical snake-cult fluffy, and stomped her nose, hard into the soaking wet concrete.
“Owwies!” the purple filly cried, “Why huwt Pwum? Pwum am gud fwuffy… Meanie Conan nu get to skettywand naow… huu huu huu… huu huu huu…”
“Dummeh-mawe,” was Conan’s only response.
Scooby was scared. Red Conan seemed like he didn’t care if he lived or died. Part of Scooby wanted to turn tail and run off into the night, but the bestest part of him knew that he owed Red Conan his life. If tonight was the night he would have the forever sleep, and see the Sky-Daddahs, then so be it.
“Cownan,” he said, calling to his toughie friend.
Red Conan turned to face him.
“Cownan, if fwuffies must fight Snake-Daddah hewd, den must fight dem vewy cwevew. Nu fight aww at same time. Must fight cunning, and mean.”
“Yes,” Red Conan agreed. Then went back to staring silently at the body of his beloved Rainbow.
Governor Quimby’s car pulled up near the barriers, overlooking Niagara Falls. The Canadian was already there, stood in silence, hands placed on the icy rails, lost in the sounds of the roaring water.
Quimby’s chauffeur let him out, and the Senator approached the other man, standing nearby. Both men stood, taking in the view without speaking. Even at night, Niagara was a breathtaking site. The raw power of the water dwarfed them, making the Governor feel as though his human plans were insignificant. They were not insignificant though.
“Can he really do it?” asked the Governor, being the first to break the silence.
The Canadian looked at him for a moment, then pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, despite the drizzling spray, and took a long drag.
“He can,” the Canadian answered. “The man is foolish, but fanatical. The fluffy creatures really believe he can deliver them to their spaghetti land.”
Governor Quimby smiled, their plan was finally coming to fruition.
“Its a risky strategy of course. For you.” The cigarette smoking Canadian continued. “The risk to us is minimal, we can blame it all on Mr Cachioli. But for you… Are you sure the media can spin this the way you want them to?”
Governor Quimby looked the Canadian straight in the eye.
“I’m sure,” he told the Canadian. “An incursion by a thousand or more fluffies will be enough to make the media use the word “megaherd”. That will be enough to bring back fearful memories, especially this close to Cleveland, on the edge of Lake Erie. Once the media shitstorm begins, I’ll be able to exploit it and win the election. Of course, we’ll never actually build the damned wall, but in turn, your sympathisers in Canada will be able to react to the threat of the wall by enacting some tough, anti-hugboxer laws. You might even be able to repeal their animal rights.”
The Canadian was silent for a long time, then gave the smallest of nods, to indicate his agreement.
“And Mr Cachioli?” the Canadian asked, taking another drag on his cigarette.
“Will be dealt with,” the Governor reassured him. “Don’t worry, we will make sure the media don’t get anywhere near him.”
The Canadian nodded again, then slowly turned, and walked off into the night.
Governor Quimby stayed there for a long time, listening to the roar of the waterfalls.
Close to midnight, Red Conan and Scooby made their way back to the abandoned children’s playground where they had stashed Conan’s armour. Once a happy place, where children ran and played, now it was used by the homeless of Toronto, both human and fluffy. At present, there were no fluffies here, most of them having joined the snake-daddy’s herd, but there were a pair of human hobos, laying down by a fire, sleeping off whatever they had drank earlier that night.
Scooby was exhausted. He had been carrying the struggling Princess Plum in a net on his back, while Red Conan carried the body of his special friend. Scooby had asked him why he was carrying her body, but Red Conan had just stared at him with a blank and empty expression, so bleak that Scooby had wanted to cry. He didn’t ask again.
“Hewe,” said Red Conan finally. “Hewe is weaw we fight da Snake-Daddah hewd.”
Scooby knew that even without the Snake Daddy himself, or his human guards, the Snake-Daddy’s herd was still the strongest in the city. He knew that one-on-one, there was no fluffy that Red Conan couldn’t beat, save for perhaps King Bowser himself, but a whole herd? They would have to fight smart.
First, the fluffies found the rest of Red Conan’s armour. Helping his friend, Scooby managed to put the Campbell’s soup can armour back on to Red Conan’s back, and between the two of them, they did the buckles up tightly. Taking the metal spiky-hoof shoes off of Rainbow’s feet, Red Conan strapped them on to his own front legs, with help from Scooby again.
Scooby was still wearing the other spiky-hoof shoes and leg armour on his front legs, and prefered to be lightly armoured so he could run and attack by surprise. The children’s playground had many different obstacles that they could use to their advantage, to run and hide within, only to spring out and attack, before vanishing into a maze of tunnels, steps and slides.
