The Foal Hotel, by Gardel


“Fuck, this isn’t working”

Burt was just sitting on his porch with a 5mw blue laser and the plastic laser goggles that came with that when he bought years ago.

“Why it won’t catch fire like in the video?”

He’s been trying every home remedy on the internet to fix his fluffy problem, and because he’s not swimming in cash either, with student debts up his neck for a shitty degree, he can’t afford a professional exterminator.

He had already tried rat traps but all those did was break a fluffy’s leg at best so they would still limp around and shit everywhere. They also learned to avoid the things, fluffies are dumb but not that dumb.

A video on youtube showed some bald “mad nerd”-type vlogger incinerating feral fluffies and their foals with a purple laser in his backyard. Of course he forgot to mention that the laser he was using was a high-powered 100mw unit he got from a lab that closed down. Burt’s laser pen laser couldn’t even burn paper.

It would only blind the fluffies at best…


“-what the fuck?”

"Huuuuuuuhuuuuuuuuu! were nummies? fwuffy nu can see-BONK EEEEEEEEEE!"

“What fucking time is it----3AM?! shiiiiiiiiiit…”

Now he had a bunch of blind fluffies running around trying to steal food from his dumpster but making even more noise than before.


“Dummeh nu-see fwuffy! nao the hommin munstah kno fwuffies awe hewe!”

“Yeah, I already know dipshit…” -said a groggy Burt while putting his pants on

Outside he saw the problem: the blind fluffy crashed into the bins and tipped them all over. He could tell because the other fluffies fled and left the blind mare behind.

“Huuu! hewwo? fwuffies thewe?” -said the mare as Burt got closer, shovel in hand

“Nope!” -and then he kicked the mare like a football (real football not handegg) into the open trash bin before shoveling all the trash back into the bin. The mare while hurt by the kick and the impact against the plastic of the bin was still alive as Burt put the trash back into the tipped-over bin.

She was actually kind of happy since a moldy cupcake fell near her so she started nibbling it

“Mmmmm! bestest nummies evah!”-was probably right considering she was born a feral eating grass and dry leaves.

Of course once burt put the bin upright all the trash came crashing down on the mare…


Thankfully the trash had a muffling effect so Burt knew that not matter how much the fluffy screamed it wouldn’t bother him for the rest of the night. Still there was the problem of the rest of the herd still running around.

“Gotta keep tryin’…”

Later that day

“EEEEEE! YICKY WAWAS!” said a grimmy blue stallion

“Eat it fucker!”

Burt was spraying the big earthie with a can of bug spray, not the sissy-kind for ants, the super-strong banned by the geneva convention type that could take down even a radroach if those existed.

“Kaff kaff!----guhh…BARF!

“That’s what you get for playing hero you noisy faggot!”

Burt had originally intended to spray a group of 7 foals that were eating what was left of his plants but the stallion showed up giving him ‘wowest huwties’ that amounted to nothing but the feeling of being hit with a squeaky toy yet it did distract Burt long enough for the foals to flee through the nearby hole in the fence. The house next door is vacant so the fluffies use that dirt yard as a buffer on the way to their nests.

Now the stallion was puking its guts out, metaphorically.

With the rest of the shitrats gone Burt decided to go back inside, taking out the herd’s ‘toughie’ (as he read on a few blogs) probably being enough to scare the others away even if just for a while.

Next Day

“What the fuck?!” -said a shocked Burt just back from his shitty job as he saw the herd back, eating from his tipped over bins and shitting his yard up since there was barely any grass or plants to eat left.

“Dummeh hoomin! nu gib toughie sickies agen!”

The stallion was still alive, the blue fluff where the spray hit it was almost gone and the skin below looked like a chemical burn, but the stupid thing was alive.

“HOW?” -wondered Burt, after all when he left the thing to die he had puked his own weight in barf and was shaking worse than a guy with seizures.

And there it was standing before him, a red ‘smarty’ unicorn a couple meters behind him with the rest of the herd.

Then suddenly…

“Hoomin munstah! evewy fwuffy wun!” -yelled the smarty

“You motherfuckers!” -screamed an enraged Burt throwing his backpack away while he prepared to charge the escaping interlopers.

