So I definitely got to see some old friends this weekend, including Rockband with  safetymonkey and  tigorgan (God, I've missed the game so much) and even watched a Warhammer 40,000K game with  calignash and a few other good buddies. Heck, even got to play some Modern Warfare 3 with  yoyowolf and  saiskunk

Felt like recovering a piece of me I let slip. The work world don't seem so cold anymore when I have people like that to go back to.

Indeed, I shall be there, but alas I've yet to get a suit. I will, however, be bringing my shit-eating grin, my lust for a new societal world order, and my boyfriend. If I am not wearing something flashy then dear god, I've gone awry. Or am quite hungover--but that would only be the case should I the chance to sober up.

I don't live furry because normal society has rejected me. I live furry because Sherwood Forest landed on us! And as God as my yiffness, I will never go bald again, nor shall the children run through the streets naked and starving; they are dying and all I do, all I ever do, is sit on my ass whistling dixie because it only takes a dollar a day to feed an entire nation of starving pikachus, how do they hunger for the flesh of the meek, the willing, the misguided skinny young boys with father issues and a predilection for dresses, fisting, and teddy bears. Yes, I have seen it all and it has not seen me--not yet.

No, not yet.

...is it wrong to play Kinectimals naked?

Hey furries! Do you like BioShock? Do you wish it was more furry? Do you have two minutes to spare from your busy life of yiffing your five online boyfriends, two masters and three girly-boi slave twinks?

http://www.dorkly.com/article/13438.....an-was-a-furry

WATCH THIS.

**Just as a warning, everyone I met Saturday does not have their icon active. I think I either hit an icon limit, or I suddenly got FA inept halfway through the journal. So, Quasi, Mirko, Kraven, Aragorn, Xander Moraine, Ifus, the blue Xander, Firestorm Six, Kai Mitsuki, and Lupine Silvertail? Here's my props to you up here. **

It was fantastic, my best yet.

Alright, so honestly, looking over my con experience and the task of chronicling it, I feel like Keanu Reeves when he slipped his gun bag onto the conveyor belt in the lobby of the first Matrix movie. Namely, I know there are going to be a lot of targets, and while I have ammo up to my scent glands, I'll probably miss a few.

I'll retell my con in somewhat chronological order; zoom ahead to your nametag.

So, then.

I rode up with  sputnikrising,  yoyowolf, and  calignash, and that was awesome. We talked, we laughed, we listened to all sorts of music on our 2.5 hour drive up to the hotel. When we got near, I actually wished the drive was an hour longer; that's how great a time we were having before even getting out of the damn car.

But, hey. Glad I did, right?

In the pre reg line, I'm right in front of  suzi and  renfox, no joke, some great friends I'd met...like a year and a half ago. We chat it up for the twenty years it takes to get to the front, to the desk. Also, I meet a rather funny individual, Braxia  shadowpulse and he and I chat up internet memes for awhile. Most of this time, I'm wearing  sputnikrising 's fursuit head on top of my hat, bringing me to roughly seven feet tall. Lawl.

And then, the con happened. In no short time I run into  redroseofdeath and  itsuya who I haven't seen... God, since FCN '09 about a year and a half ago. Our time chatting was much too short, but that's about the pace of these cons-- it's social pinball and you try to give as much hugs and smiles as possible in the oh-so-short time you have.

No platitudes, here. Just people. Stay on target.

I run into a rather large amount of people and share drinks with them, Suzi, Ren, and (I wish I knew your FA, honey) a guy I play Steam games with, JadeAttackHorse. We hang, we drink, is good times.

I get to meet  tesxacoyote, and what an awesome person  sputnikrising has introduced me to! You're very sweet, quite funny. Excellent possum fursuit, btw.

Then, social pinball. I don't remember much of Thursday night, except with talking with this Hot Gothic dude named Ethan, I think he was still in high school, and this crazy female friend he had with him. You two kept me up for like, an hour into the late morning XD

Then Friday. More social pinball and a Rockband Competition hosted by  plaguefox, and it was bitchin', I wore my McDonald's flag cape and we basically win the whole event with me on vocals,  leonandrenei on drums (what a drummer!),  calignash on bass, and this guy who Leon hastily recruited when our last TWO guitarists bailed on us (just like a real band!),  deereshorttail You guys all rocked, thanks for making our band, Therian Poptarts, as excellent as it was!

