March of the Fluffies - Fluffalo

Vanner, May 20, 2013; 12:27 / FB 11004
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March of The Fluffies: March of The Fluffalo

>"Is time fow Tee-bee?" asks your fluffy. "Wach fwuffy show?"
>"You're damn right it is," you reply.
>Turn on the TV
>The velvety smooth voice of Morgan Freeman wafts through your speakers like pipe tobacco through a smoking jacket.
>"Spaghetti Warehouse presents… March of the Fluffies."
>Cue montage of fluffies drowning, walking off cliffs, pummeling each other with ineffective, marshmallow like hooves.
>Normally, your fluffy claps her hooves and cheers when shows come on, but she knows better than to interrupt Morgan Freeman.
>The scene changes to a rolling hill somewhere in the American Mid-West where a dozen mutlicolored blobs march through the high grass of the plains.
>A song follows the gently flowing breeze in what a deep, yet unmistakably fluffy, voice.
>"Dank you sky baww fow dis day…"
>A chorus of other fluffy voices chants back the same line.
>"Dank you fow da gwassies dat da fwuffawo pway."
>The other fluffies repeat in their own off key, sing songy voices.
>"Dank you fow da bwight baww, we aw you fwuffawo, dank you fow it aww."
>The blobs come into focus to reveal fluffy ponies unlike any other.
>They're larger than regular fluffies by about half, and their manes fall into their eyes like english sheep dogs.
>Gracing either side of their head is a horn that is nowhere close to the color of the rest of their fluff.
>The fluffies sing as they march, pausing only to eat some of the tall grasses of the planes.
>"These are the fluffalo," says Morgan Freeman. "An uncommon breed of fluffy pony born in defiance of any reason or logic."
>"Unlike other breeds of fluffy that came about from tampering with the genetic code, or force of evolution, the fluffalo come to us through a peculiar means."
>The scene changes to a film of Native Americans chasing after fluffy ponies on horseback.
>They look like regular earth fluffies that have severed unicorn horns glued to the side of their heads.
>"Because of their protected status," says the voice over, "we were unable to hunt buffalo in the traditional ways."
>The scene changes to an elderly Native American, drapped in a fluffy, multicolored pelt, complete with a hollowed fluffalo head as a hood.
>Around the room, bi horned fluffy skulls decorate the room.
>It's actually quite dignified.
>"We feared the old ways would die, and with it, our way of life," continues the elderly chief. "But then the fluffy ponies came and gave us an idea."
>The scene changes to a dozen Native Americans surrounded by hundreds of sobbing fluffy ponies.
>One grabs up a unicorn and, with a single swipe of the axe, cleaves off his horn.
>The unicorns shrieks in pain, trying desperately to clutch at his damaged forehead before being tossed into the a nearby chipper.
>The axeman simply drops the horn into a box, then grabs another unicorn.
>Meanwhile, a woman dressed in traditional garb straps an earth fluffy to a bench before picking up a hand drill.
>"Pwease nu huwt fwuffy!" begs the fluffy as she lines up the bit.
>The woman drills for a few seconds on each side of the head, despite the fluffies shrieks of protest and thrashing attempts to escape.
>"Why fwuffy git owies?" asks your fluffy.
>"Uh… he was bad, I guess?" you respond.
>"Bad fwuffies git owies," she says, turning back to the TV.
>Another Native American picks up the box of served horns, and dabs a bit of medical glue onto the back of each one before jamming them into the holes in the earth fluffy's heads.
>This is, of course, followed by more screaming, shrieks of protest, and if it weren't for the corks, violent defecation.
>"We did this as a way to preserve our heritage," says the elderly chief. "We used these vermin to raise awareness for our way of life, and what we had lost through the white man's incursion."
>"Tourists came from around the globe to see us hunt these creatures we had created. We took their money, and sold them the survivors when there were some."
>"Never in a thousand years would we have expected that it would resulted in anything like the fluffalo."
>The scene shifts away from the chief to a farm where a herd of fifty fluffalo lay in the sun.
>They graze, wandered, and graze some more.
>"They ain't so bad to raise," says another voice over. "They talk and all, but they ain't people, so they don't make no sense."
>The text at the bottom of the screen tells you this is the voice of Dennis Smoth, Fluffalo farmer.
>"'Course, they think they's thousands of years old, and they gotta connection to the land like suma dem indians out there."
>Cut to the farmer watching his herd of fluffalo, who are watching the setting sun.
>"I told them they ain't older than five years, but they couldn't tell time if their life depended on it."
>One of the flufflo wanders up to the farm and bows his fluffy head.
>"Dah gwassies an sky baww teww us is time fow da hawvest," says the fluffalo. "
>"Ffwuffawo come one wif earfies?"
>Dennis kind of shrugs.
>"Kinds weird that they ask you to die," he says. "I suppose that kinder than killin' somethin that don't want killed."
>A dozen fluffalo follow the rancher to the barn where they wait in line for the rythmic thump of the bolt gun.
>"Some researchers believe that the two horns of the fluffalo causes pressure on the brain, giving them these delusions of grandeur," says Morgan Freeman. "Others think that the 'wan die' loops has just been refined."
>"But what's important," he continues, "is that fluffalo, unlike fluffy ponies, never seek leadership outside of humans."
>The scene changes to a wild herd of fluffalo in a patch of eaten grasses.
>Fluffalo foals orbit their mothers in a tight circle, babbling about "sky baww" and "gud earfies," while the males keep watch on the sky.
>From the tall grass comes another clump of multicolored fluff with one fluffy bickering and shoving other fluffies out of the way.
>"Dummy fwuffies pawt of smawty hewd now!" yells the green unicorn. "Fowwow smawty ow biggest owchies!"
>"You no smawty," says one of the males. "Sky baww gif wife to gwassies, gwassies gif mummas babehs, so sky baww smawty."
>"Sky baww nu smawty!" demands the unicorn. "Smawty am smawty! Come wif fwuffy now!"
>The males form a circle around the females and start singing a low pitched tune.
>"Sky baww is ow smawty," they sing. "Sky baww gif us wife. Take dis dummy fwuffy, gif him stwife."
>The uniorn is enranged at this point, and puffs out his cheeks.
>"COME NOW OR BIG…"
>He's interrupted by a flash of talons and spray of feathers as an hawk grabs up the smarty.
>The camera follows a trail of feces and blood as the eagle soars off before returning to the scattering fluffy ponies.
>It pans up to reveal Morgan Freeman, sitting at a desk in the middle of the field.
>"So ends the tale of the fluffalo," he says, resting an elbow on a fluffalo skin mat. "Join us next week when we discover extinct fluffy breeds."
>"Here, on March of the Fluffies."