Fluff Wash 7

Fluff Wash part 7

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Warning this story contains fluffy deaths and verbal abuse.  Viewer discretion is advised.


It's May 25, 2017, not 2012 as last recorded, you can blame that on a bottle of jack.  I was just thinking about the last time I was happy, it was right about then.  Time is 8:41 am, I'm going to take a new test subject for the Fluff Wash now that I'm done filing down the wash arms and replacing their plastic covers.

In addition to this, I've added a leg isolation system to the grating they used to stand on, now their legs go into a series of wire holes made for fluffies of various sizes, foal up to adult, I've even got a drop in system to hold a pregnant dam in place.  This way they're forced to hold still and get washed all over.  No more getting caught in the equipment, no more tipping, I've had it with these constant delays and irritations.  Today we're going to accomplish something as soon as I've picked out a test subject.  Oh, and document any results of my little temper tantrum last night, dousing the bunch with Fluffy Febreze, the formulation that killed... I mean probably would have killed Huggie if I hadn't done the merciful thing after the little prick got his tail caught in the machinery.

*Click* Good morning every fluffy.

"Dummy hooman nu take nu moar uh Wain's hewd!!!"

"Good morning Rain, glad to see you're feeling better."

"Meanie munsta!"

"Uh huh.  Now it's time for a little examination on my test animals,  I'd like to see what results the Fluffy Febreze had on you overnight, if any."

"Yu nu huwt hewd!  Wain say nu fwffies be nice wif hooman, gif sowwy poopies if he twy to gwab an' do meanie tings."

I'm not in the mood for you today Rain, is this how things are gonna be?  You tell your herd to line up and do whatever I ask or you go to the special sorry box, got it?"

"Hooman nu huwt Wain, hewd need smawty fwiend!  Weave awone, munsta!"

And there goes your one chance, here we go.

"NUUUUU DUMMY HOOMAN WET WAIN GO!  NU WAN SOWWY BAWX, NU WAN SOWWY BAWX, HATE YU! HATE YU!"

All right kids, gather around, this is the new sorry box.  Watch as I stuff Rain into this thing and we can continue.

"NUUUUU NU WAN', NU WAN' SOWWY BAWX, PWEASE NU BAWX!!!"

Notice how cramped it is in there?  The box is so tight an adult fluffy can barely fit even with some shoving.

"OWWIE!!! NU PUWL FWUFF!  PWEASE NU BAWX, AM GUD FWUFFY! PW-"

Don't give me that line of shit, you haven't been a good fluffy your entire goddam life.  Can every fluffy see?  With those blocks in the middle Rain can't sit down, turn around or even stand up fully, she has to stay with her head kinda wedged into one corner.  And this chute in the back ensures her poop ends up in a box where it belongs but doesn't allow any light in, it's VERY dark in the sorry box.

"NUUUU PWEASE NUUUU, BE GUD FWUFFY, WAIN SOWWY!!!"

That'd be touching if I didn't know you were a pathological liar.  *click*

"MMnnnnnnhhhh, hemmmffff, nnnhhhhhh!"

And we'll just put her off into another room where she won't bother you guys, better than listening to... on second thought, lets put her up on this table here where every fluffy can see.  Got a good view all?  I just want a little reminder of what happens to bad fluffies who say meanie things to the nice human, get it?

"Pwease nu sowwy bawx, am gud fwuffy!"

"Nuuuuu, nu wike scawy bawx..."

"Nu huwt, fwuffy wuv daddeh!"

That's a first.  Now everyone crowd around Laddie and Giggle since they can't move.

There we go!  This is how good fluffies act, in fact they even get treats if they're good throughout all of this.

"Waddie wan' tweet."

Yeah that's not a surprise, you've gotta be the biggest fluffy I've ever seen and don't even have the excuse of being pregnant.

"Mummeh wuv Waddie, gif wots yummeh nummies."

That's pretty obvious.  Ok, time to examine you all for a few things.  First up, open your mouth.  Now.  I have some more sorry boxes you know... much better.

*two hours later*

So only Gilligan has any symptoms like Huggie developed, and they're no where near as bad.

"Nosey wunny *sniff*.  Miss fwiend Skippah."

Heh, if you knew what I knew that'd be cause for celebration.  Wait... skipper?  Fucking lame!

"Giwwigen wan' wawa, thwoat itchies."

Fine.  Ok listen up fluff balls, this water bottle is for Gilligan and Gilligan alone, understand?  Anyone one else tries to use it gets the sorry box.

"Nuuuu, gud fwuffy wan' wawa too!"

You've already got a water bottle ya greedy little-

"Nu faiw!  Why Giwwigen haf own bottah?  Waddie wan' bottah too!"

