The Happiest Place on Earth

>be you.
>You've just casually disposed of the body of Delirium.
>It's time to go after bigger fish, though.
>Benedryl and resets are fun, but not quite the sort of result you're looking for.
>You look up on Craigslist "Abused fluffy ponies"
>Unsurprisingly, many results come up.
>Some are for special "abuse firms" designed to abuse fluffies in the most cutting-edgy ways known to man.
>They're also expensive, and not what you're looking for.
>You need a fluffy that has already been horribly abused.
>It takes a few minutes of browsing to finally find what you wanted.
>"Pre-Abused Fluffies! Trauma of every type! DISCOUNT SALE!"

>you immediately run to your car and put the pedal to the metal.
>fifteen minutes later you're at the place.
>It's a rickety old house. You knock on the door.
>A rickety old man answers, with facial features that are generally unremarkable and require no explanation.
>He's also a human being, not a fluffy in a human suit.
>This leads the writer to wonder for a second what his grandfather would say if he was still alive and could read this story.
>"Why, how-do-you-do?" said the old man, unleashing his verbal multi-hyphenated tirade.
>"I do very well! And are you well as well, old man who is swell?" you chant softly. He nods and grins.
>"Are you here for the...merchandise?" he asks, with several of his teeth falling out as he speaks.

>Of course you say yes, and he leads you inside while rambling about the decor in his home.
>You honestly don't care for any of his artwork, but he does have a really great persian rug.
>Strangely, it almost looks like there are patterns of fluffy ponies woven into it.
>"Come with me downstairs. I store 'em all down there, all...all except for.." he trails off, shivers, and then begins whistling innocently.
>You find this suspicious, but you also don't give a shit. You follow the whistling codger downstairs.
>"And this is where the magic happens!" he says, grinning widely and opening the old, crickety door into the basement. The stench of death hits you instantly.
>In cages all over the room there are dozens of fluffies in varying stages of damage.
>Some miss limbs, some miss ears, and some seem to miss tongues.

>"We have mutilated fluffies, raped fluffies, emotionally distraught fluffies, suicidal fluffies, angry fluffies, submissive fluffies, and religious fluffies!" chants the old man softly.
>You cringe a little with horror, but only a little.
>"Hell, we even have oedipal regicidal fuffies!" says the old man.
>"Gawd save de smawty qween so smawty pwince .gif special huggies!" says a snarling fluffy.
>"Yeah, they tried to stage a coup." says the old man vaguely. A coup? Against whom?
>Your proper english is wonderful.
>"Get me one entirely amputated one, one with no eyes, and a suicidal one." you chant harmoniously.
>"Will do!" says the old man, gently cutting all of the legs off of an entirely whole fluffy.
>"Thanks, it's probably good to have the trauma fresh." you say. A loud bang is heard upstairs.
>"Oh dear, my god!" gasps the old man. He rushes upstairs. You hear more banging, then silence.
>You grab your fluffies and shove them in a cage.

>When you get upstairs you find that the old man is dead.
>Looks like he died of a heart attack or something.
>But what the fuck do you know? You're no physician.
>All you know is that you've got your pre-abused fluffies, ready to receive their therapy.
>You walk to your car, cages in hand. You don't even notice your car door is slightly ajar.
>So what, an old guy died? Who cares?
>There's no way that this could affect you in any way.
>No way in hell.

>The End