The garage door closes with a animated thud behind me, my rage enough to shake the foundations of the house. It’s a hot August day, the type of day where you can see the heat rising off of the concrete and fata morgana plague your vision in long distance. It had taken me 30 minutes to prepare for Act 1, more than enough time to shake up our little friend in the box.
I approach the box and hear his strained breathing. He had fallen asleep, somehow. It must have spared him, leaving him in the dark instead of in the direct sunlight. Good, I don’t want him dying yet.
“RISE AND SHINE!” I say carrying his box to the corner.
“Mummah…?” He says, still half asleep. He snaps into the realization that he is exactly where he had been before he dozed off. It feels good knowing that he fell asleep. Now I know for certain that any guilt he expresses beyond this point is an act, plain and simple. My conscience is clean.
“Nope. It’s your new daddy. Time for a shower!” I turn the nozzle for the hose towards him and spray him down in his box. God knows he needs it, he’s been downing shit like Matt Stonie at a hot dog eating contest.
“Wah?” He manages between bursts of freezing cold water. “BUH COWD WAWA BAD FOH SMAWTIE! NO WIKE. STOP NAO OW GET BIGGEST SOWWY HOOFSIES!”
“How else are we supposed to get all this shit off of you? You aren’t gonna be able to stay inside the house with your ass caked in shit, like it is.” I smile at him, feigning any sort of admiration.
“NU. MAKE POOPIE FWUFFY LICK POOPIE CASE CWEAN. DAS WHY DEY CAWWED POOPIE FWUFFY!”
“But you’re the bad fluffy. Bad fluffies are the ones who eat poop, that’s why you got that yummy snack earlier, remember?”
“DUMMEH HOOMIN MAKE SMAWTY EAT POOPIES, DAS NU CAUS’ SMAWTY BAD.”
“Right… Well, judging by how you were caked in shit when you walked in my door, it doesn’t look like you’re much of a smarty anyway. Aren’t you supposed to have a herd?” I grab his mouth and pry it open, spraying it with the hose, making sure plenty gets down his throat.
cough cough “Smawty had hewd!” cough “Til dummeh monstah take dem 'way!”
“Oh?” I smile. “What kind of monster?”
“BIG WOUD SCAWY GWEEN GWASSY MONSTER! FWUFFIES WAS SWEEPIN IN PWETTIEST GAWDEN… Smawty find pwettiest gawden for fwuffy spechow fwen and aww hewd. Den nex’ eawwy bwight times, dewe was woud nousies, and scweams. Smawty excaped but had bigges’ heawt huwties. Wost spechow fwen. Was soon mummah…” He begins to weep.
“Big loud scary green grassy monster…?” I pause for a moment. “A lawn mower??? A fucking lawn mower??? You dumb motherfucker, your entire herd got wiped out by a fucking lawn mower? That’s second only to a fucking Zamboni for the stupidest way I could possibly imagine a group of fluffies to die. You fucking retard, those things move like 5 miles per hour. Your stupid stubby legs EASILY could have outrun it. You must have ALL just been too lazy to get out of bed and run from it! Do you have no sense of danger?!” My sides are in orbit, I can barely breathe.
“DUMMEH HOOMIN, WAS FAST BIG SCAWWY MONSTAH. DON’ WAFF AT FWUFFY, FWUFFY GIF YOU HUWTIES!” He reaches out and bites my hand. He doesn’t realize how frail fluffies are in comparison to us humans. He can’t even break my skin.
His teeth clamped tight against my hand, I lift him in the air and say directly into his ear; “Is that supposed to hurt?”
His eyes fill with fear. He recognizes his powerlessness in this situation. Good.
I drop him back into the box.
“P-p-pwease nice mistuh, w-w-wet fwuffy go!” He stammers. It seems I’ve broken the smarty act and now we’re to the begging stage.
I smile at him. “I can’t let you go without a bath first, little guy!”
He seems relieved. “Fank ‘ou nice mistuh… Buh fwuffy wiww be ok, am vewy wawm bwight time, fwuffy can jus’ weave now…” He says with uncertainty.
“No. I insist.” I pull out our old Wahl peanut electric clippers. I grab his still smelly, but no longer shit stained tail, and get to work on shaving his long fur down to a proper short length like a domestic fluffy.
“NUUUU NU TAEK FWUFFY PWETTY FUW!” He begins to cry. “HU HUUUUUUUUU!”
“Oh shut up, you risk getting an infection walking around covered in your own shit. I could be saving your life right now. Be grateful, this will only take a second.”