It's his, wideload, because Gilligan is sick and he might make the rest of you sick as well.  Just lean your gigantic girth to the right a bit and suck on the gerbil bottle.

"Nu cawe, AW wawa fo' AW fwuffies, meanie hooman."

You know what?  To hell with it, I'm putting Gilligan in his own mini pen to make sure there isn't anymore cross contamination.

"Wha?  Whea' Giwwigen go?  Fwiends come wif'?"

No, you'll be on your own for a few days in a different pat of the house, just you and a tv or something.

"NUUUUUUUU!  Giwwigen gud fwuffy!  Nu do bad ting, nu bad!  Why be mean to Giwwigen?  Wan' fwiends!  Fwuffy wan' hewd!"

Jesus, calm down.  It'll be two or three days at the most, you'll survive.  It's just to see how your illness progresses.  Get better and I'll plop you back down here with the rest of the reject squad.

"Pwease nu take Giwwigen, gud fwuffy!  Need huggies, need wuv, need fwuff piwl fo' sweepies.  Need pway!  Nu take 'way, Giwwigen be gud fwuffy aw'ways!"

This isn't a debate, I'm gonna put an enclosure together so you don't lick the power outlets or some dumb shit like that, back in a minute.

"Nuuuuuuu, nu weave hewd, wuv hewd... nu weave...."

* 15 minutes later*

Ok Gilligan, you've got a tv, your own food and water dishes and a litter box I EXPECT you to use.  Time to go.

"Pwease, pwease nu take fwuffy.  Need hewd for wuv an' happies.  Fwuffy haf' wowstest saddies wif' no hewd.  Pwease, Giwwigen do wha' hooman wan', nu moar meanie wurds, pwease nu weave hewd."

..... *grab*

"NUUUUUU HEWP FWUFFY!  NU WEAVE, WAN' HUGGIES, WAN' PWAY!  WAN' FWUFF PIWL!!!

And I want my fucking equipment to work, life is full of disappointments.

"PWEASE NU AWONE!"

*One drop off and return later*

"Whea hooman take Giwwigen?  Wan' fwiend!  Whea meanie take fwiend?

He's very happy in his new temporary home.  Now, time for our next contestant...

"When Giwwigan bak?  Wan' pway wif fwiend."

Touching.  Anything else before one of you comes with me?

"Whea Huggie?  Smewwy fwiend nu bak."

Oh yeah, well he got all cleaned up and smells really nice now, you wouldn't even recognize him.  A new family came and adopted him as soon as they saw how pretty he looked.

"Huggie?  Pwetty?"

Yeah.

"...Huggie?"

It's true, he smells SO much nicer and my equipment really... did a number on his fluff.  He's real happy with his new family."

"Waddie wan tweet nao."

Laddie you squirmed and bitched and moaned throughout the whole examination, I told you there'd be no treat if you didn't cooperate.

"WADDIE WAN TWEET NAO MEANIE!"

I bet you say that more often then your own name.  Did your last owner carry your fat ass around?  I've barely seen you move from where I first put you.  Still, I bet you've lost weight with Rain taking first dibs and the herd having to carry food to Jabba the Fluff here.

"Waddie wuv hooman mummeh, gif wots tweets, bestest nummies, gif Waddie sketties!"

"Sketties?  Fwuffy wan' sketties!  Pwease gif!"

"Fwetha wan' sketties!"

"Yay sketties!  Sketties fo' gud fwuffies!"

And what a shame there are no good fluffies here.  No spaghetti, just fluffy chow like always.  Laddie, don't rile them up and say stuff like that.

"Waddie wan sketties!  Mummeh say onwy wowstest hooman nu gif gud fwuffies sketties!  Dat make yu wowstest hooman evah!"

Oh... oh really asshole... ok, fine, I've got a hell of a treat for you.  I just heard an ear full of Gilligan's whining and now you're starting up?  Well congrats big boy, you'll be the next test subject for my machine.  A fatass like you should put a real strain on the mechanics.

"Waddie nu fat!  Yu dummy, meanie hooman an' Waddie wan' hooman mummeh!"

Not today Laddie, don't do this to me today, I'm NOT in the mood for your bullshit after Rain and Gilligan.

"Gif Waddie tweet, Waddie wan tweet, gif tweet NAO!  Mummeh gif yu owwies if nu get tweet!"

Shut your flabby mouth, you get nothing.

"Hate munsta, wan tweet or gif sowwy poopies!"

I parked your ass over the litter box for a reason fuckwit.  Go ahead an poop all you like.  As a matter of fact, I'll help you out with that.

"Huwties! Nu huwt Waddie, waddie is best fwuffy, mummeh say so!  Owwie!!! Nu skeeze, big huwties!"

More like big poopies.  Holy shit, you're gonna overflow this fucking box someday with one giant turd.  Maybe one more squeeze to make sure we got it all.

