For the one or two of you who have not unwatched me... yet:

I offer my gratitude, and thank you for showing the tolerance that is so often claimed on FurAffinity, but so rarely practiced.
I have not gotten the "All Cops are Bastards" theme completely out of my system yet, so expect another submission in that genre. Poor Chase. Anyway, to those who are planning to un-watch me, I'm sorry and... don't let the door hit your asses on the way out. I'm too old to care.

Oh, I almost forgot about  Terastas
Who is Terastas? Yeah, I don't know and I don't care either.

But I have singled out Terastas because said furry left a comment on MY submission "Why PAW Patrol Should be Canceled".

The comment reads:

["FurAffinity audiences are unable to handle adult material. Whiny babies. So sad."

Hm. Well, you certainly did a good job making Chase and Nick look none to[sic] thrilled with the material either.] -Terastas.

I was not sure, but I got the impression that the comment was intended to be derogatory. But as usual, I presume the best of commenters rather than the worst. So I decided to offer a thoughtful reply:

"Give them a break. It's tough to be in law enforcement these days.
I'm sure that Nick and Chase are not too happy with the bad reputations that they are being given.
The same is true for... the person who made this drawing."

I thought that was... respectful. Of course I could not leave the comment because I found out I was blocked. It's not like I have had any correspondence with this person before. It's not like Terastas had a valid reason to block me.
I find it so sad that someone leaves a derogatory comment on my submission and then blocks me preemptively so that I cannot even respond.

Terastas quotes my own words: "FurAffinity audiences are unable to handle adult material. Whiny babies. So sad."
The furry then proves my point by blocking me.
Terastas cannot handle adult material, or even a response to a comment.
Terastas is a whiny baby, unable to tolerate all but the narrowest point of view.
The cowardly behavior exhibited by Terastas is "so sad."

Thank you, Terastas, for giving me the conviction to go on.
For leaving no doubt in my mind that I speak truth.
And for reminding me that I deserve better.

Love-D.

An Analysis: Racism, PAW Patrol and Nishi part 1

I know some of you never thought you would see that lovely drawing of Chase again, but here it is, darlings. The roughly 800 of you that clicked on to the original version of this submission had a ringside ticket to the fireworks and were placing bets on how long it would take the administration to remove it. But it came crawling back like cockroaches and Cher. Hey, it was the only artwork I managed to submit all year so I couldn’t let it go to waste. Instead I repackaged and sanitized it. You win! Yay?

It was an experiment of sorts and I was curious to see how it would be received. In other words how would people interpret what they saw? (As an artist, I need to push the envelope once in a while to test out my relevance. Yeah, I know that sounds like a load of crap, too.) Moving on. For what it’s worth, after all the trouble, the original picture of PAW Patrol’s Chase choking his chicken received many more views and faves than its replacement, the picture of Chase kneeling on a bone. That means that despite your protestations, you actually enjoyed the subject matter of the original much more. The numbers are irrefutable. That tells me all I need to know about all of you. By the way, there were some other interesting things that came out of the experiment and I would like to share them with you.

First, I was shocked at how long the submission survived on FurAffinity- nearly three days. Long enough that I seriously considered putting out a part two. I’m sure some of you ran to the administration like little babies crying: “racist, racist! In the first five minutes it was posted. The fact it took so long suggests there must have been a heated dispute going on. Oh, to be a fly on that wall. This tends to verify the assertion I made on the face of the submission that it falls under the “fake hate” statute of the FA. Code and therefore was pulled simply because someone, or several someones, were offended and strong-armed the administration into action. (In other words, FurAffinity lied.) Sciggles!

Although I had a fairly good idea of how it would be received, it was what people chose to ignore that intrigued me the most. If one actually considered the title: “Why PAW Patrol should be canceled”, or that the story was about police brutality and racial tensions, one would see that this fits perfectly into the pro black lives matter/anti police brutality narrative that FA users are eating up these days. Let’s face it. None of you ever got tired of seeing that George Floyd footage looped over and over again. Why, the news outlets piled on, getting the unwashed masses riled up and injecting a shot of energy into the dying black lives matter machine. But instead of recognizing that I was on board, you saw it as a mockery of a [black] man being murdered. In truth, it was just a picture and story of Chase getting his well-deserved revenge on Chickaletta. The racist overtones of the once helpful predator cop turning on his helpless prey in blood-lust were ripped right out of Zootopia, or even PAW Patrol, rather than Minneapolis. If I had put this out three months ago, you would have commented with jokes about Nick and Judy. I know you wanted it to be something else, but it really wasn’t. Are you believing any of this? Good.

Oh, alright, let’s just call it a “thinly veiled” submission if we must. My ego can take it. Next!
The reaction to the submission overshadowed the submission itself. I had prepared myself for the inevitable onslaught of angry furries, but one commenter in particular went above and beyond the usual level of hate that I have come to expect from FurAffinity. The volume of hate spewing from this self-appointed p.c. principal of FurAffinity was so noteworthy that even the other haters did a doubletake. Certain onlookers were so disturbed by it that they tried to comfort me. Ouch. The number of comments this person left on my page is also indicative of someone desperately trying to get my attention as well as that of others.

Well... now you have our attention, Nishi.  Nishi

Now that I have identified you, I would like the opportunity to respond to the comments you addressed to me. Because your comments were multiple and varied, I was not able to respond to them individually. Therefore, I believe the most efficient way to respond is to categorize the points you made and attempt to answer them one by one:

[1] Not only did you express hate for my submission, but you also hated my journals. I know this because you made sure to leave comments on those telling me how racist they are. And since I know you have read my journals, I know that you know how I treat people who are the subjects of my journals. Why in the hell would you want that?
Now I have to put on my high-heels and sharpen my blunt instrument in order to dissect you. After having my fill of your comments, I made the decision to examine your user page and learn a bit more about you before I made any judgements. Surely something other than little-old me is compelling this level of hate from you. But what? When I looked you up, what did I find? Pretty much what I expected. Sickly sweet, lots of in-your-face talk about love and acceptance and anti-racism and stuff like that. In other words, the typical page of a hater. A garden-variety hypocrite, you present yourself as one thing, but prove incapable of living up to your own meager standard of what passes for the current ever-changing morality. For example let’s look at talking point number nine on one of your sappy journals:

{9. Do I already have you blocked and you can't comment on this post?
(I mostly only block people who've posted prejudice comments, seem like they're lying about their age, or left me rude comments, haha. Hopefully you're just one of the last two!)}-Nishi

It is obvious that you do not treat others as you want to be treated. And you have blocked those who previously called you out on it. This speaks to a self-awareness of your bigotry. However, your self-serving hatred is easily concealed on sites such as FurAffinity in which your brand of bigotry runs rampant. You appear to be very popular, although I get the sense that you don’t have any real friends here. Your popularity depends on the acceptance of so many other like-minded ones in the fandom. And make no mistake, there are many like you- which is why FA. Is such a dangerous place. I suspect it is your eagerness to please them that makes you so outspoken. You stick your finger in the air and decide which way the wind is blowing and then you make sure you are on the right side of the issue. By right side, I mean whichever way people are lining up at the moment, not what is correct or even moral. You have become comfortable on FurAffinity knowing that you have this support system of like-minded sheep behind you. The fact that you have survived here so long makes you believe that you have some special right, yes, you have been ordained to speak your mind without need for self-censoring or even thought for the consequences. Because there are no consequences. At least not for you. For your victims- and there are other victims- the same cannot be said.

[2] You made the observation that I am a “nobody”. An observation that you easily lifted from one of my journals, perhaps. Everyone including me clearly knows this. The fact that you needed to point this out and yet still crave my attention and the attention of onlookers leads me to conclude that you still seek validation. You will take it from anywhere, if you can’t get it from those you have aligned yourself with, then you will even take it from me. My forced acknowledgement that I am a nobody elevates you and validates your self-worth that you are somebody. Congratulations.

[3] You used the word “racist” many times to describe me. Although I am offended, I do not offer any denial for you to gloat over. The scriptures say: “God is impartial. Any man who practices righteousness is acceptable to him.” God might get away with that, but those who are humble admit that impartiality is easier said than done. Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote that race is the child of, not the father of racism. The profound idea that racism predates race is a reminder of how long humankind has struggled with this burden. It also explains why it is so easy, even natural for you to jump to racism as the end-all, be-all answer for all that ails you. You see it everywhere because that is what you have been taught all of your life. It is your go-to mantra because you understand that there is no way your victims can defend themselves against labels. I remember the first time someone labeled me as “gay” in school. I didn’t quite even know what the word meant. I only knew that someone was trying to hurt me in the worst way they knew how. How unfortunate for you, Nishi, that calling someone “gay” today will only get YOU in trouble. Will only hurt YOU. Will cause your beloved communities to cast you aside.

So now we have come down to “racist”. The problem that you and your little black lives matter friends don’t understand is that when you “cry wolf” and overplay your hand and dilute a word into nothingness, it loses its meaning. Because of people like you, those labeled “racist” will learn to seek their own special protection under the law. You snicker, but I remember when the LGBTQIA community were “immoral sinners” going to hell. The very thought of giving them any protected status was obscene. My, my, have times changed. Soon the only insult you will have left is “pedophile” or perhaps “republican”. Good luck with that.

Love-D.

An Analysis: Racism, PAW Patrol and Nishi part 2

Nishi, I don’t know you, but I have known a hundred like you and I instinctively know that you do not have a clue, despite all of your life experience. So, I will do you a favor and clue you in.

[4] For instance, you said something along the lines of: “How did I not know I was following a racist all this time?” Um… yeah, that was stupid of you. Yes, you were one of my vast legions of followers. So… does this mean that I have been pulling the wool over your eyes, cleverly managing to stay under your racist-radar for years? Either you were too stupid to notice my racism or I am not racist. I will happily accept either conclusion. That also goes for the rest of you who unwatched me, who also had to make the unenviable choice. Next!

[5] You also say that I am too old to change. Thank God. Unlike you youngsters, I am old enough to understand what real hate is. I received my education on the subject at a very young age. When I was a child, my sister and I made the mistake of going to the house of Mrs. Buckingham, a neighbor across the street to play with her children. We laughed and played and ran around in the yard. The next day the mother of those children came over to our home and politely told my mother over tea that we were not allowed to play with her children because we were... for lack of a better word... “other”. Our mother had to explain to us that our kind were not welcome among decent folk and that we had to be careful what we said and did and who we hung around with. People were often surprised to find out that my mother had any children because we had learned our lesson well. We learned that it was safer not to be seen or heard.

Every time I walked into a class room, I was acutely aware that I was not like THEM. When I was seventeen, I walked from school to my job as a dishwasher, the only work I could get. Women walking on the sidewalk would actually cross to the other side of the busy street to get away when they saw me coming. Some would even run for fear that I would rob them or rape them. My employer trusted me enough to give me the keys to the restaurant where I worked and allowed me to close up by myself. The first night I did this, I locked the restaurant door only to find that the police were waiting for me outside in the darkness to ambush me at gunpoint. They had already judged me like you did, Nishi and decided that I must be robbing the place. After that incident, my mother would get up in the middle of the night and drive to the restaurant and sit in the parking lot for hours each night because she was so afraid I would get shot by the police. To this day I have not lived down the shame and humiliation I have experienced because of people like you.

Back in those days, we didn’t have to invent “fake hate” in order to fill some sick, twisted fantasy of feeling victimized. The hate was real enough. There was no black lives matter or gay pride waiting with open arms to run to for cover in those days. Some protection. These organizations began with noble intentions, but have since metastasized into political monsters churning out new and exciting forms of hate, bigotry, paranoia and fear. Now their aim is gaining power through fear-mongering and feeding off of the victimization of the George Floyds of the world. What would they do if they had no more victims to feed on? What would you do, Nishi? Self-destruct? Never may that happen. Please, Nishi, continue on making new victims for them and practicing your fake hate.

Nishi, you are the worst kind of racist because you have no problem judging and assigning labels to people you don’t know and things you cannot understand. At least Mrs. Buckingham was kind enough to acknowledge her hate and bigotry openly and without shame. And why not? She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. That’s just how it was then. But you, Nishi, wrap your hate in a rainbow-colored flag, thinking it will protect eyes from casting judgement upon you. That feeling of protection is an illusion and will prove to be fleeting.

[6] As for your threat “We will wait you out”, I have bigger fish to fry than worrying about you and your little friends running me out of town. I was around long before such things as black lives matter and gay pride and FurAffinity and I may even be here when they are gone. I am old enough to have seen things come and go, you might say.

Hate, however- whether real or imagined, is much more stubborn and endures. My only real regret over the past few days is that there is nothing I can do to retaliate against your hatred. There is nothing I can do to hurt you, no revenge I can wreak upon you. I suppose that is what true victimization is- the inability to act upon their abusers. I could not do anything to Mrs. Buckingham except to tip my hat when she passed by and patiently wait forty years for her to die. There is nothing I can do to the police who still hassle me when I walk down my own street. There is nothing I can do to my neighbors who still dial 911 on me and accuse me of casing their homes or looking in their car windows. And there is nothing I can do to you, Nishi, or your little racist friends. Nothing. You are just another in a long line of people who have victimized me and have suffered no consequences for their actions.

