Tee-bee is the bestest thing your daddeh has ever gotten you. Ever since your daddeh put it in five bright times ago, you have been fixated on it. Your blockies have remained untouched and unstacked, your bawl has been sitting in the corner deflating, and sketties just don’t taste the same if you aren’t eating them while watching the tee-bee.
You love all the shows, “Babbehs” make you giggle, “Dancies” gets you your exercise, and “Fewaws” makes you so happy to have a nice daddeh, a cozy safe room, and a big tee-bee. You even stay up late and watch the movies daddeh tells you not to, like last night’s “Night of the Living Fluff.” Very scary, but you are such the smarty, you had moved the litterbox so you can sit in it and watch in case you made scaredy poopies.
But of all the shows, only one was your absolute favorite, the bestest of the bestest, the one you had to watch with your see places every time it comes on, “Mistah Jackson’s Playpen.”
Mistah Jackson was the nicest hoomin you ever saw (even better than daddeh sometimes). He only fluff on his face where he would put chirpys to play in as he giggled. All fluffies were welcome, mares, stallions, pointies, wingies, even pointy-wingie munstahs. Nobody ever went into the sorry box, Mistah Jackson would take care of all the fluffies and ask them why they were meanies, dummehs or stoopid and never ever giving them hurties or the sorry stick. They would get heart hurties and never do it again. He would play games, read stories, play with puppets, and bestest of all, sing the prettiest of songs.
Dummeh ads, you hate them, they make you want to give sorry poopies but you know that you don’t want to hurt the precious tee-bee. They play for what seems like ten forevers until finally, you see Mistah Jackson’s happy face.
“Welcome back, now we’ve had a lot of fun today, haven’t we fluffies?”
His herd just cheers in delight.
“But we all know that good things have to end sometimes.”
His herd begins to cry and beg.
“Huuhuu,” you cry to the screen, “Nu mistah jackson, nu weabe, dah hewd wobes 'ou, jock wobes 'ou!”
“Now, now, don’t cry little ones. Everyone has to say goodbye sooner or later, but me, I’ll sing you a little song first,” Mistah Jackson grabs his twusty banjo, ‘Wusty’ , “Would you all like that?”
All of the daycare fluffies and yourself start to cheer and shouting ‘yes’ with all your hearts.
“Alrighty then, this song is about a big meanie of a fluffy. He was such a meanie, he robbed the famous sketti-train that was going to give everyone free skeeties so he could have it all to himself.”
You and the herd boo in unison.
“And his name was, Jesse James.”
Jesse James was a fluff
That thought he was tough
He robbed the skettie-train
He stole from mares
Stallions and foals
Some herds that he was insane
Now little Robbie Ford
That brave little fluff
I wonder how he feels
For he fought Jesse’s herd
And said some mean words
And gave Jesse the stompies he deserved
Well Jesse had a mare
Who was sad for her friend
Three foals
Now they were brave
When that so called coward
Stomped Mistah Howard
He put Jesse in a grave
Well Jesse went sleepies with some very sad weepies
Satan was there to see
He was born one day in a field he could play
And now he was in the burnie place
Well Jesse had a mare
Who was sad for her friend
Three foals
Now they were brave
When that so called coward
Stomped Mistah Howard
He put Jesse in a grave
You were so happy, you clapped your hoofsies together.
“Well that was fun, wasn’t it.”
You couldn’t hold it in, you screamed at the tee-bee, “Jock wub 'ou mistah jackson!”
“And with that, we have to say that’s all for now. But as you all know, we don’t say goodbye at the Playpen, we say ‘til next time’.” Mistah Jackson looks right at you through the tee-bee. “And to you all at your nice housies and safe rooms, 'til next time.”
And with that, Mistah Jackson disappears and the tee-bee changes to a bunch of strange symbols and names that you can’t read. With Mistah Jackson gone, you begin to realize how alone you are. No other fluffs come to visit, daddeh barely says hello now, you have no bruddas or sissies. You can’t even remember what your mummah or daddeh look like anymore. No special friends, no herd, not even any babbehs. Just yourself alone in a big safe room with a tee-bee and toysies all to yourself, with no one to share them with. You have slight heart hurties, oh well, “Babbehs” is on next, maybe that will cheer you up.