cwc fanfic thing from /b/

>be Christian Weston Chandler
>true and HONEST creator of Sonichu, the electric hedgehog Pokemon
>walk up to your house after another failed attempt to find your sweetheart
>you trudge through the knee-high grass of your front lawn
>carefully dodging the many auto parts and pieces of lawn furniture that litter the ground
>you hear a familiar babbling coming from further ahead
>a herd of fluffy ponies has been living in your lawn for months
>you've always ignored them
>your dad said to "cut those dern fluffies down"
>but you already have so much work and stress
>also you're kind of intimidated by them
>you move towards the sanctuary of your house as quickly as possible
>but a clear voice bellows out from the grass "dummy hooman!"
>you look down and a purple unicorn with a green mane is looking up at you
>"are, uh, you t-talking to me?"
>"dis smawty's yicky wand!"
>"I, uh, ummmmm, ahhh. You .... this is yours?"
>the unicorn cocks his head sideways "why dummy hooman tawk funny?"

>"I, uh, I'm not dumb. I'm a, uh, high functioning autistic male. Hmmmmmmm."
>"wha' auwtistic?"
>"it, uh, means that I'm special."
>"specaw?" The smartie's eyes widen: "wike speciaw fwend?!"
>you know what that means in fluffy speak. "No. I'm actually looking for a sweetheart at the present moment. Uhhh. One that I can create from the ground up."
>"dummeh hooman no hav' specaw fwend?"
>"no!" You say, becoming angry, "I am currently a virgin with rage!"
>"wha?" The smarty laughs and blows a raspberry "auwtistic hooman newa hav specaw huggies?"
>"Ya-ya-you're just, uh, a slanderous troll!" You show your fangs (open your mouth) and scream: "I'll strangle ya!!!!"
>the smarty doesn't puff his cheeks or take an aggressive stance
>he just cocks his head again, looks you dead in the eyes, and says "smawtie no think you can."
>"wha-wha-why..." You're dumfounded, "ya-you, uh, just wanna play kick the autistic!"
>"dis is bowing!" The smarty puffs his cheeks "dummy auwtistic giv hewd sketties nao!"
>”uhmmmm.” You begin miming the motions of putting spaghetti into a pot. You proceed to place the pot on an imaginary stove.
>”wha’ dummy hooman doin’? Make skettis!”
>you stop miming, “I, um, can’t get to my kitchen at the present moment. You see, my family’s just, uh, a buncha packrats. Can’t get to the stove.”
>The smarty snarls and starts to yell: “dummy auwtistic viwgin wif wage hooman waste smawty’s time!”
>”he-hey! I’ll have you know that I’m the creator of Sonichu, Rosechu, and-“
>the smarty cuts you off: “quwiet! Quwiet! Quwiet! Smawty no cawe! Smawty gif you foweva sweepies! You be quwiet foweva! Hewd! Attack!”
>several earth fluffies begin to emerge from the long grass behind the smarty
>you don’t stop to count how many (ten) and turn to run towards your house
>in your haste, you forget about the tricycle right behind you
>you trip over it and sprawl onto the ground, face up

>the fluffies are coming quickly
>you grab your sonichu medallion and close your eyes “Cherokee ancestors! Please protect me! I, uh, uhmmm, I need-blaaargggggggh”
>as you speak your mouth is suddenly filled with the fowlest liquid you’ve ever tasted
>you try to spit it out, but another burst of it comes pouring in
>you open your eyes and see a green fluffy ass squatting over your face
>shit comes spraying out and floods into your mouth
>the overflow is immense
>shit is flowing out of your mouth and down all of your chins onto your brand “new” Salvation Army shirt
>the shit stops after a couple seconds and you begin to spit out what’s left in your mouth, but a new fluffy ass replaces the last one
>”aww fwuffies giv bigges’ sowwy poopies!”
>the excess shit has begun moving upwards into your eyes
>the world is tinted brown and you can barely see anything but the successive fluffy asses as they hover over your face
>suddenly a fluffy ass is pulled away and you can barely see what looks like a human face
>a tan face with spiked black hair
>”shit don’t look so cash, brah.”
>”daddeh cwyde! Fwuffies do good?”
>that dang dirty Clyde Cash chuckles
>”you’ve all done great. You’re all good fluffies. Let’s go home to Australia and I’ll make you all spaghetti!”
>crys of “Yay!” “Wuv daddeh!” and “Sketties!” are the last thing you hear before the world begins going black
>you wake up in the same position a couple of hours later
>great. Sleeping in the middle of the day has surely ruined your biological clock
>you stand up and shuffle towards your house
>time to make another video