Then, more drinking and social pinball. In the middle of the rockband competition,  tig shows up after a huge day at work. Love ya, buddy! Our paths cross and uncross, we hang out a lot during the con. He's one of my besties.

I get to meet Leon's buddy :dezblade: too. We run into each other a few times at the con; pretty cool guy :3

I think that was the night I hung out with  djwoof and  conte and  octavarium (weren't you there? Was awesome meeting you, regardless) as well as my great buddy  acefox27 (I'm sorry I don't look like James Dean this year). We drag that into the night, excellent conversation all around, then bed.

Then waking up and McBreakfast with basically that same group from the last paragraph. I'd never had a more unappetizing McBreakfast. And it was hilarious. Literally, neither DJ or Octa could finish their food. Was that... just rubbery. Just no.

I spend roughly four trips (and a panel) to get to talk to the SofaWolf guys because I'm trying to get my furry novel published through them, but the lead guy, Tim, was so elusive. I think most every time, it was "Oh, he was here five minutes ago," and I'm like dammit. I just need five minutes XD!

I get to run into  quasiskunk and this is the third time already. We try and chat as much as is possible, but he is obscenely busy and so we have to have these super quick chats and wait for the next one.

I also run into  aragornwolf1 a few times, the con suite mostly. Cool guy, and nice fursuit, too!

Now,  mirko I also ran into a few times, but you were so tired every time I ran into you, I wanted to give you a hug! I.O.U., how'saboutthat? Sweet.

God, also,  xandermoraine and  ifus, my besties from FCN '09, I got to talk to you, Xander in the game room, and that was so great to see you again, even though we spent like, a few minutes together. Ifus, I know I told you this over IM, but I love your art and I'm sorry I kept missing you.

Speaking of Xanders, I ran into the blue dragon Xander as well. Was good to see you, even though you didn't recognize me! We had a good conversation regardless..~

Then stuff happened, it's Saturday, I run into  yoyowolf a few times, run into  kravenlupei for like, five minutes between the two times our paths cross, and then later in the evening, Ace comes up to me and goes "Do you wanna be Phillip from Terrence and Phillip?" and at first, I'm hesitant. At first, it doesn't appeal to me. Then it totally does. I get to meet up with  Firestormsix who's a plenty excellent person with plenty of passion in his craft, and I get to borrow his handmade Phillip costume, which barely fits over my noggin, and then, with a miniature self-inflating hand whoopie cushion, Ace and I spend roughly two and a half hours terrorizing the convention with terrible, terrible jokes that all end in the same punchline. *Poot* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

I had way, way too much fun in that suit. Thank you, Firestorm. My hair was limp and my face was red after damn-near sprinting from one end of the hotel to the other, giggling, running up to people, and pretending to fart on them. I even ran into Uncle Kage, and that joke went, "Hey Uncle Kage, want to hear a story?" and... you know the punchline. Absolutely no one was safe, and oh, was such a delight. To see a fursuiter, especially famous ones like Flux (the blue kangaroo one, I don't know his FA instantly) lose composure and giggle while in suit? Goodness, too fantastic.

Which, the whole thing got me very hungry for fursuiting and costume performance. I can't wait to own one, and I'm on a waiting list now. The last journal has more details on the Phillip --> Fursuit connection.

Then the rest of Saturday, it was awesome, more craziness abound, drinking, more social pinball, smiles, smiles, then sleep...

And then waking up, last day there, and squeezing the very last out of it. I run into  kaimitsuki and  lupine_silvertail like, at the last second, an hour before I'm about to leave, and it's neat finally getting to meet Lupine in person. I think I have him on Facebook AND Twitter, so... the social network's about complete, there.

Then we leave, and for the next few days I am still running off of con adrenaline, bouncing around FA with a smile wrapping twice around my long muzzle. I'm sure all of you felt some of that aftershock. MFF 10 was such a resplendent, gossamer time, and I worked my tail off to share the wealth of double rainbows and unicorn preseminal fluid I was assuredly fueled by during that weekend.

Anyway, love you all; you guys were the pins on my lapel, the prescription drugs in the large bowl on the coffee table, the glitter on my vampiric chest, and let me know if I left out anyone. It was an incredible, incredible con, and I plan to tackle AC this year with a vengeance!

