Fwuffspeak

FractalFluff, May 19, 2014; 15:54 / FB 21786
=======================================================================================================================================
Fwuffspeak

>Be A.N. Onymous, mild-mannered resident of Genericsburg
>Your town has a minor fluffy problem.
>They're not a major health hazard or anything
>But they get on your nerves.
>It's the way they talk, mostly.
>The standard fluffy-speak was bad at first, but you got used to it.
>But somehow a truckload of defective fluffies was dumped on the outskirts of your town
>They're so defective, even their speech impediment is impeded.
>And the flaw is genetic.
>A dominant gene, meaning that more and more of the little fuckers have the issue.

>You're walking home one afternoon when a lilac-and-orange earthie blocks your path.
>"Hwewwo, nwice mwista," it begins.
>Your eyelid twitches.
>"Pweawse gwif nwummies fow Fwuffy an spweshaw fwen?"

>"Give what?" you demand grimly.

>"Uhh... nwummies?" says the fluffy.
>He backs up a step.
>He's realized something's wrong.

>"Say that again."

>"Pweawse... gwif... nwummies..?"

>You reach down and seize the fluffy by his scruff.

>"SWCKEEP! NU HWUWT FWUFFY!" he screams.

>You ignore his please and drag him back to the alley.
>Just inside, you find a box wedged between two dumpsters.
>Inside is a fat purple mare and a couple of foals, lying on a bed of rags.

>"Speshaw fwen? Wy am fwyin?"

>Well, at least the mother sounds... reasonable.

>"NU HWUWT FWUFFY!" screams the stallion again.
>"NU WIWKE MWEANIE UPSIES!"

>You drop him next to the box, roughly.
>"Are these your foals?" you demand.
>"Are these your FOUL SPAWN, you mutation of an abnormality?"
>You give his muzzle a flick.
>"Answer me! Are these YOUR abominations?"

>The mare hugs her foals to her, puffing her cheeks and scowling.

>"Nu caww wabbehs names!" she snaps. "Wabawa's wabbehs am gud wabbehs!"

>The vein in your temple is a throbbing rage pregnancy.

>"'Wabawa's wabbehs'?" you repeat.
>"'WABAWA'S WABBEHS'?"

>"Nu yweww at spweshaw fwewn!" whimpers the stallion.

>You'll deal with him first.
>"It's 'SPECIAW FWEND'!" you bellow, aiming a kick at his ribs.
>"'SPECIAW'! 'FWEND'!" Two more kicks.
>"You replace the L and the R with dubbleyoos! That's it!"

>He's sobbing, a blood-bubble bursting out of one nostril.
>"Hwuuhwuuhwuu, whyw hwuwt Fwuffy?" he blubbers.

>This serves only to fluff your rageboner.

>"L and R!" you bellow. "L and R! You don't just shoehorn Ws in any old how!"

>A further kick sends him flying towards the dead end of the alley.
>You hear a choking gasp: "Fwuffy... swowwy... kkkwk..."
>Worthless creature couldn't even get his death-rattle right.

>"Nuuu! Wy gif speshaw fwen wibbest owwies?" wails the mare.

>"Wibbest... Are you actively TRYING to make me kill you?"
>Scruff the mare and drag her out of the box.
>Your vein is now throbbing with the force of a hydroelectric dam.

>"I'm going to give you a choice," you tell her.
>"Either talk like a proper fluffy, or end up deader than that heap of aural herpes over there."

>"Fwuffy... Fwuffy nu 'stand... am gud mummah..." she whines.

>"You're a good mummah? Then say 'babies.'"

>"Wabbehs?"

>"Wrong!"
>You position a toe over one of the foals.
>"Maybe this'll help things along. Every time you fuck up 'babies', I'll fuck up one of your babies."

>"Nuuu!"

>"You've got two foals. That's two chances. Get it wrong a third time, and I'll make sure you never speak again."

>"Pwease... nu huwt..."

>"Now. Repeat after me: Baaaaabiiies." You emphasise both Bs.

>"Huuhuuhuu... Wabbehs!"

>Crunch.

>"Nuuuuuuu!"

>"One down."
>You move your foot to the next foal.
>"Try again. Buh... aaay... buh... eees."

>"Uuuhuuhuu... nu wan... huuhuuhuu... wuh — uh — bwabbehs?"

>"'Bwabbes? Is that the best you can do? Say goodbye to your foal."

>"Nuuuu! Nu huwt bestes babbeh! Nuuu —"

>Crunch.

>"Last chance. Babies."

>"Huuhuuhuu... Www...bw...wbw...bwbw... Wabbiiiiiiiies!"

>You drop-kick her down the alley. Her scream dopplers into the distance, to be cut off by a thunk and the honk of a car horn.
>Your rage appeased, you turn to go.
>You've only taken a single step when you hear it:

>"Chwiwp?"

>You turn back.
>Two tear-filled eyes are looking at you from the corner of the box.

>You pick up the box and are about to hurl it into traffic when you pause.
>The adults are incurable, but maybe... maybe if you caught the affliction early enough...
>Maybe you could arrest it.
>Surely this tiny orphan thing deserves some small chance?
>A shot at redemption?
>A sliver of hope?
>Plus you've got that Dremel at home.
>Man needs a hobby.

>"Chwiwp?"

>"Shut the fuck up."

[end]