March of the Fluffies - Urban Herds

Vanner Mon May 24 22:57:07 2021 UTC| /r/fluffycommunity
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March of the Fluffies: Urban Herds
by Vanner

It is Wednesday.

Your fluffy’s had her canned spaghetti and she’s staring in rapt fascination at the TV.

It’s not turned on or anything, she’s just staring at it.

You’re pretty sure she can’t tell time, since she routinely has no any idea what day it is, yet somehow she always knows when it’s time for her favorite TV show. So you sit down on the couch and join her for some quality entertainment.

Warning: This program is a nature documentary and may contain scenes of graphic violence and animal mating. Viewer discretion is advised, a monotone voice warns before the show starts.

Fwuffies! chirps somone doing a pretty good fluffy impression. Dis show haf fwuffies gettin' owies and maybe spechaw hugs! Ask you mummies an daddies if it otay fow you to watch TeeBee!

You're guessing that warning came after complaints from last weeks show about the anatomy and physiology of fluffies that involved everything from conception to a perhaps unnecessarily graphic dissection.

The scene opens on a rather ordinary looking blue earth fluffy walking down the street of Anytown USA. Traffic and city noises don’t seem to bother him as he sticks to the walls to avoid getting underfoot of any of the walking people. No one seems to pay him any notice as he trots along with a half a sandwich in his teeth.

He turns down an alley and comes up near some boxes where a earthie dame bloated with pregnancy is waiting. He drops the sandwich in front of her and curls up beside her to take a nap.

The velvety soft voice of Morgan Freeman fills your living room, saying those words you and your fluffy have waited all week to hear.

"Spaghetti Warehouse presents… March of the Fluffies."

Cue montage of fluffies drowning, walking off cliffs, pummeling each other with ineffective, marshmallow like hooves.

The scene fades back onto the small family of fluffies sitting in an alley, dirty, miserable and dejected.

“Here we see the typical North American urban fluffy family,” Morgan Freeman narrates. “No more than ten or so in number, these fluffies are born into a world that hates them and a city that would see them dead.”

A half a dozen babies chirp and peep around the dame that’s obviously just given birth. She holds them tight, trying to feed them all at her two swollen teats.

“Mummah haf miwk fow all,” she says. “Spechaw fwiend gif gud nummies fow mummah!”

“In city herds, only two out of every five fluffies survive to adulthood,” says Morgan Freeman. "They often have no names. Without names, they are the endless rabble that don't know to name their own offspring."

"Mummah wuv babeh, babeh wuv mummah," she coos to her foals. "Mummah take caw of babehs." They chirp and squirm at her feet as she picks up another to feed.

"Such simple mother songs are common among urban ferals," says Morgan Freeman. "Which such small herds, there's no mixing of songs, and with such a limited vocabulary, creativity simply doesn't happen."

The scene zooms out to reveal the big blue earth fluffy napping on the other side of the ally while the mother feeds her babies.

“Lack of food, human abusers, cars, and urban wildlife are all threats a fluffy must endure to make it to adulthood. Even then, an unexpected threat to foals comes from fluffies’ neighbors.”

A pea green unicorn peers around the corner at the fluffy mother. His mouth hangs half open in a stupid, vacuous smile. He’s staring right at the foals that chirp and peep around the mother.

“Through some genetic fault or brain damage, this unicorn has become addicted to ‘good feels,’” says Morgan Freeman.

“Unable to obtain a special friend, due to his unsettling smile and warped personality, he has taken to using foals for his pleasure..."

He creeps along the wall, approaching an unguarded foal. Stringy and chaotic violin music swells as he makes his way closer.

"While other fluffies may engage in the practice, this brazen debauchery labels him an outcast even among the worst of the urban herds.”

He reaches out his stubby hooves to grab one of the foals before the large blue earthie rams him into the wall.

“Nu gif babehs bad enfies!” he shrieks, pummeling the unicorn with his hooves. The unicorn is knocked down to the pavement and the earthie pins his leg to the ground with his bulk. “Wost dummeh!” He’s bashing in the unicorn’s teeth with callused hooves that have hardened from a life on the streets, punctuating every word with another blow to the teeth.

“Ugwy!” Punch. “Cweep!” Punch. “Dummeh!” A few of the next words are bleeped. You can’t even imagine what a fluffy would say to get censored.

Through it all, the green unicorn retains the same vacant smile and wide eyed look, despite having several teeth knocked out and crying “Wost hurties! Hu hu hu!”

“Normally,” says Morgan Freeman, “fights between fluffies are short, ending with one side or the other crying due to minor injuries. But no fluffy will abide such a pitiful creature in their territory. They’ll drive off or kill any of these ‘bad huggers’ that they can get their hooves on.”

The big blue earthie drags the sobbing unicorn over to a paving stone and shoves his teeth against it.

You cover your fluffies eyes so she doesn’t see the big blue fluffy curb stomping the unicorn’s jaw open. His pathetic sobs shift to bloodied gurgles as the earthie pitches him out into the street for the cars.

The camera turns back to the mother to find her watching her special friend’s prowess in rapt attention. The earthie returns victorious over the bad hugger. He looks at the dame, then around at the foals.

“Wha happen to puwple and owange bebeh?” he asks. Sure enough, two of the foals are missing. She looks around for a moment.

“Bebehs?” she asks as the dread creeps in.

You wisely cover your fluffies eyes again, but what you should have done is covered her ears.

Deeper in the alley, far into the shadows, a soft crunching sound echoes, followed by a horrible suckling. Soft chirps are heard for a moment before a squeal, then more crunching.

The dame gathers up her remaining foals and the herd bolts out on to the sidewalk instead of facing whatever lies down there.