As a disclaimer. I am a very accepting person; I will tolerate whatever views you have regardless of how dumb they strike me. I'm a patient person, but I'm not Barney the dinosaur. This journal may be homophobic in parts? Don't worry about it. I fucked dudes. And am really good at it, too. I enjoy my niche. So, without further ado,

Holy shit do I love this place. And Southerners. And whiskey-fueled dreams. Yesterday was the antithesis of why I'm in the fandom, and just as I love exploring the fandom, masquerading with a fox mask over my face and a grin on my mouth, I also love getting down with the normal crowd.

Great fuckin' day yesterday. I substitute taught some keyboarding class and social studies classes yesterday for some junior high kids, and both teachers had set up for today to be a make up day for their students. So what do I get to do? Read my book, socialize with seventh and eighth graders who come up and talk to me. They're funny people, some of 'em, and already they're remembering me from the time I subbed P.E. Subby fox, har har. They kept writing on the board how awesome I was; hells bells.

And some of them got work done. It's their homework, so who am I to lash them to their desks?

The one problem I have with today's generation is that they--and I quote--"Don't like that rock stuff." Excuse me, what? How can you not like "Civil War" by GnR, and favor 50 Cent, club, techno, hip hop, rave music over that? I used to like Lady GaGa but now? Fuck her. She's just as poppy as that Britney Spears ho was back in the day. Infectiously catchy songs that just die after one too many listens. That just die.

And I hear this pretty funny joke about Barack Obama. Now, I don't have political views. Fuck the far right wingers and double-fuck the far left-wingers. You both annoy me. Go back to your witch burnings and your drum circles.

So do you know who Johnny Cash is? Do you know who Bob Hope is? Well, now that Obama's in office, we don't got no Cash and we don't got no Hope.

This coming from an eighth grader. Man these kids are crazy. This is the town I live in? Well shee-it.

So I get done with substitute teaching, and what's this? I go home and get my other two freelance jobs done in two hours tops? Holy shit, I'm on fire. It's only five p.m.; fuck it. Take a nap.

GET UP from that nap. PLAY some Halo: Reach. I play some zombie mode, and I'm the last man standing. KILL TWENTY FIVE DUDES with headshots before I die. Send those boys back to their mamas with their wieners tucked between their legs singing Glee songs.

Then the internet dies. TOO BAD. I beat a level on Reach on Legendary. I'm really good at this game. And then, I play some Bioshock on Hard. I'm right to the part with meeting Andrew Ryan, and I witness some of the best storytelling any video game has to offer. I got so many plasmids and so much money, then I take on a Big Daddy face to face with a grenade launcher, and live.

Then I go up to Bloomington. My friend  yoyowolf is stuck making bank at his pizza job, which doesn't give him any weekends off. That sucks, but at least he's making money. He needs himself a half-pint of vodka to spike his Fountain Dew with! Gotta make it through the shift somehow, right? Done. He even gives me a four-dollar tip.

I LOVE FRIENDS THAT DO THAT.

Then? Well, I guess I'll head home. It's something around midnight, and it's been a pretty good day! So I start driving, but I really would like a drink for tomorrow myself! I pull into the university's budget liquor store and look around. They have some amazing prices in there! I'm scanning the place wall to wall and I'm thinking, "I might have to buy something nice while I'm here." But I don't. I'm fiscally responsible, and I gotta get back on my feet something proper before I go and start making it rain. It still takes me ten minutes to decide this, though. They have Corzo Tequila for only thirty-eight dollars! That's sixteen dollars down from what it really is!! And it's fancy. It'll evaporate right off your tongue when you slosh it around. Fine, fine tequila.

I buy a can of Joose instead. 12% ABV, caffeine, taurine, ginseng, steroids, ecstacy, protein supplement? And for two-fifty for this fine malt beverage.

The guys at the register seem pretty cool. They keep trying to get me to buy the Corzo, because they know that I know that it's a great deal! But no, no, no, we must be careful in these financially uncertain times.

So I walk outside after having been in the liquor store for ten solid minutes. There are these three skinheads in ballcaps and urban outfitters clothing, and they're sitting on the picnic table right outside the liquor store drinking Crown Royal Black and chasing it with Coke right there in front of the store. "How very charming," I say to myself with a Princely giggle as I saunter past them and fish out the keys to my car.

"Hey! Hey you!" they say, and dear me if I didn't contemplate fleeing for my dear life. I'm a beautiful man, and as such they may think me as a French Tickler. Dear me.

"Hey you! Wanna shout of Crown?"

Are you fucking serious. Game on.

