A mother-fucking, son of a bitchin, god-damn, shit-stained, piss-soaked, bomb ass Fluffy Thread

A mother-fucking, son of a bitchin, god-damn, shit-stained, piss-soaked, bomb ass Fluffy Thread

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Let's start with some Mcgonagall.

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bump

Bump with some content, please!

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I don't have any

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That sucks, least you have trips

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nump

bump

Bump

Need some brutal smarty abuse

Need some litterpals

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Does anyone have that link of an user that post a link to their own fluffy abuse stories? It had a "tax" or "tex" in it?

One the user wrote was a trilogy of a guy named michael who takes in a pregnant mare and as soon as they are born, he kills one sealing it a plastic zip lock bag, skewers another one with toothpicks, and ties another one to a ceiling fan spinning it to death. Does any of this sound familiar?

Have a generic yard invasion story I started a long time ago and never posted. Need feedback.

Smarty Magic

>You are outside, working in your garden when you hear the distinctive babble of yet another feral herd outside of your fence. You snort and keep working, nary a concern on your mind.

>Your garden is quite well fluffy-proofed, though you hadn't considered them at all when you'd made it. You've never quite understood how so many people have trouble with fluffies tearing up their garden. In an area with both groundhogs and rabbits, anyone with good sense would have a decent raised-bed garden with a fence. A fence keeps out the ground-based pests, wind chimes and CDs on a string keep birds away too.

>There's another bit of panicked babble followed by your neighbor shouting and a few wails from fluffies. You chuckle to yourself and keep working. Nice fellow next door, but he really should maintain his back yard and fence better. You'd warned him a while back that, being this close to the woods, high grass and a broken fence pretty much guarantees a weekly invasion this time of year, but yardwork was low on his priorities. You couldn't blame him, though - he worked at some oil well site or something, and was usually gone about a week at a time.

>There's another shout, a few thumps and 'SCREEEEs', and you decide to take pity on him. You poke your head over the fence and catch a glimpse of him stomping a toughie to paste.
>"Ahoy-yo, Rob!" you call, trying not to laugh.
>He catches your eye and frowns.
>"If this is going to be an I told-you-so, I don't even want to hear it!" he grumbles.
>"Naw, mate. For a 6 pack of decent brew, I'll solve your, uh, 'problem' in the most amusing way possible."
>"I can stomp the shitrats myself, maybe relieve some stress."
>"Trust me on this, it'll crack you up."

>He was intrigued enough to leave the herd to lick their wounds for a moment, and came over to the fence.

>"Here's what we do..."
(continued)

>A few minutes later, the herd had calmed down and was doing the usual. Eating the grass, shitting everywhere, being bullied by the smarty, fucking... It never ceases to amaze you how simple minded they are. One moment, the herd is a panicked mess, trying to avoid the heavy boots of an angry human, the next, all was forgotten save for a few mourning their 'special friends' or 'bestest babies'. It was a wonder any could survive in the wild at all.

>As the two of you patch his fence from the outside, you explain your idea to Rob, who quickly goes from grumpy to good spirits. He offers to sweeten the pot a bit - once the fence was done, he'd call a few friends, grab some steaks, fire up the grill, and you'd all get some after dinner entertainment.

>About 30 minutes and 2 beers later, the fence is done and herd is napping. You and Rob's friends quietly make preparations.

>One of his friends is inside, heating up a can of cheap spaghetti. The other is outside, standing by with his camera. You quickly put down some stakes and chicken wire to keep the herd from reaching the house while Rob gives the fence and the rest of the yard a thorough soaking with the hose.

>It wouldn't do to have the flames spread.

(continued)

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aetasxblog.wordpress.com/

>One last step. You feel silly doing it, but it is important. An empty paper towel roll, a bit of tinkering with duct tape, the thing that is going to make this afternoon awesome, and you are ready. Wait, no. Safety goggles. Gonna need safety goggles for this one. Once ready, you nod to Rob.

>With everything now in place and cameras rolling, you and Rob have a loud conversation.

>"Wow, I am really glad we have all this spaghetti! It is soooo good!"

>The herd begins to stir. Some are startled awake and shit at your voice, but a familiar scent quickly raises their excitement and gets their mouth watering.

>You're Smarty! Not just any smarty either, but the Smartiest Smarty in the world! You know this because you've met other herds and smarties, and your toughies gave them so many sorry-hoofsies that they cried! No, there are no smarties but you, THE SMARTY!

>You found a new land for your herd on the other side of a not-tree wall. One of your dummeh nummie finders found a way through, but you sent him so it was really you doing the hard work. Your herd started eating the grassies, but then a dummeh hoomin came and started yelling. That dummeh - doesn't he understand that this is your land now? No, of course not - hoomins are dummehs and have to be told.

