artist:budgie_smuggler bad_poopies correction eating_shit fluffology poopies questionable rehab tears training


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by Budgie_Smuggler

You want to work here?” The woman looks at you in mild astonishment from across the desk, your résumé laid out before her. “Well, the job posting promised a rewarding, relaxing work environment. Is that not the case?” She seems a little flustered. “Well, yes, but…” she gestures at your résumé, as though hoping it will explain for her. “A masters in fluffology, and you want to work in fluffy rehab?” You smile sincerely. “Absolutely. Fluffies today are a far cry from what they're supposed to be. I just want to help people have the loving, obedient pets they deserve.”

The woman, Judy, you think she said her name was, scrutinises you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “You almost had me for a moment there. C’mon, you don't think we have abusers working here? What's the real reason?” You sigh. “My aunt was killed by her fluffy. It was the best pet you could ask for, but then… smarty syndrome. Tangled itself up in her feet at top of the stairs. I'm planning on doing my Ph.D on smarty syndrome, and I figured this would be the best place to get some data. I understand you have a program for smarties.” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, fair enough. And yes, we do. The nearby shelters give us any fluffies exhibiting smarty syndrome. We make a profit on every cured fluffy we return to them.”

She looks back at your résumé, then back to you. “Alright, you've got the job. We can't give you nothing but smarties, but I'm sure we'll both benefit from you being here.” You stand up and shake Judy’s hand, a broad smile on your face. “When do I start?”

The Following Monday

“...and finally, here's the breakroom. Smoking area is just out there on the balcony.” You nod, eyes skimming over the mismatched furniture and battered ping-pong table. The short, balding man showing you around chuckles. “I know it ain't much, but it's the one place in the building where you can't hear the shitra… fluffies… crying.” Now it's your turn to laugh. “I'm sure I'll love it here then.” There's an awkward pause as conversation dwindles, when the man says “Alright, I guess I better take you to your 'office’”

He leads you through a maze of corridors lined with brightly coloured doors, from behind which you can hear a cacophony of “wuv!” and “hu hu hu.” Eventually, he stops you in front of a lime green door, 856 emblazoned on it in bold black letters. “Alright, this is you. Your first assignment is already in there,” he hands you a thin file, “serial shitter, apparently. Lets it fall wherever he stands. Owner's a real pushover” you both roll your eyes. “'Member, sooner you finish with him, sooner you get your commission. Good luck.” He wanders off, waving as he goes.

You decide to look at the file before you head in.


Name: Rufus
Owner: Isabel Wright
Age: 1 year, 4 months.
Sex: Male
Colour: Green, blue mane/tail


Owner claims Rufus is impossible to toilet train. Does not exhibit defiance/smarty syndrome, but seems to not grasp the concept of the litter box.

Owner requests no lasting/visible injuries.


You sigh. This had to be your first assignment, didn't it? You slowly open the door and enter, finding a blue fluffy that can only be Rufus standing in the middle of the room, a small pile of shit next to him. The litter box in the corner seems to have been completely ignored. “Hewwo nice mistah! Wufus was so wonewy in hewe!” He waddles up to you and hugs your shin. “Miss mummah. Nice mistah hewp Wufus fin’ mummah? Gif nummies?” You gently shake your leg, causing him to overbalance and topple to the floor. He looks up at you reproachfully as he rights himself. “Wai nice mistah push Wu…”

You put on a stern face, and he shuts up. Time to put your 6 years of education to use. “Now Rufus, your mummy tells me you've been a bad fluffy.” Rufus looks shocked. “Nu! Wufus nu am bad fwuffy! Am gud fwuffy!” You shake your head grimly. “Well Rufus, good fluffies make good poopies, and you make bad poopies, don't you?” He looks down in shame. “Nu mean tu make bad poopies… jus fowget…” You point at the pile of shit next to him. “And how do you explain that?” He starts sobbing “Huu huu… in woom aww awone… make scawdey poopies… huuu…”

You shake your head again. “That’s no excuse Rufus. Good fluffies make good poopies in the litterbox. If you don’t make good poopies, you can’t be a good fluffy.”
“Bu’… bu’... Wufus wan be gud fwuffy…huu…” The fluff around his eyes is already damp with tears. “You’re going to eat those bad poopies Rufus.” His eyes widen. “Wha’! Poopies nu am fow nummies!” You glare at him with an exaggeratedly angry face. Fluffies are bad at recognising subtle facial expressions, so you have to contort your face in ways humans would find comical to get the point across. To a fluffy however…

“Nuuuuu! Pwease nice mistah, fwuffy am sowwy! Nu gif huwties… wiww be gud fwuffy an eat poopies…” He miserably waddles back to the pile, and starts slowly consuming the feculence, weeping pathetically the whole time. “Huu… nu taste pwetty… huu huu… nu wan num poopies… bu’ nu wan be bad fwuffy… huu…” After about 15 minutes, Rufus has eaten the entire mound, leaving only a faint brown smear on the linoleum.