I take a good pull, turn down the chaser because I "Want to let [the taste] ring." I smile and thank them, and then they start asking me questions. Where I from, What do I do, Why I up here, What I'm up to. I answer with a smile and continue to banter. They're very lively people, and suddenly I'm part of their clique. I pop a squat on the picnic table with one Arkansas/Floridian, two central Illinoisians and we just talk, muse about life, find out about each other. The guy from AR/FL? Doesn't have a college degree; just a G.E.D. and works commission with Dish and makes three times what he would have made as a computer science major does.

Now I think that's just spectacular, honestly, and it's not about the money. It's about the fact that this guy found a way to succeed that wasn't all caught up in the "Go to college, get a job!" rush to the slaughterhouse that our middle-class is sprinting towards. People get caught up in the herd, work a job they hate, and sure. They have money. That's great, congrats. But was this really the only way?

He briefly mentions that he's not sure he should have spent that money on the whiskey, and I disagree. Honestly, and I told them this too, that whatever religion you have. You got one Earth life here. Who knows what Heaven will be like? Might not be nearly as cool as what we got right here, and I say that with sincerity. If you die with money, someone else gets your money.

And we just keep conversation going like that; it's philosophical without that "Why are we REALLY here? What does life REALLY mean? What is this rock, and does it taste like spongiform encephalitis?" overthinking stuff they teach you in college.

We're also offering swigs out to passers-by, and if they stay for a cigarette and a chat, all the better.

Some of them are cool, take a swig, thank us, and go on their way. One's a Jimmy Johns driver, but he refuses and makes his delivery. Some of them turn it down with a gracious no thanks. Some of them speed up and walk faster into the liquor store, clutching their purses and not answering. Some of them linger after the fact, making light conversation.

This one eighteen year-old stops by, takes a good swig, and makes some pretty good conversation with us. He's pretty funny, and only eighteen? Not too shabby. A lull in conversation happens, and he then out of nowhere asks, "What's the whistle do?" And things just stop. This had better be really funny, because it's four guys having a really good time and this kid's trying to derail the conversation into something completely random. Hey look at me! I want to talk about the things I'm interested in! Won't you guys join the interesting party over here?

And see, that's the problem with a lot of younger kids. They will tune out of the conversation that's going on at the time, not even trying to empathize or find some way to positively contribute, and then when there's a lull in conversation they'll leap into your seat and try to grab the wheel away from you.

Fuck you, I'm driving. Shit, kid, don't you have clarinet lessons in the morning?

Alright, what's the punch line.

He says, "The whistle goes," and then puts his flat hand perpendicular on his upper lip like some makeshift balcony, and says "Woo-Woo!" and... Well, we love this kid. He took a shot of Crown, made us laugh, but that... I'm sure he learned that at one of his freshman parties and thought it was the coolest thing in the world.

It's not.

But we excuse it--I mean, why not? But we make it clear that whatever the hell just happened? Hold on here, no. No, man. That's bull.

So he goes on his way and it's about one-twenty, the party's starting to wind down (but only starting to), police keep passing in front of the liquor store (but they never stop), and this group of three guys, one girl (and that's never a good ratio around these parts; she's getting escorted by her "chivalrous" (scared and virgin) friends to a frat to get laid by someone else) pass by us, though on the other side of the street. We ask them, for the hell of it, "What's the whistle do? Woo Woo!" and before we can offer them some Crown, this pudgy kid in a tan sport coat and jeans shouts, "Oh, you guys are real cool! Partyin' in front of a liquor store! Yeah! Keep the party going!"

It's a desperate cry for help. One of my new friends hasn't heard this, and so he calls back, "What'd you say? I didn't hear you! Come over here and say this!" and the response, of course, is a hackneyed "You heard me!" Awesome retort, kid. They used that line in Home Alone. Urban Dictionary defines that retort as, "I'm a pussy who won't repeat what I just said because I know if I do I'll get punched in the face."

Sounds about right. He thinks that we're thugs, when we're just chilling out on a picnic table and laughing at people who've already prejudged us. "No, seriously, we didn't hear you," I say, and I mean it, speaking for my friend. They reiterate the same hack retort, meaning "No, seriously. I'm REALLY a pussy who won't repeat what I just said because I know if I do I'll get punched in the face."

But, to his credit, he tries something else on top of that. "TEACH ME HOW TO SURF!!!"

