Soft jazz plays, then it softly and slowly fades away until you can hear a voice.
“Hewwo hoomins and fwuffies awike, an’ wewcome bak tu da Enfcast Wibe, whewe we du tawkies ‘bout wha nyu in fwuffy fukin. Dis bwight-tiem, Cwimson am tawkies bout da sebentee’ fings dat Cwimson nu enfed yet 'gain, but wif a nyu ee-dih-shun.” A red and orange fluffy says, as chat bubbles appear on the screen and the fluffy looks down at a notepad.
“If ‘ou nu wa’ch Ep-ee-sode Twentee-Tuu on da otha sebentee’ fings Cwimson nu enf yet, gu ahead an’ wa’ch it fo’ cun-tex. Aneeways, Numba Eihtteen, Fwuffy En-Fek-Tin’ Viwus. Cwimson nu eben knyo ‘ou couwd fuk a viwus, buh hewe we am. Fwuffy En-Fek-Tin’ Viwuses, ow most commonwy, Bestesh Sickie Fwends, nu hab a kunt ow nu-nus. Dey nu eben hab a poopie-pwace. Wif Bestesh Sickie Fwends, 'ou can fuk dem in dere moufie.” The fluffy continues, turning around in a very short chair to talk to another fluffy.
“Fank ‘ou fo’ fa facks! As a wewawd, 'ou get wun enfie-babbeh! En-joi!” The other fluffy smiles, uncovering a small hole in the wall and walking into another room.
“Peep? Peep, peep! Squeak! Squeak!” Something, that sounds like a fluffy chirpie-baby, starts to peep and squeak as soft giggling can be heard from the background.
“Cwimson nu wub a wot, buh wub fuk babbehs. Nao, howd stiww.” The fluffy walks over to the hole in the wall, putting its ‘no-no stick’ into the hole and thrusting in and out.
The camera cuts back into the same room, the fluffy now completely finished and placed back into the chair.
“Cwimsson, 'ou wike tu meet 'ou enfie-babbeh? Dey say they wan see 'ou.” Another fluffy questions, as the first fluffy sighs and groans.
“Fiy-ne, wet Cwimson see wittwe bitsh befowe dey gu foweba-sweepies.” The fluffy rolls their eyes, just as a group of fluffies bring out a very large Bestest Sickie Friend, and then another one.
“Dis wun mak’ chiwpie-babbeh noisies, dis wun wus da wun 'ou enf.” One of the fluffies explain, pointing their hoof at both of the Bestest Sickie Friends and giggling.
“Ou… ‘Ou meen… Cwimson am SU dun! Dey mak’ Cwimson enf a sickie-fwiend! An’ Cwimson wiked it!” The fluffy shouts, throwing up over the camera and slipping on their vomit, crashing into the camera.
Sowwy fo’ tek-nik-caw difficuwtees, ebewywun! Da Enfcast be wight bak afta a few… minow touch-upsies…