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#Post#: 668--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Lord Anubis
Date: June 21, 2012, 2:31 pm
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I just got the same 503. With the move to the new server and the
influx of Ponibooru images, it's not surprising that your
stories can't make it through.
#Post#: 675--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Marcusmaximus
Date: June 21, 2012, 4:19 pm
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Yeah, I get quite a few errors just trying to view it. I think
it's just struggling to cope with the changes of suddenly being
THE pony image resource. There's a lot more people using it than
just the Fluffy fans.
Hopefully it'll behave itself more when it's not being bombarded
with people uploading every missing ponibooru image.
#Post#: 680--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Marcusmaximus
Date: June 22, 2012, 12:33 am
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I wonder if it's too self-indulgent for me to illustrate my own
story?
Anyway, here's a doodle I did of Little Smarty.
HTML http://www.dragon-mango.com/littlesmarty.png
#Post#: 681--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Lord Anubis
Date: June 22, 2012, 12:50 am
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I was actually going to ask you to draw that anyway.
Dude, your art is so awesome, I don't care if it is
self-indulgent. You can draw whatever you want.
Seriously, that is some weapons-grade cute right there.
#Post#: 683--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Lord Anubis
Date: June 22, 2012, 1:06 am
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Second story of the challenge!
Vanner wrote a great story about why fuzzies ultimately would be
a poor substitute for fluffies. I thought about the premise of a
person trying out a fuzzy and thought, "What kind of person
would love a fuzzy?" Phil answered that question with his
excellent story about a fuzzy owner, so I also wondered "What if
they hated fluffies to begin with?"
And yes, Fran is a reference to Draw Carey's bitchy CEO.
*************************************************************
>You are Fran, a lady who can't fucking stand all these goddamn
fluffy ponies everywhere.
>They're fucking everywhere, and all they do is annoy you.
>They shit wherever they feel like it, will beg for and
sometimes demand food, and never seem to understand that they're
obnoxious, retarded vermin.
>A lot of your friends think they're cute.
>You need better friends.
>One of them works for Hasbro Biotoys, and the other day he
called you with an offer.
>”Hey Fran, want to try out the fuzzy pony?”
>”No, fuck off, Arthur.”
>”Wait, hear me out. I know you hate fluffy ponies almost as
much as me. We need beta testers, and you're someone who thinks
fluffies are annoying. It'll be a great opportunity to see if we
can appeal to people who hate fluffies.”
>”Why the fuck would I want a fluffy in my house?”
>”It's not a fluffy, Fran. It's a fuzzy. An entirely new
species. They're a little bigger, a little smarter, and a whole
lot better.”
>”So now there'd be two different types of hairy abominations
roaming the streets at night? You're a pretty shitty salesman,
Arthur.”
>”What if I told you the fuzzy would never ask you for anything,
would only poop where you told it to, and would obey every order
you gave it with absolute obedience?”
>You consider it for a moment.
>”I'd say you were so full of shit it's a wonder it isn't
leaking out of your ears as well as your mouth.”
>”But what if it's true? Come on, Fran, please do this for me?”
>You sigh. You do kinda owe him a favor...
>”Fine. But if this thing soils my carpet, it's going ass first
into the garbage disposal so I can hear it scream all the way
down.”
>”Deal. I'll drop your new fuzzy off tomorrow. See you then!”
>”Fuck off.”
>It's the day after, a Saturday morning.
>You have the whole day to yourself.
>Or you would have, but you volunteered to try out Biotoys'
newest version of the Sentient Shit-o-matic.
>Christ, this is going to end in blood. And poop. Fluffies
always end in poop, the little shitbags.
>Arthur didn't say when he'd be by to drop off the...fuzzy? Is a
name change really going to make them so different?
>Whatever. You'll just stuff the thing in the trash can if you
don't want it.
>You hear a knock on the door.
>Must be the prick now.
>You open the door. “Arthur, tell me again why-”
>There's nobody there.
>You look around. Nobody to be seen.
>Goddamn neighborhood punks. You swear to God you're going to-
>You look down.
>The biggest fluffy you've ever seen in standing before you,
along with a pet carrier loaded with boxes, with more boxes on
top. You can see a horn on its head.
>It's just staring straight ahead. Has it even noticed you?
>That's just your luck. Arthur drops off a retarded fluffy and
doesn't even stick around to say hello.
>Motherfucker.
>”...Hello?”
