“Welcome to Wheel of Nummies! I’m your host, Skip Skippington!” Skip is handsome, something he knows with total certainty. Skip is, as always, wearing a well-tailored black suit, a teal-colored dress shirt, and a dark blue tie. “With me as always is…the lovely April!” Skip motions to a very beautiful, very scantily-clad woman.
April takes a bow, just deeply enough that the audience wonders for a moment if her ample breasts are going to spill out of her dress. It’s something that they wonder constantly through every episode. Skip might be eye candy but April, who strongly resembles Alison Brie, is the real draw. She’s the reason that roughly seventy-five percent of each studio audience is made up of men. Her wardrobe is designed to be as revealing as possible. She doesn’t mind. She gets paid a fuckton of money. More than Skip, though she’d never tell HIM that.
“Let’s meet our contestant! He’s two years old and hails from Raleigh, North Carolina! His owner Bill thinks he’ll be able to eat ALL of the nummies. Can he? Let’s find out! Let’s welcome PATRIOT to the show!”
The audience cheers, and a red pegasus waddles out on the stage. His mane is blue, but it has some white highlights. The two-toned mane is a rare sight and the audience oohs and ahhs, which makes Patriot grin. He stops and raises a hoof, waving it at the crowd.
“HEWWO NICE HOOMINS! PATWIOT WUV YU! HEWWO!”
“Come on over, Patriot!” Skip insists, grinning his big ol’ TV grin. Deep down inside he’s dying a little more with every show. He’s tired of trying to herd distracted fluffies. Tired of their stupidity. He does, however, enjoy their suffering. And he’s hoping that the wheel will unleash some particularly loathsome nummies today.
Patriot comes waddling over, a big grin on his fluffy face. “Hewwo Skip! Patwiot am big fan! Wuv watchin’ yu show on Fwuff TeeBee. Nao Patwiot wan pway game!”
“It’s always nice to meet a fan, ah ha ha! So you’ve watched the show and you know all the rules, right?”
“Patwiot knu AWW da wuwes!”
“Well, usually I’d list them off, but why don’t you give them a shot?”
“Otay! Patwiot pwess button wif hoofsie an’ wheew wiww spinnies wound and wound an’ den it wand on nummy spot! Den nice wady Apwiw wiww bwing nummy tu Patwiot, and Patwiot num nummy! Da mo nummies Patwiot num, da mowe munnies dat daddeh gon get. Hafta num AWW da nummies, and if make bad poopies and peepees out da witta-bawks den daddeh nu get NU munnies!” Patriot looks over to a large litter box which is situated a good fifty feet away from the wheel; veritable MILES for a fluffy in distress.
“That’s right,” Skip said, almost impressed that the little fluffy already has such a head start on the rules. “All poopies and peepees MUST be made in the litterbox or you forefit all the money. If you get sickies you have to make sickies in the litterbox, too! And remember - you can stop at any time before you spin the wheel, and you’ll get to keep ALL the money you’ve won so far!”
“Yus, Skip! An’ summa dem nummies nu am nummies! Dey nu-nummies. Summa dem am POOPIES! Patwiot nu wan wheew tu wand on POOPIES!”
“Well, they’ll start out as real nummies until you hit a hundred dollars. After that the wheel will change with every round. New nummies will appear, along with not-nummies. Anything can happen! Now Patriot, are you ready to play…?”
The audience shouts “WHEEL! OF! NUMMIES!”
“Patwiot am SU weady!” he shouts, excitedly prancing around in circles.
“Then press that button and spin that wheel!”
Patriot slams his hoof down on the button and the digital wheel spins around and around. It slows, and finally lands on…a strawberry!
“For twenty-five dollars, that’s a good first nummy!” says Skip. April takes a plate from behind a curtain and walks over to Patriot, leaning waaaaaay down to place the strawberry in front of him. Her breasts jiggle as she quickly stands back up; the men in the audience mutter to themselves. “Will you eat this nummy?”
“Patwiot wuv bewwy nummies! Wiww num dis nummy!” Patriot scarfs down the small strawberry immediately. “Wan spin da wheew 'gain, Skip!”
“For fifty dollars, go ahead and spin that wheel!”
This time the wheel lands on…an orange! April walks over with a small plate with two sections of orange, which Patriot eagerly eats. Things continue to go well for Patriot for a few more rounds. He works his way up to a hundred dollars by eating two blackberries, then up to two hundred dollars by eating some flower nummies. Patriot is going strong when he hits spaghetti at four hundred dollars, and after scarfing down three mouthfuls of pasta he’s feeling very confident.
“Now, do you need to make poopies yet?” Skip asks.
“Nu, mistah! Patwiot weady tu spin da wheew 'gain!”
But Patriot’s luck is starting to run out. This time the wheel lands on jalapeño slices.
