Another lazy night of doomscrolling HasTube. No one saw the toy company overtaking the tech giant to the point of buying out one of their greatest propaganda instruments. Yet, here it is, with the name changed as further degradation to the once semi-respectable tech enterprise. Not that the change did anything to the content: it was still mostly garbage, especially the shorts. The shorts were pushed harder than ever, the company desperately trying to stay relevant amongst the social media frenzy. And as you scrolled through fifty thousand of the same ai slop clips from 25 year old movies, tv shows no one cares about or everyone has seen, and reddit texts with minecraft parkour under them, you never once exhaled through your nose in even mild humor. Thereâs only so many little dark age edits and sigma male soundtracks that one could put over the same recycled material. Here you are, though. Still scrolling. Suddenly a video slides into view and gives you pause. It opens to a series of ropes against a grassy background and a chorus of fluffy SKREEâs. You pause it. Canât ruin the video yet. Your eyes pan down to the channel name: âShitassâ.
The short links to the full video, and you settle in to watch. Two scraggly looking, lobster-skinned gentlemen in overalls stride onto the screen, the camera looking up at them from below at about twenty yards away. They both bear long, sparse, wiry beards, and green headsets with small grills on either side. The man on the left of the screen, bigger in both ways, wears a camouflage boonie hat, and holds over his shoulder a pump action shotgun with a long barrel and aged wooden furniture. The other, an older fellow, wears fake Ray-Bans and a red bandana about his head. He holds a struggling yellow pegasus fluffy by the scruff.
The boonie hat pink ape raises his shotgun.
âIâm Cleetus!â
The sunglasses wearing mole rat lifts the wailing fluffy in his hand.
âIâm Skeeter!â
Skeeter drops the fluffy down to hold it by its tail as it screams about âbad upsiesâ. Cleetus places his other hand on the shotgunâs forearm and racks the pump. They both address the camera simultaneously.
âNâ this is Shitass!â
Skeeter lobs the pegasus in the air towards the camera, and Cleetus shoulders his weapon, blasting the fluffy as it arcs nearer the camera and showering the lens in gore. The logo âSHITASSâ in brown stencil font appears as the deep red fluids drip down the screen.
Thereâs a sudden cut to the two in the exact same attire sitting on the open tailgate of a pickup truck. Skeeter waves his hand and smiles a snaggletooth grin as he begins:
âWelcome to Shitass, ladies nâ gents! Now if yer new here, yâall should know we donât take too kindly tâ fuckinâ shithogs âround these parts!â
Thereâs a quick cut to a blue earthy fluffy glancing around confusedly in a field before it is quickly reduced to paste by automatic gunfire.
âWhether itâs rootinâ up cropsâŚâ
The footage shifts to a night vision camera view of a unicorn fluffy in a small garden of cabbage. It sniffs at a plant and leans in to take a tentative bite before Cleetus comes in from off camera with night vision goggles on and a knife. He tackles the terrified fluffy and stabs it repeatedly in the abdomen as it struggles to run.
ââŚdigginâ out holesâŚâ
Thereâs another cut of a camera pointing at a burrow in the ground. An unseen hand drops a sphere with a sparkling lit fuse into the entrance. After a moment, coughing is heard along with little voices crying out âfwuffy nu feww pretty!â and ânu can bweaf!â as blue smoke bellows out of the hole. Another lit object is thrown in, mostly obscured by the smoke. Thereâs another short delay and a loud flash and sharp thud from inside. Several shrieks are heard, then bleeding, wheezing, terrified fluffies come pouring from the depths just to be mowed down by more gunfire.
ââŚor destroyinâ propertyâŚâ
Yet another scene change shows Skeeter standing by a fence with a shovel. He points to a picket in the fence as it rattles gently. Soon it comes loose and a fluffy can be heard, âDummeh fencie twy keep smawty âway fwom bestesâ nummies!â The owner of the voice, a red unicorn, trots through the new opening in the fence proudly. Skeeter brings the shovel down hard, hitting it right on the head with a loud, metallic pang. The footage swaps back to the pair on the tailgate again.
