Fluffy Thread Friday

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Yw,
-OP

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fluffybooru.org/post/view/22872#search=castration

topkek

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haven't seen this one before. I'm liking the new "fluffyvision" ideas.

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I made a thread of this before, why did it get deleted? D:

Something about this one always gets to me. It knows they're in pain. It knows its daddy understands that fluffies are for love. Why would he do this?

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Some mods think it /mlp/

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Thats cute, post more

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Why do you never share the abuse/rape of anthro-fluffies? You would think some rich guy would be bored and do it.

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From what I've seen on the booru, there just isn't that much of it.

There is less anthro than normal fluffy, good stuff is even more rare.

Artist? Moar? Love it

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that's quite athletic for a fluffy

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>tfw AppleFluff story's where never continued

I can pick up textdumping from where I left off last night if you want.

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Would be nice but it's up to you

That had a cliffhanger? I only vaguely remember a story about Applefluff giving birth.

That is fucking brutal. MORE!

No cliff hanger it just never really ended and always left you wanting more

Lmao you autists have yourself a nice weekend.

All right, I'm gonna pick up where I left off last night/early morning.

Previous stories can be found here:

fluffybooru.org/post/list/bad_nummies author:swindle/1

Some Things Never Change
It's been two days since Applefluff had her foals. You've moved her back into her safe room; you were already going to do that since you didn't want the foals underfoot, but what happened yesterday prompted you to do it sooner than anticipated. A foal literally got underfoot.

You'd just finished dressing for work. Applefluff was laying in her bed next to your dresser, foals snuggled up on her back, singing some adorable song to them to encourage them to nap, and just as you finished adjusting your tie and turned to walk out the room, the little peach-colored colt tumbled off his mother's back, rolled off the bed, and came to a stop where your wingtip-clad foot was coming down. The foal chirped in distress (mainly from suddenly tumbling and losing his mother's warmth; he had no idea he was about to be crushed underfoot since his eyes weren't even open yet) and Applefluff SCREAMED louder than any living creature you've ever heard. In order to avoid killing your sweet fluffy's offspring right in front of her you had to throw yourself to one side, landing on the bed, or else all your weight would have come down on that foot and crushed the foal.

Applefluff, naturally, snagged the baby immediately, hugging it and its sister, and had a panic attack. You were afraid she would hyperventilate or have a heart attack, so you did your best to calm her down and check to make sure you hadn't hurt the little guy. But she eventually calmed down, and she didn't blame you; she understood it was an accident. But she was terrified, having had a brush with her own child's mortality, and you hated to leave her like that, but you had to go to work.

You ended up twenty minutes late to the office and had to rush to get to the courthouse on time once you'd gathered your briefs from your desk.

Applefluff knew it wasn't your fault, but if you HAD accidentally killed her baby... would she forgive you? You didn't want to find out. She was a good, well-behaved fluffy, and she loved and trusted you. You didn't want to damage that any more than you wanted to harm her foals. Especially since the entire point of letting her have foals in the first place was to keep her from suffering the fluffy equivalent of depression brought on by ennui and boredom.

So when you got home yesterday, you moved her bed, litter box, and bowls back into the safe room and she followed you, babies curled up on her back, quietly chirping as they settled down for a nap. She was reluctant to move back in since she liked being close to you while she slept, but you told her it was safer for her babies and she didn't complain once.

Today, you've just gotten home from work at the district attorney's office, and your house is a mess.

Not because of Applefluff, of course. She's been locked in the safe room all day. Your house is a mess because your cousin Andrew, who needed the work, brought a couple friends over to tear up the linoleum floor in your kitchen and the area by the back door and replace it with a wood floor. It was yellow, so it matched your cabinets and table nicely, it was fairly easy to assemble (the pieces went together like a jigsaw puzzle and had rubberized felt underneath to keep them stuck to the concrete beneath.), and it was easy to clean in case of fluffy accidents, so you liked it. Your kitchen table was currently occupying your living room, between the couch and tv, and the coffee table that normally went there was shoved against the wall under the window. Your kitchen chairs were all beside the table, each with another chair turned upside down and stacked on top of it to minimize the space they took up. Your kitchen floor was half assembled and half bare concrete, tools scattered on your countertops. Your old linoleum had been scraped up and stacked on the small porch outside the back door.

Andrew and his buddies had left it half finished because they got an emergency call; some old lady had had a leaky ceiling and the last time it rained, her carpet had gotten soaked and now it was moldy and a health hazard. That was definitely more important than replacing your cousin's floor, so you told him he could finish in a couple days when he called you about it.

Ugh. What a mess in the meantime though. Still, it'd be like this even longer if you were to do the work yourself.

...

You open the door to the safe room and discover the pale pink, almost white, filly is in the litter box, chirping, and Applefluff is thoroughly grooming the peach pegasus colt, making "yickies" noises when she starts licking its rear. Then she sets it down and carefully picks up the peeping filly and starts licking her next.

"Hi, sweetie. Did you and the babies have a good day?"

She looks up at you, clearly happy and wanting to run over and greet you, but she stays put and continues grooming her foal. She's a good mummah.

"Yus, suw! Appuwfwuff haf gud day! Babbehs dwink wots an wots uf miwkies so dey gwow up big an stwong!"

"That's good," you say, only slightly patronizing her. You're glad to hear the foals are healthy. "Why did you have them in the litter box though?"

Applefluff makes another face, flicking her tongue between her lips and spitting until a bit of litter leaves her tongue, then gives her foal another lick.

"Babbehs awways make peepees an poopies aftew dwinking dey miwkies if dey nu gu nappies, so Appuwfwuff put babbehs in witta bawx aftew miwkies. Nu wike poopies and peepees in fwuff ow beddie."

Huh. You always knew she was more clever than the average fluffy.

"Good job, sweetie! That was really clever."

She beams at your praise and resumes licking her foal thoroughly, ignoring its chirps of protest when she starts licking its rear clean.

"I'm going to leave the door open, so if you need anything, let me know, ok?"

"Otay, daddeh!"

"And stay out of the kitchen! It's dangerous in there, your babies might get hurt if you go in there."

"Yus, suw!" she squeaks.

...

Well, you mostly just want her to stay out of the kitchen so she doesn't make a mess, but it could conceivably be dangerous for her little foals.

You walk out into the living room and turn the tv on, watching the news.

Farmers in the midwest were PRAISING the feral herds of fluffies, which was totally unexpected.

Feral herds had been devastating crops ever since they got loose, and that mega herd, numbering over a thousand fluffies, had moved like a horde of locusts, annihilating entire fields of crops and raiding stored grain and animal feed.

Farmers had been out millions because of the damage, but since they were receiving government subsidies anyway and were insured, they could survive a year with little or no production.

The herd was culled with poisoned spaghetti and US Forestry Service agents flying over it in a helicopter, making multiple passes while they sprayed the herd with buckshot from fully-automatic AA-12 shotguns they'd finally found a use for.

The mega herd had split up into dozens of smaller herds scattering in all directions, but they'd eventually reformed another enormous herd with hundreds of fluffies and were migrating in a counter-clockwise circle.

WAIT A MINUTE, ISNT THAT HANKS WORKSHOP!?

Learn to Greentext you fag

Ok now, i'm about to do a greentext story about fluffies, dubs decides what happens next

>Be smarty fluffy with horn
>Live in box with special friend and babbehs
>4 Babbehs, Red, blue, yellow, and poppie babbeh
>Red is the best, blue is a good babbeh, yellow is a dancie babbeh, and poopie is a bad babbeh
>Then, a human came to us
>"Dummeh hoomin, gif sketty wite NAO ow git owies!" I demanded

>being this much of a faggot

>As it turns out, the farmers whose crops had been devastated just a couple years ago and had been calling for the extinction of fluffies as a species, were now praising them.

>The fluffies hadn't just eaten their crops and stored feed, they'd fertilized the soil with their feces and, in many cases, their corpses.

>Farmers who had lost nearly all their crops to the fluffies were now experiencing a boom in production.

>The reporter doing the story showed some close ups of fields of grain and vegetables that were much larger and healthier than normal.

>The Department of the Interior, which oversaw the National Park Service, Forestry Service, Bureau of Land Management, and other, similar agencies, had done a study and determined that the feral herds, even the massive one that had been considered such an enormous threat, were actually doing more good than harm by fertilizing the soil.

>Crops were now producing a much higher yield in their wake, forests and grasslands were flourishing, and an area that had been stripped by a lumber company and left bare now had the start of a new woodland growing after the fluffies had enriched the soil while passing through.

>An area that had been devastated by a wildfire the year before was now recovering faster than usual, and enough fluffies had died of starvation crossing the broad area of ash and tree stumps that even the ones too hungry to poop had been enriching the soil with their bodies.

>Experts with the Department of the Interior estimated it would take the herd three or four years to make a complete circle, and that while they would devour whatever they found in the immediate area around them, they more than made up for it in the abundant growth of vegetation that came afterward.

>Farmers who had spent years exterminating fluffies were now praising them and said they couldn't wait for a large herd to come through again.

Happy now, buttmunch?

>"Sure, I ain't making money that one season, but I make triple that in every season afterward for the next couple years. I figure it's worth it."

>Some expert from the BLM, a guy with long hair, a beard, and glasses that went out of date in the 70's comes on the screen and starts discussing studies of how feral fluffies actually benefit the ecosystem, rather than posing an ecological disaster like everyone had thought for years.

