Turtle was the happiest fluff in the world. why? His daddeh was bringing him to SKETTI DAVES FLUFFY FUNZONE. The green and brown stallion had been seeing it on FluffTV all week and it had been all he’d been talking about. There was everything there! Sketti! Toys! Sketti Dave! Now he was racing around the backseat of the car as they were driving there.
“Sketti Dabe! Sketti Dabe! Wub! Su egcited!” He pressed his snout to the window and breathed all over it, wondering when they were get there. It had seemed like forever since they left the house and daddeh had stopped fielding his questions as to when they’d get there. Watching urban sprawl pass by, though, eventually they were there. WHOA!
Sketti Dave’s happened to be a corporate chain place for fluffy owners with too much money to spend. Described as the ‘ultimate destination for fluffies’, Frederick kind of didn’t look forward to the day set ahead of him. Yet his best bud Turtle couldn’t shut up about it. Even now as they were simply walking across the parking lot the stallion circled around his feet and kept babbling about all the things he would do.
Entering the lobby of the place one could only describe it as pandemonium. There were all sorts of things only a fluffy could enjoy and could rightly be described as the pinnacle of greed only the mastermind of Hasbio could dream up. The entire place was a disco of bright flashing lights, roaming mascot characters, screeching fluffies, and a stink that came from vats of spaghetti and piles of shit that janitors had to roam about cleaning up.
“Howdy, partners! Welcome to Sketti Daves!” Said an over the top cheerful man in a costume that Frederick guessed had to be a spaghetti man. The head piece was a mass of cheap white tubing covered in red felt, a foam cowboy hat on top. Why was the spaghetti man a cowboy? The theming here sucked!
“Hey, yeah, uhh…” Fred looked over to the pricing plans. To play games and enjoy any other activity like food, Turtle would need to be fitted with a tiny armband that could be loaded up with a monetary amount and scanned for each thing. Grumbling a bit, the man shelled out $20 for the armband, the thing being slipped onto one of the stallion’s front legs.
“Alright, bud have…” He began but Turtle had already bolted off with a warbling squeal of excitement. Huh. Well, it was time to try and find a quiet part of the room and browse his phone for awhile.
The first thing Turtle and any other fluffy entering the floor would see was the prize counter. You could play the games and earn virtual tickets which registered on your armband, and while it was difficult for fluffies to understand the concept of currency it wasn’t such a hard thing here. Play games=Win fabulous prizes. What did the prize counter have? Lots of stuff! Sketti Dave mascot dolls, colorful balls, hoof-painting sets that were incredibly cheap looking and likely toxic but the main thing that caught his eye was a small turtle stuffy-friend. The stallion gasped. That was just like him!
“Gib toysie ‘fo daddeh. Daddeh su gud.” He decided right then and there and went off to play the first game.
What he decided on first was a single block attached to a string. ‘BLOCK OF DOOM’, the sign said. Turtle smacked his wristband against the thingy which would let him play.
“CAN YOU STACK THE BLOCK OF DOOM!?” The machine asked, and he would nod a bit. “Yis! Su gud wif bwocks!” He took the block in his mouth and slapped it up to the platform. It immediately went sliding off.
“LOSER. LOSER. WE HAVE A LOSER.” The machine bellowed at him, Turtle shaking a bit. “Nu am woseh! Shu’up, dummeh!” He scanned the armband again, the game starting over. This time he held onto the block, carefully getting on his hindlegs and setting it down on the platform and pressing down on it so it didn’t go flying off. There was a moment of silence before…
“WINNER. WE HAVE A WINNER. YOU ARE THE BLOCK STACKING MASTER.”
There would be a small amount of virtual prize tickets uploaded to Turtle’s armband and he’d go wandering off to a new distraction. It wouldn’t take long.
A closed off room with a louderspeaker that kept blaring out: FLUFFPILE X-TREME.
Was he X-TREME enough? Turtle thought so, scanning himself to be let in. The stallion walked in expecting some great contest but, uhh…
It was just a regular old fluffpile. Mostly a bunch of babbehs who were gathered up together, cooing and giving huggies.
“…” Turtle walked to the exit of the room, though once he had gotten out the door a loud voice said: “CONGRATS. YOU’VE MASTERED THE FLUFFPILE. ENJOY YOUR PRIZE TICKETS!”
That was a babbeh game but he had still won so he was happy about it. Wandering over to a gated area, he looked in with awe. It was the sketti trough! That was one of the main things they showed on the FluffTV commercials. A long uninterrupted tub of spaghetti that fluffies freely gorged themselves in, rolled around in, and genuinely lost their minds to be around. Workers were constantly unloading tubs of cheap noodles and watery red sauce into the trough, and it looked like Heaven on Earth. Turtle scanned his armband and bolted inside.
“WUB SKETTIS! WUB SKETTI DABE! SCREEEEE! WUUUBBBB!” He skidded around the trough with a flurry of excitement, gulping up great mouthfuls of the stuff. He kept eating and eating until it felt like his stomach was about to fall out. Sauce covered his hooves, face, all the way up to his legs. “Nuu…hab make poopies…” He whined a bit. If he made bad poopies in the sketti trough, he would get lots of sorry-sticks. That’s actually what the commercial had promised. Hopping out of the pasta pipe, he went wandering through the exit gate.
There was a big litterbox area that you had to scan to get into and Turtle would do so, standing in the big pile of poopy covered litter. So many poopies…he had to carefully step around to not got any on his hooves. Lifting his tail, he’d release some of the pressure that had built up from the sketti trough and a loudspeaker announced: “WE HAVE GOOD POOPIES. YOU ARE THE BEST AT MAKING POOPIES. ENJOY YOUR PRIZE TICKETS!” Turtle walked out feeling even smugger than ever, this place was awesome.
“Nuuu! Dun! Mummah! Hewp! Sketti Dabe am huwties!” A group of foals were freaking out as they watched a blue stallion giving bad enfies to a guy in a Spaghetti Dave costume, who didn’t even seem to notice this horrid discourse happening because of the padding.
“Enf! Enf! Sketti Dabe git bestest speciaw-hugs!” The stallion groaned as he punished the poor mascot who was simply there to wave at the different fluffies running past.
Turtle wasn’t going to have this though. He was a big fluffy! Sitting by and watching a bunch of babbehs cry as a smarty gave bad enfs to their favorite thing ever wasn’t something a big fluffy did. Galloping up, he headbutted the sketti enfin’ munstah off of Dave. The fluffy went flopping to the floor, screeching with an erection pointing straight at the air.
“Bwuno tewwin’! Yew am bad! TEWWIN!” The smarty said tearfully after he’d gotten up to tattle on Turtle. A short time later a different guy in a Sketti Dave costume lifted up him. “Alright, desperado. It’s time for the SORRY-JAIL for you until you cool off.” Turtle began kicking his hooves around.
“Buh! Buh! Bad smawty! Nuuuu! Tuwtle am good! He am bad!” The protests didn’t stop him from being dumped off into a small kennel themed to look like a wild west jail with a number of other misbehaving fluffies.
This was bad enough but there was Bruno sitting on the outside of the jail ‘bars’, which were actually just rubber. He stuck his tongue out at Turtle. “Smawty Bwuno am su smawt.”
The green stallion fumed, fluffing up his brown tail.
“Tuwtle ge’chu, bad smawty!” Now all he had to do was get out of sorry-jail.
