[note: This is an old fucking greentext.]
>you now have a job as a ‘squeezer’
>essentially, your job is to help the fluffy ponies at a dairy farm produce as much fertilizer as possible, and to get it out of them
>first day is great
>you meet all the fluffy ponies, play with them and get them to trust you
>they’re such friendly little guys, and they eagerly gulp down the special treats you were told to give them
>they are prunes coated in a chocolate-flavored laxative
>the next day you actually have to squeeze them and the other farm hands show you how it’s done
>the first technique is referred to as ‘The Scotsman’
>placed under the arm, you squeeze the fluffy pony like a bagpipe
>this is the simplest and least harmful to the fluffy pony, they insist on showing you the less pleasant ones
>the next is the Tyson, wherein you simply punch them in the gut until they give up their brown gold
>really beyond the Scotsman it’s just various ways of brutalizing the poor thing’s abdomen
>they tell you that it’s a lot easier once you have to deal with them for days on end
>after all, you aren’t ‘just a squeezer’, you also have to help with the other duties
>which the fluffy ponies interfere with constantly
>not out of genuine malice, but simply because they’re absolute morons and accident prone
>seriously, you’ve seen one drown from just looking at water
>over time, the place became a kind of… fluffy/dairy farm
>the fluffy business isn’t as profitable as milk, but it’s nice side gig
>the farm the owner had been buying from shut down anyway after one of their hands decided enough was enough
>turns out it was just some sick assholes way of jerking off
>a peculiar mix of the snuff, bestiality, and farm life fetish
>doesn’t bother you
>during one of the scheduled squeezings on eastern pasture another herd of fluffies appears
>led by a belligerent blue unicorn
>they are harassing the other fluffy ponies away from the pasture they’re supposed to be in
>you know just how to handle this and grab two ponies from the herd
>they trust you, so there’s no need to be mean
>you cradle them in your arms and give them a big helping of prunes once you reach the eastern fence
>there they are: a big herd of feral fluffy ponies, grazing and shouting at the “bad fwuffies”
>when you approach, they show no fear but puff up their cheeks angrily
>without a word, you climb atop the fence and assume the double Scotsman
>two squirming, babbling balls of neon fluff, begging that you not give them “bad huggies”
>they appear confused as the fluffy ponies under your armpits wriggle their legs in air
>your sudden squeezing causes the pair to let loose a stream of sticky diarrhea all over the interlopers as you roar like a primal ape
>the herd immediately run off, frantically squealing “sowwy poopies” and “no smeww pwetty”
>cuddle your new shit-cannons gently
>the other farmhands have taken to calling you ‘the shit-sheriff of [redacted]’
>you find plenty of excuses to exercise your fecal marksmanship
>sometimes it’s coyotes, but mostly its either a new herd of feral ponies or a group you blasted weeks or even days ago that forgot what happened
>the weirdest thing you’ve seen so far are fluffy ponies attempts to be clever and trick you
>once an entire herd walked backwards towards the fence believing you’d think they were leaving
>you considered hosing them down with a pair of earth ponies, but you decided to let them walk ass-first into the razor wire
>at first their fluff just got tangled, but as the other back up the blades start to cut through the fluff and into flesh
>the tangled fluffies started squealing about their “owwhies” and the others turned
>begging for “mistah woody waww” to not give their “poopie pwaces wowstest owwies”
>hugs not only fail to make it better, but also cause more to get tangled
>since you knew the ferals would just bite you if you tried to help, you decided to hose them down anyway
>you felt great, your two favorites Smith and Wessen were also laughing at the “bad fwuffies” stuck on the wire
>even if they don’t like the squeezing, they like helping out and being good fluffies
>those that weren’t caught too badly in the fence scampered off leaving brightly colored tufts of hair on the razors
>the others were not so fortunate
>the boss didn’t notice until late in the afternoon when the sobbing finally caught his attention
>then you had to free or euthanize over two dozen squirming, shit and blood covered fluffy ponies that wouldn’t stop wailing about “munstahs”