He looks back up at you with damp eyes, and sniffles. “Wufus num aww poopies… Wufus am gud fwuffy nao?” You sigh. “Not yet little guy, but you’re getting close.” He perks up a little bit, his ears twitching, and his tail swishing a little, but he’s still downtrodden. “Jus’ wan be gud fwuffy…” You shake your head in pity. “Come on Rufus, upsies.” He dejectedly rocks back up onto his back legs, wiggling his stumpy front legs in the air. If it weren’t for the shit and tears, he’d be the picture of sweetness.

You gently lift him up, and carry him over to a small sink, stroking his fur comfortingly. You’re no stranger to fluffies, but you can never get over how soft and warm the creatures are. Rufus’s fluff is like toasted cotton wool, and he can’t help but coo softly while you scratch him gently. You wipe the brown goop from his muzzle, and set him down next to you. “Now Rufus, you can’t keep making bad poopies.”

His mood drops a little again. “Wufus am sowwy…” Time to drive it home. “Do you love your mummy, Rufus?” He’s predictably impassioned on the subject. “Wufus wuv mummah! Mummah am bestest mummah an gif best huggies an wuv!”
“So you’d never give your mummy sorry poopies?” Rufus looks as though you’d suggested he eat his own face. “NU! Wufus wuv mummah, nu gif sowwy poopies. Just give huggies an’ wuv.” You look at him seriously. “Whenever you make bad poopies, you’re giving sorry poopies to your mummy.”

You’ve seen fluffies dissected alive with no anaesthetic, and even then, you don’t recall ever seeing a more agonised expression on a fluffy’s face. “NUUUUUU! NU WAN GIF SOWWY POOPIES TO MUMMAH! HUU HUUU HUUUUUUUU.” Rufus rolls around on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes. “FWUFFY AM SOWWY MUMMAH! NU MEAN GIF SOWWY POOPIES!”

You let him scream for a while, before picking him up and holding him in a gentle hug. “It’s alright Rufus, it’s alright. Hey hey hey…” You run your fingers through the fluff on his back as he sobs into your chest. “Your mummy forgives you Rufus. Just no more bad poopies, ok?” After a few minutes, he calms down enough to articulate again. “Wufus pwomise nice mistah. Nu mowe bad poopies. Wuv mummah. Wuv ’ou nice mistah!” He hugs you firmly.

You gently set him down on the ground, and he looks up at you happily, his tail swishing back and forth. “Alright Rufus, I’m going to call your mummy and ask her to come get you.” You take a small red ball from a cupboard marked “Toys” and roll it over to him. “Play with this until I come back, ok?” Rufus delightedly headbutts the ball across the room. “Tank’ou nice mistah! Wufus wuv ‘ou wots!” You shake your head and leave the room. Ah fluffies.

You wander aimlessly through the halls until you find the balding man again. “Hey mate, got a sec?” He turns to look at you with confusion. “What are you doing out here?” You approach him, rubbing the back of your head. “Sorry mate, never caught your name.”
“Steve. You’re… Anon, right?”
“Yup, that’s me.”
“Weird name.”
“Yeah, I dunno. Anyway, I’m all done with Rufus.” Steve looks at you in disbelief before checking his watch. “You’ve only been at it for half an hour!” You shrug modestly. “He was pretty cooperative.”
“You know, if the owner brings him back, the boss won’t be happy.”
“Trust me, he’s done.” Steve gives you a long, hard look, and you return his gaze with a confident smile. “...alright, I’ll call the owner. Go take a break, and we’ll see if we can’t find you something else to do.

About half an hour later, Steve walks into the break-room, a frail elderly woman in tow, mid conversation. “...been trying since I bought him to…” They notice you on a patchy green couch. “Ah, that’s him” Steve informs the woman. “Anon, this is Isabel, Rufus’ owner.” You clamber off the overstuffed seat, and extend a hand to woman. “A pleasure to meet you Ms. Wright.” She returns the gesture. “I’m told you cured my little Rufus in record time. Though your colleague here doesn’t seem so sure.” You smile calmly. “I did indeed Ms. Wright. I can promise you Rufus will make every effort to use the litterbox in future.”

