The Sketti Man and the Protester

Mr_Potatamoto, March 18, 2017; 04:39 / FB 45295
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The Sketti Man and the Protester

What’s that friend? Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ice cream bar? Ah, yeah, I get ya. With the little bubblegum eyes, right? Since I’m wearin’ the white uniform and the hat an’ all, you wanted to order an iced confection that, in our near-future settin’, must be about 80 years old by now. Well, I’ll serve you one of those an’ ask that you take the little wooden stick and jam it straight where the sun don’t shine. I’m a Sketti Man, as you should know.

And if you don’t mind hearin’ me talk shop a bit, you can hop up on that bar stool right there. Have couple rounds on me. Sketti Man pays pretty good in this town. Course, someone has to make sure that every adorable little fluffy pony in the city limits has a warm, lovin’ home an’ plenty to eat. And if that means givin’ a bunch of spaghetti laced with tranquilizer to every fluffy that *don’t* have that, then poppin’ ‘em into an industrial freezer on their way to the grinder, well, that’s the job.

‘Course, some folk don’t care too much for that part. Can’t see the big picture, if you see what I’m sayin’. Why, just this afternoon…

Sketties am bestest nummies!
Sketti Man hab bestest Sketties fow aww fwuffies!
Pwease come owt fow yummy nummy Sketties!

I do hate that song and have promised to curse whoever came up with it and got those fluffs to sing it with my dyin’ breath. But it brings out every little fluffy bugger in earshot. And they can hear from a long way away. Case in point, here comes this little boy, blue as a berry, half grown, probably still had the taste of his momma’s milkies on the back of his tongue.

“M-m-m-m-mistah Sketti Man am nice mistah? Gib skettis fow fwuffies?”

“Well now you just better believe I am, little fellah. And I’ve got all the sketties you could want up here. Once you’re full, I’ll give ya a nice place to sleep, and we’ll see about findin’ you a new home.”

The little guy sat his rump on the ground and hung his head till his snout was just about on the ground.

“Mebbe mistah Sketti Man can find mummah’s daddeh? Mummah say dat she wun ‘way fwom daddeh when he nu wet mummah hab speshul huggies an’ babbehs. Bu’ she knu dat if she gu back to daddeh wif gud babbehs, daddeh gib wuv and huggies fo’ mummah and gud babbehs!”

“Hmm. And just what happened to your momma, little fella? Why isn’t she with you?”

*sniff* “Bad…bad bad bad bawkie munstahs come an’ bweak housie. Mummah twy an’ wun ‘way. Mummah twy an’ hide babbehs in widdle twee hole housie. Babbeh…babbeh twy and pull sissy into widdle twee hole housie, but bawkie munstah…huuuuuu….huuhuuuhuu! Onwy hab sissy’s weggie! Wai onwy weggie? Wan aww sissy fo’ huggies! Gib sissy’s weggie huggies, but west of sissy gon fo’ebah! Huu huu huu…”

Sad story, and the ending’s fixin’ to be kinda weak, from a purely narrative perspective, y’know. Survivor eats the drugged skettis and that’s the end of that. But then you get a bit of the ol’ third act twist. I reach down to get the little blue fella up on my counter, when all of a sudden…

“STOP!”

She’s a pretty young thing, no doubt. Could be a heartbreaker, but I got a feelin’ she’s the type that’s too busy preppin’ for college to have much fun in high school, y’know? Got that auburn hair that almost glows on its own, but cut way too business-like. Pair of jeans that’re probably just a bit too old, and a sweatshirt for the Ivy League she’s favorin’ at the moment. Still…well, if an old Sketti Man can’t admire a pretty young girl, what’s the point of bein’ an old Sketti Man?

I stand back up straight.

“This little fella yours, Miss?”

“No, but I’m not gonna just watch you MURDER him!”

“Well now that’s a thing to say, alright. I was just gonna give this little fella some sketties. Want some sketties, little guy?”

“Fwuffy wuv skettis! Wuv sketti man!”

“Well, there you go. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

I reach down for the poor little guy again. She starts runnin’ like she’s gonna snatch him up. Can’t have that, so I stand straight again.

“Ah…no, no.”

I point up at the corner of my truck. Little camera there, recording everything in Omni-HD+++. With facial recognition, the computer back at HQ already has her school ID, and everything she’s ever posted on social media. I reckon there’s a certain amount of dystopia to the future, but you take the good with the bad.