ââŚfluffies cause millyuns uh dollars uh damages tâ private owners and businesses alike âcross rural America.â
Cleetus nods in agreement and stands up, motioning between them.
âThatâs why we decided tâ start doinâ some vidyas detailinâ practical and fun tips on controllinâ yer own local fluffy populations.â
The Skeeter also hops down from the truck bed and the two begin walking together as the camera follows them. The grass grows taller as they walk away from the truck, and they can be seen to descend a gentle slope while they talk.
âNow, ifân ye remember what we were up to last episode, yâall know that we went out and caught ourselves a couple herdâs worth of ferals tâ show some ideas fer what to do âbout population control.â
The two motion off camera and it shakily turns to show a large pen full of fluffies in the field, about a hundred yards away. There has to be around fifty from what you can tell, and the squeaky cries of âwet gud fwuffy go?â and âwhewe speshuw fwen?â are heard faintly. As the camera turns back to the pair, Cleetus nods and jabs his thumb at them.
âWe already done separated out the stallyuns from the mares, nâ this hereâs the boyâs pen. Ya see, the key tâ population controlâs the females. Yâonly need one er two stalyuns tuh keep the herd goin. One lil fuckinâ shithog prick might knock up as many mares ân a season as he ken physikâlly find. Nermally, theyâll pair up like people do - but when ye git a lil smarty varmint, yâmight find âim mountinâ evâry surface he ken git his lil stumpy legs on. Thatâs when ye got issues.â
Skeeter motions to the pen and nods in agreement. They both begin walking towards it, the camera following, bouncing slightly at an irregular pace.
âSo, the next episode weâre gonna be puttinâ outâll be how to passively sterilize or abort wild mares, usinâ the ones we done already got fer demonstration. Itâs better to sterilize them ferals alongside yer other means uh population control. Now, the real question is, what in the hell are ye gon do with all the boys?â
The pair reach the pen and stop, the fluffies are now very vocal and audible, begging the men, âPwease nice mistuh, fwuffy nebah num yu nummies agin!â, âWet fwuffy out! miss speshuw fwen! Pwease!â, âSmawty wan out! Smawty wan enf pwetty mawes dummeh mistuhs!â The enclosure itself is made from metal tubing and chain links, and the ground appears to be totally dirt, with only blackened patches here and there for contrast. The dirt stretches several feet outside of the fence, ending near where the two are standing.
âWell the most humane thing tâdo is kill emâŚâ
At Skeeterâs statement, several fluffies nearby squeak and wail in fear, ânu huwt gud fwuffy!â, ânu wan fowebah sweepies! nu wan!â
ââŚbut we got somethinâ a bit more fun ân mind. A scientific experiment, if ya will! See, weâd like tâ know a lil more âbout fluffy biology. More pacificly, weâd like tâ know the strenâth âv fluffy genitalia, namely tha balls.â
The fluffies nearby seem to calm a little bit at the statement, some muttering nervously âmistahs pway wif fwuffies?â One even exclaims, âWuv baww!â at the last word. The pair walk away from the pen again, the fluffy voices fading into the background, and Cleetus takes over once more. The camera seems to lag behind for a second before bouncing rapidly to catch up to the pair.
âNow, we ainât scientists, but weâve got a pretty surefire way to test what the force required tâ rip them sumbitchesâ testicles off âs gonna be.â
Cleetus points offscreen and the camera pans over to the truck they had been sitting on earlier. Itâs not very big, somewhat squat even, with a two door standard cab. The paint is faded on it in most places, some even peeling to reveal rust underneath, but itâs clear it was once entirely blue-green by the patches still intact.
âThat thereâs a tew-thousanâ tew Ford fuckinâ Ranger. Itâs got the four liter vee six, whichâll max out at tew-hunnit seven horses brake. We also know that our haulinâ capacity is right at âbout six thousanâ pounds. So, sorta mathâmaticâlly, we figure all we really gotta do tâ figure out how strong the sacks âv these lil shitrats are is tuh rig âem up and pull.â
The camera shifts back over to Skeeter and Cleetus, who are now holding a few ratchet straps and lengths of rope each. Cleetus continues his explanation.
