Title:           Fall of Cleveland 10 - Mercury Meets the Fluffalo
Author:          Spaghetti_Land
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/sSj5MjgH
First Edit:      Saturday 18th of January 2014 11:15:52 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 18th of January 2014 11:15:52 PM CDT

http://www.fluffybooru.org/post/view/1192
 
Written by Vanner
 
Mercury Meets the Fluffalo
>Out on the ranch again in western Oklahoma, tending to your herd.
>Herd of cattle? Psh, too much work. What you’ve got here are bon-a-fide, gen-u-ine, grade "A" Fluffalo.
>Some crazy Indians (feathers, not dots) made them by drilling holes into the heads of fluffy ponies, and implanting fluffy unicorn horns in the sides.
>Two dead unicorns for every earth fluffy. Hell of a thing to see that many unicorns spasming in unbelievable pain after they sawed off the horns.
>They made them for a purpose, though. Something about ritualistic bison hunts.
>Whatever the reason, and however it happened, the surviving fluffalo somehow managed to breed true with two horns sticking out the sides of their heads.
>They’re not even the same color as the rest of the fluffy. Who the hell knows what sort of screwed up genes these things have?
>Anyway, you don’t need hundreds of acres, or an army of cowboys to keep up with this herd. All two hundred of the fluffalo occupy ten acres.
>Funny thing about the critters is that they don’t even seem to mind when you come to collect a few of them.
>They just go on and on about “gweat gwassie spiwits” and “cicwe of wife.”
>Free range fluffalo is becoming popular for some reason. Something about the “taste of buffalo” with “none of the guilt.”
>Whatever. You're a rancher, not a damn hippie.
>Tonight, you're riding out to meet the herd. Got an order for another dozen sides of fluffalo.
>You crest what you’d generously call a hill, and gaze out upon your herd. Your mighty fluffalo herd blankets the landscape like a patchwork quilt.
>A patchwork quilt with the collective IQ of a stump, but still.
>Speaking of stumps, there’s a blue and orange fluffalo standing atop one, and talking to the herd.
>Ah, shit. You knew this day would come. One of the fluffalo has gotten it into his head that he’s a smarty friend.
>Funny thing, they never had a leader before now. They just wandered around talking about "gweat spiwits of wa-wa and earfs."
>Aside from that, they ate, shat, and mated like any one of god’s creatures.
>Not that God had anything to do with these things, praise be his name.
>You drop down off your horse, and draw your rifle from the scabbard. Glance down the scope to get that smarty in your sights and…
>It’s a fluffy pegasus. How the hell did he even get in here?
>More importantly, it’s the leanest looking fluffy you’ve ever seen. Not a trace of fat on him, just pure, lithe fluffy muscle.
>No use spooking the herd with a gunshot if you can just quietly dispose of the invader.
>He's shockingly easy to sneak up on. His back is to you as it talks to the herd.
>”Mewcuwy wan yoo teww aww fwuffies yoo meet ‘bout Sketti Wand!” he says. “It weal pwace! Fowwow big baww wise to big hiwws, den weft to Big good wa-was, den back to Sketti Wand!”
>At the mention of the sun, the fluffalos start chanting nonsense, and droning as if consumed by the spirits.
>A big pink fluffalo steps from the herd and starts speaking.
>”Baww of wite bwing wife to the fwuffawo hewds centwies ago,”
>Seriously, it’s been a year since fluffallo were created. They’re less than seven generations old.
>”Baww gif us gwassies fow maneh yeaws, and ask owny fow wespect in wetuwn.”
>Every time you talk to them, they try to tell you this same line of bullshit.
>”Aww pwaise da wite baww, bwing to us ciwcewe of wife.”
>You swear that pegasus just scratched his head in confusion.
>”Uh… wite!” he says. “Teww aww you fweinds!”
>The fluffy pegasus turns around and sees you. His ears flop down against his head, and his eyes widen to the size of saucers. ”Cwap.”
>It’s always nice when they freeze like that.
>You pull the bowie knife from your belt in a single swift motion, heaving it at the stump where the fluffy stands.
>You ain’t no stranger to mumble-peg but that critter dodges the knife like he’s some kind of fluffy ninja.
>He dashes between your legs with more speed than you’ve ever seen in one of these turd machines.
>Bolting at least ten miles an hour, he makes for the fence.
>He’s in for a big surprise when it zaps the shit out of him, literally and figuratively.
>The fluffy runs up an old plow laying in the field, leaping over the fence in a single smooth jump.
>The pegasus tucks and rolls like he’s some kind of stunt man and ends up on his feet.
>”Teww you fweinds!” he yells back at the fluffalo as he continues his run. “Sketti Wand is weal!”
>Would you look at that fluffy go? Normally you hate the things, but you gotta respect a fluffy pony that can move like that.
>The herd turns back to you as you pull your knife from the stump.
>”Gweetin's hooman,” says the fluffalo that spoke earlier. “Da gweat fwuffawo hewd espectin’ you. Wong have we woamed da pwains of dis wand in sewch of gwassies an…”
>Without even a second thought, you whip the knife around, splitting the fluffalo’s head before he can get any further.
>You really don’t need to hear that nonsense again.