Pause. He thinks we're surfers? I may almost kind of look like a surfer, but everyone else is skinheads and maybe, maybe skateboarders. But even if he said "skate" instead of "surf," that still would have been another nineties reference and still we would have hearkened back to a time that's... 'bout eleven to twenty years old there, buddy. We all got over Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Matchbox 20, all those indiscernible grunty, whiny singers a long time ago.

But it came to pass, he passes.

Then one of the store managers comes out for a smoke break. It's this Indian guy, mid-twenties, maybe early thirties. We ask him if we can still be doing this, and assure him that we can clear out if he needs us out of here. "In ten minutes," he says, and then lights up. Business goes on as usual, and after he's done, we ask him how long it's been. About five, six minutes, right?

"Two minutes."

Oh, we see what he did there. This guy's all right.

I went inside and bought that tequila, forty-two dollars with tax. If you die with money, someone else gets your money. If you die having had all the fun in the world, that stays with you.

Then, we got the "Yankee bitches," these six fairly to awesomely-attractive women in short black skirts, high heels, and hair done up as if they were going to prom. The "Yankee bitches." Given, three out of the four of us are technically Yankees. Born n' raised in Illinois. But the AR/FL guy named them, and we're cool with him, so we're Southerners by proxy. Deputies. I'm all over the place, because after this is all over, I'm probably going to go home and look at furry porn with guys in skirts and females with furry tits.

These six girls come up to the front of the store; they're "Looking for a ride so they can go to Sigma Chi." We offer them some whisky and/or tequila. Want a shot? And three, maybe four of them--the slender, tallest, most attractive three or four of them, recoil with this look of disgust on their faces as if we had asked them to suck the sweaty lint from between our toes. It was that bad, and we were offering high-class liquor.

"Eew, not from you," was the response we got for both the liquor offer and the ride offer. Not from us, not from our kind. And here we were just having a good time and making fun of people who were prejudging us. Now, these uptight, prudish, bitchy women were taking offense to our compliments. If someone offers you booze, at least down South, it's a small act of generosity. It's sharing the love. Up here? Everyone's so afraid of being mugged and raped that you can't do that kind of thing.

Given, that's because it happens. And that sucks.

But still. The way that they treated us after we sent them compliments and offers for booze and even a ride, it was like they were offended we were hitting on them.

Listen, girls, boys. If you wear sexy clothing, you deserve to be hit on, and you will be hit on by all sorts of people. Turning us down with anything meaner than a "No, not interested," is a premature judgment of out character and you make yourself out to be a bigot because you "Really know what's going on and really know our intentions." Yes, there are going to be a lot of creepers out there and I know it's a scary world. Just don't stereotype.

Some of us just want to have fun. Even if you don't want anything to do with us, take it as a compliment that we're going out of our way to reach out to you, instead of just remaining in the same clique of friends that served us plenty well before you trotted through on high heels. Calm the fuck down.

But it came to pass, they passed. We went to Domino's and continued our socializing rampage, and the same wide array of people were in the Domino's parking lot, whether passing through or waiting for their pizza, as there were at the liquor store. I pass the tequila around, I make quick friends who I'll never see again, and even this one black guy, Johnny G (I'm Johnny B), has me put some in his Simply Orange orange juice and profusely thanks me. He joins the group for a solid ten minutes, and his brother comes in for five of those, and the group soon surges to about eight for a good ten minutes, then disperses like the fall of the tide.

It's about two a.m., so I call it quits. I give the AR/FL guy my number--and we're going to be hanging out again this week--and then I go on my way back to my car and drive on home.

I'm listening to Meat Loaf; the epic guitar riffs, the sizzling piano, and the bombastic vocals sear through me like the alcohol that's come and gone. This is real music, this is what gets me off. I have the biggest smile on my face, and when I get home I trudge out of my car and lay down with that grin still leaving lines.

In my dream, just as a stinger, a bonus track, my brain confuses Mormonism with the overly racist, fetishistically homophobic Westboro Baptist Church, and I'm in Salt Lake City with this monolith of a church leering over the town; it's three buildings wide and two tall. I spend most of my dream in there with a friend, walking through its long catacomb hallways, large open portals in the inside mahogany walls yawning out to a great cathedral washed in yellow, purple, and red stained glass light and there's one section of the building that effortlessly transfers into a parallel dimension--now I'm on the fifth floor in a furry convention with suiters in the hall, and two of them hit on me as I saunter to my room--apparently I have a room at this fur con. I stare one down--his suit is blue with a white belly, and he withers at my gaze. I got game.