I lied. It took 20 minutes to shave him head to toe. Next came his mane. I trimmed it down to the fluffy equivalent to a military school buzz cut. Now for the fun part.
“Mistuh so much fuw… Am dun now wight?” He said, with pouty eyes.
“Just about buddy, two things left, I’m gonna give you a special bath that’s gonna make all the mares want your special huggies!”
His face brightens. “WEAWWY! PWEASE, NICE MISTUH!”
I get to work, the instructions on the box say 3-5 minutes, 5 minutes for the darkest shade possible. I lather deep into his fur, it would take weeks of growth for this to even begin to lose it’s affects. Too bad he won’t get to see that.
5 minutes later I rinse him clean. I lift him up to my work bench.
“Nice mistuh show smawty cwean fuw nao!” His attitude was coming back. Time for a reality check!
I press him down into the work bench, and band off his tail at a good length.
“What do to smawty? Why smawty downsies? Wet smawty up nao!”
I pull my hatchet off the wall, and in one swift motion I cleave off his tail at the end of the rubber band.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
“WHY MISTUH WHY HUWT FWUFFY?!”
Hurt? What did he mean? It’s just hair.
I look and blood was spilling out onto the table. Great. He’s not just an earthy, he’s one of those freak fluffies with the tail like a dog where there’s an actual appendage inside the tail. Fucking rat. Disgusting.
“Oh geez! Sorry buddy, that was an accident, just a second I’ll make it better!”
I pull a lighter from my back pocket and begin to heat the end of my hatchet until it begins to faintly glow.
“Huuu huuuuu… Why mistuh cut pwetty taiw? Worstes’ huwties… Please hewp fwuffy…”
“Okay buddy, I’m gonna make it all better! 3… 2… 1… Here we go!”
KSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The screaming stopped before the hissing of the hot metal cauterizing his tail stump. He passed out that easily?
“Smawty am stwong weaduh of hewd!” I say, mocking the passed out rat on the bench in front of me. “Fucking retard.”
Taking advantage of the opportunity, I begin the final movement of our opera of pain. I pull out my stapler and new accessories for the fluffy. My wife being a school teacher, I afforded myself 20 minutes or so before our operation here to prepare some more instruments of fluffy agony. Using some brown construction paper, I fashioned a pair of wings and a horn for our new friend!
Crick! Crick!
And just a little bit of quick dry rubber cement for the horn, and… voila! Earthie evolved into an Alicorn!
“Hu… huuuuu” The fluffy gurgled.
“Hey buddy, are you okay?”
He shot upright. “DUMMY HOOMIN GABE SMAWTY WOWSTES’ OWWIES! SMAWTY WEAVE NAO! HOOMIN BETTAH BE HAPPEH SMAWTY NU GIB FOWEVAH SWEEPIES!” He stood near the edge of the work bench gesturing like he was about to jump down.
“Buddy I don’t know what you’re talking about! You fainted in the bath, and I pulled you out and set you on the bench. I ran to get a towel and when you got back you had…” I reach for a mirror. “I think you had better see for yourself.”
“Wah is dummeh hoomin tawkin ‘bou? Why dummeh hoomi’ show smawty picha ob poopie monstah fwuffy?” He said, with a raised eyebrow.
Fucking dumbass.
“Buddy, this is a mirror. You’re looking at yourself. Just check your leg fur.”
The fluffy looks down and immediately implodes.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
“SMAWTY FWUFFY NU AM POOPIE, SMAWTY FWUFFY AM BESTES PWETTIES BABBEH EBAH MUMMAH SAY SO, AM NU MUNSTAH, SMAWTY HAB GUD MUMMAH GIB AWW DAH MUNSTAH BABBEHS FOWEBAH SWEEPIES!” He begins circling the drain of fluffy mental health, rambling on and on about what his mom told him, why poopie fluffies are bad, etc.
“Look buddy, I don’t know what happened, but we’re gonna get through this together. You just need to stay here with me and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? I can change you back.”
The fluffy appears to have a glimpse of hope in hearing this. Perfect.
“Weawwy mistuh? You hewp smawty?”
“Yeah of course buddy. I’ll tell you what, let me get you a play buddy and some food to cheer you up.”
“O-otay!”
His demeanor seems to have switched back to victim fluffy and he’s avoiding the “heawt huwties” by hiding behind the idea of me helping him. On to Act II!
I move our Smarty friend into Berry’s empty safe room. Everything is still in the living room. I advise him of the typical things, shit in the litter box or you get the sorry stick, etc.