I reported your comments to the administration, not because I was naïve enough to think anything would be done to you, but because there is no doubt in my mind that you have done this to other users on FurAffinity and elsewhere. I received a meaningless form letter from the administration announcing that the trouble ticket was closed. No help there, as expected. But you should feel honored, Nishi. You have the dubious distinction of being first person I have ever reported to the administration. In ten long years, the very first. I didn’t even report Roo-kiss over her shady business dealings with me. You are currently the only person on my “block” list. ( Unlike you, I have room for more.)
[7] As for your shout on my user page: “Racists will delete this to prove they are not racists.” I did not remove the shout; the administration did. Apparently, they did not find it amusing, either. If nothing else, I take it to mean that the administration agrees with me that your comments were racist, hateful and threatening. That was the one and only thing they have ever done for me. And I am sure it’s the last. Imagine that. The only thing the administration and I have ever agreed on is your hate. Go figure.

I would like to think that something positive will come of this, but nothing will. You play with race and hatred and threats like they are shiny new toys that you and your little friends have just discovered. But you have no idea what you are doing. Your parents, government and school system have let you down by teaching you to view everything through the lens of racism. It is the new slavery from which no one is allowed to escape. One day there will be no racial hatred, and people will be able to live in peace and security. But it will not happen by your efforts, and certainly not by the failed institutions in which you have placed your faith.

Love, -D.

“The Black Death” 6/8/2020

Warning: Self induced furry drama. Sensitive furries need not read further.

I have been silent about the current pandemic, but now that covid-19 seems to be dead on arrival, I thought I would finally add my two cents worth. Way back in March, the scientific community was scaring the hell out of us, referencing comparisons to the Spanish Flu of 1919, or even the Bubonic Plague, or “Black Death” of the Middle Ages… Oh, Ummm… When you saw the journal title “The Black Death” did you perhaps think I was commenting on George Floyd, the man who was killed by a police officer some two weeks ago? That would be… Oh! How creepy of you to think such a thing. After all, who am I to offer up my own opinion on- Oh, screw it! I suppose I could switch gears and talk about that as well, since the American pandemic of police killing [black] men does have an unexpected relationship with the covid-19 pandemic.

How so?

Yes, yes, the black community has a disproportionate rate of covid-19. But look at it in a positive way: Black people finally have more of something than white people, I mean, besides diabetes and high blood pressure. File that under “black privilege.” But that’s not the connection I’m interested in.

Moving on to more juicy material.

George Floyd’s death sparked something. The video footage went viral and captured worldwide attention. In the past few weeks we have seen a revolution of sorts. Protests, demonstrations, parades and people chanting: “I can’t breathe.” Artists painting murals of him with angel wings. Celebrities chiming in to support him. Kanye West paying for his six year old daughter’s college fund. Yes, George Floyd’s death has set the world on fire.

Really? Are you sh*tting me?

Let me just throw out a question for you. Be warned: This question is ugly, but I must, simply must ask it anyway.

Does the world really care that a man was killed by the police?

Oh, wait a minute. That question does not make any sense, does it? Let me rephrase the question in a way that makes sense.

Does the world really care that a [black] man was killed by the police?

There. That’s better. Now the question makes [more] sense. Now as fellow FurAffinity members, I know you are bleeding heart liberals and socialists, trained from birth, inculcated in the school system, to recoil in horror at the very question. “Dreamwindow!” you say, “How dare you ask such a question! How dare you even form such a horrible racist thought in your head. Who do you think you are? Um… let’s call that “white privilege.” (Yes. I said it. I used the term “white privilege” which proves I don’t have a racist bone in my body.)

Let’s explore the answer, shall we?

Your knee-jerk reaction, after vomiting in disgust, is to say: “Yes, Dreamwindow! Of course the world cares. Look at the outpouring of love, the outpouring of money, the outpouring of gasoline on those burning buildings. The revolution is being televised. Yes, yes it is being televised.”

Yes, but not the revolution you think.

If you scrape off all the liberal crap you were taught, like scraping off the sprinkles from a donut, you will find- when you search deep in your heart of hearts- that the answer is actually “No.” The world utterly does not care that another man was killed at the hands of the police. Let me rephrase that. The world utterly does not care that another [black] man was killed at the hands of the police. The fact that people have to keep asking year after year whether black lives really matter suggests that the answer is not "yes". So why all the fuss? Why keep up this pretense?

Look at it another way: If George Floyd had been white, do you think his death would be worldwide news? Would it even have made it on to the front page of the Minneapolis paper? Would there be parades, protests, outcry in the streets from Shanghai to Sao Paulo? No. Of course not. “But Dreamwindow” you say, “the police would never do that to a white man, so your argument is inherently flawed.” I say, all the more reason the killing of a white man by the police should be international news, since it is so rare. No one is shocked when a black man in America dies at the hands of authority, since it happens so regularly. (Again, you might call it “black privilege”.) But a white man? That would be news. (“More White privilege”.) But it’s not news.

And neither is the death of George Floyd. Not really. So what is going on?

It appears that one pandemic has merged with another, creating the perfect storm. Perhaps you didn’t notice, because it never got off the ground, but weeks earlier, before the death of George Floyd, there was something of a groundswell going on in America. Protests were popping up in isolated areas. What was being protested? The government’s response to the novel coronavirus. The economy was shut down, people lost their jobs, they were ordered to stay inside, their lives were disrupted and they were afraid. America as well as many other countries around the world, became a virtual prison on lockdown. Do you know what happens when a prison is on a prolonged lockdown? The prisoners protest. They even riot, having nothing to lose. These protests never got off the ground because they were politically incorrect. Their message went against the scripted government, media and celebrity driven mantra about public safety. And keep in mind, there was a lot more fear and a lot less information about covid-19 only weeks ago. (Yes, it seems like we have been dealing with this for an eternity, but in truth it hasn’t been that long at all.) Old people were still dying in droves, and there was simply no appetite to support such protests. The generous government checks didn’t hurt either.

If only there was some politically correct thing that the unwashed masses could rally around. Some sort of cover that would allow pent-up people with nothing better to do all day a legitimate reason to be out on the streets at all hours. Something that the media would latch on to. Something the governments of the world would be forced to tacitly support. Something celebrities would eat up and rally around.

How kind of George Floyd to appoint himself as the sacrificial lamb, the angel of mercy that the whole world desperately needed to receive absolution from their sins. Now protesters have the ultimate politically correct excuse to go out into the streets. Anyone can support this cause, I mean, who wouldn’t? Right? Those pesky rules like social distancing or wearing masks, forget about it. Want to loot and maim? Feel free! After all, a [black] man died, for God’s sake. Who would dare stop them? Nobody, apparently.

Perhaps the most ridiculous thing I have read: They were protesting George Floyd’s death in Linz, Austria. Yes, Linz, Austria. If ever there was a place where black lives did NOT matter, it is Linz, Austria. Did none of you see the “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” episode where Kim went to Vienna and we were treated to scene after scene where the locals made fun of her biracial family? No, the protesters in Linz are not really protesting George Floyd’s death. Nor are the protesters in Paris. Or in Washington DC, or in Minneapolis.

Every day the media participates in dragging this farce out, presenting footage of the throngs of [mostly] white people in the street holding up their signs of “I can’t breathe” pulled out of the recycle bin from Eric Garner’s death. (How quickly we forget.) Black celebrities piling on. Even President Obama was chiming in. (His presence was a sobering reminder of how impotent his presidency was in helping the plight of black men.) What exactly does anyone think these protests will accomplish? A leveling of the playing field? Justice for George Floyd? Please. We have already been through this too many times. I’ve seen some self-serving protests in my day, but…

I realize I am not the only person to make the connection between these two seemingly disparate pandemics. (Google Bill Maher.) But I am probably one of the few to call it out for what it is: hypocrisy at its finest. All under the guise of the moral imperative.

Perhaps one day the world will care that a man was killed by the police. I mean, perhaps one day the world will care that a [black] man was killed by the police, but I doubt it. Maybe if people who lived during the Middle Age knew about social distancing, the Bubonic Plague would not have been so potent. Who knows? But its effect was long lasting and far ranging. Covid-19 is hardly the “Black Death” but for a time, the world was acting like it was. As it lost its potency, we needed another “black death” to rally against-and got it with the death of George Floyd. Whether the effect of this “black death” will prove be as long lasting remains to be seen.

Love, -D.

Fender's "Fake Hate" Journal 4/17/2020

WARNING! SELF INDUCED FURRY DRAMA. SENSITIVE FURRIES NEED NOT READ FURTHER.

[Forgive me, I just needed to exercise my writing muscles. I haven't used them in a while.]

And the hate rolls on...
Perhaps, like me, you were bored enough to read the latest round of mind-numbing rules and refinements posted by the administration on "Fender's" journal "New Hardware and Policy Updates" dated 4/16/2020.

Thanks to your generous contributions, the administrators had the opportunity to upgrade the whole system.

And thanks to covid-19, they also had plenty of time to further enhance the police-state that is now Fur Affinity.

And finally, thanks to all of your generous "feedback", they were able to make these refinements, so they claim.
Right about now, you may be wondering: Feedback? What feedback? Commenting is routinely disabled on"Fender's" journals. Where is this feedback coming from?

Not that I am complaining about that pesky little impediment to the truth. No. Not at all. Don't turn me in!

It's just that... er... well... a little more thought might have gone into these... refinements. For example this one filed under "Questions" gave me pause for thought:

"...we have had a lot of feedback since our previous update concerning the usage of real hate groups, terrorists, and their symbols. Based upon this feedback, we have decided to remove these groups and their symbols from ALL content on the website whether that content promotes, denounces, or incidentally features these groups and their symbols. This includes Civil War Confederate Flag and World War II Nazi imagery. You may post content containing German soldiers, but not Nazis. You may post Civil War content, but it may not include The Confederate Flag on uniforms, etc."-"Fender"

So... we can post content containing German soldiers, but not Nazis. I'm just glad "Fender" wasn't directing "Shindler's List". Now don't get me wrong. I hate Nazis as much as the next person. There. I have now given my FA sanctioned obligatory statement of hate for Nazism, so now I can freely talk about it. My question is: Just what German soldiers can we post content about if Nazis are verboten? The Red Baron from the "Peanuts" comic strip?
Are you kidding me?

I don't want to get into it. Moving on:

We may also post Civil War content but it may not include The Confederate flag on uniforms, etc. (How quaint that "Fender" is clearly directing these barbs at Americans, clearly not the Hutus and Tutsis, or South Sudan or Syria or anywhere else that had a civil war.) No. This is for naughty Americans. Now don't get me wrong. I hate the Confederate Flag just as much as the next person. There. I have given my FA sanctioned obligatory statement denouncing the Confederate flag. Now let's dish.

Apparently, "Fender" hates the Confederate flag, but gives a free pass on the Confederacy itself. How comforting. My question: How do you post Civil War content without the respective flags? Perhaps you know the difference between the blue and the grey, but Civil war buffs know that often times, Southern soldiers did not have uniforms to identify them. (We won't get into the stereotype of Southern poverty here.) Hence the need for other identifying symbols. You know, to... identify them as Southern soldiers. I know I have lost you. But I appreciate you hanging in this long. So before the South rises again, I will head for my point, if there is one.

All this crap isn't really about hate, at least not the hate you think.
And FA is hardly alone in doing it, that is to say, the systematic removal of this "hate."
No, my dears, something far more sinister is going on... something insidious placed under the banner of... well, let's call it "sensitivity", for lack of a more accurate word.

Why, just this week, an instance of this occurred at a company called "Land O' Lakes." (I am sure many Americans have heard the news.) Apparently, for over ninety years there was a depiction of an actual native American indian on the cover of their butter. And yes! I am as disgusted by that symbol of hate as you are. All reminders of repression and exploitation must be removed! Therefore, Land O' Lakes has finally relented and announced proudly the imminent removal of this offensive image of hatred for native Americans. Good! Now, no one ever need be reminded of the history of the... ahem... white people who treated the natives with such contempt. Um... ouch.

Did you catch the point?

By the way, the "racist" flag where I live also depicts a native of the land. There has been talk for years about replacing it. Personally, I never viewed it as racist, merely one of the few remaining... "evidences" of the land's provenance. You see, it wasn't enough the earlier inhabitants of the land were mostly wiped out by the arrival of the newcomers. No. Any reminders of those horrors must also be removed. Essentially, a new wave of "ethnic cleansing" is going on under the guise of "sensitivity". The rewriting of history by the victors, the removal of the... inconvenient truths of the past, until all memory of them is erased forever. Sinister, isn't it? And nothing new.