“Oh, my,” Skip says. “It looks like you have to num on some jalapeño slices!”
“Wha…wha am hawuh…hawuh peen yo?”
“Really hot nummies, Patriot! They’re going to give your mouth burnie-hurties!”
“Nuuuuuuu! Nu wan buwnie-huwties, Skip! Nu wan num!”
“Are you quitting? If you quit then your daddy won’t get ANY money!”
Patriot looks horrified, then guilty. “Nu wan quit, wan daddeh tu haf bestest munnies. Patwiot wiww num da hawt nummies.”
April walks over and places a plate with three jalapeño slices in front of Patriot. They’re obviously very fresh; it’s clear that the producers of the show want to maximize the heat that he’s going to have to deal with. Patriot pauses, looks over at his daddy in the audience, then gulps down the peppers as quickly as he can. He chews them before swallowing, not knowing any better.
There’s silence for a few seconds. Then the heat starts to sink in, and Patriot reacts.
“REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” he screams. “WOWSTEST BUWNIE-HUWTIES! MOUFIE AM HUWTIN DA WOWSTEST! HEWP! DADDEH PWEASE HEWP PATWIOT! NU-NUMMIES AM HUWTIN SU BADDIES!”
“I’m not doing shit for you,” his daddy yells from the audience. “You wanted to do this and I moved heaven and earth to get you here. You’re all on your own, and you’d better make enough money to make this little trip worthwhile. Suck it up and power through, you little pussy!”
“Ohhhhhh,” Skip says, laughing. “It looks like your daddy isn’t going to help you out!”
“DADDEH WHY? HUHUHUUUU SU HUWTIES! WHY DADDEH NU HEWP PATWIOT? AM PATWIOT BAD FWUFFY?”
“Yeah, sometimes you’re a terrible fluffy! Now shut up and spin the wheel again, idiot!”
“You’re up to eight hundred dollars and your daddy wants you to spin the wheel again,” Skip says. “What do you want to do, Patriot?”
“Huhuhuuuuu huuuuuuu, Patwiot wan buwnie-huwties tu go way! Moufie haf bad feews! Buh wan daddeh tu haf happies. Patwiot wiww…huuuuu…spin da wheew 'gain.”
“Brave little fluffy! Go ahead and spin that wheel! Let’s see what you have to eat to win sixteen hundred dollars!”
Patriot hesitates briefly, then presses his hoof on the button. It slows down and lands on…yogurt!
“Wow!” exclaims Skip. “You’re a VERY lucky little fluffy! That will help make the burning go away!” Patriot is too dumb to hear anything in Skip’s tone of voice, but to all the humans listening it’s clear that Skip is VERY annoyed that Patriot’s managed to get this lucky. The fluffy’s suffering is ending as fast as it started, and it’s pissing Skip off.
“Hooway! Patwiot wiww num dis nummy!” says Patriot as April leans down and puts a small bowl in front of him. He doesn’t notice that one of her breasts slips out of her dress just enough that the entire audience - and the home viewers! - can see that she uses pasties to prepare for this sort of inevitable wardrobe malfunction. The men in the audience grumble in disappointment. Patriot slowly licks up the spoonful of yogurt, sighing in relief as the burning in his mouth subsides. “Dese am bestest nummies, make buwnie-huwties gu way. Fank yu, nice mistah! Fank yu, nummy wheew!”
“The wheel can’t hear you, Patriot,” Skip says. “It can’t speak English and isn’t a sentient creature, you idiot! Ah ha ha!”
“Patwiot nu am stoopi,” the fluffy says, his voice tinged with sadness. “Wike Skip. Pwease nu say meanie fings?”
“I’ll say whatever I want to say, Patriot! So are you going to spin the wheel again and try to earn your daddy THIRTY-TWO HUNDRED dollars?”
“Yus, Patwiot wiww spin da wheew 'gain, buh pwease be nice tu fwuffy. Fwuffy am big fan.”
“Just spin it,” Skip says, his overly-friendly host schtick dropping for just a moment. He’s annoyed and doesn’t care if Patriot is a fan or not. He just wants bad things to happen, and soon.
Patriot slams his hoof down on the button and the wheel spins again. Over and over, slowing down, finally landing on…oh no! Not that! Anything but that!
“DAT AM POOPIES!” shouts Patriot. “NU! NU WAN POOPIES!”
“Oh, that’s a terrible shame for you!” laughs Skip, finally enjoying himself for the first time in this entire episode. “It looks like you’re going to have to eat some poopies, Patriot! Hey, April. Bring Jerry in!”
April walks over, a black and red pegasus trotting happily beside her. She sets a mat down in front of Patriot, then points to it.
“Jerry,” she says. “Make poopies on the mat, then come stand by me.”
