Thanks… I’m hoping to start writing again now that I’m over this nasty cold.

ill.

trying.

I think the Brady Bunch appeals to a wide enough audience that most people would get it. And if they don’t - fuck ‘em.

>be some guy
>well, actually you’re kind of an asshole.
>no kind of about it - you’re an asshole. get drunk at the bar, start fights, harrass women
>that’s what happens without a father figure around. that and you become a fluffy lover fag.
>you hate fluffy ponies. gay colors, stupid voices, abominations against God
>not that you’re a big God guy, but you know… you pick and choose what parts of the bible work for you like any

good Christian does
>pull up to your small house near the edge of town
>it’s quiet here. you like quiet. sure, a good bar fight is tits, but most of the time you like peace and quiet.
>appearing out from the side of your house is a light purple unicorn
>you notice three brightly colored lumps deep in her fluff - foals
>she puffs up her cheeks and stomps on the ground
>”dis fwuffy pwace naow! yu dummy hooman go way!”
>you rev your motorcycle. the foals on her back immediately start crying
>”wah! noisy!” “eeeeeeee dun wike woud ting!” “mumma pwotec babehs!”
>”Fuck off.”
>”NU! DIS FWUFFY PWACE!”
>the mare turns and lifts her tail
>oh hell no…
>before you shift into reverse, a stream of liquid diarrhea sprays out of her ass, covering the front wheel of

your bike
>your Harley
>the only thing you love in your life
>even more than your scumbag druggie mother
>this bitch just shit on it
>your eye twitching, you calmly put out the kickstand and turn off the bike
>step off and walk up to the mare
>”hah! giff dummeh hooman BAD POOPIES!”
>the foals on her back just babble to each other
>”You… shit… on my BIKE.”
>”dat wut fummeh hooman get…”
>she doesn’t finish her sentence
>you just lost your shit.
>scooping up the mare, you squeeze her over the lawn, forcing out a smaller stream of diarrhea and a couple of

shit nuggets
>”owieees! nu squeeze fwuffy!”
>”SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
>put the mare in a trash can and seal the lid.
>that’ll hold her while you clean the bike
>an hour later, it’s spotless
>there’s still an aroma of fluffy shit in the air, but the front wheel is spotless, gleaming in the afternoon sun
>now… to the queen bitch…
>open the trash can. the fluffy has peed herself. smells almost as bad as human piss with asparagus in it
>”Gonna fucking kill you, bitch.”
>”nuuu! nu huwt fwuffy! dummy hooman go way!”
>ignoring her threats and pleas, you scoop her up and take her into your bathroom
>plop her down in the bathtub - hard. you hear a couple of cracks. probably the legs.
>”eeeeeeeeeee! weggies huwt!”
>the foals, predictably, start crying
>”why mumma huwt?” “giff huggies make bettah!” “wahhhhhhhhh! nu huwty mumma!”
>slap her in the face a few times. she quiets down, just sniffling
>”Couldn’t just walk away. You SHIT on my BIKE.”
>the mare looks up at you, terrified. she fucking should be.
>”First thing I think we need to do is give you a trim. You’re looking pretty nappy.”
>grab a pair of electric trimmers and go to work on her, casually knocking the sobbing foals off her back
>they cuddle together underneath her for protection. not that it’ll help
>press her face down on the floor of the bathtub - hard - and really grind the trimmers in there
>”wahhhhhhhhhhhh! nu take fwuff! need fwuff!”
>the shit’s thick but cuts easily enough. in minutes you shaved her down so she looks like a big hairless rat with

a pushed-in nose
>”huuuu huuuu meanie hooman take fwuff way…”
>”You ain’t seen nothing yet, honey.”
>go to work on the foals. they screech and cry as you chop off their barely-formed fluff with the trimmers
>”nuuuuuuu! nu take babeh fwuff! PWEASE!”
>looks like this yellow one is a pegasus. well, not any more. trim the goddam wings right off her
>next up… a little blue one. you shave it down… this one’s a male. well, was a male. you trim his fuzzy little

