Fluffy Stupid Stories

by Verathuum

Rating: mature
Tags: Random, Human, Dark, Comedy
Length: 2603

Stupid stories involving fluffies, randomness, unpredictability, stupidness, dumbness, idiocracy, and redundancy.

Each chapter is a story regarding fluffies and their stupidity, or just how stupid I can make a story that day. I'll update this whenever I can or feel like.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-03 03:50:05 UTC

Nuclear Holocaust

Invasion

One fine day you’re helping out your neighbor and good friend, Matt. He’s pretty cool and apparently he’s a software engineer. Neat-maybe one day you can get him to change the mouse pointer on your computer to a hand giving the bird, like in GTA. Anyway, you’re helping him paint his shed a new shade of red. It looks great. When you’re finished, Matt gives you food as a way of saying thanks. As you two bros are eating, his fluffy, Cuddles come up and hugs your leg.

“Hewwo daddeh’s fwen,” he says happily. He’s a unicorn with no magical power. He’s got a thick red coat and a plain blue mane. You really like him because he’s so cool; most unicorn male fluffies are “smarty friends,” who are little assholes who need to be taught a lesson. You pick up Cuddles and rustle his hair a little bit, but not his jimmies. After a nice lunch with Matt and Cuddles, you grab your shit and head the whopping distance of a yard back home. You just go through the backyards since you can just hop the fence. Matt don’t give two shits.

In your back yard, you notice on one end of the fence that a hole was dug. At first you think it was just Cuddles trying to come see you since he considers you his “odder daddeh,” but you see a small tuft of yellow fluff. This cannot be good. You quickly run up the stairs that led onto the deck and look at the backdoor. It was such a great day that you left only the screen door closed. You see a big hole in the screen and trace amounts of fluff. You grab an airsoft pistol that you had laying on the deck railing for whenever you see squirrels or anything that’s just fun to shoot. You open the screen door and go inside your house as you "holster" the pistol in your pocket thinking you won’t need it. You take a few steps into the kitchen and look to the left into the family room. A small herd of five feral fluffies is in YOUR house, bouncing on YOUR furniture, calling it THEIR “fwuffy pway pwace.” They make eye contact with you and stop their annoying bouncing and happy screaming. You anger begins seething at their happiness at your expense.

“Go ‘way, stoopid hooman!” the “smarty fluffy” shouts at you, a unicorn like Cuddles. He gets off the couch he was bouncing on and pathetically waddles up to you as he says, “Dis fwuffy tewwitowy nao.” He puffs his cheeks and stomps his marshmallow-like hooves on your carpet. You can see that there are two females, a pregnant dam and one probably not pregnant; and three males, the smarty, and two who are staying close to the dam: bodyguards.

You look down at his pathetic attempt at making you afraid and chuckle despite your seething rage. “Oh really?” you ask him in the most condescending tone as other males come up to you to support the “smarty.” “What do you expect to do? Nothing you can do can harm me; my kind created you. I am a god to you, and I could smite you on the spot. Luckily for you, though I’ll give you five seconds for your herd to get out of my house.”

“We no afwaid of stoopid hooman!” one of the males shouts back as loudly as its little lungs allow, which isn’t very.

You reach for the airsoft pistol to try to scare them away, but decide against it. There’s a much more entertaining way of ridding yourself of these abominations, plus it's not worth the hassle of picking up airsoft bb's in your house. You pick up the one who dared speak up to you by the fluff on the back of his neck.

“Hewp fwuffy!” he screams in sudden fear, “Smawty hewp!”

You almost feel bad for the little thing, but that quickly changes when the smarty started bumping its marshmallow hooves into your shins. It doesn't hurt but it is annoying, and then the little shit bites you. That does hurt a little bit: like getting pinched. You drop the other male and quickly pick up the smarty. You stare at him as a devious grin makes its way onto your face. You quickly kick the others away from your legs as they try to attack you again. You grab one of his rear legs and pull. The smarty starts screaming bloody murder as its leg is torn off. You stuff its dismembered leg into its mouth to shut its annoying screaming up. It whimpers through the hoof as tears stream down its face. You carry him to the opposite side of the room and drop him, making sure he's facing the rest of his herd. You want him to watch this, but you’re also not risking his escape through the door. He lands on his belly with a thud and a “hmph.” You walk over to one of the females; this one is pregnant and can’t get away. Her belly swelled up so much that her hooves don’t reach the ground anymore, and she starts crying as she realizes her impending doom. You pick her up and slam her belly onto the carpet hard enough to cause her and her babies damage, but not enough to kill her.