>"Wolves have made a comeback in several areas and the northern spotted owl is no longer endangered, thanks to fluffies providing a plentiful and regular source of food. Old growth forest isn't experiencing as big a boon, but younger trees and vegetation are definitely seeing a payoff from fluffies. For years, we've thought of them as nothing but a nuisance, even an ecological disaster on the scale of introducing snakes to Guam, or Fukushima leaking radiation into the environment, but what we're actually seeing, after years of study, is that nature is making a comeback. Pollution, deforestation, killing endangered predators, nature is making a comeback from all the damage we've done to it, and it's all thanks to fluffy ponies. Sure, they're neon fuzzballs that talk like cartoon characters and have all the intelligence of a brain damaged puppy, but... they're helping. They're actually beneficial. We'd have never guessed that when PETA released those genetically-engineered 'abominations' all those years ago, but what we're seeing now is just... extraordinary. We still have a lot of research to do, and we're trying to find ways to limit the damage done by the herds while still benefitting from them, but this is looking very promising."

>Huh. Well, that's an interesting development. You start loosening your tie as you head to your bedroom to get changed, glad to finally get to relax after a long day.

...

...

>You're Applefluff. You're a mummah now. You love your babies. You love your daddy. Earlier today you wondered which you loved more and it hurt your head. You love your babies and your daddy.

>Your babies are getting bigger! They do more than just lay there and peep now, they crawl around. Not very well, and they still haven't opened their eyes, but at least now you don't have to pick them up and put them on your miwkie pwaces every time they cheep in hunger; they can get there themselves, though you do have to help them find your miwkie pwaces sometimes.

>Daddy left the door to the safe room open in case you needed to ask him for help, and you can hear the tv in the other room. He didn't say you had to stay in here; in fact, he implied it was ok to leave the safe room since he told you to stay out of the kitchen, but didn't mention any other room.

>"Tum on, babbehs! Wets gu watch teebees wif daddeh!"

>Your babies still haven't gotten the hang of crawling onto your back, so you have to lay down and very carefully put them there, then sort of wiggle your shoulders so they end up in your middle where they won't fall off. They can't hold onto your fluff very well yet, so you have to walk slowly and not jump or tilt too much.

>Once your babies are settled into the fluff on your back and are resting quietly, you slowly pad into the living room and stop, eyes wide in startled amazement.

>Why is the table in here? Why are those chairs the wrong way up and sitting on other chairs? Chairs don't sit on things, chairs are for sitting on! That's silly! You look around and don't see daddy anywhere, so you walk over to the couch so you can watch tv.

It's mainly for the fact of they think it's MLP so yeah you're kinda right.

>Hmmm. This isn't going to work. You can't jump up there or your babies will fall off your back. You guess you could set them on the couch and then jump up, but you've just noticed the table is in the way and you can't see the tv. Sighing in disappointment, you trot closer to the tv, careful not to jostle your babies, and then something occurs to you.

>Oh! The chairs make a perfect safe place for your babies! The chair will be overhead and provide a roof, and the back of the chair that's wrong way up makes a good wall. You can lay under there with your babies and not worry about them getting stepped on. That was so scary! But daddy didn't step on your baby and everything was ok.

>You crawl under a chair, carefully deposit your babies on the floor, making them chirp in protest since they'd started to go nappies, and you lay down and curl around them. Now you can watch the tv and your babies are safe and out of the way! You smile to yourself and hug your babies, pleased with your cleverness.

>Your filly must still be hungry, because she's wiggling around and sniffing by your miwkie pwaces. You give her a little nudge with your hoofsie so she finds it and she latches on and starts drinking.

>"Gud babbeh. Dwink aww yoo miwkies so you gwow up big an stwong!"

>Your colt, on the other hand, seems restless now that you disturbed his nappies on your back, and is wiggling about, peeping irritably. You nuzzle him with your nosie and he makes a funny face, then his eyes open! They're green like yours and soooo pretty!

>"Babbeh! Yoo eyesies is open! Yaaaaay!"

>You gently give him upsies with your front hoofsies; it was awkward at first, learning how to do that. Babies are much more delicate than blockies and they tend to wiggle. But you think you've got the hang of it now.

>"Gud babbeh! See? See yoo mummah?"

>He chirps and blinks at you, looking in all directions and blinking some more. You're so proud of him!

...

If only the the faggot did more story's

>Oops! He just squirmed out of your grasp and fell! He didn't fall very far though, and he doesn't seem hurt; he's chirping quietly to himself and moving his head around, seeing the world around him for the first time. He did fall between the rungs of the chair and end up outside the safe place you discovered though.

>"Siwwy babbeh, yoo nee tu stay wif mummah!"

>You squeeze your head between the rungs and pick him up then... uh-oh.

>You're stuck! Your head is stuck! You can't get back out! You start to panic. You carefully set the baby down and brace your front hoofsies against the chair and tug.

>You're still stuck.

>"DAAAAAAAAADDEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!"

>You're Applefluff's owner. And your fluffy is wailing for you, which means something is wrong. Since she isn't screaming bloody murder, you assume the problem isn't life threatening or involving her foals, so you finish pulling your t-shirt on before walking back into the living room.

>"What's wrong swee-"

>Ok, that is hilarious. For some reason she's under one of your kitchen chairs, nursing a foal, while the other crawls around ineffectually near her head. Her head, incidentally, is poking between the rungs of the back of the upside down chair. She tugs and goes nowhere.

>"Daddeh! Appuwfwuff stuck! Hewp!"

>You can't help laughing. Your fluffy sobs miserably.

>"Pwease nu waff at Appuwfwuff! It nu funny!"

>"C'mere sweetie, let's get you unstuck."

>You're still chuckling as you help her get loose from the chair. The day wouldn't be complete if your fluffy didn't get into some sort of misadventure.

SIEG HEIL!

The human kills the smarty the end

Bad Nummies 13
>You're Applefluff. You're a proud mummah. Both your babies have their eyes open now, and their manes and tails are coming in. Your pegasus colt is peach colored like you, with wispy white fuzz where his mane and tail are growing in. Your earthie filly is such a pale pink she almost looks white, and her mane and tail are powder blue, like her daddy's fluff.

>Both babies are crawling around more too, which makes you worry that they might crawl off somewhere while you're taking nappies, but so far they've just crawled around in your fluff, usually to and from your miwkie places. Right now your colt is resting in your belly fluff, chirping quietly to himself in contentment now that he has a belly full of miwkies. His sissie has an equally full tummeh, but she's squirming in your hoofsies while you lick her clean; she fell off your back into the nummies bowl while you were eating and got nummies gravy in her fluff.

>There! All clean! You're just setting her into your fluff when you notice the smell. A brief investigation reveals that the colt has made poopies in your fluff and is now asleep.

>Sighing, you set the filly into your fluff and... pick her back up and set her in the litter box next to you. Then you pick up the colt and set to work cleaning fluff, his and yours both.

>"Yickies!"

>It's a good thing you love your babies so much, because this happens entirely too often for your liking.

---------------
>You're Applefluff's owner. Against your better judgement, you've allowed your dumbass brother to visit. His girlfriend cheated on him, then when he found out she tried to blackmail him with a fake pregnancy. He broke up with her and kicked her out of his apartment this morning and filed a restraining order after she threw his alarm clock at him, missed, and broke his tv instead. He's taking it badly.

Alright everyone. I'm looking for a comic about a guy who agrees to take in a stray mom and her babbies in exchange for one of the baby's eyes and a wing. After that the story is mostly about the blind one winged baby being depressed.

STOP POSTING YOUR SYMBOLS OF EVIL RACISM YOU ANTISEMITIC GOYS!!!

>So, you get home, open the safe room door to greet Applefluff and check on her foals, and just reach the kitchen to start dinner when your brother knocks on the door. You sigh in irritation and let him in and he immediately flops onto your couch and starts bawling. Geez, he's too much of a dude-bro to cry in front of others, has been since high school. He really is taking this hard.

>"Hey, uh, you need something? A soda, maybe?"

>"Nah man, I'm fine. I'll be all right. I just... I just need to clear my head, y'know? Hey, you know what I could use though? I could use a cup to spit in. I need a dip, bad."

>"Sure, I've got a couple Dixie cups left from the Christmas party."

>You hate letting him dip in the house since he has a habit of leaving cups or bottles full of his disgusting leavings wherever he happens to be, but you'll let it slide this time.

-----------------

>You're Applefluff. You hear daddy's brudda in the other room. You don't like him much; he keeps doing meanie things and laughing at you. But he's also nice sometimes. It's very confusing.

>Right now, he sounds upset. He's even crying! He may be meanie sometimes, but you don't like it when someone cries. It makes you have saddies too.

>So you decide to investigate. You nudge your sleepy babies so they crawl up your fluff onto your back, wiggle your shoulders so they settle deeper into your fluff and stay right in the middle where they won't fall off, then carefully stand up and walk to the door of the safe room. Peeking around the door frame at the cowch, you blink in surprise when you see daddeh's brudda. He really is crying!

>"Daddeh's bwudda otay?"

>"Huh?"

>"Yoo otay?"

>"Heh. Yeah, I'm ok."

>"Why haf saddies?"

>"My girlfriend broke up with me."

>"Yoo... whu?"

>"His 'special friend' left him, sweetie," daddy calls from the kitchen.

And so we come closer to reaching the end

"Oh. Appuwfwuff sowwy yoo haf saddies."

"Thanks. Heh. A little fuzzball is trying to make me feel better about ending my relationship. Now I've seen everything."