About 20 minutes later, while I’m still “makin’ sketti for smawty!” (spoiler alert, there is no sketti. like a boss.), Smarty’s play friend arrives. I carry the pet carrier into the room.
“Hey buddy, I brought you a friend to play with to cheer you up. I’m still working on dinner, are you okay if I leave you two alone?”
“Fwend? Nice mistuh bwing smawty fwiend?”
“Yes I did!” I open the door to the pet carrier and let the bright green fluffy out. “Meet Billy!”
“Hewwo fwiend, wha’s yo’ naem?” Asks Billy.
“Am Smawty! Biwwy wan’ be in hewd?” Replies Smarty.
“Hewd? But Smawty am jus’ one fwuffy.” Smarty says, looking down at our shit-colored ‘Alicorn.’
Comparing Billy to our little rapist is hilarious. Billy is far more muscular and powerful. He walks with a confidence. He towers over Smarty, at least twice his height.
It was as I was turning to leave that Smarty made a realization. Billy is an Alicorn.
SKREEEE
“MUNSTAH! BIWWY AM MUNSTAH! NU WAN IN HEWD. NU WAN PWAY. GE’ 'WAY NAO!”
Billy cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. “Buh Smawty am awicown too. Why caww Biwwy ‘munstah?’ dat nu am nice.”
Classic Alicorn intelligence. Chad vs. Chud. This is gonna be great.
“Oh… Biwwy am wight. Fwuffy fowgot.” His eyes sink.
I reenter the room, this time with blocks for the fluffies.
“Let’s play a game, you two. Let’s see which one of you can stack blocks the highest!”
“Yay! Wuv bwockies!” says Billy.
Smarty looks a bit perplexed. He obviously hasn’t ever played with a set of blocks. To be expected of a feral. But regardless, these are toys that foals play with. He should be able to figure it out.
I leave them to play for a few minutes and give Smarty a chance to figure out how to stack them, then return a few minutes later.
“Alright, time for the contest! The winner gets a cookie!”
“Wub cookies!” says Billy.
“Nebah nummed cookie before!” says Smarty, with a look of determination in his eyes.
“Alright you two, you have 1 minute, starting now!” I start a timer on my phone for 3 minutes. I want this to take as long as possible. They won’t know the difference.
Billy, calm and collected, in a matter of 30 seconds has his blocks stacked 10 high. He can’t reach high enough to add another. Smarty on the other hand, is getting angry. He cannot stack them 3 high without knocking them down, and that’s followed by a 10-15 second stomping and whining fit.
“Come on Smarty! You’re the smartest bestest fluffy remember! You can do it!”
“SMAWTY TWYING!”
“Awan, how wong ah we at? Dis mowe dan 1 minute.” Billy asks.
“Oh you’re right. That’s 90 seconds. Meaning you win Billy! You even caught that I set the timer right. So I’ll give you 2 cookies, congrats winner!”
Classic Alicorn intelligence. He even has a sense of time.
I hear Billy’s dad laughing on the opposite side of the closed door. He was all for this idea.
“Smawty wan’ cookie too!”
“Nope, you heard the rules buddy. We have a new game now!”
Smarty is obviously shaken by this. His entire identity is built around his perception of his own intelligence. Time to ruin it all for him.
“Alright you guys! Let’s play numbers!”
“Buh smawty nu kno’ numbahs.” Smawty interjected.
“Smawty nu kno’ numbahs? Den how am smawty?” Asks Billy, genuinely curious.
Smarty immediately flies into a rage. “DUMMY MUNSTAH FWUFFIE CAWWIN’ SMAWTY DUMMEH? YU AM DUMMEH FWUFFIE. STUPI’ MUNSTAH FWUFFIE GON GIB YOU SOWWY POOPSIES!” He turns his shitmaker towards Billy. Billy appears ready to attack.
“BOYS BOYS BOYS!” I interject and diffuse the situation. “If you’re both good, you can both have a cookie. We’re gonna finish the game, then it’s sketti time!”
“Sketties!” Smarty shouts, completely losing any semblence of the rage he was just lost in.
Billy remains obviously phased by the previous interaction, continuing to keep a close eye on his new ‘friend.’
“Alright, time for numbers, okay?”
“Okay!” They say in unison.
“Alright, how many humans are in the room right now?”
“One!” says Billy, immediately.
“Good boy! That’s one point for Billy. First one to 5 points wins, okay?”
Smarty is completely lost. Most earthies can usually count to at least 3. The most I’ve ever seen was 4. Past that they count like “4 and 1” or some other stupid form of math. This one seems to not know a single number. Perfect.
