You decide to browse the internet. Maybe someone there will know why you’re so bad at this, both the canned foals AND the ones in the basement. Primarily the ones in the basement, you aren’t afraid to chalk the canned foals litterbox escapades up to luck.
“lol you got tricked by fluffies dumbass”
“the kind of selfish fluffies youre looking for are rare. mostly found in suburbs, more wildernessy type areas, stuff like that. the ones in the city are usually nicer, learning fairly quickly that being an asshole to humans is a quick way to get killed. that and the courier fluffies make it harder to find them.”
“find some runaways, the runaways can be real shitheads if they had owners that spoiled them”
“you suck at this lol”
“is this the same guy who came on here to complain about getting a ticket”
“you cant just tell them shit and expect it to stick right away, positive and negative reinforcement are your friends, show them you mean business. youre on the right track stabbing one of their hooves for shitting in the wrong place, but you should go above that.”
“why do you need a reason to do this just do it pussy”
“you dont sound cut out for this”
“lmao he thinks he needs a justification beyond ‘because fuck you’”
“find a soon mummah that ran away from home to have kids, try and indoctrinate her into the classic ‘bad mummah’ thinking process, then have fun either watching her abuse her kids for you, or punishing her for being bad.”
“how did you get outsmarted by a fluffy? not even an alicorn, just a fluffy. youre a fucking idiot lmfao”
What do these morons know? Giving in to their base instincts. Unlike them, YOU are not an animal. There’s a reason for what you do, even if one of those reasons is to establish that you stand above them. But you will steal the good ideas.
“Thank you, you are the only few here with an ounce of intelligence, and if it were up to me I would get rid of everyone here who wasn’t helpful. Bunch of animals.” aaaand post.
You have been banned from r/fluffy_abuse. God fucking dammit. Reason: too argumentative and unwilling to accept help and/or criticism. Bullshit.
You decide that you’ll show some mercy on the mother in the basement. She’s useless anyway, and there isn’t much chance that she and all her babies are gonna get adopted by the same person. You’re still gonna punish her for making you look like a fool, though. You won’t be made a fool of. Not by her, not by Fireball, and not by that bullshit inventor.
You walk downstairs. “Huu huu, d-daddeh stiww angwy?” You just stare at her, smile a little, and walk over. “H-huu huu, nu huwt babbehs, am good babbehs! Huwt mummah instead!”
“Goddammit goddammit goddammit Shut the fuck up, stop talking, be quiet, you’re making this not fun.” Should it be fun?
“Everyone get into the crates, you’re leaving.” The smarty immediately takes his clone and enters the crate. Looks like he’s learned sense. Slippy looks up at you. “B-buh, d-daddeh nu wub fwuffies?” You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“No. No, I don’t love you. You’re all so fucking annoying I can’t stand it.” Her second litter of foals start crying. “D-daddeh nu wub babbehs, huu huu huu.” You shove Slippy and her foals into a crate. “You’re goddamn right I don’t love you. I fuckin hate you all. In fact, I hate you so much that I’m not even gonna waste my time on you guys.” You’re just saying that because you’re too creatively bankrupt to think of anything!
One of the bigger foals, the one that looks like a clone of her, stays back, along with a small light pink baby that’s just started walking. The clone starts talking to you. “B-buh, fwuffy nu wan go outsidesies again, it cowd an scawy!” You grab it and put it in a box in the corner, along with its siblings who are either too stupid to do as they’re told, or too scared to go. “Alright, anyone who doesn’t get in the crate in the next 5 seconds gets to stay behind and they’ll wish they had left. No takers? Good.”
“D-dadde-”
“I’m not your dad, don’t call me dad again or I’m gonna break every one of your legs off.”
“Eep! Uh, m-mistew, pwease gib babbehs back? Am good babbehs! Nee dew mummah!”
“You aren’t getting them back. Be happy those are the only ones you’re losing.”