Without even thinking, you automatically respond with the phrase daddy taught you.

"Haf yoo efew seen a man eat his own hedd?"

"... what?"

"Den yoo nu seen efewyfing."

You beam in pride at having recited the line correctly and daddy's brudda starts laughing.

"You know what, fuzzball? You're all right. I don't care what they say about fluffies, you're all right."

You trot out into the living room, smiling happily. Maybe he's a nice person after all!

He looks at you funny and raises his voice.

"Hey bro? What are those weird lumps on her back? She get tumors or something?"

"Those are her foals, genius."

"Her what?"

"Dose babbehs!" you say proudly. You like to show off your babies, but you don't get to do it nearly as often as you'd like. You walk over to the cowch to let daddy's brudda see your babies.

You skitter back a little when he reaches for them, still distrusting.

"Hey, it's ok, I just want to look at them. I'm not gonna pick them up or anything."

You consider it for a second, then get close enough to let him look at the babies. After all, none of the meanie things he ever did to you actually hurt you (though they did make you make sickies wawa once or twice), and if he's mean to your babies then daddy will just come and clobber him.

He pokes at your babies, commenting, "they're so little..." Then he scritches your chin and you grin.

"Babbehs pwetty."

"They really are cute. Hey bro! How the heck does something like this have babies, anyway? Like, they bud off new ones like plants?"

Daddy leans around the kitchen cabinets and looks at his brudda like he's stupid.

"No, Einstein, she got them the same way everything else does."

Wrong thread fuckhead also that looks more austitic than bronys do normally

STOP THIS HATE SPEECH NOW YOU ANTI-SEMITIC GOY!!!!!!

Screw it, I'm not doing the green text anymore.
-------------------------
"Seriously? That's... wow. I can't even picture something that cute doing it. That's like finding a porno of Calvin and Hobbes. Or Mickey Mouse and Minnie doing the horizontal mombo. That's just weird. Aren't these things basically kid's toys?"

"You really don't know anything about fluffies, do you? C'mere and help me with this."

"Yeah, sure."

Daddy's brudda gets off the cowch and as he does, he drops something on the floor and it spills some brown stuff everywhere. It smells kind of minty, and you like mint. It's some sort of nummies!

But wait- nummies on the floor are for Applefluff. But daddy dropped the taco nummies on accident and you weren't supposed to eat them. You look up as daddy's brudda disappears into the kitchen with daddy.

He didn't stop to pick the nummies up, or tell you they weren't for you. And he was being nice to you and your babies. So maybe he gave them to you? To make up for being a meany all those times?

That must be it.

You cheerfully scoop up a big glob with your tongue and.... ew. Ew ew EW! EEEEEEWWWWW! Nasty! This isn't mint, this is AWFUL! It's even worse than licking your babies' poopies!

You end up swallowing most of it by accident, but you spit the rest out.

"Sptuuh! Ptoo! Bleagh! Yickies!"

You shake your head, regretting ever touching the stuff, and suddenly your tummeh feels awful.

Then you remember that most of the meanie things daddy's brudda did involved giving you nummies that did bad things to you.

He got you again.

You start to retreat to the safe room, still spitting little bits of nasty stuff out of your mouth, when your tummeh decides it hates you.

"BLEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Sickies wawa shoots out of your mouth onto daddy's pretty new floor.

"BLEEEEEAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGH!"

It won't stop! It just keeps coming!

"BLAAAARRRRRFFF!"

"Applefluff? Sweetie? What's that noi- aw, crap!"

I've only very recently started seeing Gel colonies, but it's a neato concept. There should be more of it.

"What's wro- oh, dude, she's puking everywhere!"

"I noticed! Grab her, don't let her run off and barf somewhere else. I'll grab a towel."

"BLUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGH!"

It won't stop! Why won't it stop?! Your babies are chirping anxiously know, woken by your sickies wawa. They don't know what's happening, but they can sense something isn't right. You pant for breath, sickies wawa dripping from your mouth and the fluff on your face, and feel awful. Your tummeh gurgles and you heave a few more times, but you have nothing left in your tummeh to turn into sickies wawa. Daddy's brudda is petting you and telling you you're ok. You don't care if he's mean to you and this is his fault, you feel better just from someone comforting you.

You need to lay down.

"Ok, I got a towel. Applefluff, what's wrong sweetie? Do you feel sick?"

"She seemed fine a second ago, bro. I dunno what's wrong."

"What the heck is this?"

Daddy's messing with your sickies wawa. You hate making him clean up your messes, especially since you became a mummah and have to clean up your babies' messes and you know what it's like now, but you still feel better. Daddy will make the sickies go away and make everything better.

"What?"

"There's a weird black lump in her puke. Looks kinda like a turd. Did she eat something that made her sick?"

"Oh SHIT!"

Daddy's brudda gets up and runs to the couch.

"What? What is it?"

"DAMMIT!"

"What?!"

"Dude, this is not my fault. I had no idea."

"What? What the hell is it?"

"She got into my dip, dude."

"She what?!"

"I didn't know, I must've dropped it."

"Oh shit, she could be really sick! That stuff could kill her!"

"Seriously?"

"Nicotine is a nerve poison, you idiot! If you ate that stuff, it'd kill you! There's a reason you puke if you swallow that shit! There was a Soviet defector back in the 80's who was assassinated by having liquid nicotine splashed in his face! It absorbed into his skin and he died. I gotta get her to the vet, now!"

...

Retard

Finally somebody posting BOTH parts. Usually only the first one appears, then it's forgotten.

Dubs decides

"Dude, I had no idea! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for- shit, you don't think I gave it to her on purpose, do you? I didn't! I know I've done stuff like that before, but never anything that would hurt her! Oh, fuck!"

"Shut up and get in the car! I gotta get her buckled into her car seat."

"I'm so sorry, man. I'm so sorry. I'll pay for the doctor, everything. I didn't know! I didn't do it on purpose!"

"Quit apologizing and get in the damn car!"

You feel a little better now, but now daddy is scared, and that's making you scared. What's going on? Are you sickies for real?

Daddy carries you and your babies out to the car, straps you into your special seat, and carefully sets your babies in your fluff where the straps won't touch them. Then he and his brudda get in the car and daddy drives way faster than he usually does. Now you're starting to get really scared.

"Daddeh? Whu wong? Why scawy?"

"Don't worry sweetie, everything's gonna be ok!"

"Oh geez, I can't believe I didn't notice. I didn't know I dropped it!"

"Shut up! I know you didn't do it on purpose! Now quit distracting me and let me drive!"

You hug your babies with one hoofsie and suck on the other nervously. Your tummeh feels much better now, but you're still scared. What is happening?
Daddy sighs as he brings you back into the house and sets you down in the safe room. The fluffy doctor in the white not-fluff said you weren't sickies and nothing was wrong with you. You don't understand why daddy was so scared and upset. It still bothers you. But now he's happy you're ok and you guess you don't have to be scared now.

put in dick

The fluffy doctor liked seeing your babies and gave them a 'check up'. You like showing off your babies, but you were still scared and confused when he wanted to look at them. Then he gave your babies pointy owies so they wouldn't get sickies. You remember those. You hugged your babies while they cheeped unhappily after the pointy owies and the fluffy doctor gave you a treat. You sort of understood why he had to give your babies pointy owies, but you didn't like it. It made your babies cry. You snubbed his treat.

He wasn't angry though. He just laughed and gave you nice pet-pets and said you were a good mummah. Then he talked to daddy about something, but you didn't listen, you had to tend to your babies and make their owies go away.

Now you're home and daddy is tired but happy. You don't complain when he shuts you in the safe room. It's quiet in here and you can feel, well, safe.

You curl up in your nestie, tugging the blankie over you, and nestle your babies in your tummeh fluff as they settle down for nappies. Then you sigh and close your eyes.

What a day.

Just as you start to doze off, however...

"Pbbbbllllt."

The colt made poopies in your fluff again.

"SIGH. Yickies..."

Before you can settle down for nappies, you have to lick your fluff and the baby clean again.

He's lucky you love him so much.

Flush it down the toilet.

Stop triggering me with those Hatefull pictures

also Were did my meme gone,

nice ultra rare

femi-pepe

...

A Very Applefluff Christmas
You're Applefluff. You've been a good girl all year!

At least, you think you have. There may have been one or two mishaps along the way. Hmm. Well, you think you were good ENOUGH, anyway.

You're in your saferoom, bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Oh boy! Oh boy! Babbehs! Santa cummin, Santa cummin!"

"Chirp!"

"Cheep! Mmmm-mm-mmmmmummah!"

You hug your babies. They started talking yesterday. You're so proud!

"Chirp! Wub! Wub mummah!"

"Mummah wuv yoo too, babbehs. Yoo gud babbehs, get bestest pwesents fwum Santa!"

Daddeh opens the door and smiles.

"Ready to see the tree, sweetie?"

"YUS SUW!"

"Heh. Ok, let's fix that ribbon first."

Daddeh bends over and adjusts the pretty ribbon he put around your neck, then leads the way into the living room.

"Woooooooooooow!"

You stare in awe at the tree. It's so beautiful. The lights, the colors, the shiny ornaments, it's amazing! It's the prettiest thing you've ever seen!

You're still confused why daddeh brought a tree indoors, but that's not important. What is important is that it looks awesome!

You carry your babbehs under the tree and lay on your back, staring up into the tree as your nurse them. It's incredible. You don't have the words to describe it.

"Hey dude, is it allright if I invite my girl over tonight?"