“Yus, nice wady Apwiw!” Jerry squats on the mat and drops a giant pile of shit. It’s impressive even by fluffy standards. It’s six or seven mouthfuls, easily. They must have stuffed him to the point of exploding just before the show. Jerry walks back over and sits by April, resting on his haunches and grinning at Patriot.
“Ahhhh nuuuuu,” mutters Patriot. “Dem am fwesh poopies wight fwom da poopie pwace. Nuuuuu.”
“Warm and steaming!” Skip laughs. “Now you’ve got two choices there, Patriot - you can either go home with nothing, or you can eat ALL of those poopies and earn your daddy THREE THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS! It’s all or nothing right now, and your daddy’s probably goi…”
“EAT THE SHIT, YOU MORON!” shouts his daddy from the audience. “WE’RE NOT GOING HOME EMPTY-HANDED! YOU KNEW YOU MIGHT HAVE TO DO THIS! EAT IT! EAT THE SHIT!”
“It looks like your daddy wants you to eat the poopies,” Skip says. “What will you do?”
Tears are streaming from his eyes. He looks miserable, scared, and sick all at the same time. “Patwiot nu wan num da poopies, buh wan daddeh tu be happies. Nu wan gif heawt huwties tu daddeh. Buh poopies nu smeww pwetty. Nu gon taste pwetty. Buh Patwiot…huuuuuu…Patwiot wiww num dem poopies.”
Patriot lowers his head and opens his mouth, tears dripping on to the mat. As he sobs he scoops up the first mouthful of shit and swallows it as quickly as he can. He doesn’t chew this time. He wouldn’t need to since the feces are incredibly soft. He just knows that the less time the poop spends in his mouth, the better. He chokes the first mouthful down, sobs a little, then chokes the second one down.
“Nu taste pwetty,” he whines.
The audience, being a fickle bunch who enjoy seeing a fluffy suffer just as much as they see one succeeding, start a chant. It starts off low but quickly gathers momentum and, thus, volume. As Patriot scoops the third mouthful of shit and starts to choke it down, almost the entire audience is heckling him.
“PATRIOT’S A POOPIE FLUFFY! PATRIOT’S A POOPIE FLUFFY!”
“NU AM POOPIE FWUFFY!” he shouts as he sinks back on his haunches and starts to openly sob. “NU SAY MEANIE FINGS! PATWIOT AM GUD FWUFFY, NU NUM POOPIES AWW DA TIME! AM GUD FWUFFY”
“POOPIE FLUFFY, POOPIE FLUFFY, POOPIE FLUFFY!”
“NUUUUUUHUUHUUHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! PATWIOT NU AM POOPIE FWUFFY!”
“You’ve got some poopies to eat, Patriot! Just a few more mouthfuls!” Skip is grinning his biggest grin yet. “Unless you’re ready to give up?”
“Patwiot nu gif up!” He stands back up and faces down the dwindling pile of poop. “Wiww num dem poopies, buh DAT NU MEAN PATWIOT AM POOPIE FWUFFY!”
“Whatever you say, poopie-eater!”
“Huuuuhuuuuuhuuuuu,” he cries, but Patriot makes quick work of the last few mouthfuls of shit. He coughs a little and looks like he’s going to throw up, but he recovers. “Dewe, am aww gone nao! Nu mowe poopies!”
“Good job!” Skip exclaims. “Now you’ve got a chance to earn your daddy even MORE money! GUARANTEED money! You can earn a thousand dollars RIGHT NOW, and it’s yours to keep even if you lose everything else later on. All you have to do is…clean Jerry’s poopie place with your tongue!”
“Nuuuu! Gif wickie-cweanies tu fwuffy smewwy poopie-pwace?”
“That’s right!” Skip says as Jerry turns around and presents Patriot with his shit-smeared anus. “You have to give him…what did you call it? Lickie-cleanies. Get all the poop off of his butt and your daddy gets a thousand dollars!”
“Buh das gwoss,” whines Patriot. “Fwuffy speshuw wumps am wight dewe, an poopie-pwace nu smeww pwetty.”
“LICK HIS ASSHOLE, YOU STUPID LITTLE PRICK!” shouts daddy from the audience. “I know you’re going to fuck everything up at some point, and a thousand bucks will at least cover the cost of all this bullshit. Lick. His. ASSHOLE. DO IT!”
“Buh dem wumps,” Patriot whines. “Dem speshuw wumps.”
“I don’t care, lick his balls too if he wants you to. Whatever. Just get that money.”
“Looks like your daddy doesn’t want you to be a quitter,” chuckles Skip. “What are you going to do?”
“Patwiot…nu wan du, buh wiww gif wickie-cweanies.”
“Das da spiwit,” Jerry says as he wiggles his ass. He giggles, then backs up so that his asshole is pressed right into Patriot’s snout. “Wick dat poopie pwace, dummeh poopie fwuffy!”
