Day 2: The Moofia Strikes Back

Frankie woke up on feeling invincible. He’d spent the night polishing his Dyson and marveling at his ingenuity. The Fleshlight, full of adrenaline-rich cow blood, sat proudly on his desk like a trophy. “We’re scaling up today,” he said to himself as he zipped up the cow suit.

But out in the field, the cows had other plans.

Phase 1: The Calm Before the Stampede

Frankie strutted back into the pasture like the kingpin he believed himself to be. He made a show of his arrival, stomping theatrically and cracking his knuckles inside his cow suit. The herd, to his surprise, seemed unusually calm.

They were spread out, grazing peacefully, no signs of the tension he’d stirred up yesterday. “Weird,” Frankie muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe they’re getting used to me.”

Frankie shrugged it off. “Doesn’t matter. Daisy’s probably still loaded from yesterday’s scare.” He headed toward her, Dyson in hand, ready for another extraction.

Phase 2: The Setup

Daisy stood near the back of the pasture, her head low as if resigned to her fate. Frankie grinned beneath his cow mask. “You’re making this too easy, girl.”

As he approached, Big Tom—the hulking, muscular bull who usually kept his distance—stepped out from behind a tree. Frankie froze. “Uh-oh,” he whispered.

Big Tom snorted, pawing the ground aggressively. Frankie tried to keep his cool. “Alright, buddy, no need for theatrics. I’m just here for Daisy.”

But Big Tom wasn’t alone. One by one, the rest of the herd began to close in, forming a loose semicircle around Frankie.

“Okay, everyone, let’s not do anything drastic,” Frankie said, his voice shaking. “I’m the boss, remember? You work for me!”

The cows didn’t flinch. Big Tom let out a low, guttural bellow, and the herd charged.

Phase 3: The Stamp-over Tactic

Frankie turned and bolted, Dyson in one hand, Fleshlight in the other. The cow suit was not made for running, and every step felt like a marathon. Behind him, the ground thundered as dozens of hooves pounded the earth.

He tripped on a patch of mud, landing face-first in the dirt. Before he could scramble to his feet, Daisy was on him. She wasn’t going for blood—she was going for humiliation.

In a move that would go down in cow history, Daisy grabbed the Dyson’s hose with her teeth and yanked it free. Big Tom stomped on the Fleshlight, sending its contents splattering across Frankie’s cow suit.

Frankie screamed. “Not like this!”

The herd circled him, snorting and pawing the ground. Big Tom loomed over Frankie, then let out a loud, satisfied “uuurrrggghhh”. With their point made, the cows dispersed, leaving Frankie a filthy, defeated mess in the middle of the field.

Phase 4: The Aftermath

Frankie limped back to the barn, covered in mud, dubious body fluids, and his own crushed pride. The Dyson looked like it had survived a tornado, and the Fleshlight had seen horrors it was never designed for—yet somehow, both remained indestructible testaments to human engineering at its most disturbing.

“That’s it,” he muttered, peeling off the cow suit. “I’m done. Let someone else figure out how to harvest adrenaline. I’m gonna get into something safe, like crypto.”

Out in the field, the herd watched him go. Big Tom grunts in approval. The Moofia had protected their own, confident that Frankie wouldn’t dare mess with them again.

And so ended Frankie’s short-lived career as a cow gangster. The herd returned to their peaceful grazing, and the Dyson was soon to be reimagined..