Global Relief Worker (Mine)

>Be Global Humanitarian Disaster Relief worker.
>Really it's an excuse to meet girls and travel the world.
>But you talk a good game about helping less fortunate cultures.
>White Man's Burden? It's only racist when other people say it.
>In Central Africa helping a native village with this year's drought / famine.
>After last years drought / famine, relief and aide workers poured in from around the globe and built schools, homes, and wells, and distributed food to all the starving people.
>Then they left and took the food with them, so people are starving again.
>Dumbasses don't even realize how hard they've fucked over the local economy by importing free labor (like you) and devastating the local agricultural sector by giving out free food.
>You don't tell this to your fellow workers, because you've only fucked two out of the three girls, and are holding out for a hat trick.
>Building an irrigation system so they can finally grow crops like normal poor backwards people.
>You have no fucking clue what you're doing, but you get along as long as you're enthusiastic and swing a hammer.
>While checking your half-assed pipe work and walking back towards the river, you see a neon-purple ball of fur amble past.
>A Fluffy Pony, in Africa.
>Hot damn!
>You had great fun last summer playing with fluffy ponies:
>Seeing how long they floated before drowning (not long), finding out how many you could fit in one garbage bag (22 adults, more if you counted foals and babies), you even tried the old "you are now aware of your own breathing" trick (it only worked once, but the rest fit in the garbage bag just the same.)
>Oh yes, the heady days of yore.
>And now, you've found another one to play with.
>Except this one just wobbled its way out through a thick tangle of scrub bush.
>Oh, well, maybe you'll get some other guys and find it.
>You head back to the village, and tell your boss (who is a total bro, even if he is a little Hemp-y) that you saw a Fluffy pony over by the pipeline leading to the river.
>"What? You saw one of those bio-engineered abominations? Those will wreck the fragile ecosystem! I should tell the Mayor and local dignitaries."
>So you go to see the local bigwigs... there's actually more of these guys than there are farmers, but whatever.
>Your boss explains in the clicky-clacky regional dialect that they use that you had seen a fluffy pony.
>They tell him in accented English that they know about the fluffy ponies, and leave them alone because they had claimed some land for themselves and do not stray from it.
>As long as the Fluffies stay where they are, and people stay away, no problems happen.
>You almost burst a blood vessel.
>People letting fluffies have space to breed?
>Not on your watch.
"Hey! If you don't kill those fluffy ponies, then all the work you put into this place will be for nothing! They'll eat anything you grow in your farms, shit in every street of your village, and fill the air with their goddamn MEWLING everyfuckingwhere. And if you can't think forward far enough to see that, then i'll just have to take care of the problem for you."
>You sprint off towards where you last saw the fluffy pony.
>But you stop by the tool shed long enough to grab a good shovel.
---
>After hacking your way through some bush, you start hearing the familiar sounds of Fluffy ponies.
>"Fwuffy get nummies foh babbies?" "Fwuffy haf gud gwassies heah." "Babbeh wub mummeh!"
>Ahh, your prey, the ignoble Fluffy pony.
>Crouching low so as not to draw attention to your Bright Yellow "Global Relief" T-shirt, you stalk slowly towards your prey.
>An adult unicorn fluffy. Maroon, with a green mane and bright yellow eyes is frolicking near the outside edge of the herd.
>Perfect. This is what you live for.
>Cautiously, slowly, and stealthily as possible, you creep towards the unwary ball of fluff.
>It pauses mid-stride, and turns towards you.
>You freeze.
>"Hafta make poopies!" it declares, then drops into a squatting position.
>Within seconds of it's dung hitting the ground, scarab beetles are upon it.
>The scarabs collect the dung and immediately begin forming it into spheres to roll away.
>The beetles will lay their eggs inside the filth, where they will incubate until they reach a sufficiently mature state as to consume it, after which they will consume the pony excretions, themselves drawing additional nutrients from the digested material, ultimately recycling the dung into fresh soil.
>Magnificent.
>The beetles. Not the fluffy ponies. Those get to meet Mr. Shovel.
>As it turns away from you once more, you see your opportunity.
>You leap forth from the bush, and, with the swift precision of a mighty hunter, you bring the shovel down on your surprised prey.
>The Fluffy doesn't even have a chance to finish squeaking it's plative "Wha'?" before your shovel has crushed it's skull.
>With first blood drawn by the great hunter, it is time to finish the cleansing of this land.
>The thud drew only a few fluffy eyes, none able to correlate the pulpy mass of their recent associate with your blood-spattered shovel.
>"Nu Fwiend?" asks a hopeful voice.
"Oh yes. Come to Daddy."
>With the utterance of the magic word, seven or eight fluffies bound joyously towards you. As the first one comes inside your reach, you prepare a mighty backswing.