>”Hewwo”
>Well, at least it talks.
>”So, you're the new fluffy pony I'm supposed to take care of?”
>”No am fwuffy. Am fuzzy pony. Am futuwe of biowogicaw toys.”
>You raise an eyebrow.
>”So what's with all of this stuff?”
>”Fuzzy daddeh pwovide fuzzy pawaphnawia fow new owna. Haf bed,
haf twavel case, haf toys, haf Fuzzy Feed fo' nummies.”
>How nice. He saved you a trip to the pet store.
>”Well, fuck me.”
>The fuzzy pony mounts your leg and starts humping it.
>”Ah! What the fuck?! Stop that!”
>The fuzzy immediately stops and returns to its standing still
position.
>You're about to dropkick the little rapist into your neighbor's
yard when you remember Arthur mentioning that fuzzies obey all
orders with complete obedience.
>You put your foot down. You'll let that transgression slide,
since it was kinda your fault. Gotta watch your wording around
this thing.
>”Alright, come on in.”
>The fuzzy takes a few steps into the room, and stops right in
the middle.
>You carry the pile of boxes over to your couch and start
figuring out what's all in them.
>After some unwrapping, you have:
>1 pet bed with blanket
>1 pet carrier
>1 small inflatable ball
>1 set of Duplo blocks
>1 litterbox with shovel and fluffy litter
>1 fluffy food bowl
>1 bag of what's labeled as Fuzzy Feed
>1 instruction manual titled 'Your Fuzzy and You.'
>Just what you wanted to do on a Saturday. Read about pet care.
>You look over your couch. The fuzzy is still standing there.
>”Hey, fuzzface, get over here.”
>The fuzzy pony walks around the couch until it's standing in
front of you, looking at you with blank blue eyes.
>Creepy.
>”You got a name, fuzzy?”
>”Fuzzy 000079 no haf name. Name to be pwovided by new owner.”
>”Okay, let me think....well, you have that nice white fur and
pure blue eyes. As far as fluffies go, you're like the master
race. I think I'm gonna name you Aaron.”
>”Aknowedged. Fwuffy 000079 is Awon.”
>Christ, he's like a robot.
>So already leaps and bounds above a fluffy.
>He hasn't shit on your carpet or begged you for food yet.
>He did sorta fuck your leg, but that was kinda your fault.
>”Well, may as well get to know each other. What do you like to
do, Aaron?”
>”Awon wike do whateva owna wan'. If owna say pway, Awon pway.
If owna say sweep, Awon sweep.”
>You're liking the sound of that. A pet that does exactly what
you tell it to.
>This might not be as shitty as you thought.
>”In that case, I want you to sit there until I tell you what to
do.”
>”Fuzzy undastan'.” Aaron sits and waits.
>You pick up the instruction manual and give it a read.
>It reads more like a guide to commanding a droid than a living
being.
>They don't even eat, sleep, or poop unless you tell them to.
The manual suggests that forgetful owners issue a standing order
for fuzzies to perform these tasks when they feel the need.
>You're not forgetful, but you've never taken care of a pet
before. Best nip that potential issue in the bud.
>”Aaron, do you need to eat or poop now?”
>Aaron shakes his head. “No, owna. Awon not hungwy, no need make
poopies.”
>”Alright. Just go ahead and eat or poop whenever you need to,
okay?”
>”Okay. Whewe boww? Whewe wittabox?”
>For fucks sake, they're right in front of him on the pile of
fuzzy crap.
>”Are you blind? They're two feet from your face!”
>”Aknowedged. Boww and wittabox awways be dere?”
>You look at the manual.
>After you have found a suitable spot for the fluffy's bed,
litterbox, and food bowl, be sure to point them out to the
fuzzy. The fuzzy will not forget where they are located once
they have learned.
>Oh. He needs to have his stuff pointed out first.
>You put the food bowl in the kitchen and the litterbox by the
back door.
>”Aaron, come over here.” You point out where each object is,
and he nods his head.
>You know that fluffies love their 'nummies' so you look up what
you're supposed to feed the fuzzy.
>Fuzzies, like their fluffy predecessors, are herbivorous, and
can digest any plant matter. However, due to their genetic
makeup, a certain key protein vital to their continued life
functions cannot be produced by their bodies. Biotoys brand
Fuzzy Feed is the only foodstuff that contains this protein.