The ancient Egyptians would chisel out the names of hated kings from their palaces and temples, leaving modern generations to piece together who did what.
The Bible purposely left out Pharoah's name so that down to this day we don't know for sure which ruler pursued the Hebrews at the Red Sea.

Various sports teams have wrestled with the removal of their native American names or symbols. These are arguably racist, but the end result is the same: The removal of any acknowledgement of the existence of native Americans. Done surreptitiously with the aid and encouragement of these native Americans, who seem blissfully unaware that in the process, they are helping to erase their own history. After all what replaces those racist names and symbols? More "white" stuff.

I believe someone important once said: "If you forget history, you are doomed to repeat it."

And forgetting is just what we are trying to do. How fortunate that our nanny state, Fur Affinity, provides policy codes and rules for conduct to cradle the babes in a welcoming and safe environment- so we can all forget about the cold, cruel world out there! Thank you, "Fender". Why, I'm so glad that someone else is there to cherry-pick what is good and bad for me so that I can remain in my perpetual innocence. It's just like being in the Garden of Eden. Sciggles!

If I may make one suggestion to add to these codes. I find "Fender's" sky-blue tie offensive. It reminds me of decades of turbulent history here on FA. The times I was censured, blocked, treated like a second-class citizen and hounded mercilessly by those who abused their power here. "Fender's" tie is a dreaded symbol of hate and should be removed. Don't get me wrong. I love "Fender", just not his tie. Therefore I suggest that any photo or drawing of "Fender" wearing the sky-blue tie be removed from FA. immediately, and all future photos and drawings of "Fender" posted must be free of said tie.

I realize that we might not recognize "Fender" without the tie, but that is the price we pay for removing symbols of "hate". Things get sanitized until they become hard to recognize for what they really are. But not all is lost. "Fender's" journal helps us to differentiate between "real" hate and "fake" hate. Let's read:

"Why use the term “real” hate or terrorist organizations?
It is important to differentiate between real organizations and fictional ones such as Hydra (Marvel), COBRA (G.I. Joe), The Foot Clan (TMNT), or the Death Eaters (Harry Potter.)"

In our unflinching quest to stamp out "real" hate, we seem to be in a "hate vacuum". Without enough real hate to go around, we now turn to fake, manufactured hate so that we can remain safe and welcomed in the victimhood of our own choosing. (Cough, Jussie Smollet, cough.) How kind of "Fender" to bend the rules to allow us to indulge in our fake hate.

Remember darlings: Real hate is out, but fake hate is just fine.

Love, -D.

Um... No, No I don't have a damn charming sona.

Sorry to bother you with another journal, but I thought this might amuse you.
When I checked my shouts this morning, I found this gem by which reads:
"You have a damn charming sona <3."
Wow! What a complement! It meant so much to me. It would have meant even more... if only I had a sona.
But I wasn't about to let that thorny little detail get in the way of thanking Mramor for leaving the shout.
No.
So I went to Mramor's page and was about to leave a shout... but something told me to look around first and see if I could find out what motivated this particular furry to look me up.
What did I find?
Mramor had just set up a shinies tipping system on her page. In fact, she even had a submission- a screen grab of the shinies system to let us all know that she was open for business and that the first tippers would be offered artwork in return. I appreciated Mramor's ingenuity and ambition and I was about to leave a comment mentioning just that- but then I began thinking to myself: "It's just a bit of a coincidence that she sets this up on the same day she leaves a shout on my page.
Hmmm...

I looked at the shouts that people left on Mramor's page. All recent. Some hours old. All thanking Mramor for her glowing complement.
So I went to all their pages to read the shout that Mramor left for them.
Guess what shout Mramor gave each and every one of those furs:
"You have a damn charming sona <3."
Yes, darlings. She left them the exact same pasted comment she left me.
I know what you are thinking.
"Dreamwindow", you say. "So what? Its totally natural. Like you've never done it before?"
Yes. Yes, I've done it.

Ok, Story time!
I was in fifth, no sixth grade. It was the night before the school Valentine's Day party.
I had to fill out 24, no 25 Valentine's cards.
It's not like I wanted to go to the party.
It's not like I wanted to give anyone Valentine cards, never mind fill them out.
But God forbid I not show up and have to come in the next day and have the class watch and giggle as the student who got the short straw had to get up and give me a baggie of Valentines that he had to collect for me- all happening right in front of the teacher's desk.
Been there, done that.

So I had to fill out these cards. What do you think I did? I put the same message in each one.
It was not: "You have a damn charming sona <3."
I mean, I didn't want to get beaten up or anything.
So I picked what I thought would be the least offensive generic comment I could think of:
I wrote: "You're a real cool kid!"
I didn't add a happy face. No one did that in those days.
I wrote it 25 times. In fairness, I hand-wrote each card. There was no copy and paste back then. And no email, texting, etcetera. I licked every envelope myself.
So one could at least argue that effort was made.
I passed them out thinking no one would be the wiser. What I did not anticipate is that all the other students would compare cards. Oops.

Yes, they actually got up in front of the class and began reading their Valentines.
"Look what Alex wrote me, one said proudly. 'You're a real cool kid!'"
A wave of disgruntled whispers dispersed across the classroom, followed by icy stares at me.
Sheesh, it's a friggin' card. What the hell do you want? Shakespeare?
I shrugged my shoulders, huddled at my desk, and thought about all the years I had ahead of me to disappoint every person who enters my life.
Yes, I have done it. And I am not above doing it now. But my motives for doing it are less... self-serving than those of Mramor.

You see, as I checked all the pages where Mramor left the shout: "You have a damn charming sona <3.", I couldn't help but notice that they all had something in common. Can you guess what it is?

All these furries have given out shinies. Including me. And I don't mind saying that I've given out a lot of shinies. Mramor found furries like me by perusing people's pages and making a list of people who give shinies. She then leaves a shout, hoping to attract people to her page where they just might leave shinies. Which is what I almost did. Still might do.
She worked hard to market herself and deserves any consideration she receives. But as a person who has been there and done that- and been burned by doing that... I have learned that putting one over on others, especially fellow furries, especially me, does not motivate me to hand over those shinies. Before bullsh*tting me, at least scan my page and find out if I have a sona first. Sheesh!

Love, -D.
9/9/19

After perusing "Fender's" latest [comment disabled] journal: "Help Page + Site Policy Updates, I seem to be left with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Not that I mind yet another mind-numbing refinement of the never ending code of conduct rules.
No. Not at all.
And I would let "Fender" know just that, if only I was allowed to leave a comment on said journal.
But alas, no.
So I will leave a comment here, on my page of [relative] freedom.
The irony of "Fender", the purveyor of a porn site, nagging us once again about what constitutes indecency or nudity or what have you- is mildly entertaining.
Not unlike the chastising of Queen Roo-kiss as she talked down to her adoring minions.
But I digress.

The point of my journal is something I noticed under "Fender's" heading: "Indecent Photography".
Apparently a photo of a woman breastfeeding a baby is "indecent" and therefore unacceptable for uploading.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I disagree. (Ok. I disagree, but don't tell "Fender".)
As you know, I am fine with one less naked breast being shared on this site. (See my journal Roo-kiss Ruckus.)
I am merely acknowledging a double standard.

Namely... well, I'll just give you a story:

I was at a fancy Italian restaurant. Sitting at a table in the center, chatting up the locals.
At the booth directly across from me: A privileged American woman with, I'm guessing her mother, and a baby.
As soon as feeding time comes, that woman whips out her right breast and anchors the baby to it. Right there in the middle of the restaurant, for all to see.
No blanket, no nothing to cover up. Just whips it out like it's God's gift or something.

Now I know what you are going to say: Dreamwindow, there is nothing wrong with it. It's totally natural. (I hear that's what Michael Jackson said to all of his young victims.)

Again, I don't disagree. (Ok. I disagree. Call me old-fashioned, but what ever happened to bottle feeding?)
The issue is... when I happened to glance over in the direction of this privileged woman breast feeding her baby, she gave me the dirtiest, disapproving look.
As if I, the person sitting across from her, had committed some major faux-pas simply by looking in her direction. I'm quite certain I looked over at her for no more than two seconds.
That is all I needed to receive her scorn.

What exactly did she expect me to do? Pretend she was not there? Pretend I did not see her? Avert my eyes for the next twenty minutes until she finished topping off her baby?
Perhaps if I had gotten some advance warning I might have moved to another chair. But I didn't, and I don't believe that she deserved anymore consideration than she gave to me.
She was in a public place. There to see and be seen. Her expectation of privacy was unrealistic. If it is such a natural, wonderful thing, she should have greeted me with a smile.

But she didn't, because (A) She believed that breastfeeding in public was... well... indecent. Gasp!
Or (B) She believed I was doing something indecent.
But there was no indecency on my part. Unlike her, I wasn't whipping out any body parts on "Fender's" no-no list.
Therefore, the indecency was on her part.
Yes, she must have believed that feeding a baby from her naked, pendulous, milk-filled bosom was inappropriate for... ahem... public consumption.
I'm not saying I agree. (Alright, maybe I agree after all.) Sorry "Fender".
Strange how sweet milk can be so bitter.

Love -D.
9/4/19

No darlings. I'm not asking anyone to send me shinies.
Even though I would like some shinies.
Just to feel loved. Ok. Not loved... just validated.
Perhaps you have the same message sitting on your page.
Therefore, if you ask me to send YOU a shinie, I might just do it.
No promises. No expectations.
Let's find out if anyone reads this.

Love, Dreamwindow.

Learned Helplessness

Hello, Darlings. I have been forced out of my slumber. You see, during my trolling sessions on Furaffinity, I never fail to find a new, fresh horror to darken my day. I have decided that today's revulsion is worthy of sharing with you, dear ones. It comes straight from the journals of:  Eyesofthenight
In summary, the journal titled:"Another so True Life Wisdom" discusses the torture of assorted animals in the name of the god of science. Eyesofthenight directs us to a Wikipedia page that describes an experiment where dogs are repeatedly shocked and unable to escape from their torture. After a while the dogs give up trying to avoid the torture, even when given the opportunity to do so. Hence the term, "learned helplessness". Eyesofthenight then goes on to gleefully describe experiments with rats who are forced to swim, sometimes for days, until they all drown. Apparently, Eyesofthenight thinks it is a valuable life lesson for us to know that the rats with "hope" never gave up the fight for life... until they died just like all the rats that had no hope. Eeewww.
I did, however, find the journal educational and poignant in the era of #me too and self victimization. I could not help thinking of all those young, white Hollywood wannabee starlets complaining about being forced onto the casting couch out of fear that they would never work in this town again. I say... maybe they should have found another town to work in. They had a choice to walk away from Harvey Weinstein. These animals were not free to walk away from their torturers.
I was also reminded of the "South Park" episode where all the white people took DNA tests to prove that they were also victims of racism. After all, why should so-called minorities be the only ones playing the victim card... I guess that inevitably leads to the example of Jussie Smollet, who wasn't satisfied with being black and gay. He was not being victimized enough, he reasoned, so he would force his victimhood, his badge of honor, along.
These privileged people don't know what it is to be a victim. To read about what victimization is, read Eyesofthenights journal below: You may find the real lesson is that victimization is what you force on others, not what you force on yourself.

Love,-D.

"Another so True Life Wisdom"

"Is your mind curious and questioning one? Like What went wrong, what I could do differently.
OR
Is your mind fast to blame (someone usually yourself or rich people) and state how things are.

https://youtu.be/m6pWEzkbnDE

My mind used to be blunt, blaming and full of statement. Some of that stuff still blurts out.

I used to be like a lot.. very, very blaming. And helpless.

It is called learned helplessness. That term comes from Martin Seligman

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Seligman
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Learned_helplessness

He found it with some animal testing... rather cruel stuff. Especially how they treated dogs on that test.

Maybe even more horrifying was his Rat test. But, hey! They discovered cure with that too!

hmm.. I was trying to find reference for that rat test and I found instead this. And this looks much more useful for those who actually are interested!
Go for it if you feel hungry for more. This should sustain you well, if it doesn't ask for more. I know lot what to look for.

https://positivepsychologyprogram.c.....pression-cure/

It seems that those rat test are likely erased from the net / sources for good.. perhaps better so because it was really cruel stuff.
Old fox told how those rat test went though.. and I could tell you that story, as it kinda does give hope. Especially with video above.

Okay I am not going to escape it.. i'm going to tell it to you guys roughly as Old fox told it to me. So its likely not correctly told as it is from person to persons to person.. but well see.

The RAT test

Professor and Students placed huge amount of Rats to a tall narrow tubes with water so that rats had to swim there, and they started to take time.

Idea was that they would take time how long it takes for rats to give up.

It turned out that it took way too long, so they decided to speed things up and put there kind of like sprinklers that poured onto rats making them have to swim for their life instead of just floating and waiting.

-

So the situation is that, well lets imagine that you're the Rat. You had no other option than to swim for your dear life or you will drown. And those bastard humans are all excited and taking time when you're going to give up and drown!