The next thing was to find the empty bottles that the hobos had lined up on a nearby wall. Red Conan jumped up onto a low part of the wall, and walked along the top, kicking the bottles off, one by one, until they smashed into a thousand pieces of sharp and owwie glass in a ditch on the other side. Throughout this, the hobos slept as if in a total stupor. Any fluffy that ran that way would be horribly maimed, and being on the other side of the wall from the hobo’s fire, the glass was still in near darkness.
Then, Red Conan and Scooby guy carried more bottles to the top of a children’s slide. From there, they kicked them off the edge of a climbing frame, with a wooden rope bridge, making more glass owwies at the bottom of the slide. Then Red Conan started to gnaw at the ropes, holding up the bridge with his metal shark-teeth, and cut at the ropes with his horn blade. One rope was totally severed, and the other was frayed so that the rope bridge was hanging from a single thread, still strong enough to support several fluffies, but thin enough to cut through with a single stroke.
Finally, the fluffies found a sharp piece of jagged metal, and wedged it into a child’s swing. Carefully, they pulled the swing back and wedged it against a shopping cart one of the hobos had used to collect old cans. They set the netted and struggling Princess Plum atop the shopping cart, to draw the attention of the enemy fluffies. Scooby set the swing just right so that a careful hoof could set it free, swinging jagged metal into wat ever fluffy was unfortunate enough to be in its path.
When they were finished, they dragged some more wood and trash onto the hobo’s dying fire, and Red Conan placed the body of his special friend on top of it. The fire quickly grew, burning away Rainbow’s beautiful white fluff, and carrying her spirit to the heavens.
“If dewe is a skettywand, Wed Conan wiww see Wainbow dewe soon,” said Red Conan.
Phil was having an awesome night.
After his meeting with the G-man; Phil, Wanda and some of his other high priestesses had visited Niagara Falls with several mares and their babies. They had had immense fun, telling the fluffies that there was no spaghetti land, that they were stupid shit-rats, and that only a hell of fire and snake monsters awaited them after death. The fluffies had all wailed and wept, but that was merely an hors d’oeuvre for the main meal - throwing baby fluffies over Niagara Falls.
“Nuuuu! Pwease nu huwt babbehs!” One mare had begged, “Dat am biggest fawwies, an Wawa am dangewuss fow babbehs!”
“Awww,” Phil had cooed, with false sympathy, “Do you want to keep your babies?”
“Yes!” the mare had pleaded, “Fwuffy mummah wuv babbehs, pwease nu huwt dem Snek-Daddah!”
“OK, you can save ONE baby. Which one is the bestest baby?” he asked her cruely, while Wanda and his other bitches laughed.
“Fwuffy nu have bestest babbeh,” cried the terrified mother, “Fwuffy mummah wuv aww babbehs.” Then, she seemed to form a plan. “Aww babbehs am bestest, so can save aww babbehs?”
“Hmm…” Phil had said, as if he were giving it some serious thought, “Lets think about that… No.”
Phil then started hurling the baby fluffies over the edge of the barriers, listening to their screams, and laughing at the pathetic trails of piss and shit they left as he arched them into the floodlit waterfalls. Some of the fluffy ponies would drown instantly, as they hit the tonnes of water smashing into the lake below. Others would fly for several seconds before finally landing in the foamy morass below. All cried, begged and screamed, but none would be saved.
Phil offered one mother the choice of having her legs taken instead of babies. At first, the mare had agreed, and screamed as he ripped her first two legs from her body. When the time had come to take her third leg, she had changed her mind, and said he could take her poopie baby and dancie baby instead of the last two legs. Phil gladly hurled them over the barriers, then ripped off her last two legs anyway, then threw her bestest babies over too.
“How do you feel now fluffy? You lost all your babies. And all because you were selfish and didn’t let me take your leggies instead.”
“Huuu huu huuu… Snake Daddah am meanie… hab taken aww babbehs, an aww weggies… huu huu huu huu huu…”
Phil had been about to start on the third mare, when he heard a peeping chirping noise. Searching through the mare’s fluff, he managed to find a tiny little foal that he had not noticed before. The mare had managed to keep it hidden, deep within her fluff, no doubt hoping he would not notice. His cruelty to its mother had made the baby foal cry though, and that had sealed its fate.
“Well, what do we have here,” Phil asked, as the tiny yellow foal was revealed. It was a runt, but somehow, the mother had chosen to care for it anyway. Even her poopie brown baby had seemed well fed. The diet of nightly spaghetti had made many mother fluffies much more accepting of less than perfect babies, given that they could now make enough milk to feed them all.