>"Dummeh hoomin, dis Smawty wand nao, bwing skettis or git wowstest huwties!"

>That dummeh didn't listen, though - he just yelled something that hurt your hear-places and started giving sorry-hoofsies to your herd. Your toughies tried to run, but you made them go back to give the hoomin sorry-hoofsies of their own. They didn't do it right, though, those dummehs. They hardly hurt the hoomin at all before he gave them the biggest, worstest sorry-hoofsie you've ever seen. It scared you a little inside, but you knew better than to let the human get the best of you.

>But then, suddenly the hoomin left for no rea- no, the hoomin was finally scared off! Of course, why wouldn't it be? This is your land - it always was.

>After a good grassie meal and a filly good-feels, you take a nap. You doze for a while, only to be woken by hoomin voices and... and...

>You freeze, sniffing the air. Could it be... it smells like the greatest of all nummies, that sweet, sweet ambrosia of the gods...

>"WANT SKETTIS NAO!"
(continued)

Oh yeah. We really need this bullshit. Fuck you.

Thats it! Thank you so much user - here is your (you)!

>Rob smirks to you and gasps theatrically.
>"But... these are my skettis! You have plenty of grass!"
>"WANT SKETTIS NAO! WIWW GIVE WORSTEST OUCHIES!"
>"No! The only way you can get these skettis is if you take them from me!"
>The smarty stomps in rage.
>"TOUGHIES! GO GIVE SOWWY-HOOFSIES!"
>The two remaining toughies hesitantly charge Rob and ineffectually kick and stomp his boots and shin.
>"Owies! No, please, stop! Here, you can have my skettis!"
>Rob gives a generous spoonful to each of the toughies.
>"There, now eat it all up!"
>They immediately eat their treat, beaming. "Dat bestest nummies!"
>They don't notice the Smarty behind them, trembling with rage.

>You're the world's bestest Smarty, and the unthinkable happened right in front of you! You're frothing at the mouth with rage - how dare those dummeh toughies take your sketti?!
>"Wat 'ou du, toughies? 'Ou num Smawty's skettis!"
>The toughies cower apologetically, but that's not enough! They shall pay. Oh yes, they shall pay.
>You are ready to charge when the other hoomin dares to open his dummeh mouth.
>"That was the toughie's skettis, because he took it from my toughie!"
>You are about to tell that dummeh hoomin to shutup when his words sink in. Hoomin toughie? You furrow your brow in concentration, thinking. Do hoomins have toughies? You think long and hard, muttering to yourself as you strain your powerful smarty mind. You know there are lots of hoomins herds around, and you know there are hoomin mummahs and daddehs and colts and fillies and - wait, yes, of course, they have to have toughies! They have to, but... but... he said HIS toughie... wouldn't that mean...?
>A new thought forms in your head, one so shocking that you nearly fall over. Your sphincter contracts in shock, and you barely avoid making surprise pee-pees.

>"'Ou is hoomin smarty!"

>The herd gasps.
>"That's right! I am the human smarty, and this is my land! And this is my spaghetti!"
>The herd gasps again. Those that don't shit, faint, and those that don't faint cover their eyes.
>"The fluffy toughies got some spaghetti because they took it from my human toughie. If you, fluffy smarty, want spaghetti, then you must fight me for it!"

>The thought scares you a little, but if the human smarty only has one weak toughie, then how good can he be? Also... wait, where is the human herd?!
>"'Ou am a dummeh hoomin smawty, 'ou haf nu hewd!"
>Right as you say this, two other hoomins from the hoomin herd step out of the hoomin housie. You snort contemptuously.
>"Am widdle dummeh hewd! Haf nu hoomin mawes!"
>"No, we don't. BUT:"

>We do have alllll of the spaghetti!"

>That stops you short. The hoomin smarty is right - he does have sketties!
>But not for long...
>"Smawty take aww 'ou skettis! Gif 'ou sowwy-hoosies an' sowwy-poopies an', an' FOWEVAH SWEEPIES!"
>The human smarty laughs, enraging you.
>"Smarties don't fight with poopies! They fight with MAGIC!"
>The hoomin smarty gets on the ground, standing on both its front and back not-hoofs. He scrunches up his face and starts to concentrate, and for the first time you notice his horn!
>It's the first human you've ever seen with a horn, but the horn is a dummeh poopie color, not like your bright orange horn!

>You begin to concentrate as well, and you can immediately feel your horn tingle. You concentrate and concentrate and concentrate so hard that some poopies spray on to your herd, but you don't care. You can feel the energy building, and you shoot out a super intense burst of sparkies from your horn! There are so many, each one of them almost as bright as the sky-ball, and each one headed right at the hoomin smarty!