I return to the monolithic Westboro Mormon Megachurch, and there I spend an hour avoiding their murderous gazes, integrating myself into their hateful congregation and socializing them while, all the while, I eye their massive, jagged flag on the wall. I will steal that flag. There is one time that the sanctuary is empty, their banner is just hanging there on the wall and the rest of them are in the basement, walking around and thinking murder.

I tear it off the wall and stuff it into my shirt, and then flee through the hallway, through the parallel dimension and back into the furcon, where I wear it as a cape and saunter through the hallways, smiling at all the pretty girls and boys out there.

I wake up, and I smile.

I never realized how good Manson makes for night driving music. On the way up to the Chicago burbs I listened to Manson's "Holy Wood and the Shadow of the Valley of Death" all the way through, and on the way back I got "Mechanical Animals" and "Antichrist Superstar" in--basically his three besties. Three and a half hours of sparsely-lit Illinois highway and the stretched-out, construction-choked streets of Chicago 'burbs? Gimme something loud, conceptual, and atmospheric. He's just so... angry... and it comes across so sincerely.

...in a bit of a nerd moment, I was also very happy I listened to them in chronological order. Not release order, mind you--chronological.

Because I believe there's a giant dick inside me. It's what I feel deep down inside me. I can't hold it in any longer, else I may burst...

You do! As of tonight, my coauthor Snow Leopard and I have finished revisions on a 150,000-word, 2-book saga of furry fiction. We are currently working on our query letter and our synopsis, and then we shall be submitting the two manuscripts to furry publishers. We'll see who picks up our master piece.

Wait, what's it about, you ask? What's it called? Currently, the books are called Gratuity and Gratitude respectively. The latter is a direct sequel to the first. Read the following in a deep voice:

Where do you draw the line on family?

Stephanie, a waitress in the crumbling town of Mahoney, Illinois, doesn’t like to think she’s a typical ferret: she may wait tables and live in a double-wide with her younger sister, but she’s proudly getting over her last relationship. And she’s loyal—some would say to a fault.

Especially when her step-brother skunk is concerned.

He always manages to get himself into trouble and he always finds himself landing in the safety net cast by his sister, but this time, when Kip finds himself in jail and needs five grand for bail, how far will Stephanie go to help her brother, and how far is too far?

Gratuity is a sharp, snarky, modern novel about how far people will go to be loved, the costs of unasked-for help, and contains some of the most rousing intimate scenes you may ever read—the rest are in Book II.

I iiiiii leaaaaave here tomorrrrrow...

Will you still remember me?

I'm moving to Oregon tomorrow, hitting the open road from Illinois, and taking my sweet time. Gonna see a few friends before I finally meet up with my mate/partner/boyfriend/bitch Sai.

Then the jungle fucking shall commence.

Or romance, whatever.

I think Stephanie Hodge here has figured out the meaning of life and love. Also, the best way to y*ff.

http://www.livevideo.com/video/5C7B.....jungle-f-.aspx

Not that it's a bad thing, it's just...

Like, think of your favorite rock band, and let's just say that in their newest album, the lead singer auto-tuned the shit outta his voice, the guitarist has distorted his guitar through five filters, and the drummer's been augmented by Lady Gaga-style backbeats.

Now, let's say that the album -is- still musically appealing, but it hits number one on the Billboard and the first four tracks are on every pop radio station. In fact, your favorite rock band in their newest album is on the iPod of every fifth grader and your much younger sister is always singing -your- band's tunes in the shower, and badly. You in fact think that -she- needs an autotuner too.

This, to me, is the porn in the fandom. It's a massive amount of frosting on top of a cake, it's overcompensation in a way. Now, as a concession I will admit that I fell into furry by the way of porn; I'm sure many of the younger furries as myself have and as I look around, I see that for many furries the fandom -is- the porn.

I like the porn, mind you. In many cases, its gratuitousness is a nice indulgence. But I fear that our focus has turned away from furry and more towards pornography. It's my favorite rock band, but at the same time it's not. Has the core of the fandom shifted?

Because I look out and around at furry conventions and I see fursuits, in which I see as a quintessence of the fandom we know as furry. These costumes are stiflingly hot, have terrible peripheral vision, and are for some furries, the most expensive thing they own. Some fursuits are even on a payment plan-- these costumes are -that- special. They also, in the majority, have no erotic potential. Between heatstroke and stains you'll never get out (don't take that suit to the rave; the blacklights will make you a cheetah), these suits are one part of the fandom that are the farthest removed from the eroticism.