âWeâll keep addinâ more âv em on âtil we stop rippin their scrotes off, de-vide our towinâ capacity by how many we got strapped up, ân thatâll give us âbout how much power yâneed to turn one âv em to uh eunuch! Weâll call this number âLumpin powerâ, fer takinâ off them âspecial lumpsâ.â
They both exchange a wheezing chuckle, smiling at the camera.
âLetâs git started!â
Thereâs a short gradient transition to a scene dominated by a stout oak tree. Around it is a yellow ratchet strap, and within that ratchet strap is a pleading, struggling, turquoise unicorn fluffy. He stares off camera and his voice is softly audible: ânice mistahs! Pwease wet fwuffy go! Pwease? Fwuffy am gud fwuffy and nee gib huggies tuh speshuw fwen an babbehs! Nu wan stwingy on speshuw wumps!â A rope hangs between the fluffyâs legs, leading limply out of the cameraâs view. The camera follows the rope to its conclusion around a rusty trailer hitch on the Ford fuckinâ Ranger, a brass ballsack dangling under it. Skeeter waves from the cab and Cleetus waves him forward. The truck eases ahead, pulling the rope along gently. Cleetus watches the rope as all the slack is taken out, and the fluffy on the end of it begins to panic. âNU! NU WAN! SPESHUW WUMPS HUWTIES! OWWIE!!!â Cleetus throws a thumbs up to Skeeter, who steps down on the gas. The effect is immediate. Thereâs a quick tearing sound, like wet cardboard. The rope whips back towards the tailgate with force, a gory chunk of bluish fluff following it. The fluffyâs eyes bulge out of its head as it SKREEEEEEES bloody murder, flailing wildly and slamming its head into the tree. Skeeter stops the truck a few feet from where it started and Cleetus walks over to retrieve the rope. Sanguine red trickles down the bark as the fluffy wails and sobs pitifully in pain, its tears soaking its fluff.
âhuuuuuhuuhuu⌠weeeeeeggghhuuuhuuuâŚ. huuuuuwwwwtiesssssâŚ.â
Cleetus walks back to the camera and holds up the gory sack, fluids of all kinds leaking from it. Light reds and translucent liquid with white streaks leak down his fingers. From behind the camera thereâs a quiet âbweghâŚâ
âLookee here, thatâs one down! Now we know thâ concept tâ be sound, letâs try summore!â
The camera swings over to the fluffy again and Cleetus walks into frame, pulling a small pistol out of his pocket. The video pauses, a transition sliding the new scene in. It shows the same setup once more, but this time with ten fluffies. The creatures are all strapped to three different trees in the same treeline with three fluffies per tree, save the middle, which has four. Thin ropes hang from between all their legs and they simultaneously complain about the treatment theyâre currently enduring, making it hard to parse what any one fluffy is saying. As before, Cleetus watches the ropes pull taut while Skeeter eases the truck along, and the whining from the trees turns to screeching and panicked begging. Cleetus points to the truck, yells, âletâr rip!â, and the truck lurches forward. The fluffies squeal and scream in pain, but this time the wheels of the pickup dig shallow pits into the dry, grassy ground and spin in place. Cleetus throws his hands up high, then turns to the camera and points at the fluffies, mouth agape.
âIâll be a sunuvagun! We ainât breakinâ ten!â
He waves to the truck and draws a line across his neck with his hand. The engine softens and the wheels stop spinning. The truck recoils gently down into the pits it dug, and the fluffies sob loudly in pain, âWumps huuuuuwwwwtiesssss!!!â, âWai huwt gud fwuffyyy?? huuuhuuuuhuuu!!!â, âOwwies! wowstest owwies!!!â One of the stallions pukes in pain onto the ground, some of it hitting the rope attached to him. Skeeter leaves the truck and motions exaggeratedly towards the strapped fluffies.
âWell gotdam! The limitâs ten er less!â
The two scratch their heads for a second, but ultimately Skeeter shrugs and whips out a pocket knife.