>"Here's MR. SHOVEL!"
>You solidly connect with the Lime-green pegasi, and send it on the closest thing to flight it will ever experience.
>It lands in a crumpled heap off in the scrub brush, where it is already dead or will bleed out.
>"Nuu! Meunstah! Saf' Fwuffy!"
>Ahh familiar music to your ears, they even got the pitch perfect.
>You plow forward into the retreating herd. There must be fourty or more fluffies here, easily!
>You move from clubbing to chopping motions, bringing down the edge of the shovel to bisect and seperate.
>"AHHH! Wy huwt fwuffy!" "Wea' Weggies?" "Ghrgghhgllp!"
>Seven, Eight, Nine dead. You'll have this cleaned up before anyone even notices you're missing.
>A pregnant dam has been abandoned by her helpers.
>Well, actually you reduced them to bloody piles, but, abandoned, brutally murdered, same thing.
>put your shovel aside, pick her up and Squeeze, hard.
>"Nuuuu!!!! AHHH!!! Mummeh Make Big Poopies!
>A stream of piss and shit splatters the ground underneath her, followed by the underdeveloped babies you are forcing out of her.
>Oh, and what luck, a runt!
>"Owwies, Fwu-Feh... Fwuffy- tummeh... huwt."
>Efficiency or fun?
>Fun.
"Oh look! your babies need you!"
>The premature spawn don't even move... except for the runt, which appears to be thrashing it's legs in all directions.
>In pain, the mare twists in your Grip. "Bah-Babbehs? Fwuffy is mummeh?"
>Effortlessly, you break the first of her legs.
>"AAAAAHHH!! Wy gif owchies?" *sob* "Wy huwt weggie?"
"That's for not knowing you had babies. Bad fluffies don't know they have babies. Look at your babies."
>Twist her around, break another leg in the process. Tears, delicious tears are streaming down her face.
>"Wy Fwuffy huwt? Wy Weggies nuu wurk?"
"Because you're a bad fluffy. If you were a good fluffy, you'd be taking care of your babies. Go save your babies."
>You drop her, hard, on the rough scrub ground. You hear the cracking sound of a third leg going.
>Amid a flood of tears and sniffles, the ungrateful bitch is sobbing and moaning.
>"Bebbehs... mummeh... saf' babbehs. Nuu huwt babbehs."
>What a little trooper, between her ragged breaths and mantra-like chanting of "Saf babbies, nuu huwt babbies" she's actually trying to get to them by pushing herself along with her ONE functional leg.
>She's maybe three feet away now?
>Better give her some positive reinforcement.
>You step on one of the foul spawn. It crunches cleanly under your foot.
"I Guess you didn't really love that one! Or else you would have saved it!"
>"NUUU!!! Mummeh wuv babbehs! Munstah weaf babbeh's 'wone!" Scooch. "Mummeh" Scooch. "wuv!" Scooch. "Babbehs!"
>She's close enough that she'll reach the one surviving baby on her next scooch.
>Quickly you stomp on that one too.
>It squeaks weakly before your foot finishes the job.
"I guess you didn't really love that one either! You are a bad fluffy!"
>The mare is howling in grief. Her tears flow like a waterfall, and snot is bubbling out of her face. She's laying in a rapidly expanding puddle of her own blood, and she'll die soon.
>Your work here is almost done.
"And I KNOW you don't love the runt! You selfish cunts never love the runt fluffies."
>"Mummeh... wuv... Babbe-"
>She's barely breathing, perfect time to seal the deal.
>Reach down for the runt and...
>Where the fuck is it?
>Oh... it must have rolled a bit downhill, you couldn't miss it's bright pink body.
>You jog smartly over towards the misshapen lump of pink fuzz.
"C'mere you who-"
*click*
>Suddenly, the world is a menagerie of sound and color.
>You realize that you have been flung, ragdoll-esque end over end into the air.
>There was just a very loud sound, and now... there's a burning sensation in your legs and groin
>You're also not feeling a lot of anything.
>And the ground rose up to meet you.
>When the world resolves into something that makes sense, you find yourself laying face down on your stomach.
>The first attempt to move your arms treated you to a world of mind-scarring pain.
>Your legs don't seem to want to work either.
>Your vision is kinda cloudy too.
>But directly in front of you, is a bright pink shape.
"Some... kinda trap? Runt came to gloat?"
>As your eyesight clears, you realize you are staring at your own dismembered leg.
---
>Three hours later, the search party found you, then decided it would be for the best to leave you where you were.
>"Well, it looks like he ignored the signs... why is the fence down here?"
>"Oh, the fluffy ponies go in and out through that way. They weigh too little to set off a land mine, so we let them have it."