You know... swimming there for hours and hours and eventually dying at fatigue or giving up

Well... eventually one rat after another stopped swimming and drowned until all of them died. Results were interesting.

There was this massive portion of Rats that were like any rat, they swam and struggled there like lets say that average was 20 hours. I don't truly remember amount of hours.

So that was the average 20 hours.. those normal rats, some drowned faster some struggled longer.

But the most interesting to students and professor were the groups at both ends. At the top end there was that very small group of Rats that just refused to die and to give up.

That small group of rats just kept going and going, though the night to second day. 24... 28... 30 hours, or so until they died, their muscles probably burned all the calories and stopped working. And so, one after another this small portion of hero rats died after ridiculously long time.

That however is somewhat normal. There always are those who can do whole lot better than the average. Not many, but some.

However what was most interesting to researchers was the group I have not spoken of yet. Those rats who... once placed on the class under spinglers and in matters of hours looked up and though.

Screw this.. those are making fun of me and aren't going to stop. And just drowned.. like quite literally chose to die rather than to live in matter of few hours.

those bastards a'rent helping and are timing. Perhaps it is just easier to stop and to take sip of water. Rest of the life is more pleasant as this ant going to end otherwise.


That made professor to think and so they came up with another test example.

It was exatly same as before but with a small twink.

Quite shortly after starting. Short enough that none or very little of rats had died.. there happened something. Like accidents.

Straw fell to tube, that rat could use to climb out or tube tipped, giving rats change to escape, and then those rats were chased around the classroom.

unfortunately this was a plot, all the rats were eventually caught and put back to tubes to swim to death.

Just this time.

No one

Not a single rat

Gave up!

They all

Everyone of them swam to the night

to second day

and to the near other night... every one of them! They all swam more than 30 hours! Some even 36 hours!

THEY HAD HOPE!

Those rats though in their minds. Perhaps something will happen.

Maybe great manitou gets mad and punishes these humans.

Unfortunately they all eventually died, after burning every last bit of their strength.

But no one of them cave up.

Why? Because they all had HOPE.


----

So Video above and this story I told, it all comes to following.

Ask yourself what you can do to improve and get better. Make use of this experience you just had. No matter if it was negative and awful, you can learn from it.

WHAT can you learn of it, what can you do differently.

And guess what. When you put that to action, and the more you do. The more you will eventually get hope. The more there may come straws from the sky, from friends, from the great unknown. The more likely is that world will flip over and suddenly you have your change to bloom!

DONT JUST SIT THERE FEELING SOUR AND LISTEN NEGATIVE STATEMENTS OF YOUR MIND.

Be active and question. - WHAT CAN I DO IN THE NOW - To make DIFFERENCE!

The more you DO, the more straws you may have.


You know... I have read many stories. And in the stories, in almost every story the hero of the story does small things at the beginning. With the small act helps someone else or unselfishly does something very small.

Those things eventually pay off. That is where your straws come from. From things you may not consider important at all. That you did just because it was right thing to do.

Just keep doing. Keep asking what can you do in the now to make the difference and out of blue someday you will get your hope.
---
Thing with hope is.. it doesn't give you what you expect. - It wants to surprise you. - Old Fox 2013" -Eyesofthenight.


Eeewww.-Dreamwindow

When is a Furry a Furry?

Warning: Self-induced furry drama. Sensitive furries need not read further.

Let us begin by starting with a seemingly unrelated subject:
The sun. Life-giving, life sustaining. It warms us and shines upon us with its benevolent light. What ever would we do without it? All life on this world depends on our local star. Yes, without the sun, no life could exist here.

Um... er... Actually, no. That's not entirely true.

Not so long ago, scientists sent a submersible with some complex technical equipment and such to see just what was at the bottom of the ocean. They likely expected to find nothing. A vast empty wasteland devoid of life. What did they find? Life! Not just any kind of life. They found life forms that owe nothing to the sun. Nothing. What happens in the lit realms far above holds no concern for them. They survive by taking advantage of what lies below: Volcanic forces welling up from the darkness that supply warmth, nutrients and provide lodging for these refugees from the light. Yes, they get along just fine without the sun. The conclusion: The sun is not the end-all, be-all necessity for life as we were taught to believe.

Likewise, the internet has become the life-giving light for the furry world. As bright as the sun, it has nurtured and sustained a profusion of life now broadly known as the furry community. And what would that community do without it? While you think about the answer, I would like to interject by fingering the culprit responsible for inspiring this journal: None other than  CashewLou

The other day I was stalking FurAffinity's prolific sun-kissed community looking for something, anything worth reading. Finding nothing, I settled for one of Cashew Lou's stale journals. Let's read it together.

"20 Years a Furry"

"This might seem silly to some folks, but this is an important date to me. 20 years ago today, on December 12, 1997, I logged on to FurryMUCK for the very first time as Cashew Lou. So, today's my furry "birthday," and as of today, I've been at it for two decades. Hard to believe.

Furry has become such a fundamental part of my life that I can't imagine not being part of the fandom. It's an essential part of who I am, and even the non-furry people in my life know about it--and, luckily, they're cool with it, even if they don't quite get what it's all about.

I've made amazing friends in the furry fandom, and even though there have been some rough patches, I wouldn't trade the experience for the world. I want to thank, and honor, all those who have walked alongside me on the path I've taken.

I'd also like to take a moment in tribute to the friends who are no longer with us. May they be at peace, and may they never be forgotten.

So, yeah: 20 years of Cashew Lou. Hopefully the world isn't too horribly traumatized by that fact--and hopefully I'll be allowed to stick around for a few more. "-Cashew Lou.

I admit I was so gobsmacked by the first paragraph that I have yet to read the rest of his journal. It seems Cashew Lou's furry birth began when he first logged on to FurryMUCK on December 12, 1997. Which means that in December 2017 he celebrated his twentieth "furry" birthday.

He's all growed up!

I've been watching him for a while, before he came to F.A. He is what's known as a "gateway furry"- something of a furry internet pioneer. As I wrote in a previous journal, "Cashew Lou's Yukon Connection" was one of the first "furry" sites I stumbled upon when I started navigating the web. Many others had the same experience as I did. He introduced many to the furry world. Even now, I imagine, people still leave comments on his F.A. page telling him how grateful they are to him and that they became furries after they found his "Yukon Connection" webpage.

I also admit I was thisclose to being one of those blithering furries, wishing to fawn all over him like the rest, but I was too embarrassed, so I kept my mouth shut. Cashew Lou was the first furry I watched when I first logged in to F.A. When he left an obligatory "Thank you for watching me" shout, I thought I was going to faint.

Those were different, more innocent days. I began to realize that I was watching him, not because I thought he was interesting, but because he was... there. So I no longer watch him. His "Yukon Connection" site, which was far more watchable than his F.A. page- was unceremoniously disconnected. A blow to the furry community. Cashew Lou is now reduced to bottom feeding here just like me. An ignominious end for someone who once inspired so many.

Where was I? Oh, right.

So why am I shocked by his "furry" birthday? No, I'm not shocked because he is a fossil like me. No, I don't share the same birthday. In fact, I don't have a furry birthday. Maybe that's just it: What constitutes a furry birth?

Cashew Lou directly connects his furry birth to his first official existence on the furry web. Likely, many of you also tie your furry birth to the first time you viewed or opened an account on some furry web site. Sure, there are other ways to become part of the furry community, like going to your first furcon. That's something people did before the internet, but I bet most of you furries are not old enough to remember "before the internet", so for most of you, the internet defines your furriness, and will define it from cradle to grave.

It is your business to say when you became a furry. Whether born or baptized, it is your own experience. Just as it is Cashew Lou's business to say when he was "born again". However, I take issue with Cashew Lou because he, like me, is a walking dinosaur. A fossil. So I don't believe him when he says that's when his furry birth occurred- and I don't think he believes it, either.

It's like when... um... oh, God... Consider Caitlynn Jenner. She's like, hundreds of years old. But she celebrated her 1st birthday on the anniversary of having her fake boobs put in. The inference is that this is when Caitlynn became a woman. I say she became a woman the first time she put on mommy's high heels and paraded around the house some sixty years earlier. You see, it's not the fake boobs that make you a real woman and it's not the fake furry internet community that makes you a real furry.

If you deflate Caitlynn's breasts, is she still a woman?
If you take Cashew Lou's FurryMUCK account away, is he still a furry?
If you blot out the sun, would anything on the earth survive?
If the internet disappeared tomorrow, how many of you would still be furries?
Would you survive without the light from your furry "sun" to sustain you?
Would your furriness curl up and die without life-giving injections of furry internet porn?
I wonder.

I can't answer for you but I can answer for me.

I owe nothing to the internet, furry or otherwise. I was a fully formed furry when the internet was nothing more than a gleam in Al Gore's eye. ( I suspect that is also true for Cashew Lou. If not, then much like the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, he has let me down one too many times. It's my fault. That's what I get for idolizing furry role models.) My furriness- my choices, my hopes, dreams, desires, feelings and predilections existed before the internet, and stand apart from it and the so-called furry community it contains.

The furry internet may have opened my eyes to the furry community, but if it disappeared tomorrow, it would make no difference to my furriness at its core. But I would be lying if I said the internet had no effect on my current existence as a furry. I am not immune to its corruptive influence. Just as too much sun light can have deleterious effects on one's health, so too, the light of the furry web proves cancerous and corrosive to all who imbibe. It is the shared cost of basking in the light of this community.

Its flotsam and jetsam of pride flags, swastikas, intolerance masquerading as acceptance and sensory overloads of creepy porn is best left to drift about on the surface of this turbulent ocean while I remain deep below the waves, a bottom feeder in the murky depths. I find that very little of what filters down from the surface is useful or nourishing to my soul.

On a positive note, what little does filter down to me serves as a reminder that I am not alone in this world. It reminds me that something more lies beyond the darkness, just out of reach. In turn, those of you on the surface, soaking in all that furry internet sun can scarcely imagine the world hidden below.

Unlike Cashew Lou, I don't have a furry birthday. I can't point to a day and say that's when I became a furry. And if I did, it would be nothing to celebrate. Yet it did happen. Was it a book I read? A cartoon I watched? Something I said, did or thought? I don't know when I became a furry, however I do know that my furry birth did not begin when I first logged on to FurAffinity. Yes, there is a furry world that owes nothing to the internet or the fake furries that populate it.

Love, -D.

I needed a break from all the swastikas.

Oh, yeah. Here is a story to entertain you:

Rukis the Rotten Squirrel

1] Warning: Self-induced furry drama. Sensitive furries need not read further.

2] This story may or may not be true. It is offered up merely for your prurient entertainment. (Let the reader use discernment.)

3] The best way to approach this story is to liken it to one of Roo-kiss' mundane farm tales (in which we all pretended to show an interest- as long as she kept pumping out furry porn in between her self-absorbed episodes.) Think wilted ferns, wayward rabbits and drunken mice. Yawn.

4] So it begins:

I have an apple tree on my property. To my knowledge, it is the only one in my neighborhood. (If YOU are unfortunate enough to have an apple tree on your property, you might know what's coming. Therefore, I will accept your sympathies in advance.)

I planted that tree thirty years ago, thinking: "Gee, wouldn't it be great to pick my own apples!" Now, thirty years of apple-picking later, I can say with confidence: "No, it's not great to pick my own apples. Been there, done that. It sucks. I can go to the market and buy a bag of nicer ones for five dollars."

I have come to loathe that tree. There is an unending cycle of pruning each winter, fertilizing and liming in spring, spraying the tree, thinning out bad fruit in summer, picking in fall and finally waiting until late December for the leaves to drop so I can rake them.

Having a well-tended apple tree is not a joy forever. Sooner or later, every living thing in the neighborhood will fly, trot, crawl, hop, skip and hoochie-koo its way to those apples. The line forms in late May: Assorted insects, worms, parasites, bees, squirrels, birds, fungi, deer, people. You name the unwanted pest and you can find it in the boughs of my tree. They all take their turn.

Even the spiders. Yes, spiders: I watch them nibble holes in the apples and spend all day sucking the juice out of them. The bees are pests, too: Not the fat bumble bees that pollinate them in April, no. I refer to the nasty bees that nest underground and come out in the autumn by the thousands to form a living carpet on the apples, eating the ripe fruit from the inside out.

If it was up to me, that tree would be firewood. The only reason it's not is because after all these years it has become a spectacle for the neighbors, who line up in October to get their obligatory apples. Why people want them, I don't know. Personally, I blame God. The more you tell people that the fruit is forbidden, the more they want it. Consequently, every year the spoils are divided whether they be many or few.

I believe it was Erika Badu who chanted: "If you don't want to be down with me, then you don't want a piece of my apple tree." Such a truism. Yes, if you want a piece of my apple tree, then you had better be down with me. Enter the squirrels.

The squirrels start their activity in earnest around late June when the little green apples become visible on the tree. They announce their insidious presence with a distinct rustling noise as they scurry along the branches in search of treasure. Now I don't begrudge them their share, but squirrels are hopelessly greedy. As the season goes on, they become more organized and methodical in their approach.

