Title:           Fall of Cleveland 37 - Non-Human Relations Specialist
Author:          Spaghetti_Land
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/PLu5jbke
First Edit:      Monday 20th of January 2014 10:32:26 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Monday 20th of January 2014 10:32:26 PM CDT

http://www.fluffybooru.org/post/view/1531
 
Written by Vanner
 
Non-Human Relations Specialist
>After six months of unemployment, you'd have taken anything just to get out of your house, but this job pays surprisingly well.
>Now, you are an employee of Spaghetti Land on security and clean up. A "Non-Human Relations Specialist."
>They gave you a sleek blue jumpsuit, a net, and a power washer.
>Your golf cart is pimped out with kennels along the bed to contain lost, stray, and feral fluffies till you can get them to the Lost Fluffy Center.
>You've also got a supply of  fluffy sized Tyvex body bags labeled "Sleepy Fluffy Bags" for the owners who inexplicably want their dead fluffies back.
>Your job is to clean up the remains of fluffies.
>It's not that bad really.
>As fluffy proof as the whole park seems, it's really amazing how many fluffies have died on the premises in just the opening days.
>Two hundred and seventy five, at your count. Not including the massive herd of ferals you led into "Magic Spaghetti Maker."
>Why Spaghetti Land even has a wood chipper that big is beyond you,
>But like some sort of crazed Pied Piper, that lesbian in the furry suit led them right to their doom with a smile.
>Your primary concern is the domestics that find a way to hurt themselves in insane ways.
>Discretion is key, so you simply roll up on the golf cart, bag the remains, hose off everything, and disappear before anyone can panic.
>Slip the owner a coupon for "Half Off A New Fluffy" and maybe suggest they find a new beloved pet before the kids figure out that little Betsy is missing her entire torso.
>It's easy work really. And the ways fluffies manage to kill themselves never ceases to amaze you.
>One fluffy drowned  in an ice cream cone
>Another choked to death on his own hoof trying to cram an entire plate of spaghetti in his mouth at once.
>Yet another managed to climb atop the Adoption Building and plummet to his death not three minutes after he was adopted.
>Apparently that retarded one had gotten past the screeners, and they just gave the family another.
>You simply showed up, bagged the fluffy, and lead the family back inside for a replacement.
>As you top off your water tank, a call from Cassandra comes in over the radio.
>"We need a NHRS to the basketball game."
>That's less than fifty yards away. You drop the hose and slam on the gas.
>Within ten seconds, you're there staring at Cassandra; her fluffy liaison, Autum; and the problem at hand.
>A fluffy is clutching the foam basketball for dear life as it rotates on a wire through the basket.
>"Fwyin!" he says. "Fwuffy fyin! Wuv dis game! Weee!"
>"Hang on!" yells the owner. "Don't let go!"
>"Why wet go?" asks the fluffy. "Fwyin! Fwyin! Fw..."
>The fluffy looks down, and realizes that he's ten feet above the ground.
>"TOO HI! FWUFFY NO WIKE DIS GAME! GIT FWUFFY DOWN!"
>The game operator slams on the emergency stop and the ball jerks to a halt.
>"Pwease dun faww!" yells Autumn. "Wan you win big pwizes!"
>The fluffy keeps clutching the ball, sobbing "No wike dis game anymow!"
>You've got this. Grab the ladder from the back and...
>FUCKING MIGUEL STOLE YOUR LADDER AGAIN.
>You snatch the net instead and jog over to the hoop.
>"No howd on!" says the fluffy, struggling to maintain his grip."Gon faww! Nuuuu!"
>The fluffy lets go, and plummets to the ground in a fit of tears and feces.
>Only to land in your net less than two feet away.
>It's nice to be able to save one of these critters once in a while.
>He opens his eye tentatively, and looks around. "Fwuffy... wiv?" he asks.
>"You're a bad Fluffy!" says the owner. "You almost fell! What would I have done if you'd have hurt yourself? Bad fluffy!"
>"Sowwy!" he whines. "I sowwy! Pwease dun weave Sketti Wand!"
>"Sounds like your fluffy got a bit of a behaving problem," you say. "Might want to take him on the 'Good Fluffy Ride'."
>"He's being obstinate and you want me to take him on a ride?" asks the owner.
>"Trust me," you say. "He'll be nothing but good if you take him through the 'Good Fluffy Ride.'"
>You look around a moment, and lower your voice.
>"Ask the attendant for 'Nightmare Mode,' and you'll never have a problem again."
>The owner leashes his fluffy and drags him back toward the entrance, swatting the fluffy's behind as he walks.
>Quickly hose the fluffy poo into the drain, then turn back to the attendant and smile.
>"That all you need, Cassandra?"
>"Actually, there's batch of strays that are hiding in those bushes," she says. "But good catch on that fluffy."
>"Well we can't let the little fuzzballs hurt themselves, can we?" you ask, rustling Autumn's mane.
>"Pway bask-it-baww?" asks Autumn. "Win big pwizes!"
>"Games are for fluffies, and owners," says Cassandra. "Anybody who wears a clothes like that works here, remember?"
>"Wight! Sowwy mistah!"
>Cute.
>You leave the two behind for a moment to round up the strays with a can of generic Spaghetti-o's.
>It takes all of five minutes to toss the loose fluffies into the kennels after they thunder at the opened can. Not even a drop of poop on you this time.
>You tip your cap to Cassandra. "Anything else I can do for you, my dear lady?"
>Cassandra only smiles back. "Got a pen?"
>She jots down her number on the back of your hand, and gives you a sly smile. "Call me."
>"We need a NHRS to the Good Fluffy Ride."
>"Duty calls," you say, and hop back into the golf cart. The kenneled fluffies voice their concerns as you putter away.
>"Waah!" "Weh we goin?" "Dis a wide?" "Nuu!" "Weee! Fun!"
>Despite the din of fluffy voices you hear Autmun talking to Cassandra, clear as day.
>"You gon gif him spechaw hugs?" she says.
>As you pull up to the "Good Fluffy Ride", you see the basketball fluffy exiting the ride.
>He's white as a sheet and trembling with every step.
>"B...b...b...be... gud... f...f...f...fwuffy," he stammers. "W...w...wisten t...t...to d...d...daddeh."
>You look up at the attendant, who simply nods to flagpole.
>A fluffy has latched onto the Spaghetti Land Flag, and is flapping in the breeze with every furl of the flag.
>Sigh.
>A Non-Human relations Specialist's job is never done, but it's good to be employed again.