"You mean the one you met two days ago?"

"Hey bro, don't be jealous just 'cause I'm on the rebound and you've been single for three years running!"

"Whatever. Nah, don't bring her over."

"What, 'cause it's 'too soon in the relationship' to meet the family or something?"

"No, because the last one tore your guts out and cheated on you, and the one before that stole my wallet when she came over for Thanksgiving. You have shitty taste in women."

And on this day a beautiful comic has been shared, thanks mate.

Daddeh and his brudda bicker back and forth good-naturedly while they get ready for the party tonight. You'll have to stay in the safe room this time, but it's ok; you and your babbehs get to have your own little party!

Your little colt burps as he finishes his miwkies and crawls through your fluff to lay on your tummy. You hug him and coo softly, then put a hoofsie around his sissie when she finishes and crawls up to join him.

"Wub."

"Wub mummah."

"Wuv yoo too, babbehs."

Smelling something enticing in the kitchen, you carefully roll over, wriggling your babies along until they're on your back between your shoulders. Unhappy at first, they soon settle down into your warm fluff and go sleepies. You need to see what daddeh is up to!

And maybe get some good nummies. It doesn't hurt to try.

You trot into the kitchen and waggle your tail happily. Daddeh spots you instantly and laughs.

"You smell those gingerbread cookies, huh girl? All right, you can have one. But that's it; no spoiling your dinner!"

"Yus, suw!"

Daddeh sets a cookie on the floor and warns you to blow on it before you eat it. You blow on it a few times to cool it off, then get impatient and gobble it down anyway. Your tongue is too hot, but it tasted sooooo good!

Daddeh wanders off to set the dinner table, and you look up at daddeh's brudda. Hmmm. He might give you another cookie if you ask all pretty, but daddeh said just one. You want to be a good girl (especially since Santa is coming!), so you don't ask for a cookie though.

"Nummies, pwease?"

That should be good though, right? It's not a cookie!

"Heh. No, I don't think you should eat this stuff. But, uh, here, have some of this; that shouldn't have anything bad in it."

He pours you a little cup of something yellowy-white, sets it on the floor, and goes back to whatever he's doing at the stove. You sniff the cup to make sure it isn't another of his tricks, then lap it up. Mmmm! Creamy!

Why do you lot get off to torturing "retarded children" with a coat of pony paint? Not being a troll or a bastard, legit curious because that's what it is. Child abuse painted a different shade. Make me worry about your mental state..

...

Fry it

You finish it off, then trot into the living room and set your babies back under the tree, carefully so as not to wake them. Then you slide in beside them and roll onto your back to stare up into the tree again.

So pretty.
"You care to explain to me why my fluffy has a milk mustache and is stumbling around like W.C. Fields?"

"Huh? Oh, I just gave her a cup of eggnog."

"Eggnog. The eggnog I made."

"Yeah. What's the big deal? There's plenty for everyone, that little bit I gave her ain't gonna matter."

"The eggnog I poured an entire bottle of rum into."

"Wait, what?"

"You gave my fluffy rum. Again."

"Dude, seriously? Is she drunk? Shit, bro, I'm sorry. I didn't know it had alcohol in it!"

"Yeah, great. Well, it didn't seem to hurt her last time, just made her tipsy and giggle a lot. What's the worst that could happen?"

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRF!"

"CHEEP! SPEEEEEEEEEEEP! SPEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

"Sowwy babbeh! Mummah sow- BLEEEEAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!"

"CHIRP! CHIRP! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Sowwy udda babbeh!"

"Now she's puked on both her foals. And one of the presents. And herself. Thanks man, these are the sort of memories that make Christmas special."

"You're welcome, bro."

"Ugh, I was being sarcastic. Grab a towel and clean up the floor, I gotta wash the fluffies. And rewrap Cynthia's present, would you?"

"Daddeh, Appuwfwuff nu feew su gud! An babbehs aww gwoss!"

-----

Well, that, unfortunately, is the last of the stories featuring Applefluff at this time. As to when there will be more, you'd have to ask the actual author.

And for anyone who missed yesterday's thread or wishes to read them all again, here is a link: fluffybooru.org/post/list/bad_nummies author:swindle/1

One more post

Thanks alot mate, you're a true gent.

nice one user

Any mummah soon or mummah no more story?

Post images fgts

...

...

...

...

...

Alright, I'm gonna post another story. This one is 3 chapters long but it isn't all sunshine and rainbows, though.

---------------
Fluffy Farm
Bored, you flip through channels on the tv. You're not looking forward to Monday, when you go back to work. But when you're not working, you really have nothing to do. Such is life.

Is this news, or a documentary? These days, it's hard to tell. Seems to be a report on fluffies throughout Asia. In Japan, fluffies are highly prized luxury pets; they show a woman showing off her white mare with metallic sky-blue tail and mane, her hooves decorated with bejeweled bangles and a matching tiara perched on her head. Japanese law heavily restricts fluffy ownership, requiring you to have a safe room with certain specific dimensions and accessories, licensing, and requiring all fluffies to be spayed or neutered unless you're a licensed breeder subject to regular inspections and containment procedures. So far, this has had the effect of preventing the feral fluffy problem affecting all of North America, as well as keeping fluffies a high-value item that only the rich or obsessed can afford, like they were in the US before garage breeders and ferals took off. Oh, now there's an interesting trend: some Japanese breeders are trying to breed a 'manlier' fluffy. They look like little Greek or Roman war horses, with their manes standing up in a crest like a mohawk; bigger, stronger, longer-legged, and more intelligent than the average fluffy. A black stallion with white and black striped mane and tail looks into the camera and clearly enunciates, "Domo arigato, Mister Roboto." The hell? It wasn't just pronouncing its r's, it was rolling them! That was crazy. It also seems vaguely familiar somehow.

Fuck!
Wrong image...

In South Korea, fluffies weren't just pets, they were also popular for fur coats. A woman danced around in front of the camera, showing off her rainbow-patterned full-length fur coat. Unlike Japan, the Koreans had the beginnings of a feral fluffy problem as well. They seemed to be solving this by eating any that didn't seem to make good pets, or stampeding them into mine fields along the border to clear them. The camera cuts from a running, panicking herd to the laughing soldiers as a chain of explosions goes off like firecrackers. The North Koreans, of course, have declared fluffy ponies to be a capitalist plot and open fire with machine guns and mortars any time something brightly colored and fuzzy miraculously manages to make it through the razor wire, mine fields, and booby traps littering the border.

China, of course, treats fluffies in the typical Chinese approach to animal rights. The camera doesn't cut away as it shows a flatbed truck piled high with wooden crates, each packed with so many fluffies that the wailing, sobbing animals can't even move. The fluffies in the bottom crates are completely covered in shit from the fluffies in the crates above them, many of them suffocating as a result. The Chinese workers callously hose them down, dead or alive, skin the shrieking, begging animals alive, and toss the thrashing, skinless ponies into boiling water to be made into dumplings. Other fluffies are kept in crush cages, metal tubes going through their skin and into their gall bladders to milk them for bile. You saw a news report on them doing this to bears once; now fluffies are so numerous that they're starting to replace the bears the Chinese have been driving extinct for their traditional medicine.

Who let Miley Cyrus train a fluffy?

...

...

...

Hey /Fluff/, tell me what to do next
Its a safe room, tree fluffies, female earthy yellow, male earthy green, and alicorn male amputee poopie

Gold. Any more like that?

Add Dio Brando

...

You turn the tv off and are about to call your girlfriend to see if she wants to do anything, when you hear high-pitched wailing coming from the safe room. Expecting the worst, you run to the safe room and find...

Sunshine, your badly-scarred yellow-and-orange fluffy is staring in horror as Midnight, the brand new dark bluish-purple pegasus foal you brought home on Friday, takes a tiny baby shit in the middle of the floor.

"NUUUUUU! BABBEH NU MAKE BAD POOPIESH! NUUUUU!"

Sunshine wails miserably and tries to hide her face behind her hooves as the little foal grunts, then finishes and toddles off to investigate the shiny ball that makes jingle noises when it rolls. You sigh in irritation and step into the room to clean up the mess. Sunshine notices you for the first time and has a full-blown panic attack.

"NUUUU! SHUNSHINE AM SOWWY! NU MAKE BAD POOPIESH! BIWW NU HUWT SHUNSHINE! BIWW NU HUWT BABBEH! SHUNSHINE CWEAN!"

She's slurring her words worse than usual, which is typical for when she's truly distraught. She runs for the little pile of turds as quickly as her stubby legs will carry her and you know instantly that if you don't stop her, she's going to eat it; one of the abuses her previous owner put her through was making her eat her own shit every time she had an accident or made scaredy poopies, and it took you a while to break her of the habit when you first got her. With much less stress in her life, she had far fewer accidents now, and she didn't eat it. Now, however...

"Sunshine, no!" You try not to raise your voice or sound mean, trying to avoid upsetting her further. "It's ok, don't touch it!"

She flinches back and huddles in a fetal position, trembling.

"Shunshine sowwy! Nu wan bad poopiesh! Twy teww babbeh nu make bad poopiesh, bu babbeh nu lishen!"

Squatting down to her level, you pet her gently and she winces in anticipation of impending injury.

...

Nice original post, and so in turn I'll give an original response. Its for stress relief

Fuck off

...

HUHUHU best plost twist eveh

"It's ok, Sunshine. You didn't do anything bad; you're a good fluffy. And Midnight is just a baby; he doesn't know where he needs to make poopy yet."