They're beautiful , but between being incredibly hot and incredibly expensive these things require commitment, and those that wear them are by far the most committed to the fandom as the fandom originally was-- a fur affinity.

I do sometimes fear for the future of the fandom-- and for the fans of it that weren't drawn to it for a love of the aesthetic and the idea of sentient, anthropomorphic animals, but for a lust for it. They're fairweather furries, they're boner furries, and as soon as that's cranked out, well...

Sometimes, I want to say, "Just take those old records off the shelf! I said I'll listen to them by myself. Today's music ain't got the same soul."

So I'm here chillin' out in the living room watching the original Batman movie (Tim Burton directed, Jack Nicholson as joker) and that's where you get your title of this journal from. I have nothing to say about the original Batman movie except that it's decent 90's nostalgia, and a decent movie overall. People running around in costumes trying to be serious is a very, very silly request.

Modern movies must compensate for this by having an hour and a half of exposition, so that when the millionaire playboy DOES put on his iconic negligee, cape, mask, or strap-on, we're too bored to object to its ludicrousness. :3

But no, I kid. I really like superhero movies, and there's one for every decade. Is Batman the best superhero? Well, he's the one with the least physical or technological advantages. I.e. he's only slightly more man than we are-- thus, he's our favorite.

Let's not forget that the Greeks compensated for their superheroes' superiority with terrible, terrible character flaws or them dying in the end. Yessir, just like a condom! Use once to prevent disaster, than throw that yiffer away. The one left standing? Just us normal human beings.

Are we just that jealous of a race? Or alternately, that self-infatuated? Can we, as people of various faiths, let the only people who are better than us REMAIN better than us if, in the end, we benefit with a heaven/mecca/reincarnation/ SOME SORT of preservation of our lives?

Heroes, in general, are such a self-fellating concept. Since we reason ourselves as good people, we'd want protection against the bad guys, right? Which is such an interesting concept, the bad guy-- the person who we, the good people see as our bane, and because they threaten, yes, OUR lives, THEY are bad and THEY must be destroyed.

Comic books and old action cartoons did this all the time, setting up a malevolent and impractical entity to encroach our ideaologies, destroy our twin skyscrapers, and question our way of life-- we assume our way of life is the right one and others are the bad guys.

Given, Al Qaeda blew up our shit in the name of some faggot profit.

Then again, it was because those towers were standing higher than their caves, tents, and camel concubines. America in general was standing taller than their oil-sodden sand-filled landfill.

Given, we were curling up in our silken nightgowns amidst the burly young men we call economic success, but what better comfort could there be than superficial creature comforts? And I do want to emphasize that such indulgences and such superficiality does have its benefits. I, Varzen, myself don't enjoy many of them; one can't on a server's mediocre wages, but there are times I climb above and enjoy one thing or another. Objects, toys, can be nice sometimes!

So this is where there's contradictions, and there needs to be contradictions in this world. We live in a world of poverty, and some have much more than others-- therefore, there are going to be contradictions, overlaps, and toes stepped on in this world.

It's a scary world, really. If you could see the skulls in every plastic-molded or press-stamped text that said "Made in China." If you could hear the sweatshops and their screams, you would know that we live in a world of contradiction.

We suck the cocks of the powerful and we shit on the faces of the insignificant.

--In general, that is.
Don't you love a world of contradictions? I do it too! :3

Liberals are faggots, conservatives are prudes. Fuck you all, you pack-mentality cowards. I'll shove every tree you save up your liberal ass and crucify you to our wind farm windmill props that save *so* much energy, and to you conservatives? Fuck you. McCain had a small penis and everyone who opposes gay marriage has an even smaller one for all the superhero-sized cocks slapping around out there that want to get their man-pubes together.

You're all compensating by pushing others down, and it ain't even down on your laps so us legitimate cocksuckers can enjoy ourselves.

I want two things in this world, and maybe I can have these two things without blowing the rest of the world up and all its contradictions. To be honest, I wouldn't blow up this world, because I benefit from the contradictions more than I lose from them. I'm a walking contradiction myself; I live in a country build on the backs of skeletons whose bones were crushed and made into mortar to cement our brick pyramids together. I live in a country whose entire land mass was stolen, its original inhabitants shuffled off into the desert to die.

