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Four Snapshots Of A Smarty
By WestMesaFluffCollector

FIRST WEEK OF OCTOBER

In a pet shop in the Cottonwood Mall, near the back of the store where the owner kept his batch of broodmares, a purple pegasus was in the throws of labor. She shuddered, bracing herself for the pain to come. This was her fifth litter, but that was okay. Babbehs made everything better.

“BIGGEST POOPIES!” She screamed as she felt the pain rip through her body as she felt the foals slowly slide out of her. She felt the pain of labor four more times before she felt something weird and slimy fall out of her spechuw pwace. She began to pant and catch her breath, before she squirmed over to see her foals.

She saw something that looked like a red, squishy thing that she soon ate. Then she began to make her way to a batch of peeping foals.

She saw that she had five tiny chirpie babbehs. There was a poopie, pointy babbeh that she immediately disregarded. There was a white chirpie babbeh, a green wingie babbeh, a blue munstah babbeh, and a purple wingie babbeh. She picked up the last babbeh, and began to give him ‘wickie cweanies.’

“Bestest babbeh.” She said. “Pwettiest babbeh.”

The purple pegasus latched onto her teat and began to nurse, as she began to coo to him and sing her mummah songs. She let him nurse until he finally burped contently. Yes, he was a he. He had a tiny no no stick and a pair of spechuw wumps.

It was only after he was safely nestled in her fluff that she began to clean and feed the other babbehs. Because her bestest emptied one teat, she had to ration out the remainder of her miwkies out to each one, with the blue munstah babbeh getting the least. She peeped angrily at not getting enough food.

“Sowwy babbeh, but if babbeh wan mowe miwkies, shud haf wubbed mummah mowe to haf pwetty fwuff.” She scolded the babbeh. She encircled herself around her good babbehs, and soon fell asleep.

#####

In the morning, Kevin Patterson unlocked his shop and headed to the back. Missy was due to have her foals at some point, so he was curious to see if she had delivered.

Missy was a pain in the ass, but she had some value, namely in her ability to produce at least one alicorn per litter. That was one of the reasons why he kept her around, even though her attitude would have caused him to chuck her a long time ago.

Heading to the back, Kevin turned on the main lights to check on the nursery, a converted women’s restroom. Sure enough, Missy was feeding her foals, with a purple pegasus nursing greedily while the other three peeped in distress over their hunger.

“Hello Missy. It looks like you have some new foals.”

Missy threw her head back. “Dummeh Daddeh. Ob cowse bestest Missy haf babbehs. Dis am bestest babbeh.”

Kevin rolled his eyes and began to unlock the cage. He began to pick up each one of the foals and inspected them. Sure enough, Missy had gifted him a blue, almost prussian blue, alicorn filly, with a hint of a white mane on it’s head. The alicorn cheeped weakly, and began to suckle on his finger. The poor thing probably was starving. Unlike most mares, Missy was smart enough to know that killing a alicorn would be the end of her. That didn’t mean she was smart enough not to let it nearly starve to death. He placed the little filly in the basket, where she peeped from loneliness.

He checked out the green pegasus, also sharing the slightest hints of a white mane, like his sister. It was a colt, and his colors were a attractive forest green variety. However, when he held him up to the light, he saw that the little guy almost seemed to shimmer in the light. Dollar signs appeared in his eyes. This was the first time he had ever gotten a shimmering foal. He joined his sibling inside the basket.

Next, Kevin took out the white earthy. She was a filly, with a hint of a golden mane and tail. She was in better shape than the alicorn, likely due to her colors. This was her second bestest, more than likely. She also was in the basket, where she soon joined the fluff pile with her siblings.

Finally, Kevin picked up the purple pegasus, who sported the beginnings of an orange mane, exactly like his mother. The perceived theft of her ‘bestest babbeh’ triggered a reaction to Missy, who screeched in anger. “Nu, dummeh daddeh! Nu take bestest babbeh!” He slammed the cage shut as he began to check the foal, which was immediately peeping in anger over being taken from his mother. Missy banged her hooves against the gate, and bellowing for her to have her foal returned to her.