“Alright. Question 2: How many Alicorns are in this room right now?”
“Two!” Says Billy.
“NU. AM EARTHY, NU AM AWICOWN!” Says Smarty.
“Buh yu hab hown and wingies. Am awicown, siwwy smawty.” Says Billy to Smarty.
“Nu!” Smarty is getting pissed again. Better keep things moving.
“CORRECT! Question 3: How high did each fluffy stack their blocks?”
“I di’ 10 and Smawty hab 3!” says Billy.
“Correct!” I look over at Smarty. He looks completely shattered. I think the reality of his stupidity is finally dawning on him.
“Question 4: How many fluffies in this room have had foals with my pet fluffy, Berry?”
“One!” Says Billy.
Smarty’s brow furrows. He’s obviously confused and starting to draw connections here. Gotta act quickly.
“CORRECT! One more and it’s yours Billy! Question 5: How many fluffies in this room have given ‘worstest enfies’ to one of Berry’s foals, tried to give her ‘forever sleepies,’ and then gave her so many ‘sorry hoofsies’ that she had to go to the hospital?”
“Zewo?” says Billy, doing that cute thing where he cocks his head and furrows his brow.
Smarty seems to have realized the situation he’s in. He’s sweating bullets and shaking like a leaf.
“So close, but no! You’ve done so well so far though Billy, that I’m gonna give you another shot!”
Billy looks over at Smarty. He understands. The fuse is lit.
“Smawty… You maek bad enfies wif Biwwy’s babbeh? You gabe sowwy hoofsies to bestest spechow fwend Bewwy? YU AM MONSTUH FWUFFY!” Billy says, looking down at Smarty, menacingly. The difference in size and muscularity is astounding. These are the same species?
“Stupi’ monstuh fwuffy. Aww stupi’ monstuh’ poopie babbeh’s am fow is eat poopies and gif bestest enfies to smawty. Dummy mawe nu wanna gib spechow huggies to smawty so smawty so smawty gabe wostest sowwy hoofsies. Smawty desewb aww dah spechow huggies.” Smarty said, in retaliation.
“NU. BIWWY AM NU MUNSTAH FWUFFY. SMAWTY AM MUNSTAH FWUFFY. SMAWTY AM WOSTES’ FWUFFY EBAH AND BIWWY GON’ GIB YU DA WOWSTES’ OWIES AND FOWEBAH SWEEPIES!” He says as he cocks back his fist.
“STUPI’ BIWWY. BIWWY NU CAN HUWT SMAWTY. SMAWTY AM BESTES’, MUMMAH SAI’ SO. BIWWY AM DUMMEH MONSTAH FWUFFY ‘N MAEK POOPIE MUNSTAH BABBEHS WIF STUPI’ POOPIE MUNSTAH MAWE. AWW BIWWY BABBEHS GOO’ FOW IS ENFIES!” Smarty turned his shit cannon of an ass towards Billy. “SMAWTY GONNA GIB BIWWY WOWSTES’ SOWWY POOPIES, DEN BIWWY GON’ CWEAN POOPIE PWACE! If smawty feew wike it, maybe won’ gib fowebah sweepies too.” The last line was said with such a smug energy that I nearly ejected from my seat to stomp the little shit to death. But, let’s leave this to Billy.
Immediately, Billy gives a hoof to Smarty in the special lumps.
SKREEEEEE
Smarty collapses on the spot. “WHY HUWT SPESHUW WUMPS! SPECHUW WUMPS AND SPECHOW WAWAH ONWY FOR MAWES AN’ ENFIE BABIES!”
Billy didn’t like that. Billy grabs onto Smarty’s special lumps and rips the off in one swipe.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
He drops them in front of Smarty’s face and uses his hoofs to brutally cram them into Smarty’s mouth, knocking out at least 5 teeth in the process.
“nu wan num speffow wamps!” Smarty fumbled on his words. Between the tears and the missing teeth, he could hardly handle speaking.
“BIWWY NU DUN YET!” Billy sprung up on his hind legs and brough down his full bodyweight onto the legs on the left side of fluffy below. There was a sickening crack that echoed through the room. The porcelain-like femurs of the inbred, feral, shitrat of a fluffy were turned to dust in an instant. Before Smarty had even processed what had happened to him, Billy had done the same to the opposite side of the enemy fluffy.
The reality hit the rapist fluffy when he tried to escape.