"Midnight am good babbeh? Nu huwt Midnigh?"

"That's right, no hurt Midnight. No hurt Sunshine either; you're a good fluffy."

"Shunshine am good fwuffy?"

"Yes. Now, Midnight is just a baby and he doesn't know he needs to make poopies in the litter box. Can you help me teach Midnight to make good poopies?"

You can practically hear the gears grinding in her feeble, abused mind as she processes all of this, then finally nods.

"Good girl. Let's start by teaching him about bad poopies."

You snag the little foal, not quite old enough to actively run yet, and hold his face to the little pile of turds he produced. Sunshine winces, but seems to notice you're not actually shoving the baby's face into the shit itself.

"Midnight, this is bad poopy! Don't make bad poopies!"

The little foal cheeped and flapped its wings and tried to backpedal away from the poop, but couldn't go anywhere with your hand on it.

"When you need to make poopies, you go in litter box! Sunshine, show him the litter box."

Sunshine practically flies to the litter box and you place Midnight in there with her.

"This is where you make poopies, understand?"

The older fluffy then proceeds to empty her bowels into the litter box; you're not sure if she's demonstrating or just couldn't hold her scaredy poopies any longer. Either way, it serves as an example. You make sure Midnight is watching as you pet her and praise her for making good poopies, then pick him up and stick his face in the turds again and tell him these are bad poopies. You stick him back in the litter box and he immediately squats down, grunts, and strains, but nothing comes out. Failing to produce good poopies, you pet him and praise him anyway and let him stumble off back to the pillow bed while you clean up his mess.

Put a time bomb in there

Give the fluffies instructions on how to defuse it

Green die by her fluffy daddeh by becomes an enfie babbeh.

...

You shouldn't conflate consumption of fictional material with some imagined pathological condition.
After all, you may have chosen, for example, to watch one of the Saw Movies and you are not murderously inclined or have a gore fetish.

"Sunshine, when Midnight needs to make poopies, you show him where the litter box is, ok?"

She nods, still cowering slightly. You pat her on the head again and remind her what a good fluffy she is, and she eventually wanders off to join Midnight on the pillow, not entirely sure of herself. You sigh as you close the safe room door and head into the kitchen to wash your hands; you were hoping having another fluffy around would lessen her anxiety, not increase it, but it seems that until Midnight learns proper behavior he's just going to cause her more distress. Your poor, abused fluffy has gotten over a lot of her emotional issues by coping with routine and lots of praise and good treatment, and now the baby is disrupting her fragile little world. You frown as the thought occurs to you that she might respond to Midnight being "bad" by physically abusing him herself; she hasn't shown any inclination to do so thus far, but it is a possibility. Maybe you should give the vet a call and ask about that.

Coincidentally, your phone rings just then.

"Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Bill?"

"Speaking."

"Ah, you would be the fluffy pest control expert from the classifieds?"

"Yes." Since he called your number and asked for you by name, wouldn't that be confirmation enough that you had the right Bill?

"I'm John Freeman, you have heard of me?"

"Doesn't ring any bells. Do you have a fluffy problem you need taken care of?"

"Not exactly. I don't need any fluffies removed from my property, I want you to put them there."

"Come again?" This isn't another one of those sickos who wants you round up fluffies and put them on some fenced in land so he can pretend to be a big game hunter again, is it?

so you are a bbc lover?
f...f...f...fag

...

I really not.

"I've started a new business for myself and it involves quite a lot of fluffies. Unfortunately, in the quantities I need them in, they start getting cost prohibitive. I was hoping to hire some fluffy removal experts and pay them to bring me entire feral herds if they could, but none of the ones I've tried so far were interested. The last fellow I spoke to was... stomping foals and sodomizing their mother with a weedwhacker. While we spoke on the phone. And I'm pretty sure he was touching himself."

"Ah, you spoke to Larry then."

"Rather. In any case, I'd like to discuss this in person, maybe let you see my operation for yourself and decide if you want to participate in my little business venture?"

You have a strict no-working-on-weekends policy, but what the hell; you're bored.

"Sure, what's the address?"

You write it down, politely end the call, and stick your head in the safe room.

"Sunshine, I need to go somewhere. I'll be gone for a while. Be a good fluffy while I'm gone, ok?"

"Otay."

She's been giving Midnight a bath; his mane is sticking out in all directions and the little foal is trying to wriggle away from her as she resumes licking his fluff. You check the water bottle and food bowl to be sure both are full, consider that Midnight can't eat solid foods yet, and hurriedly ready some formula and the plastic syringe so you can feed him before you leave.

Half an hour later, you pull up to what looks like a farm, or maybe a military barracks. You smack your fist against the dashboard of your Bronco to make the CHECK ENGINE light go out and kill the engine. A man in his early 40's walks up to greet you.

"Oh, I recognize you now! You're the guy who did that quantum mechanics thing!"

"That's me! Unfortunately, being a math whiz doesn't pay much, so I decided to start my own business on the side."

"Doing, what, exactly?"

...

Have you guys ever been to a petting zoo?
>go to lion country safari with friend
>looking at all the ostriches and antelopes
>friend who worked there won't shut up about how cute the goats are
>looking forward to it
>eventually, after a long while, make it to the petting zoo section
>mfw these guys look like double-horned, boringly-colored fluffies
>friend is telling me something about which one is her favorite
>I don't hear her
>all I can see is this one fucking goat with horns staring at me
>it's everything I can do to keep myself from shaking as I stare at this bitch, hoping he charges me so I can stomp his shit-rat face into the god damn fucking ground

Turns out goats are irl fluffies that can't talk

...

...

"Come on and I'll show you," he says, waving over his shoulder for you to follow as he heads off to the barracks-looking buildings.

There's a tall chainlink fence completely surrounding a lush meadow; you notice the bottom of the fence is enclosed by multiple layers of chicken wire and window screening. Not even a rabbit or baby fluffy could get out. Inside the enclosure are half a dozen wooden buildings on stilts, all with ramps leading to doggy doors on the ends. Rounding the fance and coming to the front of the first building, Freeman opens the gate to let you in, shutting it behind him. A few dozen yards away, a big herd of fluffies is chasing a ball across the field or grazing.

"The field has a blend of different grasses growing in it and is watered on an automatic timer every morning. We feed the fluffies a balanced diet, making sure they get the fiber and nutrition they need. Every Sunday is spaghetti night. C'mon, let's look inside.

Unlocking a seldom-used door on the side of one building, he lets you inside. Your impress of a barracks was an accurate one; the wooden building is full of individual stalls, each one occupied by a fluffy bed typical of those sold in pet stores. Some are occupied, mostly by pregnant dams or nursing mommahs. One end of the building is an open space with a lot of blankets everywhere, and a fluff pile of napping fluffies in the center.

what the fuck is that

There
There

Forgot pic like a retard

"The buildings give the fluffies a place to sleep and rest; lighting is provided by windows and solar tubes in the ceiling, it's all natural. Each stall has a night light installed with a switch the fluffy can operate, so it can sleep in the dark or have a light on, whichever it prefers. Everything is climate-controlled, so they have a cool place to rest in the summer, and a warm place to sleep in the winter. There's the open area for more sociable fluffies, and for the nursing mothers who don't want their babies getting squished or crowded, we have the individual stalls. A few of the abused fluffies we bought from rescue centers also prefer the privacy of a stall and enjoy having their own beds."

Leading you back outside, he gestures to a fluffy walking up the ramp and passing through the doggy door to enter the barracks you just left.

"We give them plenty of stimulation and exercise, you'll notice that in addition to large, open spaces for them to run and graze in, we also have a play area with balls, blocks, and other toys to keep them busy. They're all very happy here."

None of the fluffies seem to be paying any attention to you, but they are all having lots of fun playing, napping, grazing, or in the case of one couple, mating.

"I've only got fifty or so fluffies here right now, but I've got space and resources to support ten times that many. That's where you come in; they're not breeding quickly enough to fill up the place, so I need someone to bring a feral herd now and then boost my numbers."

"What exactly are you doing with them all?"

...

Nice!

"Glad you asked," he replies, smiling easily. "Inside each barracks is a 'poopy place' for the fluffies.

Each morning, my employees gather the dung and it's processed by a methane plant for fuel to provide electricity, and what's left is turned into very effective fertilizer and sold to local farms and ranches. We also shear the fluffies throughout the summer to help them keep cool, and the fluff is carded, spun into yarn, and sold to fabric stores in town. If the operation gets big enough, I'd really like to expand into a while line of clothing and blankets made of fluffy fur. But I need more fluffies; the more, the merrier. Mares, stallions, foals, dams, all are welcome. So long as they aren't infected with some disease that could spread to the others, or so lame and maimed they can't function normally, we'll take them. The only exception is smarties; we tried letting them keep a smarty friend or two to lead the herd, so to speak, but they ended up causing nothing but trouble. So no smarties, and no seriously ill or crippled fluffies. Anything else is fine. If you can capture or corral an entire herd, I'll send some employees down with a truck to pick them all up and pay you a generous bounty for every live fluffy you bring me. Sound good?"

You grin; this could be an excellent arrangement with a strong possibility of repeat business, and best of all, you don't have to kill the poor fluffies you find eating crops and destroying people's gardens.

"Let's talk turkey, Mr. Freeman. What sort of generous bounty are we talking about?"

The Fluffy Farm

Part 2
Well, the price definitely sounds good to you! It even pays better than what you usually charge to exterminate an entire herd. The only issue is capturing them all.