Without a minimum of one Imperial cup of Fuzzy Feed per day, a
fuzzy's body will slowly break down until its death after three
days without Fuzzy Feed. Please make sure to always have an
adequate supply of Fuzzy Feed available in case of emergency.
>That explains the food bag.
>You can smell a racket from a mile away, though. You would bet
your whole bank account that Biotoys made that protein bit
happen on purpose so fuzzies would need to buy their brand of
food.
>Clever enterprising bastards.
>You open the bag of Fuzzy Feed.
>Looks kinda like dry dog food, only in much smaller pellets.
>Kinda like muddy brown Cocoa Puffs.
>Shrugging, you pour some into Aaron's dish.
>”When you're hungry, go ahead and eat your Fuzzy Food or
whatever it's called.”
>”Aknowedged.”
>You sit back down and browse the instruction manual some more.
>All in all, it sounds a hell of a lot easier to take care of a
fuzzy than for a fluffy.
>After about half an hour, you look up.
>The fuzzy is still standing there.
>If it weren't for the blinking and subtle motions of its chest
as it breathes, you'd swear it was a stuffed toy.
>”Do you want to play or something, Aaron?”
>”Awon do wha owna wan'.”
>”Then go play with your ball or something. Your mime act is
creeping me out.”
>”Kay. Fuzzy pway wiff baww.”
>The fuzzy walks over to its ball and starts pushing it around.
Its expression remains the same.
>You turn on the TV and watch a few shows.
>Oh, that Drew Carey. Such a card.
>My Little Pony? That shit's still running? It should have ended
after two seasons.
>Freaking brony manchildren. It's probably because of them that
it's still around. The damn thing won a few Emmy Awards already.
>Oh hey, it's Barbarians at the Gate.
>Love that movie.
>Around 5 you get up to make dinner.
>The fuzzy has been pushing his ball around the room the entire
time.
>”You hungry, Aaron?”
>The fuzzy stops playing and looks at you.
>”Awon hungwy, wan Fuzzy Feed.”
>”Then come get it, fuzzball.”
>Aaron obediently trots into the kitchen and starts eating from
his bowl.
>You nuke a Lean Cuisine because fuck it, it's the weekend.
>After you eat, you go back to the couch for more TV.
>”Aaron, get over here.”
>Aaron sits by your feet.
>”Lay down next to me.”
>The fuzzy jumps up onto the couch and curls up next to you.
>He's pretty soft and warm.
>So this is why people own pets.
>You never saw the appeal before. Seemed like a pain in the ass
to you.
>But you're starting to understand.
>You watch another movie, occasionally petting the fuzzy, who
does not respond.
>When you figure it's time for bed, you place the fuzzy's bed
next to yours and tell him to go to sleep.
>Aaron lies on the pet bed and falls asleep immediately.
>Looks like Arthur had a good idea for once.
>The next morning, you walk outside with your cup of coffee.
>Typical summer Cleveland morning.
>You call for Aaron to sit next to you and enjoy the day.
>He sits next to you. You can't tell if he's enjoying the day or
not.
>You see a blue blob waddling down the street.
>Oh fuck, here we go.
>A stray fluffy. Looks pretty beat up, too. Must have lost a
fight with another stray over some garbage.
>It sees you sitting on your front porch and makes its way up
your walkway.
>”Nice wady haf nummies fo Seabweeze?”
>”No, piss off, you little shit.”
>You kick at the disgusting stray. The fluffy ducks, but doesn't
leave.
>”Pwease, hooman? Fwuffy so hungwy, meanie fwuffy take nummies.
Gif nummies?”
>”I said piss off!”
>You toss the remainig quarter of your coffee and it splashes on
Seabreeze's face. She cries out in pain.
>”Owwies! Bwack wawa buwn fwuffy! Why huwt fwuffy?!”
>She's still not leaving, though. She must be pretty desperate.
>You sigh. “Aaron, any chance you could get rid of this pest for
me?”
>You say it half-heartedly, expecting the fine art of murder to
be beyond his capacities.
>”Aknowedged.”
>What?
>Aaron gets up and stand before the stray fluffy, her hooves
still trying to rub the burning hot coffee off of her face.
>”Big fwuffy hewp Seabweeze? Gif hugs?”
>Aaron says nothing, moving to Seabreeze's side and pushing her
over on her back. He then puts a hoof on her throat and presses
down.
>The stray fluffy starts flailing her hooves like crazy, not
understanding that her new friend is choking her to death.