After a brief discussion, you make your way back to you office, where you open the door like a magician revealing a materialised assistant. Rufus’s cheerful voice rings out. “Mummah back! Hooway! Wufus am su happy!” He waddles over and presses himself wholeheartedly into Isabel’s shin, obscuring more than half of her leg with blue fluff. “Wufus am sowwy fow make bad poopies mummah. Wiww use wittabawks fwom nao on.” Looking in the room, you see a heaping of recycled poop sitting right where it belongs in the center of the litterbox. It seems that he’s even licked up the remainder of the brown stain, determined to turn a new leaf.

Isabel slowly bends down and lifts up the adoring fluffy, looking with disconcerting amazement at the litterbox. You can only imagine how this fragile woman handles scrubbing fluffy shit from her carpets. She spends a moment or so validating the jubilant fluffy before turning to you. “Young man, I never thought I’d live to see the day. I was this close to taking him to a S-H-E-L-T-E-R, and that would have just broken my heart. I can’t thank you enough.”
“All in a day’s work ma’am. Just glad I could help.”

Steve gives you a respectful nod, and leads Isabel back down the corridor, as Rufus babbles happily about how he’ll “nevah gif mummah sowwy poopies ‘gen” As you watch the walk away, in the hallways full of the faint sounds of crying, laughing, and screaming, you think this job might not turn out to be so bad after all.
Uploader Budgie_Smuggler,
Tags artist:budgie_smuggler bad_poopies correction eating_shit fluffology poopies rehab tears training
Rating questionable
Source Unknown
Locked No


- Reply
Budgie_Smuggler: I'm back bitches! Had a nice holiday down the coast, which gave me a lot of free time to think about some fluffy stories. I'm putting a pin in The Hollow Man for now, as we all know that the senseless abuse is slowly getting old. Hope you all enjoy!

- Reply
boogeymansam: >"You glare at him with an exaggeratedly angry face. Fluffies are bad at recognising subtle facial expressions, so you have to contort your face in ways humans would find comical to get the point across."

This cracked me up.
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Anonymous1: A tip, you NEED to start a new paragraph whenever a new person speaks. Not just for looks, it's grammar.
Example of what you are doing:
I waved, "Hey, Dick." He waved back, "Hey, Jim."

It should be:
I waved, "Hey, Dick."
He waved back, "Hey, Jim."

It makes reading much easier on the eyes because we can keep track of who is talking.

- Reply
Budgie_Smuggler: @boogeymansam: Glad you liked that. I made myself laugh a bit writing it.

@Anonymous: I was about to retort that I was taught that a new line is only needed when there's nothing separating the speech, but I googled it first, and god dammit you're right. I need to have a serious discussion with my primary school English teachers. >_<

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TitanFluff: @boogeymansam: that part is totally head cannon for me now.

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Budgie_Smuggler: @TitanFluff: :D Funiily enough, the inspiration for this was one of my friends sending me an "autistic screeching" meme. Being the weirdo I am, I'm like "Hmm... this screeching sounds a lot like suffering fluffies."
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Anonymous2: @Budgie_Smuggler: you know, I always wondered about that, but Id bet it's not a coincidence. is the tard screech older than fluffies? at least on the internet?

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Budgie_Smuggler: @Anonymous: I feel like the tard speech had its origins with lolcats. The "now = nao" and the obvious "can haf." The tard speech was designed long ago. We sociopaths just created a perfect receptacle for cute aggression, and tacked on lolcat speech to make them seem silly. Add the lisp and the desperation for human contact, plus the stupidity and innumerable undesirable features... and the rest is history. I can easily imagine future historians examining the booru, using us as evidence as the incontrovertible hatred of the human experience.
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Anonymous3(2): @Budgie_Smuggler: no no

I meant literally the SCREECH

like, the "REEEEEEEEEE"

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Budgie_Smuggler: @Anonymous: Ahhh, I see where you're coming from. You know, I feel like in its infancy, the fluffy community was a way to low-key abuse autistic children. The community has obviously grown since then to reflect a lot of the darker side of human nature, both in the abused and the abusers, but the core is still there. I think you may be on to something anon.
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Anonymous4: Dude this is sweet
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Anonymous5: Great story from the old days where people had plenty and had the luxury of using fluffies as pets instead of as food and fur.
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Anonymous6: Interesting concept.
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NTSNetLink: love the idea of this
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Anonymous7: Lol, you went from master of abuse porn to a hugboxer, kinda miss the abuse, really wanted to see fucking useless Zodiac getting killed

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Budgie_Smuggler: @Anonymous: Oh don't worry, there'll be abuse. Just building up to it. >;)
Thread locked for the current user.