“Nuuu,” she whines, “nu huwt babehs an’ mamma! Nuu!” How pathetic.

“Face your death with some courage, bitch!” your voice booms through your house, “You brought this upon yourself.”

“I bad fwuffy?” she asks through her whimpers, unable to fully comprehend what you just said.

“Yes, you bad fluffy, and now you get forever sleepies instead of sorry stick,” you tell her partly mocking her terrible speech patterns, partly making sure she fully understands.

“Nuu,” she protests, “nuu wan’ fowever seepies!”

“Too. Fucking. Bad,” you tell her with grim force. You slam her against the ground again, still not with enough force to kill her babies, and then you roll her onto her back. She’s defenseless and has no way to roll herself back over. You place your fingers deep into her fluff and grind your fingers into her belly. Once they get a proper grip on her skin, you pull her belly apart, ripping a massive hole in her.

“Nuu! Munstah no give fwuffy owies! Am gud fwuffy!” Her protests fall on deaf ears as you reach insider her and pull out her small intestines.

“Here,” you say throwing her entrails in front of the other fluffies, “Here’s some spaghetti for the good fluffies.”

Their tiny brains immediately forget watching you rip the pregnant mare apart and they cheer, “Yay! Gud fwuffies get sketties!” They’re too dumb to tell the difference. Pathetic.

“Nuu!” the pregnant mare screams her dying breaths, “Nuu eat soon-mamma!”

You smack her and dip your hand into her again, pulling her unborn babies one by one and lay them in front of her. You grab the smarty and point his horn at the babies and begin stabbing them with the smarty’s horn. “Stop stabbing her babies!” you scream at it after pulling its hoof from its mouth, knowing full well the “smarty” isn't smart enough to know it’s actually you doing it.

“Nu mean to!” he screams, “Nu wan’ huwt smarty babehs!”

“So these are the smarty’s babies? All the more delicious,” you think to yourself as your begin to feel small pangs of satisfaction.

“Nuu! Why yoo kiww babehs?” the ex-pregnant mare shouts.

“Nu wan’ to, nu mean to,” the smarty says back as he begins to bleed around its horn. You figure that’s enough for now and you toss him aside. With a quick drop of your fist onto the mare’s head, she dies. You stand up and go over to the other two males and pick them up. You squeeze their bodies hard, hard enough to cause damage, but not enough to kill them. They scream with their mouths wide open: too easy. You turn one upside down and slam their jaws together, locking them in place.

“Let’s take care of that annoying speech impediment,” you taunt them. Their muffled screams of terror and tears are not enough to phase you even the slightest. You push the two together and hear a series of sickening snaps and cracks. Eventually, their lower jaws are ripped off and blood pours from their mouths. They continue screaming and trying to talk, but only moans and shrieks come without their jaw. A loud bang makes you toss them down and they lay there, writhing in pain and crying into their hooves. You turn around and see the back door slammed shut. After a quick glance outside you see the wind picked up from the trees’ moments, most likely causing a draft that closed the backdoor. Very well.

One left to punish: a female, and now that you look at her, you see she’s pregnant as well. Not like the other mare: she can still walk, but you can see her bloated belly easily. You walk over to her and she bites you as you attempt to pick her up.

“Nu! Momma and babehs no go wif munstah!” she screams. She’s the only one with any fight in her; maybe she should have been the smarty. You point your finger at her mouth and she takes the bait. She bites you as hard as her little jaws allow and you grab ahold of it.

“No, no,” you taunt her, “good fluffies don’t bite humans. Let’s make sure you can’t bite another human again.” You pull on her jaw and it rips off, blood pouring from her face and tears pouring from her eyes. She’s been the only one of even the slightest will to resist you, so you decide she should get a quick death with little suffering as a "reward." You punch her on the top of the head, squishing her brain and ending her life as abruptly and humanely as you possibly could at this point.