>After two minutes of slowly weakening struggles, the fluffy
lies still.
>It's dead.
>Aaron grabs the fluffy by its neck with his teeth and drags her
off of the walkway and onto the sidewalk past your mailbox.
>He then walks up to you and says, “Fwuffy extewminated.”
>You drop your mug in shock.
>It shatters to pieces below you.
>Holy shit, your new pet just killed a fluffy without any
hesitation or mercy.
>...
>That was so awesome!
>”Aaron, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful
friendship. Let's go inside.”
>”Kay.”
>”Watch out for the broken mug.”
>”Aknowedged.”
********************************************************************
I'd challenge myself to write shorter stories, but that's just
setting myself up for failure.
Curse you, obsession with detail!
I'll probably write one more story for the challenge. I got
other ideas that need to be put on paper.
#Post#: 685--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: PhilSrobeighn
Date: June 22, 2012, 7:55 am
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;D Now that was classic. Loved the "Well, fuck me" bit.
I may just keep writing Fuzzy stories after this, I love them.
We need to make sure that somewhere in the resulting uproar
against fuzzy training there is a way to disengage Order 109, so
that fluffies and fuzzies are safe together.
#Post#: 686--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Lord Anubis
Date: June 22, 2012, 8:12 am
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--- Quote from: Phil Srobeighn link ---
>
> ;D Now that was classic. Loved the "Well, fuck me" bit.
>
> I may just keep writing Fuzzy stories after this, I love them.
We need to make sure that somewhere in the resulting uproar
against fuzzy training there is a way to disengage Order 109, so
that fluffies and fuzzies are safe together.
>
--- End Quote ---
It's not that hard. Just tell them to stop killing fluffies. New
orders overwrite old orders, and they'll stop secretly hunting
down fluffies unless they're told to again.
#Post#: 690--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: fluff_n_stuff
Date: June 22, 2012, 11:35 am
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--- Quote from: Marcusmaximus link ---
>
> I wonder if it's too self-indulgent for me to illustrate my
own story?
> Anyway, here's a doodle I did of Little Smarty.
>
HTML http://www.dragon-mango.com/littlesmarty.png
>
--- End Quote ---
Yeah, Little Smarty is my new favorite smarty friend.
#Post#: 709--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: fluff_n_stuff
Date: June 23, 2012, 2:36 am
---------------------------------------------------------
>You are a Blue unicorn fluffy mare named Berry, and you are a
smarty friend.
>You’ve come from farther than you can remember over more dark
times than you can count to the Promised Land. Spaghetti Land.
>But when you arrived, Spaghetti Land turned out to be a lie.
>There weren’t nummies everywhere like you were promised. It was
like everywhere else: No nummies, meanie humans.
>Lots of fluffies believed in the myth of Spaghetti Land, and
you are shoulder to shoulder with more fluffies than you can
count.
>Smarty friends tug at each other’s ears, and swat at each other
with their soft hooves to assert their dominance.
>You don’t have time for this nonsense; you’ve got to feed your
herd.
>You’ve also got a litter of babies to feed inside you as well,
but none of the other fluffies know that yet.
>Your herd follows you into a darkened inside place where you
find a half a dozen white fluffies quietly nomming on a giant
sack of nummies.
>These fluffies are bigger than you by a little bit, but your
herd out numbers them, four to one.
>You could just give them ouchies and make them cry, but if you
can get them to join your herd, then you’ll have big fluffies to
help.
>If you knew the word diplomacy, that’d be what you were aiming
for.
>”HI new fweinds!” you say. “Wan shawe nummies wif hewd? We gif
huggies, and pway and…”
>The big white fluffies all stop nomming at the same time and
turn to face your herd.
>Their crystal blue eyes stare through you with a half blank
expression.
>Something deep in your brain says that something isn’t right
here, but the big fluffies approach your herd as if to give
hugs.
>Hugs make everything better, and hugs mean that they’ll join
your herd!
>Your fluffy herd runs up to the big white fluffies and starts
hugging them back. They roll onto their bellies as the big white
fluffies hug them some more.
>”Howway!” you shout. “Big fwuffies fwiends wif Bewwy’s hewd!”
>”You smawty fwiend?” asks one of the big white fluffies,
stepping away from a green fluffy named Grassy.