"Nuuu!  Pwease nu, nu wike huwties, nu wan' pwease!  Biggest owwies!  Pwease nu kiw, Waddie is best fwuffy!

Ah, I knew you were holding out on me.  Maybe this'll make it easier to carry your flab to the equipment.  That must be three or four pounds of crap in there.

"Owwie, meanie huwt Waddie, why huwt?"

Because I got the feeling you were storing that shit up to use on me if you got the chance, right Laddie?  Sorry poopies?

"Nu, nu gif sowwy poopies, Waddie is gud fwuffy."

Whatever.  The rest of you play or fuck or whatever it is you like to do, I'll be back with Laddie later.
Well Laddie, lets make you smell pretty.

"Pwease weave wif hewd, nu wan weave fwiends."

It doesn't work that way, you do as you're told.

"Nu wan' weave!"

And what are you gonna do?  Try and kick me with legs so burried in fat they don't even work anymore?  Time to go, wideload.

"NUUUUUU!"

Jesus Christ, give me strength. *click*

You're really making me appreciate how light the rest of your friends are.

"Waddie nu wike fwy, wan' down!"

No.

"WAN' DOWN!"

I said no, we're goi-

"WAN' DOWN NAO!"

You'll be down in a second just w-

"WAN' DOWN!  HEWP FWUFFY!  HOOMAN BE MEANIE TO GUD FWUFFY!!!"

Shut up, for the love of-

"HATE STOOPID HOOMAN, GIF BIGGEST SOWWY POOPIES IF HAF!  WAN' NICE MUMMEH, HATE YU! HATE YU!

...  You are THIS fucking close to being spiked like a motherfucking football you stupid, fat fuck!  Shut your Goddam mouth or I'll smash your FUCKING FACE IN!

".... mmmmmmm... hu hu hu..."

Oh now you get it?  Now you know who's in charge, stupid?  Keep your mouth SHUT cuz' the next time you open it, I'm putting my fist in as far as it goes!  Understand?

"......"

Finally, it's 11:25 am, I'm going to insert this rotund fluffy into the machine and this time I expect things to go without a hitch.  Subject eight is an adult earthie male, light grey with a white mane, domesticated, VERY overweight and is named Laddie. Getting these stumpy legs into the restraining holes is a little tight but I don't think they carry fat on their legs.  Isolation notch is closed and we're ready.
Subject is struggling to free himself, so much for being  a good boy, but the notch is holding well.  At least he's too scared of me to bitch anymore, its those high pitched, squeaky voices that really makes dealing with fluffies irritating.  That, and what they say.  So basically every time they open their mouths.  Let's do a light wash, Proctor & Gamble formula B-12 is piped in, should be a little bit milder than the last batch.  Well he'd better hope so for his sake.

You know, until I started working with fluffies I considered myself a reasonable, patient man.  So was I always a ticking time bomb or are they so obnoxious they'd drive a saint to the bottle?  I just don't get how anyone could find something so irritating a good pet!  They were designed to be annoying!  Know what?  I'm going with B, Ghandi would rather get loaded than deal with these hairballs.  *sigh*  Let's see, subject has finally given up and is letting the machine do it's work.  We're just starting the shampoo cycle, everything looks fine....  And considering my experience with these little bastards so far that means somethings up.  Hey , you can talk now.  I said talk.  Laddie, say something NOW.

No way... this can't...  Subject unresponsive, aborting test.

He's dead.  He's FUCKING DEAD!  *crash*  HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DIE?!  God fucking damn it!  Shit!
Shit!  Goddam fucking fluffy!  How the hell?!  Dammit! *wham* Dammit! *wham* Dammit! *wham*.  Fuck me, just fuck me and my entire fucking life, it's impossible but the fat fuck did it!  Spiteful little shit!
I'm going to the motherfucking bar now, I'll pull his bloated corpse out LATER.

*Walking to the nearest bar*

Can fluffies actually die from fear?  I need to read more about the little fucks, I mean this is just stupid.  I never believed the stories about them dying at the drop of a hat but what do you know?  Seems like they're right on the money.  Was he so scared that his heart literally stopped?  Or some other vital fluffy process?  Tomorrow.  I'll get at it tomorrow.  Well, I'll yank him out tonight and figure out what happened tomorrow.

*One drunken night later*

It's May 26, 11:09 am, 2017.  The wrong notch.  It's the wrong isolation notch.  After Boulder pulled his head free I put together some smaller isolation notches so it wouldn't happen again.  So it seems I forgot to switch back to adult size after screwing around with them the night before.  That, combined with his flabby neck must have cut of his windpipe and choked Laddie to death.

Well... fuck my donkey.

Note to self:  Color code isolation notches.

End part 7