It would have been the Holocaust for the Indians too, but we'd not invented Zyklon-B yet. God, that was a yiffin' efficient chemical there. God bless the Nazis and their scientific achievements, many of which were accomplished because we could, for once, use actual humans as guinea pigs. Science blossomed because for once, we could get really, really accurate results.

The sky is the limit when you eliminate those annoying human rights laws, you know? I'm sure it would help us mass produce certain items in the OH WAIT.

Now, I'm not saying that we're Nazis, I'm not saying that America is just as evil as Nazi Germany and that we just won the power struggle back in World War II because we touted ourselves as the good guys. Let's not forget that Hitler's people were also an oppressed race and needed vengeance.

Vengeance, by the by, is a very, very convenient thing. More on this later.

I'm not saying we're Nazis. I'm not saying that we're just as evil because honestly, we're not. We're not AS evil, but please. We take more than we give. We take from the environment, we take from animals, but really. We take from others. We swindle, either purposely or accidentally, from our many indulgences.

But what can we do about any of this? Live in harmony with nature and do copious amounts of drugs? Sure, that'll work-- hippies have no worldly possessions to speak of AND they rely on chemicals to feel any sort of pleasure. How about not do copious amounts of drugs and live in harmony with nature?

Yeah. That'll work right up until we get buttfucked by a bear. Nature's a bitch.

So what can we do? Dammit, that's where we just enjoy ourselves. Enjoy ourselves and, most importantly, add. For what we can't do for the environment, for the crumbling idea of human decency that a lot of the world has, we add beauty. We add happiness. We do what we can in this falling world, this burning zeppelin disaster, this fuckin' Hindenberg of society, an aura of pleasant around ourselves, and cast this pleasant net as far as possible.

Is this a form of Valium? Possibly-- only if insincere. With the way things are going, we can't expect to make any big change-- this golem that's rampaging human love and goodness will only show the chinks in his armor, his weaknesses, to a few select people in the world and ONLY a few of THOSE will have the weapon AND the talent required to stab that golem of death.

If it's you and your friends, allies, acquaintances are NOT holding you back like an entire Senate of presupposed popular opinion, of people afraid of change-- if YOU are not afraid of change and if YOU have the right sword and YOU are in the right position and if YOU can see the fleshy point at which to stab, then go for it.

It'll be like winning the lottery-- it'll feel like it and just like 99.9% of us, we'll die trying to do it.

For the rest of you, and me, be good... be a good person, be happy. Don't step on too many toes, but know that you're going to be stepping on some Ugandan babies that you didn't even know were there. This world's complicated, this world's cruel, and you're probably going to be known personally as a good person, but in nationality or by timeframe or by coincidence as a glutton, a fascist, and a selfish person by those who have no grip on the reality of it all--

Our shit has to drop somewhere, and because of our overpopulated and (justifiably) needy society, we're knee and forearm deep in it.

To my dearest friends, I love you. Please, regardless of gender, age, and any other literal attribute, be one of those burly young men wrapped around me. To my friends and my acquaintances, let me know you better. Even though my forearms are covered in shit, my eyes are full of stars.

--Varzen F. Dralmort

If it's any way I want it, then it's every way I need it. I love to dance, I love to sing, I love everything. One could call me the most liberal prude, and yes. That would be right. I'm an uptight suit-and-tie with slut red lipstick on my face, I conduct Beethoven with a studded leather glove, in my book I write of feral brutality--of claws, teeth, and knees-- with the most delicate sashay of euphemism and poise.

So it's with this duality that I say hmm. Can less-than-cerebral indulgences be art, to be statically hung high on a wall, their so-called pedestal, to be openly worshiped by we, those who really enjoy it on such a base level? Or is it cake, is it porn, is it a toy, is it a tool that we take by the sides of its picture frame and drive our (generally, but not mandatorily) phalluses through the center?

For example-- I write this with a hardblush.com banner under my text; it's very much something I enjoy, but most times about it I am, yes, Mum's the word, and this is strictly a matter between me and my animal tendencies. How can it be anything more than food, than sustenance for my animal desires when really, I'm done with it and I'd prefer to tuck it neatly in my sock drawer.

Specifically. How can I look you in the eye in love when the last forty-five minutes I've closed my mind's eye and taken you chiefly because I was hungry? When is it that I can stand on the island of animals and still keep my sure footing across the channel on the continent of intelligensia?

I am feral and I am scholarly, so when will it be that those two plates in their gradual, impersonal techtonics come grinding together in that epiphany that birthed this animal-man fandom in the first place?

Just a thought :3