I believe there is a "lead squirrel" that discovers the apples and alerts the others, who follow. I have literally chased the lead squirrel out of the tree only to discover a conga line of squirrels at the base of the trunk waiting to climb up. A literal line of them. Once in the tree, they will each take a branch for themselves and work their way out from the safety of the inside of the tree to the end of the branch, where they are more vulnerable. Other times one squirrel will sit in the tree lopping off branches with its teeth, letting the apple-laden branches fall to the ground where other squirrels will then quickly snatch the apples and take them to a safer location to nibble later.

Interestingly, they don't even like the apples. I suspect they mistake the little green apples for walnuts, which look very similar in color, shape and size. This might explain why they will never eat an entire apple. Instead, they will typically take an apple, nibble on it until they reach the core and realize it's not a walnut. Then they toss it to the ground and move on to the next apple and do the same. On average, they eat only about a third of each apple before tossing them, leaving the remains to be eaten by the chipmunks and rabbits. Left to their own devices, the squirrels will take every last apple.

Thus, every year I am forced to strategize how to slow them down. I'm never prepared for the onslaught. What happens is I watch them from my window as they ravage the tree, my irritation with them growing day by day until I finally act.

First I yell at them, which does nothing, then I run out of the house barefoot waving a broom at them, which works a few times until they stop taking me seriously and ignore me. Then I start shaking the branches with the broom, which flushes them out eventually. As they head down the trunk, I try to hit them, but I always miss. Mainly because they are too fast, but also because I don't really want to hurt them. I just want them... to go away. But they don't.

I have put baffles around the trunk, which helps until they figure out how to get around it. In order to avoid the booby-trapped trunk, the squirrels have learned to climb a tree on the other side of my house, jump on to my roof, scurry across and jump down to the top of the apple tree. I cringe every time I hear their claws clacking over the shingles and the inevitable swoop as they alight on the nearest apple bough. They do this every morning and evening, since the roof is too hot for them during mid-day. This allows a welcome respite for the tree. I have tried trimming the trees away from the house, but to no avail. (Once a squirrel learns it can do something, it will keep doing it even if it requires more effort.)

I have installed double-sided sticky tape on the trunk and branches, which they detest and avoid, until it rains and renders the tape useless. I have tacked bird netting on the tree, which is surprisingly effective, until I have to get on a ladder to detangle a bird while it tries to bite me. The squirrels get caught, too. But usually they escape the net if given enough time. This always seems to happen when I'm at work. I pull up to the house and the neighbors can't wait to regale me with stories of the squirrel that flung itself sacrificially into the bird netting and got hopelessly stuck for an hour but heroically refused to give up and finally fought its way out five minutes before I got home. I guess it never occurred to any of the neighbors to intervene and untangle the squirrel... or bash its little head in while it was caught. Either action would be acceptable. But the days of people getting involved died with Kitty Genovese. Oh, well. Moving on.

I hung Styrofoam apples as decoys on the tree to see if the squirrels would be dissuaded, but the squirrels didn't notice the difference. They would snatch the fake fruit and eat nearly half of it before tossing it. They were eating with their eyes, unable to move past their hard-wiring. I tried spraying them with a water hose, but they have learned to hide on the other side of the roof where I can't reach them.

Knowing they were out of my reach, they began sitting up on the peak for the express purpose of taunting me. Yes, they were taunting me. When I came out of the house waving my broom, they would take the apples they had in their mouths and jump back on to the roof, run up to the peak and sit and watch as I had a fit. Then they would play a little game. I call it squirrel bowling. They would take a cursory nibble on the apples, or worse yet, no nibble at all- and then throw the apples down the roof at me. The apples would roll down, making an unearthly sound, until hitting the gutter. They were doing this purposefully to show their displeasure at being interrupted, and to remind me that there was nothing I could do about it. They were right. Dejected, I would go back inside with nothing to show for my effort.

I finally got on a ladder and climbed to the roof where I sat motionless each morning waiting for them to jump from the tree and scurry unwittingly into my bosom so I could beat the living crap out of them. However, if I was too slow to catch them on the ground, I was even slower up on the roof. I couldn't catch a one, but at least they knew now that the roof was no longer a safe place and when I got up there, they were aware of it because I could hear them cackling at me, unseen from their perches in the trees.

One day, as I sat on the roof, I realized how much of my precious time was being wasted. Almost as much of a waste as logging into FurAffinity and thinking anyone was watching me. I had enough. Time to get out the trap! I didn't want to go there, but I was my last resort if I wanted to save any of these apples.

It was one of those Have-a-Heart type of traps, but it felt heartless just the same. As I baited it with a heaping tablespoon of Jiffy whipped peanut butter, I had visions of my grandfather sitting on his front porch with a rifle, shooting at anything that moved in the yard. He had real traps, the ones that snapped shut on the legs or necks of the hapless animals that dared invade his garden. He had no choice, just as I had no choice.

Trapping squirrels is easy. Their greed always gets the better of them. Hence, the first squirrel I trapped is named "Rukis". Draw your own conclusion. It is my assumption that the greediest squirrel is usually the first one trapped. And this Muthaf**ka looked greedy. I wasted no time bringing it into the house to show off as a trophy. Finally, my revenge was at hand. Rukis was pissed, and was out for my blood. But no such luck. Like those raptors in "Jurassic Park", Rukis tested out every section of wire in that trap, frantically trying to nibble its way out. The closer I got to the cage, the more frantic Rukis became. I put Rukis in a dark spot to cool off. I really didn't care if that squirrel rotted away in the cage, as long as I had my first victim to torment. What was my next move? Composing my speech, of course!

Yes, I was going to give a speech to this squirrel. Something along the lines of: "Sooo... Rukis... Did you enjoy my sweet juicy apples? I sincerely hope you did, because you won't be getting another one... ever. Muaahhaha!" Then it would go on with: "You wicked, evil greedy thing! We fed you birdseed all winter, popcorn all spring, and bread all summer but it wasn't enough for you was it? Because you are so greedy. Look what happens when you show no respect for those who feed you, Rukis. You have no one to blame but yourself. And now it has come to this." Much to the squirrel's relief, I didn't give it.

Instead, I waited until dark and brought Rukis to my bedroom where I proceeded to pray over the squirrel and performed a mock exorcism in order to rid Rukis of those evil, greedy ways. Just guessing, but I doubt it worked. Then I propped Rukis' cage/trap on my nightstand, as close to my bed as I could get it, and we proceeded to spend the night together. Apparently, putting squirrels in a dark place calms them down, and Rukis was no exception. Rukis sat motionless for two hours watching me as I lay in bed watching back. It's little forepaws were clenches tightly on the bars at the bottom of the cage as if it was waiting to spring into action at any second. But it didn't move. I couldn't see it breathing. It had one eye trained on me and that eye never blinked. It creeped me out. I had flashbacks of my little brother. He slept in a crib next to my bed. Whenever I looked over at him, sure enough, he had one eye open, watching me as he lay on his stomach.

Now I was going through the same thing with Rukis: The only give away that Rukis was still alive is that its eye would widen ever so slightly if I moved my head close to the cage. This fascinated me because I had no idea that a squirrel could remain as motionless as a statue for any length of time. Eventually I fell asleep, and, when Rukis was sure I was asleep, it went to sleep as well. I awoke around 4:00am to find Rukis curled into a tight ball, as far away from me as it could get, with it's haunches facing outward.

My rustling did not wake it. I got out of bed, got down on my knees, and tentatively inserted a finger through the wire bars of the cage. Then I began to stroke the squirrel. Rukis did not wake up or even flinch in response. I took this opportunity to really feel Rukis' fur and haunches. The fur was so soft and silky and thin. I dug in, pressing deeper into Rukis' backside. It's little body was so hard, composed of solid muscle, no fat at all. It was like leaving a lump of clay out to harden in the sun. I could barely press into its flesh. I don't know why, but I suddenly had this strange desire to bite down on Rukis and feel the texture of its muscular flesh between my teeth. But opening the cage and attempting to do so would be suicidal. So I just fantasized about it. I began to sniff Rukis, and I became aware of an odor in the room. Rukis had been inside for eight hours and this little bugger was slowly but surely stinking up the room. Rukis had to go.

As I prepared to leave, I waited for Rukis to wake up, but it was out like a light. After tapping on the cage a few times, there was movement. The squirrel finally roused its head, likely in disbelief that its bad dream had not ended. I knew how Rukis felt. It's the way I feel every time I wake up. Rukis became more active as the light increased and once I opened the door to the outside, Rukis turned into a full-fledged maniac, ramming the cage from end to end in a desperate bid to escape. As we got to the car, I could barely hold onto the cage because Rukis was making such a fuss. So I put the cage down. I looked on in dismay as Rukis screamed and cackled and hissed and banged against the bars of the enclosure. All the intimate time we had spent together during the night meant nothing to that animal. It was as if it never happened. Peacefully sleeping together. To Rukis, I was just as much the enemy today as I was yesterday. Perhaps Rukis knew what was coming next.

We were going on a trip. I lined the trunk of my car with a plastic liner, then unceremoniously placed the trap on top. An enraged Rukis paced back and forth, pissing and pooping, pooping and pissing. Rukis had held it in all night, and now it was all spilling forth. I needed to close the trunk, but I couldn't help watching in bemusement at the change in this creature who had been so calm all night, only to turn from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde during the morning hours. As it turns out, the squirrel wouldn't be the only one to do so.

Slam! I closed the trunk and we were off. We drove for about twenty minutes, just long enough to ensure that Rukis would not find its way home. I'm sure there's no shortage of laws about trapping and releasing wildlife. I don't care. My problem would be dumped on someone else. We pulled into an empty parking lot surrounded by towering oaks. You never know, but I was reasonably sure no one could see what I was up to. I opened the trunk. After being jostled around on those bumpy roads, that squirrel was ready to explode. I put my leather gloves on. I was there to set Rukis free, but... I looked around... there was no hurry. So I started massaging the bars of the cage with my gloved hands. Rukis screamed and hissed, trying to hide from my gloves and then trying to attack me when I lifted my hands up from the cage. Rukis became more enraged with each pass of my hands. I began rattling the cage, just a little. Rukis kept on running back and forth, alternately attacking and retreating, making noise the whole while. Rukis didn't know what I wanted and I'm not sure I did either.

Finally, out of exhaustion, I suppose, Rukis sat on its tail in the middle of the cage with it's little stubby arms and legs splayed out in a pose that was reminiscent of one of those Calvin Klein heroin chic ads from the 90s. The squirrel had stared at me for two hours straight last night, as prey keeps a wary eye on a predator, but now... now was the first time the squirrel actually acknowledged me, acknowledged that I was a being with needs that were not met. Rukis looked right at me as if to ask: "What the hell do you want from me?" That lasted for two, maybe three seconds, then the squirrel went back to mindlessly trying to bite its way out of the cage. So... what did I want? Yes, as stupid as it sounds, I wanted this squirrel to acknowledge me- and the suffering that it and it's little friends put me through.

But that's not what I wanted at that very moment. No. What did I really want? When Rukis splayed out its arms and legs in exasperation and faced me, for the first time it displayed its creamy white underbelly to me, so perhaps it was actually saying: "You see that I am vulnerable, so what do you want from me?" Yes maybe Rukis was sending me a two-fold message. (Yes, I'm nuttier than that squirrel.) So I decided to respond with a two-fold message: "Yes, I want acknowledgement, and I also want a piece of that soft furry underbelly."

I looked around. There was a small stick on the ground. I knew I should not have done it. My conscience told me it was wrong. But my desire to inflict torture on Rukis was greater than my desire to be a decent human being. I slowly inserted the stick between the bars of the cage. Rukis freaked, once again alternating between attacking and retreating. I wasn't even trying to touch Rukis. The fact that I was invading the cage was enough to set it off. Rukis would thrust one arm outside the bars, trying to pull the stick inside the cage to bite at the end. Alternately, I would rub the stick against its buck teeth as it chomped at the bars. It would start pulling and nibbling the stick thinking that it was making progress in eating though the wire, only to be disappointed by my prank. Little by little, I was able to touch Rukis with the stick. Sometimes Rukis would grab at the stick and brush it away. Other times it seemed that Rukis did not notice as the stick stroked its fur. My goal was to tire out the squirrel a little more until...

Rukis stopped in the middle of the cage again, exposing just enough of its underbelly so that I could gently press the stick against its chest and attempt to stroke it. No sooner had I done it, than Rukis grabbed at the stick with both paws and held on to it. You know, like if your father whipped you with a belt and, out of desperation, you grabbed on to the belt and wouldn't let go. Then you knew you were in even bigger trouble. Rukis was saying: "Enough." And it was enough... for Rukis. But not for me. Rukis would not get to decide when it was enough. I would decide.

