Author's Note
I'm not even sorry.
Sorry
Be Me, DeShawn Jackson, age 28. I live in the ghetto in Detroit. It's a pretty shitty place, but I make due with what I've got. I live by myself. Anyways, I was taking a stroll on my favourite pair of rollerblades down the street so that all the hoes could catch my swag. Then suddenly, I began to hear illegible babbling coming from behind a nearby dumpster. Being the model citizen that I am, I stopped to investigate.
As a neared the dumpster, a small, white colored fluffy pony staggered out from behind a couple trash bags. I groaned. Ever since the population boom a year ago, you couldn't walk five feet without bumping into one of their fluffy asses. They had been created in some sort of science experiment to manufacture the perfect household pet. What they got from these experiments was an idiotic ball of fluff with legs and sometimes a horn or wings, even though neither served any purpose to them. After escaping, they've infested pretty much every major city in the United States.
I glanced around the alley and saw several empty bottles of 40's littered around the area. Turning to the pony, I noticed it's scraggly and matted fur, as well as the glazed look in it's eyes. It tripped over an empty bottle and landed face-first on the asphalt before getting up slowly, grunting.
I chuckled, this is gonna be good.
"...Fwuffy waneeyuuhspecwalhuggyanfweelmehnutsakuuuuhhh..." It mumbled incoherently as it stumbled about, leting out a burp.
Oh shit, this is one shit faced motherfucker.
I look around, wondering if it's owners are nearby, if it even has any. Most fluffies these days are homeless, although people pretty much just call them feral fluffies now.
I kneel down. "Hey little man, where your family at?"
Upon hearing me, it scuttles back, an angry look in it's eyes.
"Fwuffy no wan' hewp, ugwy poopie face!"
The fuck is it talking about?
It takes a determined step forward. "Go 'way meanie poopie face, fwuffy no wike neeguhs!"
Wait...
...Did he just?
AW HELL NO.
I slowly scoot forward as my hands curl into fists.
"NO UGWY STAY WAY, BIG POOPIE HOOMAN HUWT FWUFFY, NO WAN NEEGUH MUNSTA!" It screams, saliva flying from it's mouth.
When I continue to scoot towards him, he turns around, ass forward.
I squint. "The fuck-"
I'm cut off as the fluffy grunts and begins releasing an unrelenting dual stream of piss and shit, while simultaneously spinning it's tail clockwise like a boat propeller, flinging slurries of foul excrement in no particular direction while screaming the entire time.
I yell in surprise and jump backwards in an attempt to dodge this attack, but I'm too slow and the randomness of the way it's coming at me makes it impossible to dodge. Piss and shit now coat my pimped out rollerblades. My newly bedazzled denim boy shorts... stained with fecal matter.
I attempt to lunge forward in blind rage and get a hold of the pony so I can snap it's neck, but I slip in the defecation and land in it, covering me from head to toe in fluffy pony poop.
The pony turns to look at me, a small smile on it's face.
"Fwuffy teach big stoopid neeguh big owie wesson, poopie face no twy steal fwuffy's twash howse eva' gain."
Aw shit nigga.
You fucked up now.
I skate home trough the streets of Detroit, leaving a trail of anal waste behind me. Everyone who sees me points and laughs.
I slam the door of my house behind me and tear off my clothes before tripping over my new Jordans. They go flying and land on my shit-stained clothes, getting completely ruined. I slowly saunter to my shower and stand under the stream of cold water for twenty solid minutes as silent tears run down my face in memory of what was lost today. When I'm finished, I get dressed and grab my phone while simultaneously eating a drumstick of leftover Kentucky Fried Chicken.
I dial my boy Shifty. He picks up on the first ring.
"Ay Shifty, some racist-ass fluffy just shit on my draws."
He doesn't even hesitate.
"Aight den, lets go fuck him up."
About ten minutes later, Shifty picks me up from the side-walk in his 1993 Toyota Saturn.
I ride shotgun, while Shifty's crew from the East-side Crips sit in the back.
We pull up beside the dumpster and I spot his punk ass in a second. The fluffy is circling aimlessly through the scattered trash, babbling something about Puerto Ricans.
I roll down my window as Shifty and his crew do the same.
I pull out my AK and cock it.
"AY DRAINCLOG!"
The pony snaps out of It's haze and stared directly at me, mouth hanging open slightly.
"SOMEONE SHOULDA TAUGHT YO SORRY ASS BOUT' MULTICULTURALISM!"
Its eyes focus on all the gun barrels pointed in it's direction as diarrhea trickles down its leg and onto the ground.
"WE LIVE IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS BITCH NIGGA!"
With that, we start unloading on him.
As the guns kick back again and again, bullets tear through his torso like swiss cheese. The sheer velocity of the rounds pin the mangled mass of blood and fluff to the side of the metal dumpster as any remaining body parts are eviscerated in the hail of gunfire.
My gun clicks. Empty.
Blood is caked to the side of the alleyway. Fluff is scattered to the wind like discarded feathers.
Pigeons and crack heads quickly flock to the scene and begin to devour any strewn internal organs.
I spit on the mutilated carcass.
"Let that be a warning to you."
The neighbours in the building adjacent the alley hear the gun shots and call the police.
They show up forty-five minutes late.