Unlike the rest of the foals, this one was fat from multiple feedings. He checked him. It was a purple pegasus, almost royal purple. He sexed him quickly. He was a male.

Kevin returned the purple pegasus into the pen, whom was immediately snatched back by his mother, who gave him a look that would have melted the polar ice caps. Paying little heed, Kevin picked up the basket and took away the two fillies and the green pegasus. Missy didn’t put up a fight, instead, curling up around her bestest babbeh. After Missy’s disastrous first litter, during which Kevin had caught her cannibalizing her first alicorn, and a Rainbow Dash at that, he had made a truce with the mare. If she kept the alicorns alive long enough, he would allow her to keep her bestest babbeh. She had kept her word, and since then, had produced another four alicorns, one of which was a Princess Celestia that he had sold for a pretty penny. It was a fair trade, all things considered. Other breeders probably would have simply pillowed the mare, but because of Albuquerque’s laws that trended in the hugboxing direction, and KOAT’s tendency to do expose’s on the seedy word of fluffy breeding, he couldn’t risk it. Plus, though Kevin didn’t consider himself a hugboxer, he was a bit more squeamish when it came to the more extreme aspects of the breeding community.

Kevin left the nursery, eager to take the foals elsewhere, not noticing a brown foreleg in the corner of Missy’s pen, all that remained of her poopeh babbeh when she needed to make more miwkies for her bestest. Kevin walked over to the safe room, where he said hello to Poppins, his nursery mare. The brown unicorn trotted happily over to Kevin, leaving her basket where nine foals were all sleeping happily.

“Hewwo daddeh!” She said politely. She cooed happily when Kevin gave her a pat on the head. “Hewe fo pway wif Poppins?”

Kevin smiled. “Not right now. I have to open the shop. I do have something for you, though.”

Poppins gasped happily. “Mowe babbehs?”

Kevin nodded, and handed her the foals. “You take care of these, okay?”

Poppins nodded as she placed each one in her fluff. “Yus daddeh! Pwomise to gif wots of huggies and wub to babbehs!” She trotted back to her bed, where she proceeded to feed each one, singing her mummah songs to them.

Kevin smiled as he left the safe room. If only all mares were as good as Poppins….



THIRD WEEK OF OCTOBER

Kevin was in a good mood. He had just sold the blue alicorn to a nice young woman who had moved to the area. The green pegasus colt, once it’s shimmer had been revealed, had caused a bit of a impromptu auction on the floor of his store, which resulted in the little pegasus having been sold to a man who he suspected was a breeder, and for quite a good price too. It was shaping up to be a good week for him.

However, it was time for him to separate Missy from her bestest babbeh. Missy was due to breed again in another month, with a alicorn stud that a friend of his had agreed to let him borrow in exchange for the pick of the litter. He would have to feed Missy extra soon to make sure he had a large, healthy litter.

He walked into the nursery, when he heard the sounds of sobbing. Frowning, Kevin opened up the back to see Missy sobbing while her bestest was showering her with shit. Her eye was already closed with a bruise where the colt had bucked her in the face.

What the fuck was happening?

“Dummeh mummah! Gif bestest smawty babbeh miwkies nao!”

Oh shit, Kevin thought. The little bastard went smarty after all.

#####

You are a smarty.

And not just any kind of smarty. The bestest smarty. At least, you were told as much ever since you were a chirpie babbeh. Your mummah always told you how you were the “pwettiest babbeh” and the “bestest babbeh.” So much so that she didn’t give any other miwkies to your other bwuddahs and sissies. But it’s okay. They were dummeh babbehs anyway. As long as she gave her miwkies and huggies and wub to you, you were fine with it.

Then, the wowstest fing ebbah happened. Mummah said that you were too big fo miwkies. That wasn’t fair. You were still only a wittle babbeh! So you did the only thing you could think of. You gave her the wowstest sowwy poopies and huwties. She began to cwy sad wawas. Gud.

Then the dummeh munstah mistuh took you from your wowstest mummah ebah and took you to a place called the “sawes fwoow”, where he put you in a boxie that had the dummeh kibbwe nummies that your mummah had tried to make you num. And you were surrounded by lots of other dummeh fwuffies, all of whom were asking for “nyu daddehs” and “wub.” Those dummehs.