I half-heartedly tried to stroke Rukis a few more times, looking around to see if anyone was watching. I really wasn't ready to set Rukis free because I wanted Rukis to suffer some more, but I told myself I have to stop before someone notices. I felt numb inside at the thought of letting Rukis out of the cage, but I put down the stick and lifted the cage out of the trunk. It took me a moment to pry the door open, but as soon as I got it part of the way up, the squirrel was already gone, faster than I could see. I turned to see it climb up an oak tree. It looked back at me for a second just to make sure I wasn't following, then disappeared into the forest. I stood there vacillating between the wish that it will prosper in its new environment, and the desire that it suffers to its last dying breath. As I turned away, I attempted to comfort myself: "There are more squirrels to catch." But none would be as greedy and rotten as Rukis.

Love, -D.

Fender's "hate" journal 5/15/2018

"As the international community comes together in solidarity against hate, Fur Affinity has also evolved to strengthen and protect our own. As part of our efforts to combat hate, we announced a rule on September 4, 2017 that outright prohibits our users from identifying with or promoting hate groups on Fur Affinity."-Fender

First of all, before we get into it, I wish to commend the administration at FurAffinity for breaking their nearly six month silence by putting out a "Fender" journal. It's good for the morale of the site to wheel out "Fender" once in a while to prove to doubters that he is still alive. Kind of like what Hollywood agents do with Liza Minnelli.

Moving on.

Why did "Fender" break his silence? Is there... oh, I don't know.... some compelling reason that the administration put this journal out on 5/15/2018? Oh, what ever could it be that precipitated this enlightenment for the unwashed masses? (I'm having flashbacks of Roo-kiss chiding all the children commenting on her journals.)

I think I have a pretty good idea, so I will share.
On 5/14/2018, I was perusing the dubious submissions on FurAffinity when I noticed four submissions by a certain  MuleThunder
I clicked on them. They were apparently screen grabs of conversations between MuleThunder and administrators. Naughty, naughty. (In fairness, I have submitted worse things.) Anyway, these conversations appeared to be trouble tickets submitted by MuleThunder wherein said furry filed a complaint about either what "he" understood to be hate groups or hate-based submissions on FurAffinity. (I admit that I am not entirely sure what the context of the complaints were, because I wasn't that invested in figuring out the nuances of the complaints by said furry or the replies by administrators. I was mostly wondering why the administration did not immediately delete MuleThunder's four submissions. If I did that, I would be banned. I checked out MuleThunder's user page today and I see that said furry is not suspended, so I'm assuming "he" took them down himself, or it's a case of different rules for different fools.)

It appeared from the conversation that MuleThunder was... concerned that the administration did not seem to be in agreement with him with regard to what constituted "hate" on the site. Thus the administration chose not to take action to remove whatever it was that MuleThunder believed was hate-based. Any attempt by MuleThunder to reason with the administration appeared unsuccessful. This frustration, I suppose, motivated said furry to then post those conversations for our benefit.

BTW: For those of you who missed it, MuleThunder's icon/avatar featured, on 5/14, a rendering of a Nazi armband with a prominent swastika sitting front and center. The purpose of this, and the four submissions seemed to be an attempt to goad the administration, or dare them to act against what he perceived to be hate. Or possibly an attempt to prove the fecklessness of the administration. A range of commenters chimed in during the short time the submissions were posted, from those believing he was rendering a sacred service to God and were therefore making their own copies of the submissions before they were deleted, to those who thought he was only adding to the problem and what did he think he was proving by airing his protest with the administration.

Initially I withheld offering a comment, lest I attract the ire of the administration, but then I read MuleThunder's comment on the fourth submission. It went something like this: "These are the people entrusted with the oversight of the largest part of the furry community?" But it was not written so... politely. I couldn't resist, so my comment was: "Preaching to the choir."

I don't have anything against the administration. (Don't laugh.) I know what a thankless job it is having to deal with a bunch of complaining snowflakes. However, I don't mind saying that I am one of their helpless victims. Possibly MuleThunder felt the same way after tangling with them. I see that MuleThunder immolated his own page to make a point. I don't know much about him, but his page has over 13000 views and at one point he commissioned artwork so something bad must have happened along the way to get him to this point. I empathize.

Perhaps now he has finally moved on to not caring. Then good for him. But his submissions did have an effect on the administration: It is not a coincidence that the very next day "Fender" posted a lengthy update on FurAffinity's policy on hate groups and other hate related stuff. The journal begins: "As the international community comes together in solidarity against hate, Fur Affinity has also evolved to strengthen and protect our own." It may be my own cynicism, but I can't even begin to describe all the problems I have with that deceptively innocent statement.
For example, who exactly is the administration protecting? Their own? Never mind. But since the administration is so concerned about hate, they might want to examine their own hatred of FurAffinity users. What? For example, you will notice at the bottom of every "Fender" journal there are rules such as:

1) Keep posts civil, constructive and polite
2) Keep discussion on topic to the post at hand.
3) Treat your fellow posters with respect.

Yet increasingly the "Fender" journals are disabled for commenting. Yes, I know most of the comments are unproductive or even unwanted. But that's what you get for servicing a bunch of snotty 13 year-old kids. The point is that disabling comments is one more way to show distain for the masses. They really don't want us to express ourselves here. Any dissent is meaningless; we are not worthy of being heard. And I don't blame them. It's that way everywhere. In these Trumpian times, the irony of MuleThunder's swastika symbolism was not lost on me.

A side point: It was inevitable that there would be a backlash against all this swastika/hate submission stuff. FurAffinity was/is overrun with it. It was cropping up just like MyLittlePony or Zootopia porn. Every time I browsed submissions I was bombarded with swastikas. Like it was cool or something because it was forbidden fruit. What was the context? They will never admit it but they- the artists- were glamorizing these things- Nazi flags, armbands, etc. Then they had the nerve, to a person, to put a disclaimer underneath saying stuff like: "In no way do I condone hate, or hate groups. If you support hate then there is no place for you on FA." (Wow, what a crock of sh*t.) I don't believe for a minute that they believed that. I believe they put the disclaimer there so the administration thinks twice before removing it. But they didn't remove it. So we were overrun with them.

I toyed with writing a journal about it last year but did not because I was worried that I might be doing the same thing they were: glamorizing it and then claiming I hate it in order to make it palatable. I'm already doing that with all my submissions now; I have to draw the line somewhere. Right? I also didn't want to draw the wrong attention to myself. But it seems there's no avoiding swastikas, so now you know. Much like "Fender" I don't advocate burying the past, but the furry need to resurrect Nazi memorabilia regardless of context is unsettling. Whatever happened to those pretty rainbow flags the young people used to like? Perhaps there are not enough people left to hate those anymore. Let's face it furries, despite your feigned protests, You thrive on hate as much as I do. *Snicker.*

Speaking of which:

"Fender" if you can hear me, I think you have some editing to do on the bottom of your journals. You don't want to foment hate, do you?

Love, -D.

An open letter to 👑 Roo-kiss...

I realize you will never see this, but I have decided to reach out to you in the hope that it might find its way to you. I have no interest in contacting you directly, but I think you should know, yes, I want you to know that you have found your way back into my thoughts and prayers.
First of all, I wish to offer you a traditional southern compliment: "Why Roo-kiss, I do declare, I just positively adore the left flower on your sun-bonnet."

I'm sure as a southerner you understand the nuance of my compliment. It's what we like to call "backhanded".
While it may sound kind to the untrained ear, the truth is that the words are unkind indeed.
For the uninitiated, I shall attempt to explain:
If only one flower on the sun-bonnet is worthy of praise, the implication is that the other flowers on the sun-bonnet are not worthy of praise, hence the sun-bonnet (and perhaps the one wearing it) proves to be unacceptable in the sight of polite genteel society.
Sigh. It's becoming a lost art to express hatred and loathing in such a lovely, painterly way. But if anyone can bring it back into style, you can, dear. I have faith in you.
As a master of this falseness yourself, I'm sure you are fitting right in with the other hillbillies in Backwater USA.
But I digress.

I came, not to offer false flattery, but to relate good news:
I, Dreamwindow, have gone by my own estimation, 461 days without any contact with you. I have not been on any of your webpages, whether it be FA, DA, Twitter, Patreon, Instagram, Kickstarter, or any of the hundreds of sites I don't even know about. I have not ogled any of your "art", perused any of your tawdry stories, or bought any of your Store Envy hand-me-downs. I have not attempted to contact you or gain your unwanted attention in any way.
I have also done a fairly good job of removing your name from anything on my webpage.

Not that you deserve any consideration from me. Because you don't deserve any consideration. So I have not been giving you any consideration. I did these things for me, so I don't have to be reminded of you and how poorly you treated me and how you cheated me out of what I am rightfully due.

In truth, even back in the olden days when I watched you, I mostly didn't look at your "art", mostly didn't read your tawdry stories, and mostly didn't buy your Store Envy hand-me-downs. I mostly just committed your condescending journals to memory as well as the gruesome comments between you and your watchers. Sometimes I would offer an unwanted and unsolicited comment. Mainly because... well, have you ever witnessed a train wreck and you were just dying for someone to come up to you and ask you what you saw? Only no one ever did, so you pushed yourself in front of the news camera and started talking until the news reporter mocked you?
Yeah.

I do want you to know that I have always been honest with you. Something you never were with me, not even when you blocked me and pretended to tell me why. Therefore I will share this tidbit of information: Sometime after you blocked me on FA, a few years ago, I tried once to offer a comment to see if you really did block me because I still couldn't believe what an [censored] you were for doing it. The comment, of course, would have been: ;)

Also I want you to know that although I have not looked at anything of yours, I have occasionally viewed art or webpages or stories of people who work with you or do fan art or have possibly commissioned you. Stormwolff comes to mind for obvious reasons. Like I said, I love a good 👑 Roo-kiss train wreck.

I have also written pages of material concerning my last contact with you, but I have held back from posting it, not that any one cares. But I'm quite certain a handful of people would be most amused if it ever sees the light of day. Mainly I didn't post it because I have been too busy to give you a thought over the past fifteen months. And how calm and peaceful those Roo-kiss free months have been! Sadly that has changed. Because of something you have done. The harmony of my userpage has now been ravaged as of late by your mind-numbing Kickstarter ads bombarding me, thrusting your wares in my face once again. It's like a cockroach running across my screen, begging me to take off my shoe and pound it into oblivion. Must... maintain... self control.

In short, I am not amused, and I am not happy that you have invaded my personal space. It makes me uncomfortable. I realize you don't care. I understand you have stuff to sell, souls to drain. But perhaps you should care. You are poking a sleeping bear.

with love, your dear friend, -D.

example: I think it's weird that somebody blocks me and still faves my stuff.
What do you think is weird? I have room for up to two... maybe even three comments below.

Demi and Demi 2/19/18


Alright. I've been working my ass off, slaving away for those who have no appreciation. Yes, I know what you are thinking, but despite your hasty conclusion, no, I am not speaking of you, dear watchers. I have done nothing for you in months. Therefore, I have not been slaving for you. But if I ever do anything for you in the future, such as get the next installment of "It's Robin Hood I Want, You Idiot" posted, I will be happy to accept your lack of appreciation in advance.
Moving on.
I would now like to discuss the thing that has been occupying my few spare precious moments of free time and share it with you. I'm getting close to a resolution, you see. Oh, yeah... Fair warning: This is an open window into my thought process that you may want to close.

Demi and Demi... be patient with me because I am still working through this.

Demi#1 is Demi Lovato.
I keep seeing pictures of her in the rag mags. I don't know who she is. I don't honestly care. Apparently an aspiring singer/actor/overall starlet being shopped around by her handlers. Whatever it is she does seems to be working because the pictures, heavy on the cleavage, keep coming.

Anyway, all I can think of when I look at her is how much she reminds me of Demi#2. That is to say, Demi Moore.
Now unlike Demi Lovato, Demi Moore I know something about. Demitria Moore was a staple in the film industry for years and years. She had some big hits, notably "Ghost" costarring the late Patrick Swayze. Her performance in that film was particularly memorable because it was one of those rare times she played a passive victim. I believe they call it "against type" in the entertainment business.

More typically, she played the role of the "power woman". Ambitious, bold, cunning, calculating. Her role as the renegade angel in "Charlie's Angels" comes to mind. She enjoyed her share of controversy, appearing naked and pregnant on a magazine cover back in the days when that was considered scandalous. Her "in your face" persona was only enhanced by her marriage to Hollywood bad boy Bruce Willis. Before their relationship hit the skids, they had three children together. (Demi went on to have a fourth child- Ashton Kutcher.)

Yes, Demi Moore made the most of her fleeting youth. Which brings us back briefly to Demi Lovato, who appears to be doing the same, following in Moore's footsteps. Or at least her C cups. Now I know what you are thinking. Again. You are saying to yourselves: "You are confused by their names, Dreamwindow. When you see Demi Lovato, you are reminded of Demi Moore because they are both Demis! It's that simple. Now snap out of it and get back to your vanilla porn."

