Title:           Fall of Cleveland 47 - The Last Day of Spaghetti Land, 3
Author:          Spaghetti_Land
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/MAiHizqX
First Edit:      Tuesday 21st of January 2014 09:34:51 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 21st of January 2014 09:34:51 PM CDT

http://www.fluffybooru.org/post/view/3223
 
Written by Vanner
 
The Last Day of Spaghetti Land, Part 3
>If someone told you two months ago that you'd be using a hedge trimmer to carve your way through fluffy ponies, you'd have told them to lay of the internet for a while.
>But here you are, hacking and slicing your way through an entire sea of ferals like some kind of low rent Space Marine in hip waders.
>Why didn't you move to Flordia when you had the chance?
>You are Dwayne, Head of Maintenance for the amusement park formerly known as "Spaghetti Land."
>A better name for it at the moment would be "Clusterfucks Fluffy Pony Emporium."
>Hundreds of thousands of fluffies occupy every square inch of the park grounds, standing around, babbling and shitting all over everything in sight.
>A few fight over every last piece of land, water, food, or toy they can find.
>The smarty friends can't even address their herds over the cacophony of babbling baby voices .
>Hilarious to watch a fluffy getting angry as he stomps his feet and yells at fluffies to "do wha fwuffy say ow big owchies!"
>Make sure to snuff them with the hedge trimmer as you wade on by.
>You've been carving your way through fluffies for two hours now in an attempt to get every patron out of Spaghetti Land before...
>Well you're really not sure what's going to happen next. Crop dusters with poisonous chemicals? Nation guard goons with flame throwers? Water Balloons?
>The mind reels at the possibilities.
>More importantly, you haven't seen any other patrons in the past ten minutes.
>You have, however, seen fluffies using the rides against each other.
>Fluffy Cars is just a train wreck of shattered fluffy corpses littering the track.
>The strength test has become a reverse guillotine for fluffies that want the flashing green ball.
>The merry-go-round is being used as gathering spot for fluffy mothers to have their babies.
>And since nothing in arcade is that dangerous, it's just become a mountain of shit.
>If it weren't for the voice coming from it, you'd just ignore the six foot mountain of excrement and move on.
>"Fuckin' help!"
>You reach a spigot and attach your hose to blast away some of the filth occupying the front of the arcade.
>After a moment, a dozen fluffies burrow their way out and into the park. Behind them, the shit covered shape of a man emerges from the arcade.
>"I cannot believe this," says Greg. "I try to take an after lunch nap and suddenly the door's barricaded by a mountain of crap!"
>Another dozen fluffies waddle by, sniff Greg, and declare "he nu smeww pwetty."
>Blast them with the hose, then turn it on Greg, much to his dismay.
>Despite his protests, it only takes a minute to get him hosed down. He shakes off the impromptu bath, and starts looking around for something among the fluffy corpses.
>"The hell are you doing?" you ask.
>"I think those fluffies stole my weed," he says.
>Hit him with the hose again because, man alive is he stupid.
 