A scratching noise piques your interest and you notice the smarty is trying to open the door. It seems he doesn't realize it opens inwards, not outwards; not that it would matter anyway as he's too small to even reach the doorknob. You also see that he had to run passed the two males who are still very much alive. In fact, they're completely able to move but they're just busy crying into their hooves. Had the smarty even tapped them, they would have noticed he was leaving and perhaps they could have worked together to escape. This allows you to see the smarty’s true nature: he’s abandoning what’s left of his herd to escape. This lack of honor will not do. You walk over to him calmly and swipe him off the ground, giving him a good squeeze as you do so. You notice an extension cord coiled next to a chair and plugged in from when you were playing the guitar earlier. You smile and spit on the smarty’s belly. You walk over and sit down next to the extension cord. You spit on the prongs of the cord and bring it close to the smarty’s belly. Arcs of electricity go from the cord to the smarty, and he begins screaming in pain. You continue this until all the hair on its belly is singed off. Then with one swift motion, you stab the smarty once with the prongs. They burrow into his belly and you drop him quickly. He begins shaking and screaming from the electricity and finally explodes. Two more left.

You look over at the two males missing their jaws. You pick them up and a memory flashes into your mind: sometimes fluffies stop on other males’ genitals as a punishment, and you get a wonderful idea: a wonderful, awful idea. You hold one down and slam the other head first onto his genitals. They both scream and try to speak but their missing jaws don’t let them. You hold the second one down and slam the first’s head into his genitals. You repeat this process until the head trauma kills them, all the while you have a devious grin upon your face as you teach these creatures a lesson.

“Why monstah nu wet smawty go?” the smarty asks as you’re holding him, bringing you back to reality.

“This is MY house,” you say to him and you grab up all his friends and hold them by the fluff of their necks so they can’t bite you, and throw them into the backyard except for the smarty. “Time to receive your punishment,” you say with a smile.

“Nuu,” he protest, “be gud smawty, nu wan’ owies.”

You laugh at him, “too late.” You throw him off the deck into the backyard and rip off a few airsoft rounds at his sorry ass. You take careful aim and pull the trigger several times. The smarty drops when the pellets hit him and he begins crying. That should take that little fucker down a notch and hopefully they won’t come by your place again.

Invasion

Nuclear Holocaust

You adopt a fluffy pony out of peer pressure. After a quick visit to the old bio lab you used to work for, you get a nice pony and seems to love its new home. You were instrumental in the design and creation of fluffies. However, your coworkers decided the fluffies were going to be cuter than the canon ponies of MLP. Asshats. Because of them you switched over to rocket science and here you are. Anyway, the fluffy loves its new home. In fact it loves everything: you, the house, the carpet. It's disgusting. Oh well. You lay down on the couch and watch the little thing do its thing. Kind of cute, and eventually you get onto the floor and play with it. It wants to play hide and seek but it just hides behind its hooves which is kind of stupid but what can you expect? You poke its back and say "found you!" and it starts laughing hysterically like it's having the most fun ever. How precious. So precious, in fact that you gag a little bit. Your phone suddenly beeps and it's a text from your coworker asking about that project you two are working on. You're building an Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile capable of delivering spaghetti to all the fluffy shelters world-wide. You're such good a good samaritan for wanting to feed fluffies even though you don't particularly like them. Anyway, the ICBM is almost finished-you just have to replace all the nuclear warheads you put on it to make it look "complete" while you finished the spaghetti canisters. Your fluffy comes over to see what your phone's all about and you give it a crash-course in cellular telecommunications. It drools a little and you assume it understands. Pop quiz tomorrow. You get your laptop and get ready to remove the nukes from the ICBM but your fluffy climbs up onto the couch next to you. It watches you type away on your keyboard as you put in commands, and it tries to copy your actions. However it accidentally punches in the launch code and the missile fire off. The computer auto-sets targets and they are all the capital cities of the world, one of which you live in. As you are incinerated in the 1/1000th force of a sun, you realize that Armageddon is almost all your fault. Way to go.