“Nuuu… pwease Snake-Daddah, hab taken aww weggies, an aww babies 'cept wastest babbeh… pwease nu take wastest babbeh, it am onwy wittew babbeh, wastest babbeh need huggies, an wuv…”
“Awwww… that’s sweet,” Phil sighed, before plucking the chirping yellow foal from its mother’s fluff, and hurling it into the darkness.
“NuuuuuuuUU! Wastest babbeh!” the mother cried.
Phil then played golf with the third mare’s babies, lining them up, and using a nine iron to drive them as far into the watery darkness of Niagara Falls as he possibly could, while the mother begged and wailed for him to stop. He then impaled the first and third mothers on the railings near the waterfall, inserting the blunted iron spikes intended to stop people from climbing over the fence, into the fluffies asses until they were horribly injured, letting them bleed out as they contemplated their babies watery deaths. Or who knows, maybe some hugboxer would find them and rescue them? That way they could live with the trauma and guilt of being unable to save their babies for the rest of their lives. That would be even more delicious.
Phil had played soccer with the legless mare, kicking her around until she finally stopped moving. Then he had hit the bar, getting everyone drunk, and loudly declaring himself the Snake Daddy of all North America, as he drank tequila and danced on tables with his priestesses. Then they retired to his hotel room with a mountain of cocaine and had an orgy until the early hours of the morning.
Red Conan watched as the flames consumed the body of his special friend. For a long time, he watched the sparks from the fire rise up towards the sky-daddahs. Already, what few ferals remained that were not members of the Snake-Daddah’s herd had come running past, saying that the Snake-cult fluffies were on the war path, looking for Red Conan and hurting any fluffies that didn’t say were he was. The fire would surely attract their attention. Red Conan did not know if he would survive the coming fight. He wasn’t sure if he cared. He looked up at the sky, and prayed to the Sky-Daddah that Old Mummah had taught him about at the shelter, when he was just a little fluff.
“Cwom,” Red Conan began, looking up the the sky. “Wed Conan hav nevew pwayed to yu befowe. Wed Conan nu know da wordies. Nu fluffy wiww evew wemembew if we am gud fluffies ow bad fluffies, ow why we gave each udder da wowstest owwies. Nu. Aww dat mattews is dat two fwuffies stood against many. Dat am what is 'pawtant. Owwies pwease yu Cwom, so giv Conan dis wequest, giv Wed Conan WEVENGE.”
Red Conan looked up at the silent sky once more.
“And if yu nu wisten,” he added, “den to HEWW wif yu!”
“Cownan! Cownan! Dey is coming! Da Snake-Daddah hewd!” Scooby told his friend in a fierce whisper.
“Gud,” said Red Conan, “Da soonew, da bettew.”
Red Conan creaked his neck, and felt his helmet and horn-blade were secure. The checked their spiky hoof-shoes, and peered out into the pre-dawn light, to see how many their enemies were.
…and then, from the shadows and alleyways, the Snake Daddy’s herd was upon them. Two dozen of the biggest toughies Red Conan and Scooby had ever seen, apart from those in King Bowser’s herd. They were all wearing white robes, except for their leader, a blue Unicorn smarty wearing black robes. The same smarty that had set the snakes on Rainbow.
“We nose yu is in hewe Wed Conan,” the smarty yelled, practically spitting his name. “Come out naow, an fwuffies wiww nu huwt yu too badwy.”
A line of toughies stood behind him, grim faced beasts with solid looking hooves and evil grins on their faces. Red Conan knew he would savour their deaths at his hooves.
“Nuuuu!” a fluffy cried from deep within the playground. It was Princess Plum, still tied and half forgotten on the hobo’s shopping cart full of cans. “It am a TWAP. Dey is hiding, an has wowstest owwies fow hewd!”
“Ha!” replied the idiot smarty, ignoring the warning that would have saved many fluff’s “Yu can wun, Wed Conan, but yu can’t hide from da Snake-Daddah hewd. CHAWGE!”
The retarded black-robed smarty led his fluffies in a toughy-stampede, straight towards Princess Plum. Lying still in his hiding place below the shopping cart, Scooby-guy felt his heart hammering in his chest. Everything was telling him to turn tail and run, but they were not quite close enough yet. Scooby waited and waited, as the herd thundered towards him, and just when it seemed they were upon him, he pulled on the broken tree branch to release the Swing of Death.
The child’s swing swung towards the oncoming herd, with jagged, cruel metal wedged between the chain links that held it up.