>you heard from the other hands how the chief originally chased off the blue unicorn
>frankly, punching a fluffy pony’s foals and ripping their heads off is a little… gross
>this is, however, coming from a guy who uses two of them as portable turd-hoses so that may not mean much
>speak of the devil, Blue and a sizable portion of his posse have somehow breached the razor wire
>for his safety and any pregnant dams in his herd you decide to intervene
>they’ve already chased off the fluffies that had been grazing here
>“our gwassies! fwuffy no wun fwum munstuh!” he charges, slamming his hoof into your ankle
>it was a really lucky shot to even make it beyond annoying discomfort
>you set down Smith who starts munching on the grass and grab their leader
>the unicorn has a defiant streak in him, cheeks still puffed out and squirming
>his own group is starting to remember and starts crying and apologizing to “babbeh”
>you lower him to Wessen’s fluffy butt and squeeze
>the unicorn is hosed down with shit and thrashes around as you turn him for an even coat before shot-putting the varmint well beyond the fence
>you turn to regard the crying, terrified host
>”Now git before I give you all a taste”
>they scatter in all directions, getting tangled in the razor wire or running around in circles while screaming and shitting themselves
>oddly enough, most stayed and integrated with the farm’s fluffy ponies
>you’re pretty sure he won’t come back
>though the chief probably thought tearing the head off a baby would have scared them off forever too
>one time some punk kids ended up in the pasture
>you didn’t know what they intended to do
>either cow-tipping or torturing fluffy ponies
>it didn’t matter, since they were going to be dealt with the same way
>they weren’t even trying to hide what they were doing; shoving firecrackers in fluffy ponies’ buttholes
>you were going to show them a whole different kind of butt fun
>they were rude and dismissive as you sauntered up like John Wayne with your fluffies in your arms
>your ultimatum is given, but they just tell you to fuck off
>nope.avi
>”Taste the double Scotsman, children!”
>the colonic surge of watery fluffy shit sprays all over two of the three young men
>they begin puking and crying “what the fuck”
>you gently place your little buddies down so they can recover and “reload”
>the third runs off leaving his shit-caked friends behind
>you offer to show them your shower if they never come back
>it doesn’t take long for them to agree, while it is miraculous fertilizer, fluffy pony crap stinks particularly bad
>turns out, ‘the shower’ is just a hose
>they never come back, but they also try to keep it a secret
>pretty much every summer you’re spraying down stupid frat-boys and high school delinquents
>it never gets old
>oddly enough, becoming the Sheriff has helped you learn to love the fluffy pony’s again
>you’re the senior squeezer and now pretty much the go-to guy for taking care of them
>with leadership, however, comes responsibility
>some of the green squeezers keep mistaking a fluffy pony that’s full of babby for one that’s full of shit
>since you’re now the resident “expert” in that field, you take them aside for a demonstration
>you note that you should always check the fluffy pony’s ear tag
>or if you aren’t blind, don’t squeeze the ones that can’t move without someone rolling them
>one of them doesn’t seem to give a fuck, and still squeezes the pregnant ones, laughing when the foals shoot out
>you’re sure he kills the foals, and the chief wants him done up special before he’s fired
>boss man may be perfectly willing to snuff a feral invading his pasture, but every foal this jackass wastes is his money down the drain
>so the chief wants the Sheriff to give him a parting gift
>the fucker gets a pink slip and told to clean his shit out of his locker
>you use this time to prepare
>you’ve taken to giving your favorite ponies those fiber bars that are in the health food section
>they love the things because they’re sweet and chewy, but it also makes them produce an ungodly amount of shit
>today, you have something special planned
>douchebag owns a bright yellow pickup
>which he never locks
>a fluffy pony under each arm
>AND between your knees
>the dreaded Triple Scottsman
>you hose down the interior
>the torrent of runny feces soaks into every nook and cranny
>unfortunately, your legs squeeze a little too hard, adding blood to the foul slurry now filling the cab
>the look on his face is one of the many things that keeps you the Sheriff