The camera zooms in on a sickly colored yellow fluffy, happily crunching on the missing foals. He tears the back half off the orange foal with horrific crunch, barely audible against the shrill squeal of the foal. He crunches and chews for a moment before sucking out the insides in greedy slurps. The front half of the foal struggles for a moment, chirping and peeping in frenzied panic before going still.

“Most fluffies don’t have a name for the foal eaters,” says Morgan Freeman. “The ones that do speak of them simply call them evil, if they dare refer to them at all. These vile cannibals are one of the biggest dangers to fluffy dames, for without a herd or a special friend to protect them she can lose an entire litter in a single evening to their horrible appetites.”

Your fluffy looks aghast as she dashes out of the room towards her litter box. She comes back a few minutes later just as the commercial are ending.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Fwuffy haf sickies and scawdy poopies,” she says. “Pwease nu mow ebil fwuffies.”

You have no idea what’s coming next, but hopefully it’s less gruesome than fluffies eating foals.

The scene returns to the fluffy family, all sleeping quietly in a different alleyway. A dark blue pegasus creeps up on the sleeping family. You can only wonder what the hell this thing is up to when he starts suckling on the dame’s swollen teats.

“Less of a direct threat,” says Morgan Freeman, “these milk thieves will stalk lactating dames in the night to steal what they can from the unsuspecting mothers.”

The fully grown pegasus greedily and noisily suckles from the dame. His cheap imitations of a foals peeps and chirps stir her from her sleep.

“It’s suspected that these milk thieves come from foals that were nursed far too long from overly protective mothers,” he continues. “But they have to be quick about their habits, less they wake their victims.”

The mother wakes, and shrieks at seeing a fluffy suckling like a foal at her teats. She kicks out, catching him in the eye and knocking him away.

He stands back up with a sad imitation of a foal’s chirp to come back in for more milk, but finds the mare on her feet and stomping her hooves at him.

“Miwkie fow bebehs!” she shrieks, puffing out her cheeks. “Go ‘way! Nu miwkies fow fwuffies!”

“Let’s take a look at this behavior for a moment,” says Morgan Freeman, walking in front of a paused image of the mare.

“By puffing her cheeks, the fluffy tries to appear bigger and more intimidating in the way many animals adopting a scared or angry posture would. Were she a pegasus, you’d see those tiny wings fluttering on her back. While this might not intimidate a human, it is effective on fluffies so pathetic as this one.”

The scene resumes as the pegaus runs squealing into the road, only to be pancaked by a late night bus. It rolls by without slowing down, leaving the mother to check on her babies. They're still asleep in a fluff pile with their father. She cuddles back in and drifts back to sleep.

“A small family to be sure,” says Morgan Freeman, “but fluffies that stick together in small herds have a better chance of survival in the city. The foals that make it to adulthood are taught valuable survival skills by their parents.”

The scene cuts to the same small herd, now with the foals nearly full sized. Two of the fluffies stand atop each other to pull food from a trash can while the sire and newly pregnant mother keeps an eye out. They drag a Styrofoam container out of the can and into their alleyway to feast upon its contents.

“These youngsters will stick near their mother for a few weeks more before heading out into the city or surrounding suburbs to start their own family,” says Morgan Freeman.

The young green earthie spots something and makes his way down the sidewalk after it.

“The older they get, the more adventurous they’ll be and the further they’ll wander from their family. But wandering from the family can have unintended consequences, such as missing out on a tasty treat."

“Mummah, wook!” says one of the young fluffies. “Skettis!”

Along the wall is a plate of spaghetti that wasn’t there before. They all stare at it in reverence, as if they’ve never seen anything so glorious in all their lives.

“Wait fow bruddah?” asks the small blue pegasus.

“Nu can wait!” says the big blue earthie. “Skettie fow fwuffies naow!”

They all share the spaghetti and for a brief moment, the family is happy and content. Soon they’re sleeping quietly together in a happy fluff pile, smiles and sauce stains on their faces. In another few minutes they’re completely still.

Their bodies are shoveled into a container marked “Fluffy Pony Disposal” by a jump suited animal control officer.

“Better this than someone killing them with a golf club,” says the tech. “Or a chain saw. Or firecrackers. Or a thousand other ways those suburban psychos deal with fluffies. I don’t know what’s so damn important about a broken fence or a backyard garden that makes people lose their minds over these guys.”

He clips his shovel back to the truck.

“A bit of spaghetti mixed with Flufficide and they fall asleep with smile. No pain, no mess, no problem. Pest control is about control, not cruelty. We made these damn things, the least we owe them is a painless passing.”

He drives off. It’s another moment before the young green earthie fluffy comes back into the alley. He holds the remains of a cheese sandwich in his teeth.

“Mummah?” he asks, looking around. “Daddeh? Bwuddah? Sissy? Anywan? Fwuffy haf nummies?” Only the sounds of the city return his calls. He plops down to eat his sandwich for a bit, listening and waiting for his family to return.

The scene time lapses for a few hours, showing the fluffy waking, sleeping, eating a bit more, and generally looking sadder as the time passes.

“Fwuffy wonwy,” he says before heading out into the streets. “Fwuffies nu come back.”

The camera follows him for a bit before coming to rest on Morgan Freeman sitting on a bench, a large grey spider fluffy sitting next to him on a leash.

“Nameless and without a friend, lone fluffies such as him won’t last long on the streets,” he says, petting the grey spider fluffy sitting beside him. “But like most fluffies, he’ll forget about his family and meet up with another small herd. Maybe he’ll become one of the lucky few picked up for adoption from the many shelters.”

“If he survives, it’s likely he’ll have a herd of his own to protect soon enough and the cycle will repeat just as it has so many times before.”

“Join us next week as we explore the herd dynamics of the rural fluffy, here on March of the Fluffies.”