"Mr. Freeman, I really don't think I have the means of capturing and transporting more than a few fluffies at a time."

"That's fine! So long as you can locate them and gain their trust, just give me a call and I'll send someone over to pick them up. I've got a couple of big trucks I used to transport the materials to build this place, after all."

Man. This job almost sounds too good to be true.

"Ok, so you'll take just about any fluffy you can get, so long as they aren't crippled, total basketcases, or smarties?"

He nods, replying, "Right. And no diseased fluffies. If it's just the sniffles, that's fine, we can deal with that. If it's something that could kill a number of the herd, then the infected animal needs to be culled so the others don't get sick."

He sighs before continuing, "And definitely no smarties. When we only had one, we figured it'd be fine letting him be 'in charge' of the herd. But the little egomaniac was too stupid to realize he wasn't actually the one running the show and kept causing trouble for us. We named him Napoleon. Then when we got several smarties mixed in with the ferals and shelter fluffies, the whole thing turned into a children's cartoon version of Lord of the Flies. It got ugly. Several fluffies died, and we had to put down all the smarties because they were irredeemable, the damage irreversable. I'd rather not have a repeat of that, so no smarties. If you get one and think you can drop it off at a shelter, fine. Otherwise, do your normal exterminator work. But do it quickly and cleanly, please."

"Yeah, I can deal with it, no problem."

He walks you back to your Bronco.

"Oh, and before you leave, I'd like to give you this."

...

I don't know why I like this image.

...

He holds out a sheet of paper he pulled from his pocket and hands it to you. You unfold it to see it's a poster for a missing fluffy. The photo is of a dark green fluffy with a tail and mane that are even darker green, hugging a stuffed Oscar the Grouch toy from Sesame Street.

"Missing Fluffy, answers to Oscar, $5,000 reward offered. If seen, contact-"

"What's all this?"

"Friend of mine is a professional breeder, breeds show fluffies. That there is his prize stud."

"I've never seen a reward for a lost fluffy this high before. Hell, I've never seen a fluffy worth that much!"

"Well, that one's special. He doesn't look like much, but he's got good genes and consistently produces rare white fluffies and other color combinations. His owner says he gets studded out almost daily, and he's been missing for over a week, so he's probably suffering a bad case of fluffy blueballs." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Anyway, if he's still alive, he's probably chasing after the nearest mare and he's pretty tame, so he should be easy to catch. If you spot a fluffy matching his description, try to snag it."

"Got it. I'll see what I can do."

You start your Bronco up, smack the dashboard to make the CHECK ENGINE light go out again, put it in gear, and drive off.

You stand to make some decent money doing this, at least until the guy's fluffy farm is full, and the best part is that you don't have to massacre the poor, colorful bastards.
You've finally gotten a call about a big fluffy herd you need to remove. They're devastating a rancher's alfalfa field, and enough of them keep drowning in his stock ponds that the water is making his horses sick. You call Freeman to let him know to have a truck on standby, and go down to check it out.

Three words, anthro fluffy porn

There's about thirty of them, not counting foals. Most are just lazing about in the alfalfa field, idly munching on the nearest plants, but five or six of them have wiggled under the fence and are staring at a horse in rapt fascination. You notice two dead fluffies, several days old by the smell and condition, in the field that were clearly trampled to death by large livestock. The horse is slowly walking along and grazing, deliberately ignoring the fluffies following behind it and flicking its tail.

"Whu dis lawge ting?"

"It weawwy big fwuffy?"

"Dat nu fwuffy! It tu big and nu fwuffy enuff! Dat munsta!"

"Nu is munsta, is wike big fwuffy!"

They follow the horse as it walks along the fence, debating the nature of the beast. Suddenly the horse stops and the fluffies all stop, one running into the fluffy in front of it.

"Owies! Why huwt nosie?"

The horse grunts, raises its tail, and takes a giant shit, the massive turds hitting the ground with a solid PLOP! Had the fluffies been any closer to the horse's rear, one of them probably would died on impact. As if on cue, all the fluffies simultaneously raise their tails and spew shit onto the ground. Finished, the horse trots off and the fluffies scramble to follow, their stubby little legs completely inadequate for carrying them fast enough to keep up with the horse.

You need to get them all before they start a religion. You tear the lids off the cheap canned spaghetti and pour it all out on the ground. Then you stand up and shouts, "SKETTIS! SKETTIS! COME GET SKETTIS!"

Fluffy heads turn on swivels and stare in your direction, and you heard the word "skettis" repeated countless times. Then there's a general stampede as they all run... well, waddle, really, in your direction. The ones on the other side of the fence protest that it's not fair, and they all try to wiggle under the fence and catch up with the rest of the herd.

Finally, you're surrounded by just about the entire herd.

"Skettis?"

"Skettis!"

"Fwuffy wan skettis!"

"Skettis?"

"Munsta nu huwt fwuffy, gif skettis?"

"Nice hoomin, gif skettis tu fwuffy!"

"Skettis?"

You stand over the bowls of cheap spaghetti and raise your voice.

"All right, fluffies, listen up! See these skettis? You can have aaaaall this skettis if you follow me! But any fluffy who doesn't come with me doesn't get ANY SKETTIS!" You say the last dramatically, appealing to the emotions of these simple creatures who are woefully and horrifically ill-equipped for rational or abstract thought.

"Dummeh hoomin, gif skettis to smawty! Dis smawty's skettis now!"

An eye-searing magenta and fuschia unicorn stallion stomps his little hooves and puffs his cheeks up in what he thinks is an intimidating manner. Great, this herd has a smarty. Fortunately, you know how to deal with smarties.

"Ha! You want THIS skettis? I thought you were a smarty! Smarties only get SPECIAL skettis, 'cause they're soooo smarty! But I guess if you want regular skettis like a dummy..."

"Dummeh hoomin! Smawty wan PECHUL skettis! Wan pechul skettis naow!"

You grin. Too easy.

"Ok, then smarty needs to sit here. I'll bring smarty his special skettis. But all the other fluffies need to follow me for their regular skettis."

i wan one dos

The smarty sits down, a smug and condescending look on his face as he watches you lead his herd away, bowls of cheap spaghetti held high. The whole herd follows you, dancing, singing, and bouncing, only pausing occasionally to retrieve chirpy babies that fell off their momma's backs, and you lead them, still dancing and singing, straight up the ramp into the back of the truck and set the bowls of spaghetti down. You climb back out of the truck, careful not to step on any of the fluffies crowding their way into it, and make polite noises to a mare whose face is covered in marinara sauce as she holds up a foal and shouts at you that she has named it Skettis in honor of the wonderful hoomin who gave her skettis for the first time ever.

Climbing down, you shut the tailgate, trapping all the fluffies inside the truck, and wave to the driver.

"That should be all of them!"

He gives you the thumbs up and drives off to the farm, unable to hear the protesting, crying, and confused fluffies over the engine noise. You walk back to where you left the smarty.

He's still sitting there, waiting impatiently, and beginning to suspect he has been tricked somehow, though he can't figure out how. He spots you coming and immediately jumps to his feet, stomping his hooves and puffing his cheeks.

"Dummeh hoomin! Wheaw smawty's nummy pechul skettis? Smawty wan skettis! Wan skettis NAOW!"

"Just be patient, little guy. I've got plenty of skettis for you." You really do, there's a can in your coat pocket.

"Dummeh gif skettis NAOW!"

"Hold on, dude! I gotta see if I can find a place for you."

Two phone calls to shelters you know, and they don't want a smarty. The only three people you know who might be remotely interested in taking him don't answer their phones. And of course, Freeman's Fluffy Farm doesn't want him, and you certainly can't deal with another fluffy in the house, especially not a bossy troublemaker who'll push around your traumatized mare (and almost certainly try to give her special hugs if he isn't fixed) and orphan foal. Well, you sigh sadly, that settles that. You tried.

"Uff! Dummeh! Gif! Skettis! NAOW! Ow smawty gif bigges owies!"

He's ramming his little horn into you and stomping your combat boots with his hooves; the horn hurts, but it hasn't broken the skin. The stomping is just sad.

"Dummeh nu gif spechu skettis? Then dummeh get sowwy poopies!"

He turns and raises his tail. You double-tap his head, putting two .22 hollowpoints into his brain cavity. He drops to the ground like a marionnette with its strings cut, and his bowels and bladder empty themselves. Fortunately not all over you.

"Well, thanks for making this easier, asshole."

You still feel kinda bad about having to put him down, but not too bad. You drive the Bronco closer and toss the smarty's corpse in the back on top of the usual tarp and start heading for the fence to retrieve the two fluffies that got stomped to death by an irritable horse and fish out any still floating in the stock tank.

"Uff! Uff! Fwuffy wan skettis tu! Fwuffy nevaw get nummies, huu, huu!"

Aw, shit. It's a mare, and her entire back half looks fucked up. It's mostly healed, but she'll definitely never walk again with all the damage to her legs, hips, and spine. She's trying to drag herself with just her front legs, and you estimate that she managed to make it twenty feet in the entire time you led the herd out of sight into the truck and then killed off the smarty. You know right away that she'll never survive on her own, would not have survived if the herd hadn't decided to settle down in one place instead of remaining on the move, and that no shelter or individual you know will take her. You can't take care of her either. Best of all, she seems to have even less control over her bowels than most fluffies, which is saying something; there's a small, but constant, stream of shit trailing behind her as her sphincter leaks continuously. You're gonna have to put her down.

Squatting down to her level, you slide the can out of your pocket and set the .22 pistol in the grass beside you.