#####

Kevin closed the sales pen on the smarty fucker just as he turned to try and give him a shower of crap. Thankfully, he seemed to have emptied himself out on Missy, as only a pathetic little squirt came out of his ass.

On the discount box, he went ahead and posted his characteristics. He made sure to list that he came from mare that had a history of alicorn production. He also winced as he wrote down the dreaded words in red ink

--SMARTY SYNDROME==

That alone would ensure he only got taken by the worst abusers or the occasional well intentioned idiot. Oh well. Considering the prices he had gotten on the other foals, it was an acceptable loss.

Kevin turned to his two clerks, Janice and Ofelia, both twin sisters who had worked for him since he opened, to mind the shop while he went to bathe Missy. Unlike past separations, Missy seemed to have taken this separation hard. Kevin figured it had to do with the fact that this was the first foal that actually matched her color schemes, and by the way the colt had turned on her. She like had given him a bit too much love, he thought.

As Kevin gave Missy a warm bath, the mare spoke up.

“Daddeh? Can bestest Missy haf mowe babbehs?” The mare said in between sniffs. “Nu wan hab anoddah bad babbeh dat onwy gif heawt huwties.”

Kevin smiled. “Of course, sweetheart.” He almost felt sympathy for the mare.

Almost.



FOURTH WEEK OF OCTOBER

Janice Ornelas was speaking to a well dressed gentleman, with a well groomed beard, a three piece suit, and glasses as he was browsing the different foal cages. Ofelia and Kevin were checking the latest shipment from their local breeder connections, to see sort the newest batch of foals by coloration and price.

“We are a little short on stock right now”, Janice said as she tried to sell the gentleman on the remaining stock, “but we still have quite a few good fluffies that could use a good home.”

Missy’s white earthy filly was in her pen, still waiting for a good home. However, she had had a bit of bad luck as she aged, as the once golden mane and tail had darkened into a almost chocolate brown, which had turned off most people who otherwise would have bought her. It was a shame, as she was a well tempered young filly, and was always polite to all of the visitors. She had a couple of people who were interested in her, and Janice was prepared to call them and offer them a discount if they were to take her soon. However, in the event she didn’t sell by adulthood, Kevin was well prepared to keep her as a potential broodmare, considering her lineage. Janice was determined not to let that happen. She liked the mare, and wanted it to go to a loving home.

However, she wasn’t the only member of Missy’s brood still in the store...

As they passed by the smarty box, the purple pegasus began to shout “Wet smawty ou’ of boxie howsie nao! Nu smeww pwetty!”

The man paused in front of the cage. “What’s wrong with this one?”

Janice smiled nervously. “Well, it should be kinda obvious. He’s gone smarty, and is an early smarty at that. You probably don’t want this one.”

The man, however, peered closer. “His lineage seems good. Alicorns in his background. And his coloration isn’t bad.”

Janice changed her tone. If she could unload this little asshole, it would be a coup, and something to hold over Ofelia, who had tried to sell him to a neckbeard the day before. Plus, unlike most smarties, this one was well content to continue hurling insults towards the staff of the store, namely herself, no matter how much she threatened to cut his balls off. “Well, yes, his lineage is a big sales point. His mother has produced seven alicorns in her breeding history.”

The man’s eyebrows went up. “Seven? That is fascinating.” The smarty peered at him curiously. Does this mean what he thought it might mean?

“Was he a bestest babbeh? Could that have been a cause of his...condition?” The man asked, looking at the smarty. To no one’s surprise, the smarty responded for himself. “Yus! Smawty babbeh am bestest babbeh. But mummah am dummeh mummah. Nu wub!”

Janice gave the smarty colt a dirty look. Shut the fuck up, you little asshole, so I can finally get rid of your ass.

The man turned to her. “How much?”

Janice let out a sigh of relief. “He’s priced retail for $200 but I’d be willing to offer you a…”

The man held up his hand. “That’s fair for a colt of his...history.”

Janice did a small celebration dance inside. “Sounds good. Let’s ring you up.” She smirked. Just wait till Kevin heard about what she just did.