>”Dat wight!” you say, puffing up your chest with pride. “Bewwy
am smarty fwiend! Wan you big fwuffies join my…”
>It’s then that you notice Grassy’s tongue hanging out of his
mouth.
>A pool of boo-boo juice seeps from underneath him, soaking into
his fluff, and staining the ground red.
>His eyes, though still open, stare straight ahead in blank
terror.
>Something else is wrong too, but it takes another second to
realize it.
>Grassy’s head is facing the wrong way. His leggies are on the
ground, but his head is upside down as if he were on his back.
>The rest of the herd that the big white fluffies were giving
huggies to look the same way.
>The big fluffies are getting much closer to you before it
occurs to you what happened.
>”You huwt Gwassy!” you shout, pointing a hoof and backing away.
“And Buttah! And Fawxy! And Iwis! And Dwagon! You meanie munster
fwuffies!”
>The big fluffies say nothing; they only continue to walk
directly at you.
>Were you not a smarty friend, you bowel would quake in fear.
>But you’re Berry, damnit, and no one hurts your herd!
>”Dis ouw Sketti Wand!” you yell. “You no huwt fwiends!
FWUFFIES! GIF MEANIE MUNSTER FWUFFIES AWW BIGGEST OWIES!”
>Your herd, inspired by your courage, lets loose a battle squeak
and charges in for the attack.
>Two fluffies each grab onto the ears and short fluff of the
meanie munster while the third bucks them in the stomach, trying
to flip them on their backs.
>You charge in to the fight as well, shooting sparks from your
horn at the meanie munster fluffies.
>As your three fluffies work together to bring down the big
white meanie munster, you hear the sounds of fluffy combat going
on behind you.
>”Git him!” Gif him big ouchies!” “Fwuffy huwt!” “Boo-boo
juice!” “Hewp fwuffy!”
>Your meanie munster is fighting back with more strength then
all your three fluffies combined.
>Instead of you flipping him over, he’s managed to pin Starry to
the ground with a hoof.
>He lifts up his hoof and brings it down on Starry’s horn with a
distressing crunch.
>His horn has been driven deep into his head. The hole where it
once was drips with boo-boo juice and some icky pink stuff.
>His sister, Sasha, runs to Starry to give him huggies, but a
big hoof catches her right in the eye.
>She rolls on her back, covering her eyes with her hoofsies.
>”Owies! Fwuffy huwt eyebaww! No see! No see!”
>The meanie munster rears up, and brings his horn down onto
Sasha's chest with enough force that boo-boo juice starts
soaking her fluff.
>”Bewwy… huwt!” she gurgles. “No… can… bweaf….” She rolls around
on the ground, crying and coughing blood everywhere. “Pwease…
hewp… Sa…”
>You can tell by the bubbling that she’s drowning in her own
boo-boo juice.
>There’s nothing you can do for her.
>Your last fluffy solider, a big earth fluffy stallion named
Frank is trying to beat the meanie munster fluffy into
submission with his hooves as it tears it’s horn out of Sasha.
>The white fluffy dashes forward and flips Frank mane over fluff
onto his back.
>Frank is stunned for a moment, which is all the time, the
meanie munster fluffy needs to press a hoof to his throat.
>Frank opens his mouth really wide and latches onto the munster
fluffy’s hoof with as much force as his jaws can muster.
>But his weak teeth shatter against the tough hoof, and Frank
begins choking on the shards.
>Not that it matters. Frank thrashes for a moment before he goes
limp beneath the munster fluffy’s crushing hoof.
>Now there is only you and the meanie munster fluffy.
>He's given biggest ouchies to your bestest friends, and you're
going to make him pay for it.
>You stamp a hoof before you realize something terrifying.
>Every single fluffy in your herd lies broken at the feet of
these big white fluffies.
>Some have broken leggies and are rolling around crying in pain.
Other are leaking boo-boo juice and having bad sleeps.
>The six fluffies start walking toward you in cold silence.
>You’ve known fear before. You’ve faced down a rabbit and lived
to tell the tale.
>But this… this is something else entirely.
>The big white fluffies keep moving toward you until you hit a
corner.
>You’re trapped, and your bowels empty themselves in panic.
>”Pwease dun huwt Bewwy!” you beg. “Jus wan foodies fow hewd!
Jus wan be fwiends wif big fwuffies! Why huwt fweinds? Why huwt
hewd?”
>They move in closer to you, and you feel their warm breath on
your face.
>”Pwease! Do anyfing!” you cry, cowering behind your hooves.