“SOWWY POOPIES!” -yelled the toughie


Burt managed to dodge most of the putrid spray but it still stained the lower part of his pants and his shoes. The distraction was enough for the herd and even the toughie to escape.


Burt was getting tired of this shit, he had to come up with a plan. In the meantime he deployed some glue traps near his doors to avoid home invasions.

It was mostly cocky foals thinking they could go inside and steal “nummies” from Burt. It didn’t help that sometimes adult fluffies would push them to do it.


Foals would get trapped alright, but adult fluffies were too big and heavy so they simply ran away with the glue strip attached. Burt saw them days even weeks later just moving around dragging a dried soiled glue strip hanging from their tails or legs.


Still worked for foals but he would only catch one at a time since the screams scared the other foals away and just like with the rat traps the fluffies would learn to avoid the strips, and Burt couldn’t afford to coat his entire yard with those either…

He remembered a guy from school who went into the fluffy business and decided to contact him for advice.

Jose: <You can’t use regular bug poison on them, Hasbio made fluffies resistant to it in case they ate that crap since they’re so dumb and broken by all…>

Burt: <Seriously?>

Jose: <Yeah man, remember these things were originally very expensive, what if your toy horse worth several thousand dollars decided to use Raid as a breath spray and died?>

Burt: <You ever wonder how come people hate them so much? I mean they are like living plush-toys…>

Jose: <Having a bunch of GMO rathorses destroying crops sending food prices sky-high kinda destroys the cute&fuzzy image they got. Add to that the true nature of the things with the foal rape, the cannibalism, the yard invasions, the racism, them shitting on the streets, on the parks, on water reservoirs…>

Burt: <Alright I get it, so any ideas?>

Jose: <Well I heard about this new product…

Next saturday Burt was driving his shitbox car to the nearest Walmart.

He was looking for the thing his friend Jose said could solve his fluffy problem.

“Foal-Hotel, there it is!”

Early models just had a glue trap inside and used LED lights or scents to lure foals in. Of course that just trapped the foal leaving the mare and stallion still around to make new foals in just a few weeks. And this time they would learn to avoid the box and not let their new foals get inside no matter how strong the scent from the miwkies gel fragance package was.

So companies came up with a new model, one that would end your problems.

A final solution…

“Heh, Hitler woulda have a field day with fluffies…”

Burt bought one unit, it came in a flat pack with assembly instructions. Back home he opened the box to get the parts. The material was sturdy, MDF-like but not as resilient. It was painted pink a color the instructions said was scientifically proven to be the least treatening to fluffies so it wouldn’t scare them away. Old models were unpainted and brown which fluffies consider a ‘poopie color’. Size-wise it was a medium box, big enough for several foals but an adult fluffy would barely fit inside and the tiny opening makes it impossible for anything but a tiny unweanned ‘babbeh’ to get in.

Before finishing the assembly he had to place the bait: it came in a rather big foam food dish sealed with a foil lid with tons of warnings on it.


“Just what in fucking hell is this shit made of? it better works…”

Under the lid was something that looked like really odd spaghetti, as if a kid had made it with playdoh, but it still smelled like canned sketti just really strong. He kept it at arms-length to avoid breathing in whatever the hell was in that thing.

Burt set the assembled foal hotel on his backyard in a place where he could watch. Thing wasn’t cheap so he wanted to make sure it worked or else he was getting a refund.

Then suddenly he heard it…

“Wu? wa dat?”

“Dat smeww…fwuffy nevah smeww dat…but fwuffy knos”

“Is nummies…”

“Bestest nummies!”



The entire herd came scrambling through holes in the fence, new ones they made after Burt fixed the old holes. It happened every week, he didn’t know how the fluffies managed to do it but then again it was a shitty fence.

The herd was bigger than he thought, possibly because when it comes to sketties no fluffy wants to stay behind.

It was over a dozen adults, 6 stallions including the smarty and 8 mares all with foals and some also pregnant. The foals were too many to count, none looked good enough to resell and the price for a feral with decent colors is already kinda low.