FOURTH THURSDAY OF NOVEMBER

You are a smarty, and you have the bestest life ever.

Ever since your dummeh nyu daddeh took you away from that dummeh stowe, you had the bestest life ever. You lived in your own safe room. You did poopies wherever you wanted, and someone came to clean them up two times each bwight time. You also ate the bestest nummies, like sketties, oatie nummies, and oddah gut nummies. None of that dummeh kibble nummies that your wowstest mummah tried to make you num.

You’ve grown into a big stallion, very big. Sometimes it gave your weggies huwties just to walk to your nummie boww. But that was okay. You had all the bestest toysies, and FwuffTeeBee to keep you company.

You’re nyu dummeh daddeh even gave you a namsie. You were “Fanky”, or at least, that’s what you think he said. You were too busy eating nummies to listen to the long namsie that he was giving you, so Fanky would have to do. It was his fault anyway for trying to give you such a long namsie anyway.

Then, your dummeh nyu daddeh said that he had a ‘suwpwise’ for you. You got so excited. What was the ‘suwpwise?’ You were hoping it was a ‘pwetty mawe’ that you could give ‘spechuw huggies’ to and have the bestest babbehs with. Even though any time you would use your ‘enfie toy’ you always ended up breathing really hard and having some sort of ‘heawt huwties.”

Dummeh daddeh picked you up from your safe room, which made you slightly happy, as it was already starting to smell a little like poopies. Then, your daddeh did something strange. He held you over the ‘witttah box’ that you never used, and squeezed you. You made the wowstest sowwy poopies and peepees as you squeezed you over and over until you had no more poopies left.

You remember crying, as your ‘poopie pwace’ had huwties from all the poopies you just made. Then, your daddeh went and gave you ‘wickie cweanies’ with some kind of ‘papew fing’ that he had in a blue boxie that he had brought into your safe room with him.

Dummeh daddeh then took you out of your safe room and took you into a different part of the howsie, one that you had never seen before. It was a place that he called the ‘kitchen’, and best of all, it smelled like nummies. Even though you had just eaten a fowebbah (one hour) ago, you could still eat some more. There were all kinds of nummies around, like cawwot nummies, powtaytow nummies, and other nummies.

That’s when you began to yell “Dummeh daddeh! Gif bestest smawty nummies nao.”

What, what was going on? Your dummeh daddeh wasn’t listening to you. Instead, you were being put into some kind of woodie thing, which had four holes inside of it.

Hey, what was your dummeh daddeh doing? He was putting your legs in those places. Now you couldn’t move your weggies! You’d give him sowwy poopies, but you are all out of poopies.

Wait, now your dummeh daddeh is taking you to a place that looks like the place you take baffies. You hate baffies! “Nu wan baffies! Wawa am bad fo fwuffy!” You yell to remind the dummeh daddeh.

He doesn’t listen, and instead, fills up the ‘baffie pwace’ with wawas, and not nice wawas judging by the smokie fings that are coming off of it. He plunges you inside. “SCREEE! BUWNIE HUWTIES!” You yell to no one in particular.

Then, dummeh daddeh starts putting in something to clean your fluff. You hate the soapie fings, they always make your ‘see pwace’ huwties. He scrubs you, hard, until the soapies cover your body.

That’s when you start to notice something. Your fluff. Your pwetty fwuff is coming off! In the wawas, you see a lot of your pwetty fwuff in the wawa. Stoopie daddeh! You can’t take away your fluff. You need it for wawmsies and to look pwetty for a spechuw fwend.

He then sprays more wawas over you, and you see with your horror more of your pwetty fwuff is now in the water. He starts giving you hard huwties, causing more and more of your fluff to come off. Before you know it, all of your pwetty fwuff is gone. You are so cowd.

“..sssstoooopppiieeee….dadddddeehhhh…..gif…..pwetty...fwufff…..am….soooo...coooowwwdddieees….” you manage to stutter.

Now daddeh is going over to another place, near the place that looks like the place that you get your baffies in. He’s getting something that looks like a ‘sowwy stick.’ You’ve never gotten the ‘sowwy stick.’ Besties smawties don’t get a sowwy stick….