âStart cuttinâ em one at a time, I reckon.â
He walks over and slices a rope, freeing a fluffy from its testicular torment. The poor beast whimpers and pants, it being the one that had puked earlier. Skeeter jumps back in the truck and sets it into drive, tugging the testes of the terrified fluffies again. The remaining stallionsâ eyes bulge from their heads as they scream in pain and fear. The one freed sobs quietly as the screams of his brethren ring in his ears. Once again, the truck tires spin in place and Skeeter lets off the gas, turning in his seat to look behind him.
âDayum! Cut another one!â
Cleetus bounds over, his gut bouncing a little in his overalls. He whips out a small knife and saws yet another rope loose. The remaining fluffies are screeching in panic, now fully aware of whatâs going to happen next, as the two freed stallions blubber with lingering hurt. Thereâs no time for rest either, as the pickup leaps forward again. The fluffies kick and scream, enduring the pain again. One stallion, the last one on the tree next to the freed ones, squeals in delirium, thrashing madly,
âWUUUUUMPS!!! WUUUUHUUUUUUMPS!!! SKREEEEEEEEEEE!!!â
But once more, the truck fails to remove the balls from their owners. Cleetus shakes his head and cuts a third rope, freeing all three fluffies on the rightmost tree in the video. The first two are panting and crying gently from the pain, but the third is still loudly wailing âWWUUUUUMPS!!!â again and again. Cleetus gives a thumbs up to Skeeter again. The truck again rocks forward.
A loud, tearing is heard. A sound like a thick, wide velcro pad, submerged in wet, sticky mud, was suddenly ripped apart. The screams are mortifying. The fluffies on the trees shriek with intense, unimaginable pain as seven ropes tipped with bungee cords, each wrapped around a set of special lumps, arc through the air with the truck. The camera shudders and behind it a soft âb-bwweeeggghh⌠gwossâŚâ is heard. The lumps land scattered across the grass as the fluffies behind the truck howl and screech in pain, retching and flailing wildly. Cleetus looks over at the camera, smiling, but his smile falters as he looks under it. Skeeter hops out of the cab as the fluffies continue screaming and screeching. Most call out desperately for their lumps to come back, but some just wail in pain. Skeeter jogs towards the camera as Cleetus is shown behind him, walking to the treeline. The same small pistol from earlier appears in his hand. Skeeter steps in front of the camera and whips out an ancient, big button calculator, jamming some numbers into it.
âWell Iâm impressed! âCordinâ to the calcyuhlations, it takes somewhere âround eight hunnit n fifty pounds uh force tuh bare-knuckle de-lump a shithog!â
Thereâs a sharp pop at regular intervals behind him as he talks, the screams and sobs quieting with each one. The video cuts to the two sitting on the tailgate again. The sun has noticeably moved in the sky, and the soft gray skies have now taken on a warm amber hue as light filters through the trees. Cleetus addresses the camera,
âWell Iâll be doggone! That took a LOT more effort then I figyurd to snatch them sacks off! I done heard stories âbout folks rippinâ em off with ther bare hands, but I dunno how true that is now! Weâll hafta look intuh it.â
They both exchange a chuckle and Cleetus continues
âWell, thatâs all fer this vidya! Remember, like nâ sepscribe ifân ya wanna see more. Weâve got a QnA vidya in the works too, so comment below should ya have questions, er recommendations fer us! See yâall next time!â
The pair waves at the camera as the screen fades to black. During the blackout a gentle instrumental bluegrass song with the twang of a banjo at the forefront plays. The scene reopens with a blurred background and a credit roll. A large square is visible in said background, vibrant colors shuffling around within. The credits mostly talk about local businesses and give the phone number for a âFluffy Exterminatorâ hotline. Behind the words scrolling across the screen, a bright orange arc appears, shimmering as it pours into the square. The interior of it quickly catches the flickering orange and spreads, leaving nothing but black and small streaks of pink behind.
Your finger swipes down once, and lands on the âsubscribeâ button.