“Fine for interferin’ with the Sketti Man is $500 dollars in this town, Miss.”

No practical reason for a visible camera, of course. Could be the size of a grain of rice an’ get the same resolution. But we put it in a big ol’ rig, just so people know they’re bein’ watched.

She stops. Guess the fine is a bit too steep. Or maybe she’s done it once before and doesn’t much relish a month in jail…that’s the penalty for a second offence.

Instead, she works on the fluffy. Looks like she knows the way things work, at least. Most important thing about the Sketti Man, he always just takes the fluffies that want to go with him. Which is, as a general rule, all of them. But if the Sketti Man started snatching up fluffs all screaming an’ shitting the way they do when they’re scared, well, soon enough no fluffies would come out, sketties or no sketties.

“Fluffy, come here! The Sketti Man is a bad man! He’ll give you forever sleepies!”

The look the little blue weanling gives her is one part condescending to about six parts confused. “Sketti Man nu bad! Sketti Man gib sketties! Sketties am bestest nummies! Fwuffy wan’ bestest sketties! Nebah hab sketties! Wub Sketti Man!”

“NO!”

Oh, she’s getting awfully red in the face now. Voice is climbin’ up to the upper registers, too.

“Fluffy, you come here RIGHT NOW! THE SKETTI MAN WILL KILL YOU! HE”LL KILL YOU! RUN AWAY! RUN! RUN!”

Well, he’s scared, right enough. Shits himself a bit, as you might expect. But not the way she likely wants. Instead, he backs away from her till his rump hits my truck and looks up at me all pleading-like.

“Nu wike scawy woud wady. Pwease hewp!”

I oblige and lift him up onto my little counter. She’s fit to be tied, at this point. Just about ready to grab him right off the truck, fine or no fine. I give him a little scratch behind the ear, and he closes his eyes blissfully. Then I give her a look.

“Miss. Law is the law. Law says if this fluffy is unowned, he’s my problem.”

Truth is, even that little part of the law doesn’t amount to much. If a fluffy has a collar with an up to date tag, or if the fluffy says it’s got a momma or a daddy, I got a little loud speaker I can use to call for it’s owner. If the owner doesn’t show in a couple of minutes, it’s spaghetti time. If the owner ain’t that close, well, they should’ve taken better care. Like I said, we want all the fluffies in our town to have nice, safe caring homes. If they get to me, they don’t have one. And that’s the end of that.

“But, if you’re this fluff’s momma, well, then he’s yours. You look me in the eye and tell me you’ll take him, keep him and treat him right. You look me in the eye and tell me that, and you take him home and that’s that.”

The little blue fella opens his eyes from my scratches and looks at her.

“Woud wady be nyu mummah?”

Girl doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body. Probably couldn’t lie to save her life, that’s clear just from lookin’ at her. She glares at me, then looks at the fluff, back and forth, back and forth. She wants to do it, that’s pretty clear. And not just to spite me, which speaks well of her. Little fella is pretty well behaved, probably make a good fluffy for her, if things turned out different.

Then the tears.

“I…we…we…we have three fluffies already. Melody’s just about to foal…I…I just can’t…”

I give a nod and a smile.

“Miss, that sounds just fine. You go on home, take good care of yours. You let me worry about them’s that got nobody to care for ‘em.”

She nods, then runs off sobbing. The little blue guy sits back on his haunches and lifts one forehoof and waves.

“Bye, woud wady…”

Then he stands back up and turns to me.

“Can fwuffy hab skettis, pwease?”

Sounds a bit mournful. Once in awhile I get ones that I swear know the score. Like they know exactly what’s gonna happen, but they weighed it on whatever little scales they got in their mind and decide a good meal is worth ending a pointless life. I don’t know, maybe it’s just in my head.

“Sure thing, little fella.”

He licks the microwave-warmed bowl clean before sinking down and yawning. “Fwuffy am su sweepies…” He murmurs. I pick him up and lay him down in the freezer with the half-dozen frozen fluffies I picked up earlier on my route.

“Cowd…but fwuffy…wuv…fwuffpiwe. Tank yoo…Sketti Man. Fwuffy…wuv...”

Well, I closed the freezer and went on with my route. Picked up another five customers. Busiest day I’ve had in a long, long while. It’s a simple job, with simple rewards. But those are usually the best.