#####

Your name is Don Thompson. And you are the owner of one of the most prestigious restaurants in Santa Fe. However, it wasn’t always fine dining and hobnobbing with celebrities. You didn't always have the luxury of being one of the top restaurants in New Mexico. 3 years ago, you were just another guy, struggling to expand from the food truck game. It had been during one of those days, during which money was especially tight, that you discovered the secret ingredient that would propel you to success.

And that, dear reader, was Fluffy ponies.

While you discovered that while people were rather squeamish about eating the things, mostly seeing them as beloved boutique pets, when properly seasoned and cooked to perfection, you found that people were more than happy to dine on the things, provided that their origin was kept secret. Oh, there of course was a section in your menu where you did disclose...certain high priced dishes...were made from the shitrats, but for the most part, there was enough of other dishes sprinkled throughout the menu to fool even the most discerning critic.

You found that your business began to skyrocket once you began to use your secret ingredient. Your big break came when Oprah, fucking Oprah, first wrote about you in her favorite things column, which put you on the national scale. And the rest, was history.

As you sharpened your imported japanese knives, carefully made by a process that had once been used to make samurai swords, you looked back to the hefty overweight pegasus that was now immobilized in your leg holders.

Usually, you got your meat supply from other breeders, who were more than willing to sell you their awful colored foals for a small fee, after which you took them to a warehouse, where they were fattened up, until they were butchered every day by an abuser you had hired that was known only as “Big Frank.” In exchange for payment and the pleasure of killing the now fattened up stallions and mares, you got a large supply of cheap, quality meat that you could use at the store.

However, that didn’t stop you from frequenting the boutique pet stores and breeders around the area for a special treat, especially when a holiday came around. You see, a bestest babbeh was a special treat. Don found, through trial and error and experience, that the meat quality of those particular fluffies tended to vary, due to the hormones that were released, causing the meat to develop perhaps the most delicate, sweetest flavor that you could ever have. And, in his experienced, the flesh of smarties, especially those that were ‘bestest babbehs’ was the most exquisite, due to the amount of hormones that was released in the terror of their final moments, in contrast to what had then been a largely pampered and entitled lifestyles.

Don put on his headphones, and selected a song. Stealers Wheel's ‘Stuck In The Middle With You’ began to echo through his ears. It was time to begin.

Looking at the naked stallion, Don immediately began to grab ahold of his hind leg to keep it still. The stallion bellowed in terror, and Don began to slice through muscle, ligaments, and finally, bone. With a quick jerk, and a loud “SCREEE!!!!” from the stallion, Don separated the stallion from his leg. He began to repeat the process again on the second leg, moving with an almost mechanical like precision. “SCREEE!!!” The stallion screamed, almost rattling the windows as the final leg was separated.

Satisfied, Don pulled the wriggling stallion away from his legs. The stallion screamed “Weggies! Hewp gud smawty! Why weggies nu wisten?!” Don held him over the second sink and, holding the stallion over, sank the knive inside it’s chest. “SCREEE *chirp* SCREEE!!!!” The stallion yelled as Don began to cut the stallion down the middle. He eventually reached the gut and, with a quick swipe, soon sent the stallion’s entrails spilling out of the stomach into the sink. The stallion began to gasp and struggled with the fading strength that was left in his body. It’s eyes darted wildly across the kitchen, looking for anyone to help.

Don carried the stallion over to the large pan, where he set the weakly chirping stallion inside of it. He began to apply the raspberry jam glaze over the skin, continuing until he noticed something.

He had left the genitals on the stallion.

Frowning, curisng himself over his own oversight, he grabbed his knife, took hold of the stallion’s junk, and with a couple of strokes, had castrated it. He tossed the now separated penis and testicles into the sink.

“....nu….take….no-no….pwace….”

Don almost laughed. He had gutted the motherfucker, and all he was concerned about was his ability, or lack thereof, to procreate.

Deciding to end it, Don pulled the stallion’s head back and slit it’s throat. It was almost showtime anyway.