“H-huu huu, otay… W-whewe da-m-mistew taking fwuffies?”
“I’m taking you to a shelter. They’re gonna try and give you new homes. You’ll probably be split up, that’s if you don’t just get killed before you can get adopted. But trust me, it’s better than staying here with me. Your babies are gonna learn that the hard way.”
“Huu huu huu huu, otay mistew, fwuffies am weady. P-p-pwease can mummah hab babbehs back?” You think for a second. Sure, you’ll let her have them back, maybe it’ll be funnier that way. But before that, you’re gonna have some last second fun with them. You pull the box over to your worktable.
You pull the small baby out, squeeze the shit out of it over a trashcan, and put it down on the small table. You were gonna use this table to make her watch you do all kinds of nefarious shit. You grab a pair of wire cutters, grab the insta heal gel (without numbing agent, of course), and take a deep breath.
“You know, I was gonna do this more in depth, but then I realized you fuckers drive me insane.” You grab one of the legs of the foal, and pinch it between your fingers, crushing the bones with ease. “Eeeee! M-mummah! H-hewp! Eeeee!”
You grab the second leg. “EEEEEE! chirp! NU H-HUWTIES! BABBEH WIWW BE GOOD, JUS’ PWEASE NU MOWE HUWTIES!” You pinch it. “peep! cheep! M-MUMMAH! HEWP B-BABBEH! NEE H-H-HUGGIES! peep! chirp!”
You grab the third leg. He’s regained his composure a little, and isn’t screaming anymore. “P-pwease daddeh, am onwy widdwe babbeh, jus’ wan huggies an’ wub! Huu huu. peep!” Pinch. “SCREEEEEE! chirp! chirp! peep! W-WHY MUMMAH NU HEWP?!”
“It’s cause your mom doesn’t love you.”
“NU! NU TWUE! MUMMAH WUB BABBEH!!”
He’s suckling on his last hoof, as if that will convince you not to hurt it. And it does. You like the image of the foal only having one leg. Dragging itself around at a snails pace, constantly fearing it might lose its last leg, probably getting a hell of a rash on its belly.
You grab the wirecutters, and proceed to cleanly sever the three legs. “SCREEEEEE! W-WEGGIES! N-NU TAKIE WEGGIES! WEGGIES AM G-GOOD WEGGIES! AM GOOD BABBEH! peep! chirp! MUMMAH, P-PWEASE HEWP WIDDWE BABBEH!”
“HUU HUU, M-MUMMAH TWYIN, BUH NU CAN GET OUTSIES OF BAWKS!”
You slather instaheal gel on, and the wounds start healing up quick like. “There we go, one down.” You set it to the side as it suckles on its final remaining hoof, and the little clone covers its eyes, thinking that if it can’t see you, you can’t see it.
“Oh no you don’t you little bastard.” You pick him up, squeeze the shit out of him over the trashcan, and strap the little fucker down, so he’s laying on his stomach. “P-pwease, daddeh, nu huwt fwuffy. Am good fwuffy!” You roll your eyes. You snap the leg out of place. “SCREEE! HEWP! MUMMAH! SABE FWUFFY!” You grab another leg. “P-p-pwease daddeh, nu huwt weg-” Snap. “SCREEEE!”
“Calm down, we haven’t even gotten to the cutting yet.”
You snap the third leg out of place. “chirp! peep! chirp! MUMMAAAAHHHHH! HEWP BABBEH! PWEASE!!”
“M-MUMMAH NU CAN HEWP BABBEH! MUMMAH SU SOWWY! HUU HUU HUU!”
Fourth leg goes snap. “SCREEEE! SCREEEE! chirp! chirp! chirp!”
“Now comes the REAL hurties.”
You grab a pair of hedge clippers (yeah it might be overkill but it’s still gonna cut off a leg). The fluffy tries to move a leg so it can suckle on it. “SCREEEE! H-HUWTIES!”