"Hey, little fluffy! What happened to you?"

"Huuhuuhuu, bad bawky-munsta huwt fwuffy, gif bigges owies! Fwuffy huwt, awways! Fwuffy nevew get nummies, hewd and smawty awways eat da nummies fuwst, nu weave nun fow fwuffy! Huuuuuu, huuuuuu, huuu!"

Tearing the lid off the can, you pour the cheap spaghetti onto the grass in front of her and watch her eyes light up.

"Skettis!"

She devours the entire mound of spaghetti and any grass that had sauce on it, licking her lips and smacking them contentedly.

"Fank yoo, nice mista! Fwuffy finawwy get nummies like west of hewd! Fwuffy wuv skettis! Wuv nice mista!" You gently stroke her mane as she grins up at you with a face absolutely covered in spaghetti sauce.

"You got nice skettis because you're a good fluffy. Did you know that? You're a very good fluffy."

"Fwuffy... fwuffy am gud fwuffy?"

"The best fluffy!"

"Fwuffy am... BESTEST fwuffy?" You've blown her little mind.

"Yup. Time for nappies now."

why the fuck do i keep coming back to these?

Put it in a container with a few shot glasses of lacquer thinner and seal, let it die of inhalation hazard....

"Otay, nice mista! Fwuffy wuv yoo!"

She lays her head down on the grass, awkwardly trying to shift her maimed rear end into a more comfortable position, and closes her eyes. Still smiling contentedly, she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

You stop stroking her mane, pick up the pistol, and press the muzzle against the base of her skull. She never hears or feels the gun firing, and the bullet obliterates the contents of her skull's brain cavity without making a mess.

She still has a smile on her face as you toss her into the back of the truck. You wipe moisture from your eyes. Man, it's dusty out here. That's it, dust. You head off to climb the fence and retrieve the trampled fluffies on the other side.

Fluffy Farm

Part 3

You're Bill, a fluffy exterminator. You don't really like your job, but it pays the bill and it performs a necessary service: getting rid of feral fluffies.

It's a necessary job, but you hate killing the things; most of them are innocent, naive creatures who have no concept of what a nuisance they are. Most of them. You've met a few you didn't mind killing; a couple foal-eaters, several smarties, a gay serial rapist stallion, a foal rapist, and an irredeemably spoiled brat who made life miserable for everyone, human and fluffy alike, and had a penchant for property damage. You didn't kill that last one, but you weren't in a hurry to find a fire extinguisher when it managed to ignite itself trying to spite you and its former owner. That one sort of fell into the category of a self-correcting problem, really. You still like fluffies though, and have a trio of your own at home.

Lately, however, you haven't had to massacre entire herds of fluffies, thanks to a new business arrangement with a physicist who decided to make some money on the side by starting his own fluffy farm. It's a good arrangement for everyone; the science dude makes lots of money selling fluffy shit to be processed for methane to produce clean energy, then turn what's left into fertilizer, you make money capturing fluffies to ship to the farm, and the fluffies who would otherwise live in the wild dirty, diseased, starving, and vulnerable to predation (four-legged or two-legged, it made little difference) got to live in a place where they were clean, well-fed, and happy. For once, everybody ended up happy.

Well, except for the fluffies the farm wouldn't take, such as cripples or smarties. They still died. But as far as fluffies are concerned, that's a pretty good outcome, especially considering your ability to annihilate entire herds at a time.

>"Fwuffy... fwuffy am gud fwuffy?"
>"The best fluffy!"
Being nice to a fluffy.

I don't know who you are, but just know that someone in this world hopes you get raped to death in a 3rd world prison.

Because there is more to it than first meets the eye. If you allow me to be pretentious for a moment: Isn't one measure of art how powerful an emotion it can incite?

You drive up to the farm, honking the horn, then smash your fist into the dashboard of your Ford Bronco to get the CHECK ENGINE light to go out. One of these days you're going to have to find the short-circuit that's causing that. One of the farm employees opens the gate and waves you through and you drive past, trying to ignore the smell and the shrill, panicked shouting and crying coming from the back of your Bronco.

Pulling up, you kill the engine and get out, opening the back up as John Freeman, resident physicist and science nerd, strolls up with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey Bill, got another load for me?"

You pull the open-topped crate out of the back and drop it onto the ground with a thud, eliciting yelps and more crying from inside; you didn't mean to drop it that hard.

"Yup! Guy called about some fluffies destroying his yard. Got you a stallion, two mares, and three foals. Looks like they made a little family unit under the guy's bushes. They're, uh, a little upset." You don't need to tell him what fluffies do when they're scared; he can see and smell the shit covering all six of them and the inside of the crate.

The stallion interposes himself between the two of you and the mares and foals; surprisingly, he doesn't puff out his cheeks or make any threats.

"Pwease, nu huwt fwuffies! Fwuffies jus wan safe, wawm home an nummies. Nu wan make hoomins angwy. Pwease nu huwt!"

"Nobody's going to hurt you. This is your new home," Freeman says, smiling down at them. He looks back to you. "We'll get them cleaned up and introduce them to the others before dinner."

"So, everything running smoothly here?" you ask, jerking your head toward the fenced-in area full of shouting, laughing fluffies.

"Oh yes, that feral herd you snagged for us integrated quite nicely. The only issue was when..."

"What?"

He shrugs, looking confused and irritated at the same time.

Well then, it's a good thing I wasn't plan on visiting any shit hole third world countries in my lifetime.

"Apparently, one of the mares named her foal Skettis, and one of the other fluffies thought this meant the foal as literally made of spaghetti. And ate it. That, uh, sort of created an issue and the foal-eater ended up being forcibly drowned in a mud puddle by the angry mother and some other members of her herd before any of my workers realized what was happening. But, everything's going smoothly now. They're happily producing shit in enormous quantities, and I'm making money, so there it is."

You nod, make a polite wave to the farm hand picking up the crate full of fluffies and carrying it away, ignoring their protests and crying the whole way. You see him get the water hose and can only imagine the screaming and crying that's about to erupt.

"Well, I just wanted to drop those fluffies off and see how things were going. I've got word that there's a herd of about a dozen or so hanging around a garden supply store, so if you want, go ahead and have a truck ready to pick them up and I'll see if I can't round them all up for you tomorrow."

Freeman grins, shaking your hand enthusiastically.

"Sounds great! We've got plenty of room, even with the fluffies breeding like, well, fluffies, we're only at half capacity."

You turn to walk back to the truck and he matches pace with you.

"I'm just glad you run an ethical operation," you say.

"I've seen other fluffy shit farms, and they tend to be ridiculously abusive. Like stacking cages so the fluffy on bottom gets shit on constantly.

Or that one operation I saw- they have the fluffies in cages, and the shit falls through the bottom and gets slurried off for processing.

But they have an entirely idiotic set up that's unnecessarily cruel and vindictive; the fluffies are confined to cramped cages all day, except for when they get dragged out and put on a tread mill to run at full speed.

Any who don't keep pace get shocked with cattle prods. Who the hell pays for a tread mill and a bunch of cattle prods when free range fluffies exercise for free?

And they ran them so hard, that while the guy was showing me the operation, two of the fluffies died of heart attacks on the tread mill! And apparently that occurred on a regular basis.

Better still, they 'encouraged' the fluffies to shit through constant terror and abuse; regular beatings, verbal abuse, and they had 'demonstrations' where they tossed a bunch of colts and a smarty to run loose inside the facility so they'd get chased down and torn apart by dogs.

They actually paid for dogs, just to tear apart fluffies who could have been adding to their shit pile, in order to terrify their stock.

How the hell were they making any money with an operation like that? I even heard one of the employees laughing because a mare had given birth in the cage and her foals fell through the floor into the shit.

Again, those foals could have been living there and happily producing shit for them, but they seemed more concerned with being as cruel and abusive as possible than turning a profit. What a bunch of dumbasses."

Freeman nods, replying, "You're talking about the operation across town, on Commerce Street? I checked them out when my fluffy farm was still in the planning phase, trying to get ideas how to set it up. You're right, those guys are complete idiots more concerned with exercising power over helpless animals than making money. They didn't do anything right; when fluffies are stressed out constantly, and making 'scaredy poopies', they don't digest their food properly and what comes out only gives you half the yield of methane and nutrients as regular fluffy poop. Did you see they were feeding their fluffies garbage?"

"No, I wasn't there at feeding time."

"They totally were. Rotting food, straight from the city dump. They were convinced the bacteria would increase methane production in the poop. So all their fluffies were malnourished, riddled with disease, plagued with digestive problems, stressed out, and constantly making terror shit because of the way they were treated, and these morons were investing money in all kinds of stupid crap like that tread mill and the dogs. But they didn't invest a damn thing into their fluffies and killed off half of them for a lower poop yield per month than I get in a week!"

He gestures at the fence angrily, pointing at the brightly colored fluffies happily eating from troughs, playing with toys, napping, or giving special huggies.

"Look at my operation! I pay the same thing they do for feral fluffies, maybe a little more, and because I actually take care of them instead of abusing them, I'm not constantly replacing all the ones I've killed through stupidity, so I'm actually spending less to get new fluffies than they are. Expensive tread mills, thousand-dollar German Shepherds, and cattle prods? Pffft! I bought a hundred bucks worth of balls, blocks, and other toys and fenced in ten acres of land and let the fluffies do what they please. They get their exercise and none of them drop dead from it. They're happier, healthier, and get balanced nutrition so they produce lots of shit, and it's QUALITY shit, not like that crap they produce. And you know it's cheaper to just build some plywood barracks and fence in some land than to build those steel cages and that expensive poop collection system that automatically washes it all into bins every day? Even if you don't like fluffies, what kind of dumbass cares more about being a dick to things that can't fight back than he does about doing the damn job right and turning a profit?"