The Last Day of Spaghetti Land, Part 4
>Your original plan for this week was to take your boat on out Lake Erie, fish for a couple hours, and drink all the beer in the cooler.
>It looks like you plan will have to include "Scraping every fluffy in America off your house" instead.
>You are Dwayne, Head of Maintenance for the amusement park known as "Spaghetti Land," which is now more of a fluffy filled hellscape.
>The park got over run sometime this morning, and you, along with the idiot arcade manager, Greg, have been getting the few remaining patrons to safety.
>Most people were clever enough to not come today, but some patrons and the staff decided it'd be great fun to show up for work despite the fact that millions upon millions of ferals were waddling toward spaghetti land like a fluffy tsunami.
>Sadly, these aren't the easily drowned type, or you could just tell them that and be done with this nightmare.
>Still, fluffies seem to ignore you wade through their ranks with a hedge trimmer in each hand.
>Greg, still annoyed from his impromptu shower, mans the radio.
>"We've got more employees stuck on the midway," he says. "Sounds like a gang of them are completely trapped."
>Toss Greg a hedge trimmer, and the two of you begin to cleave your way though the underbrush of fluffies like some twisted version of Indiana Jones.
>The cries of "Owies!" "Nu wike dis game!" "Why no weggies?" "Why take wingies?" and of course "'Nuuu!" dissolve beneath the babble of a million fluffies.
>It's funny, you actually used to like these fluff-balls. Now that they're here ruining your shit, you've decided you like the a lot less.
>"HEY DWAYNE!" yells a voice from the sewer grate. "Wat you doin?"
>It's a red fluffy unicorn wearing an Indians ball cap, a sewer fluffy known as Drain.
>"How did you even get in there?" you ask.
>"Got wost 'gain," he says. "Wots fwuffies here!"
>"Yeah, you might want to get out of town," you tell him. "There's going to be a reckoning soon, and fluffies just aren't going to make it."
>"Otay!" he says. "I teww Cuvewt!" With that, the fluffy unicorn disappears back down the drain, leaving you with a confused arcade manager.
>"The hell was that?" he asks.
>"Long story short, there are fluffies that have lived in the sewers for years, and I'm their friend. Sort of."
>Greg only shrugs as you make your way toward the midway.
>You arrive to find Ryan, the Non Human Relations Specialist blasting away fluffies with a pressure washer.
>With him are Coleen and Annette, with their fluffy companions in tote bags.
>"Is everyone else out of the park?" asks Annette. "Because if they are, I'd like to get the hell out of here."
>"You say bad wowd!" says her fluffy, Filly. "Baws gon be mad!"
>Greg just looks at the fluffies and shakes his head. "You're really going to take those vermin with us?"
>"Hey, these fluffies are our friends," says Colleen. "They're a damn sight nicer than you."
>"Nuuu!" cries Filly. " Nu wan bad wowds! Boss man mad gif big owies fow cussin!"
>"Wah cusses?" asks Autumn.
>"Words like shit, or fuck, or asshole," says Greg.
>Smack Greg upside the head.
>"Let's get the hell out of here," you say. "How much water you got in that washer, Ryan?"
>"About five minutes worth," says Ryan. "Hopefully someone left a Gator for us so we can get the hell out of here."
>"Let's go then."
>For the next ten minutes you climb over thousands upon thousands of fluffy bodies, making your way toward the front gate.
>Every square inch of the park has been covered by living fluffies, fluffy waste, or deceased fluffies.
>You've seen shit that you've never seen before.
>Fluffies with eight legs, a fluffy with an entire garden growing on his back, and even a fluffy wearing sunglasses.
>It seems Spaghetti Land has become a vortex of weirdness in its last hours.
>Hop on the radio and find out that even more fluffies are invading the Cleveland area.
>Holy shit, how can there even be more fluffies in the United States? There were so many on the horizon that there shouldn't anymore in the rest of the country.
>Maybe fluffies were better at hiding their numbers than you thought.
>Maybe you're in more trouble then you thought you were.
>Actually, you're sure of that, because the entire parking lot is completely covered in a sea of multicolored fluff.
>The barriers are buried beneath mountains of fluffy corpses, feces, and god knows what else the fluffies brought with them.
>Even the few pieces of construction equipment left over from this morning's feral round up are clogged with fluffies.
>How you could even choke a bulldozer beneath fluffies is beyond you, but there it is.
>A bulldozer completely overtaken by fluffies babbling and shitting as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
>If that thing couldn't get out of here, your Taurus doesn't even have a prayer.
>And more fluffies still keep coming over the horizon, more than you saw this morning even, just pouring in over the hills, and marching toward the promised land.
>"Get into the maintenance tunnels!" you yell at your co-workers.
>"Are you out of your mind?" asks Colleen. "What are we going to do down there? Wait for rescue?"
>You stare back out at the onrushing --well, on-waddling-- mass of fluffies still headed your way.
>"I don't think there's going to be a rescue, hun," you say as you force the door open. "I think the entire city is screwed."