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- >Be a receptionist at a vet's surgery in the usually sleepy English village of Sandford.
- >You've got an online booking system. Basically just an email address and a messenger program, but you can get "emergency" bookings right away with the messenger.
- >Surgery covers pets in a larger town as well - the vet at the practice that deals with farmyard stuff generally just takes the calls on his mobile directly.
- >Usually for the emergencies other than that, it's just stuff about dogs that cut their paws.
- >But since Fluffy Ponies are so prone to sudden and unpredictable injury they seem to pop up on it a lot.
- >Even seems to be a lot of owners can't recognise when a fluffy is pregnant until they're squeezing the foals out.
- >Customer sends a message saying they've got to bring in two "litres" of fluffy ponies.
- >Common enough typo when someone is stressed, you think.
- >Ten minutes later he arrives.
- >"Hi, I'm Anon A. Anonison, I messaged you about the fluffies?"
- >You nod.
- >"Sure, what's the problem?"
- >He puts a large plastic bottle that apparently once held cola on the counter.
- >You can hear muffled cries from the balls of fluff inside.
- >"Hewp! Fwuffeh stuck!"
- >"Why meanie pwastic nu wet fwuffeh go?!"
- >Somehow two fluffies managed to get inside despite the opening being only about two centimetres in diameter.
- >It's like a bizarre ship in a bottle. A fluffy, retarded, ship in a bottle.
- >...Oh.
- >Two Litres of fluffy ponies.
- >Now you get it.
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