“If this doesn’t works I’m gonna have to move” -thought Burt, even though he knew well he wasn’t able to afford doing that.

As the herd surrounded the Foal Hotel they became confused, agitated even.

“Wa? y fwuffy nu can weach skeeties?”

“Huf! howe tu smaww!”

“Nu can weach wit nosie-pwace”

“Huuu! mummah nee bestest sketties fo bestest miwkies fo bestest babbehs!”

“Big cowt can see sketties bu nu can git sketties…” said a grown-up foal whose head was already too big to fit through the tiny gate.


It took a while for one stallion to figure it out…after a tiny piss yellow filly simple waddled inside the box.


It was the closest thing to an eureka moment fluffies ever had.

Stallions and mares rushed to get their tiny foals inside the box to bring them the fake deadly pasta.

Some foals were too little, Smarty’s old litter was too big now so he used his recent one which were newborn chirpie babbies.

“DUMMEH BABBEH! Y NU WALKIES IN BOXIE? WOWEST BABBEH NU BWING SKETTIES FO’ BESTEST SMAWTY AND BESTEST SOON-MUMMAH!” -he said pointing a hoof to his ‘bestest friend’ which only days after giving birth to these foals was already pregnant again.

“These things are worse than rats…”

“WOWEST MEANIE BABBEH GIT FOWEBA SWEEPIES!” -it said as it brought a hoof down on the head of the tiny pegasus filly


“Nu wowwy smawty thewe otha babbehs tu bwing sketties!” said the mare too focused on the sketties to even care about its filly getting crushed and its brains splattered on the ground below.

Neither did any other fluffy care, the sketties were more important.

The mechanism of action was simple yet effective: the foals would bring back the sketties for their parents and older siblings who would eat it. The poison was slow acting so no fluffy would die too soon thus scaring the herd before they ate all of the bait. As mares digested the “sketti” to make miwkies they would absorb the poison themselves while also giving it to the foals through the milk.

The point of using tiny foals is that they wont be able to eat the sketti and at the same time are only able to bring back a tiny amount on each trip thus making sure the trap wont run out of the “sketti” before every weanling and adult in the herd gets a bite.

Eventually the poison dried the fluffies essentially mummifying them while still alive to avoid putrefaction and attracting predators.

The side effect of this process was extreme pain as the fluffies felt how they were being dried from the inside out. It had been engineered to prevent them from pooping or puking so they couldn’t get it out of their system. Their skin would get an awful rash, fluff sticking to it. Their gums would bleed and so will their eyes and nostrils as the mucuses dried up and cracked.




…nu…boo-boo juice…fwom see-pwaces…fwom mouthie…nu wan die…peep

From his window Burt saw as the entire herd slowly died. One by one they would scream themselves hoarse, start bleeding from almost every orifice and then fall on their sides and chirp until they died.

The foals were already being dissecated by the chemicals, a litter of 7 who just 30 minutes ago got their “bestest miwkies evah” already looked like raisings. Yet for some reason 4 of them were still alive, shaking a bit with eyes dried and sunked into their sockets, mouths agape gasping, their lips cracking but no blood coming out as it was already congealing within their veins.

“How the fuck are they still alive? damn!”

In another hour it was over, even the biggest adult looked like those pictures of dead cows in a drought zone. With the kit Burt bought some gloves and a face mask, partly because god knows what diseases these ferals could have but also because he didn’t want to get even a spec of whatever the fuck was in that ‘sketti’.

As he grabbed a mare by a leg to toss it into the trash bag its pink fluff began to fall off like dandelion seeds. Same happened with other fluffies so Burt decided to shovel them into the bag instead of getting dried technicolor hair all over his yard.

When he was done he went to the red bio-bin at the end of the street and threw the bags full of dessicated shitrats into the trash.

It would be years until he had to deal with ferals again, but at least now he knew what to do.


Another classic story.


Genius absolutely genius. What a fantastic idea.


Kino story

This is a great idea dealing with ferals and the slow effect of the drug to wipe and dried them from the inside, especially seeing that smarty shriveled dried.