“Give spechaw huggies! Gif foodies! Pwease dun huwt fwuffy! I
gon haf bebehes! I gun be momma!”
>The fluffy you were fighting approaches you and places his
hooves alongside your head.
>Your tears stain his pure white hooves as his eyes lock with
yours.
>You stare back into those crystal blue eyes, hoping to see that
spark of love and kindness that lives in all fluffies.
>But it’s not there. There’s nothing there at all.
>Your world turns sideways and you lose feeling in your leggies
and tail.
>After a moment, it’s getting harder to breathe, and you vision
is getting cloudy.
>As the world fades to black, the big white fluffies walk in
silence over the bodies of your fallen herd.
>And resume eating the food you were going to share with them.
#Post#: 710--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Mayclore
Date: June 23, 2012, 4:53 am
---------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't sleep and I am in a bad mood at the moment.
Therefore, have a phase 2 (I think?) story about the 13th Field
Artillery Regiment versus a mass of battling fluffy ponies.
>You are the gunner for an M270A1 MLRS.
>Gunner is a bit of a misnomer; this is a rocket launcher.
>You're attached to 3rd Battalion, 13th Field Artillery
Regiment, and you're parked in the suburbs of Akron.
>That's right, Ohio.
>Your unit, along with several others, is preparing to fire on
the city of Cleveland.
>III Corps, under the direction of US Army North, is forming a
cordon to contain the fluffy ponies in the city.
>Over eight million of the little bastards.
>You didn't think there were that many fluffies on the planet,
much less in America.
>1st and 4th Infantry are using I-90 and I-77 to move in
soldiers to establish a large perimeter.
>Your unit's mission, now that the evacuation is over, is to
provide firepower.
>There are seven other M270s in your section.
>They're all loaded with the new MGM-140 missile.
>Only two of the big rockets will fit in your launcher, but two
is more than enough.
>You can see your commanding officer, a Captain, on the horn
with Battery C, 26th Field Artillery.
>They're the guys that will tell you where to launch the
hardware.
>There's not much conversation between you, the driver, and your
section chief.
>Just waiting for the order.
>You know why the Staff Sergeant's quiet; he was born in
Cleveland.
>Now he has to help level it.
“I can't fuckin' believe this, man...”
>You look around.
>Your section is set up in Schneider Park, north and west of
downtown Akron.
>You're surrounded by suburbia. There's a church across the
road south.
>You even see a couple of herds of fluffies trying to go north.
>They get slaughtered by military police.
>Captain's still talking to Battery C.
>Army North's plan is to demolish all the bridges in Cleveland,
but with the massive fluffy pony influx, sending in sappers
isn't feasible right now.
>Instead, III Corps Artillery, of which your unit is a part, is
going to do that, along with zoomies from the First Air Force.
>He's done talking. Even though he's right over there, not
twenty yards away, he gets his field radio.
>It's go time. He's issuing orders to the section.
>You receive an assignment to attack the Memorial Shoreway
bridge as well as West Superior Avenue's bridge.
>You head to the launcher, looking at the maps to figure out
where they are.
>The Staff Sergeant already knows.
>”I have to launch against Riverfront Park?” he asks in
disbelief.
>Your targets are very close to Lake Erie. The whole section
will be attacking them.
>You hear over the radio that both Wendy Park and Riverfront are
absolutely choked with fluffy ponies.
>Even Humvees have had trouble navigating the pile of fluff.
>Therefore, your missiles will be launched first.
>They contain nine hundred and fifty submunitions each, designed
to kill personnel.
>The other launchers' weapons have five hundred pound high
explosive single charges, for use against the structures.
>Your missiles should kill most of the fluffies, allowing
engineers to get in if your section can't finish off the
bridges.
>You're all inside or away from the launchers now.
>You're setting up the fire control system.
>You press the 'button'.
>The vehicle shudders a bit as the missile punches out of its
canister and blasts up and away.
>The noise is shrill and penetrating for a brief time, but fades
as the missile speeds downrange.
>You just launched live ammunition on an American city.
>Silently, you hope you don't hit anything alive besides fluffy
ponies.
------
“Gif owwies!”
>Your massive herd fights against the endless tide of ponies
ahead, trying to make progress.
>You're also trying not get driven into the Big Water on your
right.
>”Fwuffies go Sgetti Wan'! No wet otha fwuffies ge' sgettis!”
yells a pegasus before you stomp his face.