Patriot says something, but his words are muffled by Jerry’s pooper. He’s still crying, but he starts to lick the shit off of Jerry’s anus, pausing every few seconds to cough and choke and mutter about how not-pretty it smells and tastes. It takes a solid minute, but eventually all of the shit is cleaned away. Patriot backs up, but Jerry gets mad and shouts at him.
“Dummeh poopie fwuffy gif gud-feew wicks tu Jewwy speshuw wumps NAO!”
“Nu!” Patriot shouts back. “Patwiot aweady cwean dat poopie pwace! Nu gif gud feews wif moufie!”
“DUMMEH FWUFFY GIF GUD FEEWS NAO OW GET WOWSTEST SOWWY HOOFSIES AN…”
“Okay, that’s enough!” says Skip, kicking Jerry hard in the ribs and sending him flying toward the curtains to the backstage area. “He cleaned you up, that’s all he had to do. And he gets a thousand dollars for doing it, too!”
“Fank yu, nice mistuh,” Patriot says. “Dat fwuffy am meanie an…”
“I don’t care!” says Skip, smiling. “I couldn’t care less!” He gives Jerry a death stare; the fluffy whimpers, tucks his tail between his legs, and scampers off of the stage. “Now what do you want to do? Are you ready to spin the wheel again? Do you think you can eat more nummies?”
“Patwiot can num mowe nummies, but tummeh haf wowstest sickies fwom aww dem poopies. Nu knu if can num mowe bad not-poopies, suuuuu…”
“If you make it through the next round your daddy will get SIX THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS! What do you say? That’s a lot of money!”
“Nu wan make daddeh yeww fo Patwiot tu spin da wheew. Knu wha daddeh wan. Patwiot wiww spin da wheew.”
“Go ahead, fluffy! Spin that wheel!”
Patriot dejectedly presses his hoof on the button, and the wheel spins. So many new nummies to land on! There are raspberries! Apple slices! More spaghetti! Oh, no, there’s more poopies! The wheel slows down and lands on…
“Durian!” Skip chuckles. “Oh, we don’t see THAT often!”
“Wha am duwian?” Patriot asks as April groans.
“Oh, it’s definitely a nummy,” Skip says. “If you can get past the smell.”
“Nu smeww…awwww NUUUUUU!” Patriot exclaims as the smell hits him. April has one hand pinching her nostrils shut and she’s holding her breath. She puts the plate in front of Patriot and runs away again, her massive breasts bouncing so hard that she has to use her free hand to hold her dress up. “Dis nu smeww pwetty. NU SMEWW PWETTY!”
“If you don’t eat it, you’ll forfeit all the money you’ve earned so far. Are you going to eat it? Or do you give up?”
“Gon num, buh…” Patriot pauses as his stomach rumbles. It’s full of shit. His face is still smeared with the shit that he licked off of Jerry’s ass. He’s already feeling sick, but the smell of this disgusting fruit hits him like a freight train. He gags once, twice. His mouth starts watering, and drool starts spilling out of his mouth. He knows the warning signs. Skip knows, too; he’s seen it happen on this stage a hundred times. “Gon be sickies!” the fluffy shouts, and he runs for the litterbox.
He makes it fifteen, twenty feet. Nowhere near enough. He pukes, spewing shit and everything else in his stomach all over the stage. He can’t stop; he keeps puking, emptying his stomach more with every blast. “Daddeh!” he shouts, his stomach heaving before more shit trickles out of his mouth. “Daddeh, Patwiot sowwy! Hewp, daddeh! Pwease HUUUURRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!” He’s crying uncontrollably, knowing his daddy will be mad. Knowing he failed. Knowing that everyone’s laughing at him. Knowing he’ll be punished when he gets home.
“Oh, what a shame!” Skip says, his voice full of amusement. “It looks like you’ve cost your father THOUSANDS of dollars! What a terrible, terrible fluffy you are. But at least you’ll be going home with a thousand dollars for being a good little poopie-licking fluffy!”
“NU AM POOPIE FWUFFUUUUUURRRRRGGGGHHHHHH, hrrrruuuggghhhh! Huuuuu, huuhuuhuuuuuu!” He collapses on the stage, covered in puke and shit and tears.
“You are WORTHLESS!” daddy shouts from the audience. “You’re going to be lucky if I don’t take you to a SHELTER when we get home! God, they’d better have a hose backstage so I can clean you off, because there’s NO WAY you’re getting in the car with all that shit all over…”
“Well, let’s have a nice long commercial break!” Skip says, beaming. When we return for the second half of the show, we’ll get to meet a mare named Celeste who’s VERY sure that she’ll be able to eat more nummies than any other contestant ever has! Can she do it? We’ll find out after some words from our sponsors!"
The camera zooms in on Patriot, filthy and sobbing, as the screen fades to black.
Funny that I actually like durian though, but I imagine the smell must be too strong for a fluffy…