Fencing

>You're standing in your kitchen, staring vacantly at your fridge's contents.
>Why did you come here?
>Hungry...? No... bored.
>Your eyes wander to the vodka, then to the clock.
>Too soon in the day...
>You stand there, absorbing the cold air and not thinking, until you hear a squeaking voice through your back screen door.
>"Nummies hewe! Fowwow!"
>You turn languidly to look.
>A herd of four fluffy ponies has wandered into your yard and are heading for your tiny vegetable patch.

>Maybe this could entertain you a while.
>You close the fridge and step outside into the yard.
>The fluffies freeze at the sight of you.
>As you walk over to them, a scruffy cyan unicorn pushes its way to the front.
>"Dese fwuffy nummies! Munsta go!"
>It puffs up its cheeks and stamps its hooves.
>You look down at it.
>It returns your stare for about ten seconds, then speaks again.
>"Nummies fo' fwuffies! Weave o' owies!"
>It shifts uneasily as you continue to watch it, unmoving and apparently unmoved.
>"G-give owies!" it stutters.
>It waddles over to your legs and bucks them.
>You're wearing jeans; it doesn't hurt.
>You continue to stare at it.

>"Munsta scawed!" it announces, when you make no response. "Nummies now!"
>Visibly relieved, the rest of the herd resumes its journey to your hobby garden.
>You step over and through them, interposing yourself between the ponies and the vegetables.
>Seating yourself directly in front of the plants, you slowly pan a glance over the herd.
>They stop warily.
>"Munsta weave!" the unicorn insists, about-facing to glare at you again.
>As before, you make no reply.
>The unicorn eyeballs you for what feels like thirty seconds, then waddles up and bucks you a second time.
>"Munsta stupid! Fwuffies eat!" it barks.
>It steps around you and walks toward the veggies.
>As it gets to the edge of the grass, you place a hand on its face and gently push the fluffy backwards again.
>"Stop!" it cries into your hand. "Nummies fo' fwuffy!"
>Another fluffy tentatively steps forward, mumbling "Fwuffy so hungwy..."; you push it away as well.
>The unicorn stamps and puffs up again. "Meenie!"
>It charges for the plants as fast as it can.
>You catch it by the face again and push it away.
>This time it bites your fingers.
>It feels rather like being chewed on by a small frog; painless but weird and moist.
>You gingerly force its mouth open by spreading your fingers apart, then pull it off with your other hand and set it down among the others.
>"Dumb munsta!" the unicorn yells, visibly agitated. "Wan' nummies!"

>The rest of the herd is whining. "Hungwy..." "Why no nummies?" "Pwease hewp..."
>The unicorn turns to address them.
>"Munsta dumb! Fowwow!"
>It glares at them until they start to move forward.
>Turning back to you, it leads the herd toward the garden.
>As the ponies approach, you lean foward a bit and spread your arms wide, blocking the way on both sides.
>"DUMB MUNSTA!" the unicorn screeches. "Wet go!"
>It tries to bite you on the forearm but its small mouth slides off, only getting a mouthful of shirt fabric.
>You bring your arms together, pushing the ponies into a clump, then scoot them backwards.
>Next you sit up, holding your arm out and letting the unicorn dangle.
>Looks like he's a male... that explains the aggression a little.
>You take a now-free hand and put it on the unicorn's face, shoving him away until he loses his grip on your shirt and tumbles into his herdmates.
>"Ahhhhhh!" The unicorn is furious; he runs up and tries to move you out of the way bodily.
>His hooves scrabble uselessly against the grass.
>The others try to waddle to the vegetables again, but you pick them up as they approach, gently throwing them a few feet away with weak sidearm tosses.
>They gripe, but sit down dispiritedly after a few repulses.
>"Tummy so owies..." one moans. "Smawty hewp pwease..." says another.
>"STUPID MUNSTA!" blares the unicorn, in a full-blown tantrum at this point. "MAKE POOPIES ON YOU!"

>The unicorn has turned around and is pointing his butt at you; he lifts his tail and starts to grunt.
>You pick him up and quickly turn him 180 degrees so he faces away, then set him down.
>"STOP!" he demands. "MUNSTA GET POOPIES!"
>Flushed with rage, he tries to turn again; you turn him back.
>"POOPIES! POOPIES POOPIES!" he froths, launching spittle and trying to angle his hindquarters toward you.
>You hold him in his current orientation with a hand on his back.
>"Nuu poopies on fwuffy!" cries a herdmate behind him. "Smawty scawy!"
>The others pick up the chant. "Nuu poopies! Nuu poopies!"
>"POOPIES FO MUNSTA!" he retorts.
>You release your grip on him; he immediately swings around and lifts his tail.
>"NOW POOPIES!" he announces; he begins to grunt and strain.
>You give him two seconds... then pick him up and invert him again.
>"AHHHHH! HATE YOU! HATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOU!" he screams, shaking with fury.
>He flails at you with hooves, horn, teeth, and anything else that will bear, ranting like a madman.
>To his rear, the other fluffies are crying at the noise and the spectacle.

>As you hold the thrashing and raving unicorn in abeyance, his herdmates begin to back away.
>During one attempt to turn around again and defecate on you, he notices them quaking and retreating.
>"NUU WEAVE!" he commands at the top of his lungs; his voice is keyed up to a high pitch with hysteria.
>They shiver and take another step back. "Smawty scawy!" "Hewp!"
>"NUU WEAVE O' POOPIES! NUU WEAVE O' OWIES!" he threatens.
>This sends them into open panic. "Nuu!" "Wun 'way!" "Ahhhh!"
>The herd dissipates in all directions in the face of the unicorn's furor.
>"WHY FWUFFIES WUN?!" he howls. "WHY NO NUMMIES?!"
>You let him go; he takes off after the slowest, shrieking like a banshee. "FWUFFY COME BACK!"
>Well.
>That killed some time.
>You walk back inside to contemplate the social stigma of drinking before lunch.