>You've been fighting for what feels like an eternity.
>Your purple fluff is stained with red.
>Your left ear has been ripped almost clean off.
>Your horn is chipped and aching.
>And yet, you've prevailed. Your herd is mostly strong earth
ponies.
>You've been able to overwhelm opposition until you found
yourself surrounded by human home places.
>You directed your fluffies to retreat to a grassies place where
Big Water and some Winding Water met.
>You managed to rest enough, eat some grassies, and recuperate
for a day.
>Now you're stuck.
>You can't swim across Winding Water, and the way back to the
gray path that crosses it is blocked by herds that are coming
from behind you.
>You have to fight your way out.
>Your mares are being viciously attacked.
>There are no foals left in your group; they've all either been
killed or lost in the chaos.
>The males of your herd go to defend their mates, but the
endless stream of enemy fluffies swallows them.
>Screams fill the air.
>You can pick out words sometimes, but it's all just a chorus of
agony.
>You see a pink mare with a foal, desperate to get away and find
shelter.
>Her smell says she is with the enemy. You rush through the
scrum and stomp her foal.
>Then you gore her in the tummy as she wails over her dead baby.
>Your males protecting their mates succeed in breaking out and
rejoining your group.
>”Nee' go, too many bad fwuffies! Haffa fin' safe pwace for
giwl fwuffies!”
>You cannot make any headway. Solid walls of bleeding,
shrieking fluff pin you from all directions.
“No can move! Too many fwuffies aww ova pwace! Am stuck!”
>You're forced to hold your position, goring and biting any
fluffy that tries to hide in your clump.
>”Wook! Wook! See fwy tingy!”
>You look up as more fluffies shout those words.
>An indistinct shape is above you, coming almost straight down.
>It makes a loud noise, and a huge number of smaller things come
out.
>”Fwy tingy haf babehs?” your yellow wingie friend mate asks.
>More enemy children. You know what to do.
“Fwuffies huwt babehs when dey co--”
>Your senses can barely comprehend the carnage that happens
next.
>Sharp, deafening bangs engulf your herd.
>You see parts of fluffies flying through the air.
>Eyeballs, legs, wings, halves of fluffies, foals hanging from
severed torsos of dams by their umbilical cords.
>They pelt your herd, causing them to scream with primal fear.
>A mighty bang comes from nearby, causing fluffies to tumble
through the air, trailing misty red in their wakes.
>They land on other fluffies and crush them.
>The bang noises get closer and farther away at the same time.
>You watch helplessly as you see members of your own herd begin
to fly overhead.
>”Smawty, pwease hewp fwuffy!” some shriek.
>You see one of your only surviving dams get flung up by a close
bang.
>She explodes in the air, her foals fanning out and landing
amidst the panicking fluffy mass.
>”Nuuuuuuuuuu! Smawty fwiend pwease hewp fwiend's babehs!” your
mate cries.
>A very loud bang.
>You feel hot, sharp owwies rip through your flesh.
>The boo-boo juice of your mate splatters your face, causing you
to lose sight for a moment.
>The bangs stop.
>You manage to pull yourself up on your front leggies again.
>You no longer feel the back ones.
>As you blink away the boo-boo juice, you feel like throwing up
your nummies.
>The fluffies around you are shredded to bits, but a lot are
still able to wail in pain.
>Separated heads lie on the ground, their lips moving for a
moment before going still forever, their eyes frozen open with
terror.
>Back halves of bodies mix with severed limbs and eyes and parts
of dead foals.
>Everything is drenched with scared poopies, pee, and boo-boo
juice.
“Why...why dis happen...”
>You tip backwards, suddenly resting on your spilled innards.
>The pain is just another ripple in the sea of your white-hot
agony.
“Fwuffies onwy wan' sgettis, why...why fwy tingy gif big owwies
to...to good fwuffies...”
>As your eyes involuntarily roll back, they see another shape
approaching in the blue sky.
“No...no wan' owwies, fwy tingy...fwuffies sowwy...”
>Like the one before, it has many little black babies.
“No, pwease no...pwease no gif owwies babehs, fwuffies go 'way,
babehs can haf sgettis...”
>The babies don't listen.
>One of them flies right at you.
>It is the last thing you ever see.
This is the weapon in question, by the way.
HTML http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d6/ATACMSMay2006.jpg/597px-ATACMSMay2006.jpg
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