Tag Archives: furries


This is about right: fuh2

I stole that from Mr. Baby’s daddy. And the other day I was saying that I simply must meet his baby mama. You people have no visible means of contact on your site, what else am I spozed to do? Don’t you WANT crank letters? That’s the whole reason I have a site.

In the meantime, I’ve instructed him to make up things about me in advance of this potential meeting. I dearly love rumors, especially ones that go something like “Well, Helen’s a little different, she has a hump…and a speech impediment. You might want to prepare yourself.” Speaking of rumors, my co-worker who recently attended the FurCon would like you all to know that he missed out on the cold going around because of the protective powers of his squirrel mask.

The hump idea reminds me of a spectacularly bad roommate situation I had way back in college. I shall not begin to detail the faults of the third mate, but let’s just say they motivated mate #2 and I to go to great heroic lengths to pester her back. The single weirdest thing we did involved prosthetic deformities. She’d traipse in with a posse of ne’er-do-wells to find one of us scuttling into the kitchen with one giant fake butt cheek, or perhaps eating microwave popcorn on the couch in the guise of a hunchback. We wouldn’t acknowledge the get-up, and people would become very uncomfortable and frequently leave.

Come to think of it, I should reprise my Quasimodo role at the family Christmas jamboree. That would be a larf!


President Doctor Evil

Just what we need, a manned base on the moon. Someone alert Astronaut Jones at once!

“”You’ve got the Chinese saying they’re interested — we don’t want them to beat us to the moon. We want to be there to develop the sweet spots,” Republican Senator Sam Brownback says.” Got it. Gay marriage is the new Communism. Asians are the new Russians. The new season of Queer Eye is all about turning straight men into clones of celebrities. Week 1: David Bowie. Week 2: Moby. Week 3: Adam Curry?! I’m hip to the jive.

Personally, I’d get more use out of a clone than a space station on the moon. Clone, go to work for me. Clone, go to the bathroom for me. Clone, administer to my mate, he had a rough day. Oh Clo-one? I could use some more scalloped potatos. Out of the box, just like I like ’em.

Confidential to the two co-workers on vacation while I sit at work rather peaked and weary: First one — I already coughed on your keyboard, or possibly your door handle. You too have a 50-50 chance of dying of rabies now. As for the other, I spread a rumor that you are off attending a FurCon. I keeeeed. Just making sure you’re paying attention. I would never ever do anything like that. Or would I?