Ok. Duh. But I can't accept that. Just look at the two Demis. They go together like Trump and Russia. When I see Lovato, all I can think is that this is the long lost daughter that should have spewed forth from Moore's birth canal, but didn't.
Yes, we are going there, regrettably.

We mentioned the daughter that Ms. Moore didn't have... Let's look at the daughters that Ms. Moore DID have:
Rumer, Tallulah Belle, and Scrout... I mean Scout. Yes, that's it.

Now before you get settled, I want you to be an informed audience. Google Demi Lovato (our control subject). Then google Rumer, Tallulah Belle, and Scout Willis (our test group). I'll wait. I want you to do this because it is important that you draw your own conclusions devoid of my undue influence.
Ok.
Let's do a hypothetical. Let's say I'm casting a film called "Cinderella". Which of these four young ladies would I cast as Cinderella? Which two would I cast in the roles of the wicked step-sisters? Step mother? Are you getting on board this ship of fools with me? Of course you are!

Let's cast the parts, in no particular order:
Wicked stepsister#2=Scout
Wicked stepmother=Rumer
Cinderella=Lovato
Wicked stepsister#1=Tallulah Belle

Now wait! Don't get me wrong. Before you read too much into this casting, I caution you that this journal is not a disparagement of any of these young ladies and/or their lifestyle choices. No. If for example, you erroneously conclude that I cast them based on their personal appearance or their achievements... um... I will go with "No?".

Anyway, for you haters who don't believe me, I will have you know that I subscribe to the theory that all women are beautiful in their own way. (Yes, even Roo-kiss.) I am merely suggesting, for the purposes of this journal, that some women stretch the credulity of said theory.(Yes, especially Roo-kiss.)

Before we discuss our casting choices, let's delve more deeply into the spring from which our spawn may or may not have sprung. Consider the original cast:

Demi Moore, physically beautiful by any standard, no doubt matched only by her inner beauty. Ok, I don't really know about her inner beauty. I only know her outer beauty was enhanced by the surgeon's scalpel. Naturally, this actress couples with handsome leading man of the day, bad boy Bruce . (Here it comes) Looking at these two, few could have guessed just what interesting things were hiding in the deep end of their gene pool.

*Takes a deep breath*

I'll be honest about those kids. It's like somebody blindfolded Bruce and Demi and put them in a room with three Mrs. Potato Head dolls and they had to crawl around on the floor groping with their hands to find all the missing parts. Still in the dark, they did the best they could to put the correct features in the correct place on each Potato Head. Unfortunately, one gets the feeling that some of those parts were old ones that the surgeons had previously removed from Demi and carelessly left out on the floor.

In other words, Bruce and Demi had three tries to get it right, but never quite hit a bullseye.
I'm not suggesting that these ladies are anything less than beautiful, I am merely suggesting that the features that worked so well for their parents... are not working as a team on any of their progeny. Now before you hate, keep in mind that this unfortunate reality is true of so many in the entertainment industry. Perhaps Bella Hadid's team of cosmetic surgeons can sort out this puzzle. I hear they can work miracles. But let's move beyond the mere superficial... no... the merely superficial is all I have. Let's keep going with that. (perhaps one day Prozac will make me into a caring individual, but not today.)

Time to dish about our casting choices:

Rumer Willis- Wicked stepmother. Much like Demi Lovato, Rumer Willis is an aspiring singer/actress/all-around-starlet. Unlike Demi... and Demi, she's mostly a wannabe. Mommy and Daddy tried, but she's knocking on 30, and if she hasn't made it by now, she may as well bide her time like her sisters, waiting for their inheritance check. Rumer did, however triumph on "Dancing With The Stars". No shock there, judging by how her mother worked a pole in that stripper movie. Ooh, my favorite episode of "DWTS" was where Rumer was made up as Ursula the Sea Witch from "The Little Mermaid". (Right about now I would like you to connect the dots to my "Cinderella" casting reference.)

Rumer was simply delicious as Ursula. I was gushing over how radiant and gorgeous she was. The irony of being transformed into the character was that all the heavy makeup and prosthetics actually unified her features, making everything nicely proportioned. Finally, the woman that we all knew was there had emerged in all her glory. If she went around all the time like that she might finally get off the D-list.

Tallulah Belle Willis-Wicked stepsister#1: I know nothing about her, so I googled her. From what little I saw, I decided that my continued ignorance is bliss. But I feel safe in saying that I stand behind my casting choice. Moving on.

Scout Willis-Wicked stepsister#2: I don't know much about her either, only what I saw. Namely, I saw her window shopping while topless in New York City. I didn't recognize her face but those breasts were a dead giveaway that she was part of the Willis clan. Kelly Osborne remarked that all the Willis girls always had extra helpings in that department. And so it is. They didn't get those babies from their mother, that's for sure.

Apparently it is legal to walk around topless in New York City. Big whoop. Far be it for me to begrudge the occasional pair of exposed breasts coming out for air. But just because you can do something, does not mean you should. (Take this journal, for instance.) I can't imagine that Scout's parents approved of her political statement, even if they are in a business where showing your naked body is a way of getting up the next rung of the ladder of success. That said, Scout, next time you window shop while topless, consider stores that sell foundation garments. You need more than just moral support. Now there's a twist on those nips. Verdict: Wicked tits=wicked sister.

Demi Lovato-Cinderella: Of the four she's the sister from another mister. As an outsider to the Willis family, she is the logical choice to play the part. (If you were thinking that I cast her in the role because I thought she was more beautiful or more talented or more famous than the others, shame on you! There's no place here for such unenlightened thinking.)

Now comes the moral of the story. If you have one, let me know. I'm not sure what to make of this. Dr. Phil says you get the kids you're supposed to get. I say Dr. Phil is full of crap. Perhaps he lucked out in the cosmic game of generational roulette. As for me, I've been an endless source of disappointment to my forebears, never measuring up no matter what my successes in life may be. But I digress. This is, after all, an exercise in personable Demis, not personal demons.

We have two Demis, from two different generations, so successful, so similar yet unique. The Mother and daughter that will never be, except through the imagination. Perhaps the stars are trying to tell us something. Perhaps the stork got lost making a delivery. Perhaps I'm overworked. Oh, wait! How about this: Regardless of what role they are cast, or the cosmic roll of the dice, they are all Demi-goddesses in their own special way.

Love, -D.

---->Just sayin'<----

I'm heading south to that land of trailer homes and hillbillies, Greenville SC. for the eclipse.
Considering the simmering tensions going on in that part of the country now, I'll avoid the Museum and Library of Confederate History. Light a cross for me, darlings, to guide my way in the darkness. A safe return from there is no guarantee. But perhaps there is some good news. This eclipse may do what neither Obama or Trump could do: unite the country for one whole day.

PS. I don't know how to take pictures of it. (The eclipse, not the museum). Don't ask. You will be flooded with better ones tomorrow, anyway.

GO CLEMSON TIGERS!

Love, -D.

[Regarding the administration's infinite wisdom to begin handing out badges] 8/1/2017

So... As a stark reminder that the average user at FurAffinity is the age of a Cub Scout...
Let's pass out badges!!!
Barf.
For all the popular puppiefurs.
Wretch.
Collect 'em all!
We already know which of you popufurs will have the most badges to display, so let's not even go there.
Vomit!
I don't even know where they will be displayed... but I have a few suggestions concerning where the administration can stick them.
But I digress, being so out of step with what the young people want these days. I mean, I don't know what they want- other than copious amounts of creepy porn.
But far be it for me to stand in the way of "progress".
In fact I will even help you youngsters get your badge for being helpful to others.
You can help this elderly grey muzzle by holding my hand as I cross the street.
No, that would require me getting up off my ass and I'm not doing that.
And that would require you touching me... and you're not doing that.
Hack!
I will, however, settle for watches, comments, faves, and naked selfies. But only if you're cute. Otherwise, don't bother me.
In return, I'll put in a good word to Dragoneer for you... promise.
No?
Then screw you.
Speaking of which, did the administration foolishly say that we, the people, can suggest different badges?
Really?
Ok.
How bout this:
A badge for surviving the onslaught of the administration itself, recovering from deletions, suspensions, and all-around abuse from those who would suppress any freedom of speech on this site.
I'll take that badge of honor, as well as the one most of you youngsters will never earn: one for my positive contribution to F.A.

Love, -D.

P.S.- Nice touch waiting until 1:00 AM to announce it. Very... Trump-like.

[File under "unintentionally creepy comments"]

As you may not have noticed, my page has been on life support for a few months... you know, because I have a life and all...
But people keep finding my Siamese twin stuff and faving. Not watching or commenting, just faving. I wasn't sure why. I'm still not sure why, but I finally received this telling comment from one of the favers:

 KelvinT "Been trying to find the original artist of this drawing. I finally found it! <3"

A perfectly innocent comment. But it suggests that my "art" is being seen by more people than I realize.

FurAffinity is the only site I have ever posted furry stuff on, as well as the only social site I am on, so I always assumed anyone who stumbled upon my art would find it here. I know that's naïve, but until today I was able to pretend that nobody was interested in my art and nobody was peddling it around on other sites. Over the years I have received similar comments that someone was looking for me. But I would say to myself: "They just saw my stuff on someone's faves on F.A. and forgot the name of the artist." Are you buying this?

Anyway, I find myself in the unenviable position of looking to the once venerable 👑 Roo-kiss for guidance. In one of her journals years and years ago, she was forced to fend off her "well meaning" watchers who kept alerting her to the plethora of wannabes ripping off her furry vanilla porn. She responded by telling them "I don't care." Of course she cared, but our poor, long-suffering Queen couldn't put the porn genie back in the bottle, so she gave up trying. (Yes, I memorized all of her journals. Who are you to judge me?)

So... how do I feel about it now that I know? I was irritated for twenty minutes, fearing that my work has metastasized on various sites like some cancerous lesion, but now I'm over it. I admit that I have secretly fantasized that my art was reaching more people because... um... because it's no secret that I crave attention. Daddy issues, you see. Unlike Roo-kiss, I do care about what happens to my art, especially when the administration periodically deletes it. And like Roo-kiss, I am probably better off living in blissful ignorance concerning who is doing what to my work. Does it matter if anyone sees my work and never finds the original creator? Perhaps the greatest compliment is that the art transcends the artist.

Love, -D.
🐻


http://www.furaffinity.net/view/17750097/

So I flew in to do something called Brimfield Flea Market. A regular thing for me. Whatever you want, there it is. From shmattas to tchachkes, and all the over priced, heartburn inducing food you can eat. Wall to wall people. If you go, you're bound to run into someone you know. And if you don't see a familiar face, look closely. The place is crawling with celebs. On occasion, I run into one of these well known people.

For example, Martha Stewart is one of the better recognized regulars, at least she was until that unfortunate incarceration. Nasty business, that. Anyway, I was there all day yesterday. I know you don't care. The point is, it's best to go with someone to share the experience. And I went with someone. Who, you ask? I try not to drop names, after all, I'm not desperate for attention. (No, don't laugh.) So I'm not dropping any names now, either. I will say, however, that she is a triple A list celebrity. A triple A list politician refers to her acting as "overrated". Despite this, her mantle remains filled with Oscars.

What am I doing in the company of this triple A-lister, you ask? It's not relevant, but you might say I know the lay of the land. Celebrities who come here demand anonymity. If this were the Met Gala, our triple A lister would be soaking up all the attention she can get while hobnobbing with other glitterati, and a cockroach like me would never make it onto the red carpet. But here in Brimfield, cockroaches have value. The last thing celebs want is to draw attention to themselves and be recognized. They want to blend in with the unwashed masses and do their shopping in peace. The rule of thumb is: the more celebs hang out together, the more likely someone will recognize them. Therefore, they don't bring their A list friends with them, they bring cockroaches who don't draw attention to themselves or to the celebs they accompany.

So I'm part of the entourage, going from booth to booth, sometimes with triple A, sometimes by myself. There's a whole coordinated effort. The entourage generally consists of: A driver, at least one body guard, an agent/coordinator/guide, a BFF, and a nondescript relative. These parts may be interchangeable. I won't tell you what category I fall into, but cockroach will suffice. At no time are all those in the entourage together with the A lister. No more than three at any one time. The rest are at a discreet distance. Some of the cockroaches are wired, some are not. All of them, including the A lister, do their best to blend into the crowd. The A lister is wearing typical celeb-in-hiding garb: wide-brimmed straw hat, oversized sunglasses that hide everything but the tip of her beaky nose, braided hair, scarf, brown jacket that wants to be leather but isn't, skin-tight dark denim jeans that hug her barely-there derriere and only emphasize how thin she is. That alone draws attention to her and distinguishes her from the flabby masses bereft of their own personal trainer.

