Mile-High Club (Challenge No.20 winner)

Koiyama, March 29, 2013; 03:17 / FB 9954
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>Be Anon, head of the Marketing Department of Ginger Inc.
>Finest manufacturer of sorry sticks this side of the Mississippi
>But that’s not important
>Right now, you're on your way to California, to make a business arrangement with some shady Mexican-labor shops to produce your sticks
>Decide to bring along your fluffy pony
>Last time you left a fluffy in a daycare, it was returned to you less than whole in a cardboard box
>You're not paying $60 a night just to have the thing killed again
>But you digress..

>Arrive at the airport with a couple hours to spare before your flight
>After going through security and paying off the airline to let you take your fluffy as carry on, you're finally sitting in your seat waiting for takeoff.
>”Daddeh, fwuffy has make poopi--
>”Shush you, if you annoy the passengers you're going in the luggage compartment. Do you want that?”
>”Nuuuu..” your fluffy says, fidgeting in the seat
>”That’s a good boy. Daddy's gonna listen to some fine-ass Sinatra.” You say, popping in a pair of ear buds
>Unbeknownst to you, fluffy gulps, muttering “Nu be a mean poopie pwace, pwease nu make sowwie poopies...”

>Be Anon again
>Be woken up by fluffy tugging vigorously on your jacket sleeve
>You must have fallen asleep to Sinatra's fine ass man-music
>Awwww yeahh-- Holy fuck that hurt! The little shit just bit you!
>Flicking your fluffy on the nose, you glare. “What, you ungrateful fuck!”
>”OWWIES! Why huwt fwuffy?” he sniffles
>Fluffy pauses for a moment, looking like he's concentrating. Or rebooting. Who knows.
>”DADDEH, NEE' MAKE POOPIES!” he suddenly yells at the top of his lungs
>Ignoring the quiet chuckles from the row in front of you, you slap your hand over your fluffy's mouth
>”Alright, alright, jesus.”
>Unbuckling yourself, you stand up and scoop the fluffy out of his seat, heading to the restroom
>After waiting for the 400 pound guy that was previously in there to squeeze himself out of the undersized stall, you walk in and lock the door
>Plopping fluffy down on the seat, you tell him turn to the sink to wash your face. Gotta look fresh for the bitches
>”Alright little bro, do your business.” You say, stroking your goatee.
>This thing makes you look like a douche, maybe you should shave it o-
>“Wat dis buttown fo'?” asks your fluffy, pressing the flusher
>“WAAAAA, NO HUWT POOPIE PWACE!!!!” it screams even louder than before
>Fumbling in surprise, you grab your fluffy and try to pull it out, splashing water all over your crotch
>”NUUU, WHY HUWT FWUFFY, NU WIKE! NU WIKE!” it cries
>”Jesus!” you yell, tugging even harder and bumping your ass into the door, making it rattle
>”FWUFFY SOWWY, PWEASE WEAVE POOPIE PWACE ALONE! WAHHHH, DADDEH!” your fluffy wails
>”Shut up! Almost! ALMOSTTTTTTT.........NNNGH, THERE!” you proclaim, freeing the fluffy with a loud popping noise
>”Huu....huuu huuu huuuuuuu.... fwuffy sowwy... pwease nuu huwt poopie pwace 'gain...” fluffy sobs
>”Oh jesus..” you say, glancing at the fluffy's shit-caked bottom
>”Lets get you cleaned up, champ.” you say, dampening and cleaning his fluff off with a wet paper towel

>Tucking your fluffy under your arm, you open the bathroom door to see...
>None other than the air marshal, waiting for your exit
>As well as the entire plane turned around, staring at you with mixtures of both disgust and amusement
>Furrowing your brow, you look back to the air marshal
>”I can expl--”
>”Sir.” he states, cutting you off.
>”I'll have you know that according to the Domestic Animal Act of 2017, Fluffy ponies are legally defined as domesticated animals.”
>Looking at your wet crotch and equally wet-assed fluffy, he sneers and adds
>”I'll also have you know that bestiality is illegal in all 50 states. I'm going to have to detain you for the rest of the flight.”
>The air marshal pushes you and your fluffy against a wall, turning you around and placing zip-tie cuffs around your wrists
>”Owwies! Why sqwish fwuffy?” your fluffy protests
>”But I was just taking him to the bathroom! What the hell!”
>”Save it for the cops, you sick fuck.” the air marshal growls.
>A stewardess scoops up your fluffy, taking him to the flight attendant's area, comforting him and telling him “There there, the mean man won't hurt you again little guy..”
>You can't believe your luck
>Fucking fluffy ponies
>You're getting a cat next time