Stuffing the stallion with a carefully crafted version of dressing and other vegetables, Don sewed the stallion shut once he was satisfied that the stallion had been properly bled out. After arranging him in a separate roasting pan, all the while while Boney M.’s Rasputin echoed in his ears as he did the job. Satisfied with the application of herbs, spices, and other fruits and vegetables, he placed the stallion inside the over.

Turning back to the legs, he began to marinate them, planning to use them for the appetizer. He also began to cut the entrails into sections. He planned to use them for a specialty menudo the next day.

Suddenly, Don heard a low….”eeeeee….” noise. Frowning, he took his headphones out of his ears, just as Mungo Jerry’s “In The Summertime” came on.

It was coming from the oven.

Inside, staring back at him, was the stallion, who simply chirped at this point. Don smiled. He was honestly surprised he was still alive, but he wasn’t disappointed. It meant that the meat would be extra flavorful for the thanksgiving dinner.

Don turned off the light of the oven, plunging the dying, roasting former smarty stallion in darkness. There was still so much to do. His partner and his special guests were coming, and he still had so much to do for the feast to come. But there was also one more task to do.

Popping in his headphones, just as The Proclaimers - I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) came on, he sprinted over to his pantry, where he measured out eight generous scoops of his special oat, fruit, vegetable, and vitamin mixture, before he sprinted over to his second saferoom in his home.

Inside the second saferoom were ten foals, all about three weeks old. He had gone to quite an effort to gather this group of foals, and like the stallion, all ten greeted him with the typical insults of a smarty.

“Wewe dummeh daddeh gu?”

“Smawty wan nummies!”

“Smawty wan bestest nummies and mowe towsies!”

Don smiled as he poured out the feed. This year’s Christmas tamales looked like they were going to be exceptionally good this year.



Happy Thanksgiving, Booru!

Comments


- Reply
Roguesoul: Proverbial High Five!! Cause that...was the shit
- Reply
WestMesaFluffCollector: @Roguesoul: Thanks! If enough people want it, I'll write the follow up. I wanted to produce something holiday themed for the Booru.
- Reply
TheFoalFryer: Gets my vote
- Reply
Nocturn: Great work :)
- Reply
FluffyLivesDontMatter: here hoping you will make one for the xmas tamales!

- Reply
Dhylec: never say "if enough people want it"
do it or dont, dont try to get validation from the booru

- Reply
Veej: Awesome - I remember the pet store in Cottonwood Mall & can totally imagine fluffies for sale there.
- Reply
ayylmao499: Ra Ra Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen, there was a cat that really was gone
Ra Ra Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine
It was a shame how he carried on

- Reply
FluffyPuncher: Damn you for making me hungry again.

- Reply
guodzilla: An OI well walk foive hoond'rd moiles, Anna
OI well walk foive hoond'rd muure, jest ta
BE tha mon hu walks a thaes'nd MOILES jest ta
fall doon at y'r door

- Reply
guodzilla: Ironic, idnit: I remember some of the songs in this were also mentioned in McGonagall's strip when the smarty stallion fluff was being pillowed (after enfing at least one foal; remember?)
- Reply
WestMesaFluffCollector: @Aliaz: Missy is less of a smarty mare and more of just a general run of the mill spoiled fluff mare. I think if it wasn't for the alicorn factor, she would have been fed to a mulcher a long time ago.

@Dhylec: Not seeking validation, just more trying to get a bit of feedback from the Booru, to see what people want to see more of. I do see you point, though, as I probably would get a lot more requests for explicit abuse instead of trying to tell a story.
- Reply
WestMesaFluffCollector: @Veej: Totally. Cottonwood was the rich mall, which would totally cater to fluffies. I wonder what would probably get sold that is fluffy related at the old Windrock Mall (RIP.)

@guodzilla: Holy shit, I had forgotten that I Will Walk (500 miles) appeared in the strip. This was more or less the play list YouTube generated after "Stuck In The Middle With You." It was a very weird night.

- Reply
guodzilla: @WestMesaFluffCollector: LOL
- Reply
ayylmao499: Abused animals are some great meat, you guys ever have a chicken that's been kicked? Shits delicious
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