You line up the cut, and snip. “W-WEGGIE! HUU HUU, WOWSTEST HUWTIES!! chirp! peep!”
“M-MUMMAH SU SOWWY BABBEH!”
Second leg, snip. “HUU HUU HUU! M-MUMMAH! BABBEH NU WAN WOSE WEGGIES! AM GOOD WEGGIES! A-AM GOOD F-F-FWUFFY! HUUUU!”
Third leg, snip. “SCREEEEEEE! chirp! peep! peep! W-WHY TAKE WEGGIES?!”
Fourth leg, snip. “SCREEEEE! W-WEGGIES!! WEGGIEEEES!”
You put the instaheal gel on it, and give it a little time to heal. “F-fwuffy nebah gon wun again, n-nebah gon p-p-pway, nebah gon h-h-hug mummah again… huu huu huu…” Their stumps are already coming in nicely.
You take the little bastards and put them in the cage with their mom. She immediately hugs them both. “M-mummah su sowwy, babbehs, Swippy am w-wowstest mummah…” The smarty special friend speaks up. “Nu am wowstest mummah, Swippy did ebwyting Swippy could. Mistew am wowstest munstah.” You don’t care. You want these fuckers gone as soon as possible.
You get into your shitty car, and drive down the road to a shitty shelter nearby. Looks like the most run down building in all of Pennsylvania, and that is saying a lot. The 9 PM atmosphere makes it seem even more depressing. Garbage on the sidewalk, fluffy shit everywhere, homeless guy pissing behind a dumpster, just the worst. Perfect for your fluffies.
Miserable fluffies are all throughout the shelter, and there’s a box in the front that says “one day left!” on it. It’s got pillowfluffs, blind fluffies, shit brown fluffies, and blind, shit brown pillowfluffs.
“I’m dropping off a bunch of fluffies, and I’m in a hurry so can I just leave the crates here okay thanks bye.”
You leave the shelter, you couldn’t take the smell, or the irritating voices. You get back to your car, sit there for who knows how long, squeezing your temples. The headache passes, and you drive out. In the rear view mirror, you see the shelter again.
The shelter looks beautiful.
You stop the car, and immediately get out and run back to the shelter. What the fuck happened? Where’s the garbage? Where’s the fluffy shit? Where’s the homeless guy?
You walk inside. This doesn’t look anything like what you just saw. All the fluffies are sleeping. They all look so happy! Soft lullabies are playing throughout the store. What the fuck just happened?!
“Excuse me, did I just come in here and drop off two crates of fluffies?”
The worker looks at you, slightly freaked out. “Y-yeah? Her name is Slippy? Special friend with no testicles? Little foal with one leg, bigger foal with no legs? Looks fresh?”
“Yeah, that’s them. So if they don’t get adopted in like a week, you’ll kill them right?”
“Uhhh, no? This is a no kill shelter, sir. I dunno if you couldn’t tell by the decor, or the way it looks outside.”
Goddammit. What the hell happened? You’re losing it! You’re actually losing it! I’m only surprised you didn’t lose it sooner! Maybe you’re just exhausted.
“Well, can I have them back? I wanna take them to a kill shelter.”
“Sir, that’s not how that works. You gave them to us.”
“Alright then, can I adopt them?”
“They’re getting processed right now. It’ll be an hour before they’re ready.”
“Fuck it, keep the little cunts. And fuck you, kid.”
You storm out of the building. What the fuck happened? You get back in your car, and drive home. Your hands are sweaty, and you’re shaking like a leaf. You really need to sleep. It’s not sleep you need, it’s antipsychotics! You’re nuts!
You get home, ignore the fluffies in the floor, and immediately get to bed. This isn’t going to fix anything you know. You’re going to be just as insane in the morning! You need to talk to a professional! You don’t need a professional. There’s nothing wrong with you. Typical, refusing help again, and refusing to admit when something is going wrong. You’re beyond help!
You don’t get much sleep, you can’t stop hearing things.