He shakes his head as you get to the car.

"Oh well, I guess that's why they're not in business anymore."

You raise an eyebrow in surprise, "Really? They went under?"

Hey guys check out this awesome webm I found.

"Well, yes and no. Their idiotic approach to running a business was losing more money than they were making, and instead of trying to do things in a halfway intelligent way they decided to fire most of their employees. Turns out that when you hire vindictive, abusive assholes who get off on tormenting fluffies, some of them use more or less the same approach to people they don't like. One of the guys they fired set fire to the storage area; ignited the methane and basically blew up half the plant and set fire to the rest. A couple employees died, along with most of the fluffies, and they didn't have the money to replace what they lost and closed up shop. To make things worse, the guy who did it waited until their insurance lapsed just to screw them over even harder."

"Geez. Ok, well I'm gonna head out; I'll give you a call tomorrow about picking up those ferals."

"Thanks Bill, I appreciate it."
You swing by your girlfriend's apartment building to pick her up for dinner, park near the dumpster, and hop out. She's already locking the door to her apartment and heading toward you, grinning.

"Saw you pull in! So where you wanna eat?"

"I dunno, I was thinking Japanese tonight. What do you think?"

"Mmm, udon and eel rolls! You paying?"

You laugh and hug her around the waist, returning to the Bronco.

"So when we eat at McDonald's, you don't mind paying. When we go to some expensive place for sushi, I get to foot the bill."

"We can go dutch..."

"No, no, I see how it is. We men have always been the oppressed gender, holding doors, opening jars, paying for expensive restaurants..."

She cracks up and slaps your arm playfully. Your sense of humor fits hers perfectly. Just as you go to open the passenger door for her, however, she pauses.

"Do you hear that?"

You stop to listen.

"Yeah. Sounds like a fluffy crying."

"Do you think it's a feral?"

There's a special place in hell for faggots like you.

OK

You shrug; if it is, you're off the clock and heading out for dinner with your girlfriend, so you're not going to catch the thing. Not now, at any rate. But maybe you can convince it to wait around for you tomorrow and you can snag it and any other ferals with it.

"I'll check it out. If it's a feral, maybe I can grab it for Freeman tomorrow."

"Ok."

She waits by the truck while you walk over to the dumpster. Hmm. It's not hiding behind the dumpster, it couldn't fit under it, so... is it IN the dumpster?

You lift the lid and the sobbing and huuhuuing definitely gets louder. You sigh in irritation; dammit. Somebody threw a fluffy into the dumpster. You can't just leave it in there to die, but this is severely crimping your date night. You fish around in the trash until you spot a bit of blue fluff and grab it.

"YEEEEEEE! NUUUUUUUU!"

You sigh and hold the fluffy at arm's length so all its scaredy poopies fall in the dumpster; it doesn't make any though, so you pull it out and look at it.

Hmmm. Sky blue pegasus, navy blue mane and tail. Attractive color combination. You tilt it to check, and it's definitely a stallion. Wait, what the hell?

It's ass is dribbling blood and something white... oh, son of a bitch.

"Pwease, nu huwt fwuffy poopie pwace! Fwuffy onwy wan nyu home an wuv. Nu huwt!"

"It's ok, buddy. What happened? Why are you in the dumpster?"

"Dum-stuw?"

"The... no smell pretty sorry box." You've become quite adept at fluff-speak over the years.

It sniffles, and you can hear more bodily fluids of various sorts drip to the ground with an audible splat. You are seriously grossed out.

"F-f-fwuffy hab nyu daddeh. Daddeh wan pway peepee pwace game, then... daddeh gif spechow huggies. Nu wike spechow huggies game; daddeh gif poopie pwace bigges owies. Den daddeh nu wan fwuffy nu mowe."

...

It breaks down into uncontrollable sobbing, with the occasional chirp. Oh, fuck. What kind of sick freak would rape a fluffy and then throw it in the trash? It's like if John Wayne Gacy was a Brony.

Your girlfriend has her mouth covered with her hands, eyes wide, and is making some sort of sound like she's going to be sick. Careful not to get any of the garbage covering the fluffy, or any of the bodily fluids dripping from its ass, on you, you go around to the back of the Bronco and gently set the injured, raped fluffy in there and lay him on his side.

"Just hold still, little guy. I'm gonna get you taken care of."

He doesn't respond, just chirping like a foal and muttering about "wan mummah". You look at your girlfriend.

"We're gonna be late for dinner. I gotta drop this guy off at the vet."

She nods, and the whole way to the vet's office, she stares out the passenger window and cries. She gets worse every time the fluffy in back gets louder about, "why daddeh huwt fwuffy? Fwuffy jus wan home and daddeh tu wuv..."

The vet is the same one you take your fluffies, Sunshine, Midnight, and Mint to. He's the best in town, though he always grumbles about not getting enough respect for what he does.

"Oh wow. This little guy has some serious trauma to his anus, rectum... geez, this guy's a mess. I'm going to have to operate immediately."

"Sorry to drop this on you right before closing time," you say. He waves his hand dismissively.

"My job is to put fluffies back together and keep them healthy and happy. I'll be a couple hours late for dinner; nobody waiting for me at home but my fluffy, so it's no big loss."

He looks at your girlfriend before continuing.

"Looks like you're on your way out to dinner yourselves."

"Yeah. I found him in a dumpster on the way to the car."

He examines the raped stallion, still bleeding but now sedated so the vet could perform a thorough exam without hurting him any further. You know the anesthesia isn't cheap.

Cont?

Don't stop now

ASS

All right dickhead, knock it off.

"Well, he's definitely not a feral. Well groomed, and he's chipped; I can look up his history later. It won't tell us who did this to him, but I can find out who sold him, let 'em know what happened. At this point, one of two things is going to happen. Either he'll die during the operation, thanks to blood loss from his intestines getting shredded by some guy's di-" he pauses to look at your girlfriend and changes what he was about to say. "From what happened, or he survives. Best case scenario, he's gonna have a lot of emotional baggage and he'll kinda walk funny for a week or two. I might be able to save him, but if there's too much damage he'll basically need a colostomy bag for the rest of his life, and with a fluffy that simply isn't feasible. It isn't feasible for most animals. Fluffy, cat, dog, whatever, if that's the case then I'd recommend putting him down. His quality of life would be nill at that point. But, if he makes it and he isn't too badly damaged as a result, what do you want to do? Do you want me to keep him and try to find a shelter that'll take him, or do you want him?"

You shake your head.

"I've already got three fluffies at home, and one of them is a complete wreck from abuse. You've seen Sunshine. I can't handle another fluffy, especially one that's going to have similar issues."

"I understand. It's actually the smart choice, not taking on another fluffy in your situation."

"I'll take him."

Your girlfriend spoke so quietly that at first you didn't understand what she said.

"What?"

"I said I'll take him."

The vet looks at her grimly.

"You know you'll have to foot the bill for his medical care if you do, and it won't be cheap. And assuming he survives the operation and doesn't need to be put down, you know he's going to have some serious issues, right?"

She nods and wipes a tear from her cheek.

balls

archive
archive.is/BC6jD

"I know. I've dealt with Sunshine before, even a couple times when Bill wasn't around. I think I know what I'm getting into."

"Ok. I have Bill's number. You two run along and have your dinner; I've got to get started and see what I can salvage from this little guy."

You lead your girlfriend out of the vet's office, thanking the receptionist as she lets you out the door and locks up behind you.

"Why would somebody do that to some poor, defenseless animal?!" she sobs.

"I dunno, sweetie. I dunno. There are some seriously messed up people in this world. How about if we just have dinner at my place tonight? I'll cook us up something nice."

"How about spaghetti?"

"Spaghetti? Ok. I was thinking stir-fry, since we were gonna have Japanese, but spaghetti sounds good."

She looks at you, fresh tears forming in her eyes.

"We have to share with the fluffies."

"Ok. We'll do that."

You open the car door for her and walk around to the driver's seat.

Well, it's like Benny Hill said: what a world.

------

And there's the end of that particular series.

There are some other stories involving the exterminator character at this link: fluffybooru.org/post/list/bill_the_exterminator/1

OY GOYIM, DID SOMEONE SAY BANNA?

U first

How about you first?

...

Thanks for posting. Great read.

Hey I have singles too! Always singles... never doubles. Because nobody loves me. I'm forever alone. Fuck my life! WAAAaaaaAAaAAAaaa!

...

Niggering noggering asshole cloggering

Reported.

...

...

wtf is this shit

Oh man, I never noticed what was going on in that last panel until now. Now, I'm just laughing my ass off.

Why 's that?

Global rule #15

It's a fluffy.

One of them isn't so it's pone.

trump looks amazing in that ss uniform 10/10 would gas kikes with.

I hope you get b& you sick demented autist.

Are you ok, user?

Yes I am, are you?

Bazinga

Well, gee. You asking in the American or the European sense?

Does anyone else get a weird sexual thrill from t his shit? I think I'm turning into some psychopath. Earlier at the doctor's office I saw a niglet kid bang his head on a table next to me and he looked up into my eyes, his eyes filled with pain and tears, and I got a weird thrill from it.

Am I fucked up Cred Forums?