nuts right off. he screeches bloody murder
>”EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE FUZZY NO-NO’S! MUMMA HEWP!”
>toss him onto his mother’s shaven back. he bounces off and lands roughly in the tub, probably cracked a couple of

ribs
>the last one, a red one, is a unicorn like it’s cunt mother. shave it down and grind off the little nub of a horn
>must have a lot of nerve endings in there, from the way it screamed
>panting, shivering, sobbing… the mare gathers her brood together and hugs them. touching her bare skin makes

her cry even more
>”buuuu huuuuu huuuuu nu fwuff… huwt wiffout fwuff… sowwy babehs…”
>”Tell me what you did wrong, bitch.”
>”fwuffy do nuffin wong!”
>”Wrong answer.”
>you pluck one of the foals from her and shove it straight in her ass
>the foals struggles to free itself, its rear legs skittering desperately, but is stuck fast. the mare howls and

cries, trying to push the foal out with no luck
>”Answer me. What did you do wrong.”
>”muh… nuh… NUFFIN! DUMMY HOOMAN!”
>”Strike two.”
>you pick up another foal and jam this one into her vag. let it crawl back into her gaping womb.
>well, not really… it gets stuck like the other one and can’t breathe.
>”NUUUUUUHUUUU NU HUWT BABEHS! PWEASE SAFE BABEHS!”
>”WHAT. DID YOU. DO WRONG.”
>”fwuffy… fwuffy make bad poopies… an thweaten hooman.”
>”Correct. You can have this foal back.”
>well, sort of. you staple it to her back
>the foal sobs and howls while its mother cries and tries to remove it with no luck
>”Now you get to go! Have a nice day, cunt!”
>you plop the fluffy on your front doorstep and give her a boot. she flies several feet and lands face down on the

sidewalk, her nose a bloody mess
>she simply lays there with her remaining foal wiggling its tiny legs, trying to free itself from the staples
>”huuuu huuuuu wan die… wan die…”
>”mumma… wan fwuff… pwease giff fwuff…”
>”nu haff fwuff… wan die…”
>the foal cries itself to sleep. the mare simply lays there, sobbing silently to herself
>the next morning she’s dead. probably from exposure. it was only 45 degrees but to a naked fluffy that’s a death

sentence
>remarkably, the foal is still alive, its little stubby legs twitching slightly
>you walk past it to your bike. it looks up at you and more croaks than chirps: “pwease… wan… wan die…”
>”Soon enough. Thanks to your whore mother.”
>ride up to the local steakhouse and have a meal that cannot be beat. come home and find a herd of fluffies

looking at the dead mare and foal
>one of them, likely a smarty, speaks up
>”dis bad pwace. hooman take fwuff, giff big owies. fwuffies go somewhewe else!”
>first intelligent thing you’ve heard from one of these fuckers.
>leave the dead mare out for a few days as fluffy deterrant. once it really starts rotting, you can always get a

replacement
>yeah - you may be an asshole but you don’t have fluffies invading your yard.

up.

derp

Just one, but that’s all it takes.

I hate Tom and Jerry. Mainly Jerry. He’s a punkass bitch.

I don’t think there’s any point. By the end of the story he’ll be locked in the “wan die” loop. And if he stops eating and drinking the guy will just force-feed him long enough to keep him alive to win the bet.

Here’s a post script for you, though:

>30 days later you’ve won the bet. the asshole twins pay you in cash

>they complain about the condition of the fluffy but no one said it had to have legs or not be suicidal

>now they want to pay you $200 to punch a cop in the face

>you might have to pass on that one. you’re a gambling addict but you’re not fucking stupid

>oh yeah… the fluffy. pull him out of his cage. the tubes pop off his ass and fluffy dick

>”wan die… wan die… poopies huwt… wan weggies…”

>punch him in his fuzzy balls and throw him into the street

>the fluffy flops around pathetically, begging for help

>he gets it in the form of a motor scooter that runs over his rear half

>blood and shit spray out of his asshole. he screeches and howls

>he is silenced permanently by a city bus

>huh. someone oughta scrape that mess of the road.

>you call your bookie and put $200 on the Cubs.

nope.