“OOOF!” cried the first fluffy, as he was winded and bowled over by the hard plastic seat.
“OWWWIES!” cried another as the sharp metal stabbed him on the eyes. “See pwaces! What happen to see pwaces?”
“Yu stoopid fwuffies! Pwincess Pwum hab towd yu aww it am a TWAP!” the purple princess yelled at them all, from the top of her shopping cart prison. The snake-daddah’s toughies ground to a halt.
Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, Scooby scuttled out from underneath the cart, and yelled at the fluffies.
“Yu am aww poopie-fwuffies, an nu can catch da Scooby-guy!” he yelled, taunting them into chasing him.
Scooby guy then ran to the lowest part of the wall, jumped up, and ran along the top as fast as he could. The angry herd gave chase, leaving their stunned and wounded fluffies behind to cry and wail in the uncaring night. Several jumped up onto the wall, but several more ran along each side of it, and a half dozen of them ran straight into the darkened ditch of worstest glass owwies.
“SCREEEEEE!” came their screams. “SCREEEEEEEEE!!!”
“Hoofies! Why hoofies huwty?”
“Owwies! Wowstest owwies!” cried another.
“Pwease bewwy-sketties, gu back in to fwuffy bewwy… yu nu bewong on da gwound.”
Scooby-guy looked over his shoulder to see the other fluffies hesitating. Even the fluffies who were chasing him along the wall stopped suddenly, sending fluffies at the rear careening into fluffies at the front, like a bowling ball into skittles, sending two fluffies over the edge, one of which fell into the pit of glass.
“Weggies!” the unfortunate fluffy screamed, “Weggies!”
Scooby reached the end of the wall and hopped off, running towards a hard plastic play tunnel, seeking the safety of the maze of children’s climbing frames. Even though several of their enemies were now horribly maimed, there were still more fluffies than Scooby could count, chasing after him in a rage, seeking vengeance for their fallen comrades.
Scooby fled into the tunnel, where the enemy fluffies could only follow one or two at a time. Jumping out at the other side, he ran and stood by a second tunnel, to distract their attention from Red Conan, who was standing in place, ready to ambush the toughies as they emerged, two by two.
As the first white-robed fluffy exited the tunnel, Red Conan pounced killing one immediately with a horn-blade to the throat, then deeply gored the stomach of the second, before getting his horn blade lodged in its belly-sketties. A third toughie ran through the play tunnel, bowling straight into Red Conan’s flank and sending him flying.
“Sorry pooopies!” yelled Scooby-guy, blasting horrendous poop into the eyes of the fluffy.
“Arrggg!” the toughie yelled, “Poopies in see-pwaces! Fwuffy nu wike!”
Scooby merely turned and kicked him in the nose, drawing blood, before turning and running again, as more yet more fluffies emerged from the play tunnel, hungry for their blood. A winded Red Conan followed quickly after his brown feral friend.
This time, it was Red Conan’s turn to lead the fluffies on a merry chase, under climbing frames and passed merry go rounds, until he reached some steps leading to the rope ladder bridge. Hopping up steps designed for five year old kids, Red Conan ran quickly across the rickety rope-bridge, nearly losing his balance as it swayed. Then, he turned and challenged the fluffies to follow him across.
“Come get some yu mummah-fuckews!” he cried, yelling the worstest human mean words he knew.
“Nu! Nu am mummah-fuckew!” one toughie cried, sounding genuinely hurt. Still, the toughies seemed afraid of the unstable rope bridge, which swayed and swung enough to test the agility of a human five year old.
“Dummeh fwuffies!” cried the black robed smarty from the ground below, “Wun ovew da bwidgey an get da Wed Cownan!”
Tentatively, the fluffy who had insisted he had never had special huggies with his own mummah placed a hoof onto the swaying rope bridge. It shifted dramatically under his hoof, making him step back in fear.
“Nuuu! Fwuffy nu wike hoomin bwidgey fing… it nu… OOOOF!” the fluffy cried out in pain as a particularly big earthy shoved him and two other fluffies onto the bridge. At first, they lost their footing and got tangled up in their robes, but once they were on the bridge, they seemed to lose their fear, and started advancing towards Red Conan.
“Naow who am da Mummah-Fuckew!” said the until recently scaredy-fluff. “Snake-Daddah hewd wiww get yu naow!”
“Nu,” said Red Conan, waiting until the biggest fluffy was also on the bridge, following the other three. “Naow Wed Conan wiww get YU!” and with his final yell, Red Conan sliced through the remaining frayed rope that was holding up the bridge, dumping the fluffies onto the ground, several human feet below.