I myself look like a sack of potatoes even on my best day, but there are enough visual queues for the trained eyes at Brimfield to catch on to the presence of celebrity. We're doing a row of booths in the wooded part. I go into the booth of a seller I know. The A-lister is standing five yards across the way in front of another booth with one of the entourage. Periodically another member of the entourage comes up to whisper into her ear. Well, what do you know, as I'm looking, someone I know comes into the booth, oblivious to the person she just passed by. We start talking. I suppose I can trust her, but I don't dare say who I'm here with. Discretion matters, you see. We mustn't have the common people ogling and harassing our A lister. The two of us settle in front of a painting. It catches both our eyes. We like it. How much is it? $800.00. It was 1000.00 when I came into the booth last year. I was thinking of buying it to put in my gallery. (No, don't laugh.) We talk with the seller. Even at $800.00 it's too much. The painting has seen better days. It needs a new frame and a good cleaning. Maybe next year...

Just then someone sneaks into the booth and says to the seller: "That's the third person to confirm it, that's [censored] over there." Ouch. Busted. But the fact that this conversation was going on in front of my face was amusing. For all their spying, it never occurred to them that I was part of the entourage, otherwise they would have waited for me to leave. My cover wasn't blown. I bit my tongue, knowing that if my friend realized I was with the A lister, she would ask me for an introduction or a dreaded selfie.

These Brimfield sellers are accustomed to celebrity sightings. My friend... not so much. She goes into stalking mode. I try to reign her in. I say: "They just want to be left alone. They don't want to be bothered by anyone." She was already headed out the booth. "Where are you going?" I ask. She says: "I'm going celebrity watching." Just like that she was gone.

I spoke to my friend this morning. She says: "Where did I go? Did I follow the A lister?" Well... yes, I suppose I did. Then she went on a tirade against celebrities, saying how they expect better treatment and blah, blah, blah. She then describes this big SUV that was blocking traffic on a side road and she was in the car behind honking for them to move and finally an officer on a bike came and got them to move and who do they think they are to block the road... I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was in that SUV with the A lister.

Love, -D.

re: "I Fucking LOVE Peeing <3"

I rarely, if ever mention watersports, but something of late has made me realize that I'm dreadfully overdue for a journal on the subject, don't you agree?

Now I know what you are thinking, darlings. Peeing is simply not my thing, although I confess I have done it from time to time. I may be doing it now for all I know. Liquid lunches are simply unavoidable, hence the need to... void. Liquor may have a hold on me, but I can only hold my liquor for so long. Parting company is such... sweet sorrow. A draining experience, actually. Those damn drug testers always have to watch while I fill a cup or two. Whatever happened to trust? Why the interest in my precious bodily fluids, I don't know. Seems they want to take me back to rehab, but I won't go-no, no. My apologies for getting off the subject. Let's just say I don't find this biological process as exciting as the rest of you. I remain thoroughly nonplused by the special fascination with golden showers that is... endemic to F.A.

What triggers my musing? I happened to be perusing this... inspirational journal from  joemike

Let's read:

"I Fucking LOVE Peeing <3"

"I don't know why, but there's nothing quite as satisfying as a good piss. After letting your bladder charge up, you make your way to the toilet (or tree if you don't fancy toilets). Then you take a proud stand or sit down (I personally love to sit down for comfort and a bit of class - don't judge haha) and just empty all of that soothing, hot liquid gold. When your stream hits the water (if you're sitting, you can point your cock down or sit backwards to do this), it makes perhaps the most soothing bathroom sound ever. That and the warm sensation of steamy liquid pouring out your cock makes you wanna melt from ecstacy right there. Then you finish up with the last feew trickles and drops and let out a big sigh...I FUCKING LOVE PEEING." -joemike

So... I can't say that I fully relate to the feeling experienced by the aforementioned. Satisfying is not a word I would use to describe my own bathroom experiences, but then again, I'm rarely satisfied by my bathroom stall adventures. Much like the late George Michael, pissing in a urinal is just a means to get to an end. The tighter the end, the better. Speaking of loose ends, the queen of trash TV, Oprah Winfrey herself said that there was nothing more "freeing" than emptying her bowels. I am still haunted by her statement. Oh sure, I may have suspected she felt that way all along, but I didn't really want to hear it from her own lips, nor was I comfortable that she felt so free to share the virtues of her bowels with the rest of the world. But she did, and now I have her reference to draw upon, as well as joemike's.

Of these two viewpoints, I consider Oprah's aesthetic to be closer to my own. The release of the spirits from the body is more freeing than it is satisfying. It is a relief, not a pleasure to obey the call of nature. Using a bathroom stall for anything other than a sexual tryst is nothing more than a punishment for me. Just one more thing to check off the list. Just one more thing to get out of the way. In my younger day, I didn't think too much about it, I just got her done. I would start peeing when my bladder was full, then I would magically stop peeing when my bladder was empty, and it was over and finished until next time. But now in my waning years, that's easier said than done.

One day long ago (and I remember it fondly) I finished peeing, or rather, I thought I had finished peeing and zipped myself up, only to find to my chagrin that I was not finished peeing at all. The Dribble Fairy came calling and sprinkled her cursed dust all over my wand, leaving me with an unwanted gift. It was as if someone had flipped a switch on my nether regions. The damn thing never worked properly again. Forget shaking it. Now I have to squeeze it like it's a Pepperidge Farms Cheese Log in order to make sure it's empty or I will wet myself. I can't identify with joemike. I can only envy him. I hate peeing, I always hated being a slave to it, even when I was efficient at it. Now that I am not, I do appreciate the ability, nay, even the freedom to pee in a way that joemike hopefully never will.

Love, 𝔻 ℝ 𝔼 𝔸 𝕄 𝕎 𝕀 ℕ 𝔻 𝕆 𝕎

Sooo.... This article caught my wandering eye. Entertainer Elton John was saying something about gay concentration camps. Apparently in Chechnya, gay men are being rounded up like cattle and forced into these camps to be tortured by Russian soldiers.(Yes, I know what you are thinking- it's a gay man's fantasy come true.) In my excitement, I confess I did not read the title of the article closely, because I was halfway through the article when I realized that these camps are a BAD thing and people are being killed. So sad to see the erosion of human rights in Russia. Not just sexual freedoms but religious freedoms as well.

http://www.msn.com/en-us/music/cele.....p;ocid=DELLDHP

[File in the creepy comments department]

I found this comment in my shouts:
"*Sees your name, then looks at your profile pic* Is the dreamwindow your zipper?"

Sooo.... I never thought of it that way, at least not consciously. But I suppose my current avatar could be construed as a dream window of sorts.

My question: Should I reply? Any suggestions for what I might say?

40 questions. Found this meme, whatever.

1.What did you do in 2016 that you’d never done before?
Falsified documents. Who are we kidding? I always say I’ve never done that before. Lost that virginity a long time ago.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Same thing every year: Lose weight and be a better person. Never happens.

3.Did anyone close to you give birth?
Does giving birth to meaningless revolutions count?

4.Did anyone close to you die?
No, but hope springs eternal.

5.What countries did you visit?
I visited The Red States and The Blue States, so only two.

6.What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016?
Youth, beauty, oodles of money and a magic weight –loss pill.

7.What dates from 2016 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Oh, I dated some losers. Trying to forget those dates.

8.What was your biggest achievement of the year?
World peace. No? What else? No grammy, no Oscar, no Pulitzer. Swear to God I got nothin’.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Vowed to lose twenty pounds if it killed me. Never happened.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Yes.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Remains to be seen. Pledged $800.00 to Menagerie 2017 for a commission by Roo. I find this to be a source of endless amusement. This works out to about $2.19 a day for the privilege of irritating Roo for the next year. Love it.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I have no idea.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Roo.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Tax man.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
I scored tickets to Hillary Clinton’s inaugural ball… not so excited about that anymore.
I will… just put them in the drawer next to those Prince concert tickets I bought for his New Year’s gig…

16. What song will always remind you of 2016?
See question 22.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Niether.
b) thinner or fatter? Neither.
c) richer or poorer? Niether.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Learning another language.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
FurAffinity.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
Listening to George Michael songs while waiting for Carrie Fisher to die.

21. Did you fall in love in 2016?
No.

22. How many one-night stands?
Here’s where I give another appeal to Wuffle:
I’d give my all to have just one more night with you
I’d give my all to feel your body next to mine
And I can’t go on living in the memory of our love
I’d give my all for your love tonight.-Mariah Carey.

23. What was your favorite TV program?
Leah Remini. I know, right? I wouldn’t have guessed I would like it, but I’m addicted.
I’m a sucker for anything that trashes religion.

24. Did you grow closer to some friends?
What friends?

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year
No.

26. What was the best book you read?
Darlings, I gave up on books a long time ago. My go-to reply earlier this year was “Stronger Looks Better Naked” by Khloe Kardashian, until someone pointed out that it had not been released yet. Oops.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Music makes the people come together. Music unites the bourgeoisie and the rebel…

28. What did you want and get?
I did not get anything I wanted. I didn’t even get what I deserved. Like faves, watches, and comments.

29. What did you want and not get?
Freedom.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Zootopia. Didn’t see it. But it’s my go-to answer. Never saw any of this years films.

31. What did you do on your birthday?
There are no birthdays in hell.

32.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
A terminal illness. One where I’m still functional but I don’t have to do anything but cash my check on the first of the month. I desperately want a get out of jail card.
Then I could go sky diving,
Rocky mountain climbing,
Spending 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu…
Alright, I wouldn’t do any of that. But there are a whole lot of things I am doing now that I would not be doing anymore.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016?
Huh?

34. What kept you sane?
See my submission “Santa’s Little Helpers” in scraps.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Kylie Kardashian. I spent the year being perplexed that her lip kits sold out on QVC in fifteen minutes, yet her nail polish was selling for 1.99 in the bargain bin at Christmas Tree Outlet.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
That people think Trump will finally provide the hope and change that we have been waiting in vain for during the last eight years.

37. Who did you miss?
The John Mclaughlin Group. A Sunday guilty pleasure. He missed only one show before his death.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
Ugggh. No new people. I’m done learning names.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016.
Do I look like Oprah? Who cares.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
“Bitch, I’m Madonna.”

Love, -D.

I am no stranger to being blocked, although I cannot honestly say I have ever deserved to be blocked.
And yet somehow, I have been blocked yet again, darlings! Call it a badge of honor. Snicker. As so often happens, it came with breathtaking swiftness. And once again, I am at a loss for how I managed to turn something so right into something so wrong.
This week's blocker is Mericus, and the conversation that led to the blocking is below. This conversation took place just today 12/2/2016 on MY submission, yes, MY submission: "Wuffle Has Junk in That Trunk". You may view it there in its full context and judge for yourselves whether the block was warranted.
Here we go:


 mericus
"many levels same wrong!"



 dreamwindow
"Yes! Like President Trump, is so wrong, is alt-right."



 mericus
"that thinking makes me think you are alt -left not watching anymore Mr. insultufagus."



 dreamwindow
"If loving Trump is wrong, I don't want to be right... or is it alt-right?
Don't worry, adorable deplorable, Daddy Trump will fix everything. He already made those crooked Clintons go away just like he promised."



 mericus
"your implication is in tne with ALL leftist liberals that imply i am automatically a racist simply because i am white. I have never been racist in my life and the first asshole that calls me that i will go to jail or prison. you want to call me a fucking KKK on your own post go ahead But you call a fucking racist to my face i will kick yours and anybody else ass. damnwindindows. This is serious not something flippant. I am serious too. I voted for a man that is like me, REAL unlike the shit offered up to everyone else. politicians are all the real enemies. but you cannot see it. instead you want me an enemy by CALLING ME RACIST. FINE SO BE IT. I AM YOUR ENEMY BECAUSE i AM NOT RACIST!"



 dreamwindow
"Your views are always welcome here, as are you.
Being a "deplorable" is a badge of honor for Trump supporters, and is considered a compliment, not an insult.
Besides, all this "Do black lives matter?" stuff pretty much made racism irrelevant so implying someone is racist is just silly now.
This is a page of neutrality and tolerance, therefore Trump love is welcome here as well as other points of view.
Daddy Trump will take care of everything. You will see."

End.

As you might have guessed, I was already blocked before I gave my final reply, but I gave it anyway. I tried to reach him, really I did. Now it's time for my confessional: I know I rub people the wrong way, but before you judge me, try hard to love me. I don't ask you to change for me. Why ask more of me than you ask of yourselves?
I can understand if people block me for things I say on their page that they don't like, but they block me for things I say on my own damn submissions. (Cough, Roo-cough,-kiss, cough, hack). Ahem.
I have to accept that people see what they want to see and you can't reason with people who are mental cases... Or furries.
I realize bringing up President Trump in a comment is the equivalent of throwing a live grenade into a crowd, but whether you like Trump or not, it's going to be a long four years if you people can't find the humor in it. (And I loves me some crazy Trump, the crazier, the better.)
I have been toughing it out here for six years. And I am proud to say that I had no one on my block list as of this morning. Not one stinking person. Now I do. So if you have blocked me, or are thinking of blocking me, leave me a note to let me know so I can block you back. 👊

It's called "manners." (Cough, Whyte-hack, cough, Yote, hack, cough.)

Love, -D.