>A small chuckle sounds from behind you as you struggle to keep a straight face.
>The little smarty discharges a short-lived, pathetically dim burst of sparks that are barely visible in the daylight.
>He looks both exhausted and pleased with himself, so you ham it up.
>"AHHH, owie, it hurts! Worstest burnie owies!"
>The fluffy herd begins to cheer for their little hero.
>"Smawty am bestest smawty evah!"
>"Soo stwong!"
>"Wuv bestest smawty!"
>"It's not over yet," you yell, as you give a quick flip of your zippo.
>"I still have human smarty magic!" you call.
>With your brow furrowed in mock concentration, you light the fuse of the thing that will make this afternoon awesome:
>a roman candle, leftover from the 4th of July.
>The firework is nestled in your duct-taped cardboard tube 'horn', so you lower your head and point it at the fluffy herd.
>Within seconds, the fireworks begin. Literally.
>The back yard is filled with howls and wails as burning fluffies run about in utter chaos.
>"SCREEEEE! BUWNIE HUWTIES!"
>"WOWSTEST OWIES!"
>"MUMMAH! SMOKIES!"
>"WUUUNNNN!"
>"TOO HOT! NUUUUUUU!"

>You can hardly see the carnage with your head down, so you quickly take the makeshift horn off your head so you can watch.
>You keep the 'magic horn' pointed at the panicked herd, and watch with interest.
>A flaming foal hugs its mother, setting her fur alight
>a colt with its wings burning off runs in a circle...
>a stallion attempts to roll a heavily pregnant dam to safely, only to take a series of hot sparks to the back of the head
>The last thing the dam sees as she shits out her foals in fear is a bright light coming from her special friend's eyes and mouth as the still burning sparks bounce around in his charred skull.

>All 4 of you are cracking up as you watch them flit about the yard in a panic.
>They dash around with no clear plan, bumping in to each other and tumbling into burning patches of fluffies, setting themselves alight.
>None of them have the presence of mind to make a run for the section of fence from which they entered.

>Not that it would have mattered, of course. You and Rob patched it earlier.

Y>ou hear a quick spray of the hose and turn to see Rob extinguishing a burning fluffy at his feet.
>You turn back to an increasingly quiet yard, and keep an eye out for any fires that aren't fluffy.
>Within minutes, it is over.
>The last of the fires are out, and the grass is only lightly singed in a few patches thanks to the thorough pre-soaking.

>Grown men baby talking to eachother
>In their Gore/Porn/Animal abuse thread
This is worse than ponies.
Kill yourselves, all of you.

Uh... is anyone reading this, or all you getting annoyed that I am filling the thread with walls of text?

Holy shit boi, the quads

Pwease sabe Fwuffy

>You peel off your safety googles with a grin so hard it hurts your face.
>The other guys are still laughing.
>The cameraman is walking around, getting some footage of the aftermath, and Rob's other friend tosses you a beer.
>The whole thing was a bit ridiculous, and you felt silly arguing with a smarty with the paper-towel tube taped to your forehead, but seeing the burned fluffy corpses still makes you chuckle.
>Over the few cheeps and chirps from still surviving fluffies, you hear Rob say something.
>You turn around to see him crouched over-
>"Holy shit, is that the smarty? He survived!"
>"Yeah, I put him out early on, then put him out again when he caught fire a second time," answered Rob.
>"And now, I am giving him the rest of the spaghetti. I figure the little shit-rat earned it, I haven't laughed like that in a long while!"
>The smell of burning fluffy - which, by the way, is actually slightly better than fluffy shit - is soon replaced with the smell of burning charcoal and grilling steaks.
>You knock back another beer as one of Rob's friend's says something you didn't quite catch.
>The others react with disbelief.

>"What was that?" you ask.
>"He said it already has over 60,000 views on youtube, and it's only been 30 minutes!"
>Yes, life is good.

>Epilogue:

>After a delicious steak, you wander over to the sole survivor of the herd, the smarty.
>He's nearly catatonic, shivering and mumbling something about sparkies, burnie owies, and human smarty magic, but hasn't gone to the 'wan-die' stage. >Yet.
>"Hey little fella, you look tired. Want me to take you over to the herd's fluff pile for a nap?"
>He looks at you and blanches with recognition.
>"He... hewd... burnie... fwuff piwe?"
>"Yes, the magic is over and the fires are out, so why don't I take you to their pile?"
>He silently holds out his arms and you lift him up, walk across the yard, and unceremoniously dump him in the ash pile that was once his herd.

fin

feedback plz. I am awkward with the greentext format, especially since this was originally written as prose. I also recognize that yard invasions have probably been done to death, but I like them.

Id love if someone drew this, fucking hilarious

i did

good ending

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