“OOWWWIES!” cried the fluffies, as they impacted on the hard concrete below.
“Weggies! Weggies hav wowstest huwties!” said one fluffy, with bones protruding from his front two legs.
“Why huwt fwuffy?” asked the non-motherfucker, who also had a broken leg. “Fwuffy nu am mummah-fuckew… it was onwy one tiem, an fwuffy speciaw wumps had wowstest owwies…”
“Come an get Wed Conan!” Conan cried, as he ran across the children’s climbing frame, onto another platform. The stupid fluffies below cursed, screamed and wailed, before finally trying to find another way up to fight him, but with the high ground his, Red Conan gored, sliced and impaled the first fluffy to climb up to face him with his horn-blade.
The fight wore on and on, as Red Conan and Scooby-guy fought and fought, killing and maiming the enemy fluffies, one by one. Every so often, the fluffies would seem to have one or other of the two fluffies cornered, only to find that they had a secret escape route. At one point, three toughies had Scooby guy trapped at the top of a children’s slide. The devious brown feral was too smart for them though, and slid down the slide to safety. The toughies followed, sliding down after him, only to see him hop off the side of it at the last second. Too late, the toughies realised that there was more broken glass, waiting for them at the bottom. The first fluffy was horribly mutilated by the sharp callous material, but cushioned the second two from the worst of it. Scooby fled yet again.
Red Conan was in more trouble. He had two particularly large and vicious earthies fighting him, and nowhere to run. Steps, slides and tunnels were now slick with blood, or blocked by the bodies of the dead, or the wailing injured. Conan was forced to run around obstacles, to turn, and try to face just one or two at a time. But these fluffies were less foolish than the others, and took their time to stalk him, avoiding traps and obstacles, and making sure they could gang up on him.
Their leader was a large yellow earthy, veteran of the fighting pits himself. His master had put a child sized ice hockey helmet on his head, which the Earthy used to headbutt other fluffies to death. The fluffy had kept the helm when he fled to join the Snake Daddah’s herd. With his hard armoured helm, the earthy did not fear Red Conan’s horn-blade, and waited until one of his comrades was dying on the end of Conan’s horn, before charging into him, full speed, and smashing him to the ground like a bowling pin.
“Haha!” the yellow fluffy cried out in victory, looking down at the stunned and winded Red Conan. “Wed Conan can nu beat Poutine! Poutine am a pit fighting fwuffy, nu dummeh, wiww nu faww fow Wed Conan’s twicks.”
Red Conan looked up at the large earthy, who was muscled and covered in scars from a score of victories. For a moment, he thought he was back in the fighting pits, with humans baying for his blood. He watched as the yellow fluff prepared to charge, ready to smash Red Conan with his armoured helm. Then, something incredible happened.
From nowhere, a ray of light shone down from the sky, sent by the sky-daddah’s themselves. The light dazzled Red Conan, but not as much as it dazzled the yellow earthy who called himself Poutine, who was blinded by its momentary brilliance. For a split second, Red Conan saw the smiling face of his special friend Rainbow, dressed as a Valkyrie warrior, with sparkles shining on her horn.
“Weww?” the visionary Rainbow asked Red Conan, “Do yu want to wive fowevew?” before vanishing in a blaze of light.
Red Conan lifted his complaining body to his hooves, and ran at the blinded Poutine, sinking his horn-blade deep into a gap beneath his helmet’s chin strap. Blood poured down the horn-blade, spilling over Red Conan’s face, and making the other fluffy gurgle and choke, and then finally die.
Scooby-guy emerged from his hiding place, exhausted, shaken, and cut and bruised from a dozen near scrapes. He saw Red Conan stood victoriously over the body of the biggest toughie in the herd, and saw the black robed smarty turn tail and run, with the last two toughies to had been too scared, or too smart, to fight them. All around them were the dead, dying or maimed.
“It am… da fight am ovew!” declared Scooby-guy, looking at the carnage that surrounded them. Dead and dying fluffies were everywhere, strewn around the former playground like discarded children’s toys. He watched as a dying toughy tried to slowly crawl out of the pit of glassy owwies, trailing belly-sketties behind it.
“Fwuffies hab won Wed Cownan!” he yelled victoriously, “Hab beated da Snake-Daddah hewd toughies, an gib dem aww wowstest owwies! Fwuffies hab WON!”
Red Conan just looked at his friend with grim determination.
“Nu,” he said simply, “It nu ovew untiw da Snek-Daddah is fowevew sweepies.”