“WHY WEGGIES NU MOVE?! FWUFFY NEE’ GE’ 'WAY FWOM MUNSTAH FWUFFY!” He shifted and broke into another scream that reverberated through the house.
“NU AM MUNSTAH!” Billy screamed in retaliation. “SMAWTY AM MUNSTAH!”
Billy gripped Smarty’s ear between his teeth and began to tear it off.
SKREEEEEEEEE
I decide at this moment that I’ll leave the room for a moment. I don’t want to see the part we all know is coming.
“Don’t kill him, Billy. Do whatever you want, but I want him alive when you’re done.” I shout as I walk out the door.
“Otay, Awan.” Billy says smiling at me.
I sit across the table from Billy’s dad in the living room for a few minutes, listening to the screaming through the wall.
“That’s probably enough.” He suggests to me.
“Probably. You can borrow the fluffy shampoo. Your little guy is gonna reek.”
“Thanks.”
We return to the room. Billy gleefully hops into his crate, as if this hadn’t happened at all.
Smarty is in a puddle. I’m going to choose to not think about what that is. He’s bleeding from both ends. He only has a few molars left, all his other teeth are on the floor. His ears are gone. Even his fake wings and horn have been ripped off. He has hoof marks all over and his legs are completely crippled. He would be an amputee, if I had any desire to let him live.
Jesus Christ man. Talk about getting your ya-ya’s out.
Jeremy leaves and I set up the final act, as the Smarty fluffy lies wheezing in a laundry basket on my back porch.
I carry him out to my flower garden and set him in the grass.
“Does it remind you of your herd little buddy?”
“…wan die.” He says softly.
“What? Why do you wanna die?” I ask, smiling.
“Weggief gone, one see pwafe gome, nu teefies, nu spefow wumbs. Nu weavon tu wif.”
“Well buddy, it’ll be over soon. Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
I start the engine on my push lawn mower. It’s not a John Deere like the one from his story, but it’ll do just fine.
SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
“NU NUUUUUUU. NU SAWY GWAFFY MUNFTAH!”
“IT’LL BE OVER IN JUST A SECOND YOU LITTLE FUCK.”
I flip the mower over so the blades are exposed. I buy everything secondhand, so it’s an older model, before they added all the safety features.
I lift him in the air.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you die a happier way, like medicine, or hit you on the head. All you have to do is admit that you were wrong about being a Smarty fluffy. You know you aren’t. You saw how much smarter than you Billy is. Billy isn’t even that smart for an Alicorn. The fluffies you spent your whole life hating, raping and beating are just better than you. They’re better than you in every single way.”
“huff… huff… Fwuffy don’ wan’ be smawfy nu moww… wan mummah… wan die.”
“Good job admitting it for the first time in your life. Now, say ‘I’m sorry, Berry.’”
“…am sowwy bewwy.”
“LOUDER, I want you to SHOUT IT!”
“…AM SOWWY BEWWY! HUUU HUUUUU!”
“GOODBYE SMARTY!”
“NU, MISTAH SAY DAT-”
He’s cut off mid-sentence by the blades of the mower. His body rattled about for a moment amongst the blades before ejecting as a fertilizing red mist for my flowers. A rainbow shines in the mist for a brief moment before the dew lays itself to rest among the petals.
A few weeks later
“Berry, come on out, it’s time for supper!” My wife calls to the fluffy.
“Otay Mummah. Wha’s dis’?” She looks confused for a moment, then overwhelmed with joy.
“HAPPY BIRFDAY MUMMAH!” Her children cry out at once. Billy too.
“Spechow fwen an’ babbehs? Why hewe now?” She asks, while caught in a massive hug pile with other fluffies.
“Well, Berry, it’s your second birthday today, and you hadn’t seen any of your babies, or Billy since the accident. The vet gave the okay to play for all of you, so we decided to bring everyone over to see you!”
“BEWWY SO HAPPY DADDEH!” In this moment you can see how loved she feels written across her face.
“WUB YU MUMMAH!” Berry-baby, whose name stuck, even after the move to grandma’s house, emerges and gives her mother the strongest hugs she can manage from her weak little fluffy arms.
After several hours spent playing with her babies and special friend, present time comes.
Her babies and special friend all came with simple toys. My wife got her a new bed. I was the last to offer mine up.
“Here you go, Berry.”
“Wha am dis, daddeh?”
“The last of the edible flowers from the garden. I saved some for today, just for you, Berry.”
“Fank 'ou, daddeh!” She smiled at me.
PART 1: The First Day of our Acquaintance by (illegalchinesecigarettes)