I hope it's all rank 50 shit so the whining babies cannot partake AHAHAHAHA.
Oh right, blogs.
Today's blogger likes going to furry conventions.
He also likes other men.
He also likes being totally unsurprising.
So I'll pull the curtain back a bit here and say when I try to find a good blog to review (or "review" since it's really just drive by hostility) I try to write a couple jokes in my head before I set off.
The "totally unsurprising" punchline is literally the only thing I had prepared before setting off.
So am I headed for disaster?
What could possibly go wrong?
Today's writer's block (blah blah):
Who was the worst boss you’ve ever had? Did you ever get your revenge?
Well my first and only boss was that shitty high school I worked for.
I exacted petty, childish revenge by teaching everyone how to get free copies.
That'll learn you, shitty high school.
Revenge is overrated.
PUSSY.
PUUUUUSSY.
One of the enduring themes in The Count of Monte Cristo was at the end Edmund Dantes kind of realize he had wasted so much of his life plotting his revenge (he didn't feel sympathy for the people he venged himself on, though) but I would argue specifically because of his intensely burning focus for revenge he ended up living a fuller life than he would have.
What would he have done if he'd been boring ol' Edmund Dantes, captain of the Pharaon?
He'd have married that bitch, she'd have become icy and distant and he'd have died alone of prostate cancer at 40.
What'd he do after he had been so horrifically wronged?
He became fabulously wealthy, he adventured around the world, he literally owned delicious brown girls, he bought banks and gambling halls--
getting wrongfully accused of treason is the best thing that ever happened to the guy.
And I'm sure some litfag scholar could (and probably has) readily argued he might have done those things anyway but fuck no, no he wouldn't have.
Even if he happened into the Spada treasure incidentally (which he wouldn't have) he wouldn't have done anything half as cool as what he did with it.
Oh right, blogs.
As far as the con, well, I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have. See, I stopped going a few years back because I knew so few people there, and it's really, really, really hard for me to meet new people from scratch. I only started going again because a good friend decided to start going, and when he decided not to go this year, I figured I'd be able to handle it. Unfortunately, I STILL don't know that many people, and poor Orzel had to deal with me following him around and stepping on his tailfeathers. Luckily, he didn't seem to mind.
You're at a furry convention.
Don't worry about it. You've already hit rock-fucking-bottom.
Literally no matter what happens in your life the least you can say is "at least I'm not a furry."
Hopeless, homeless and have a crushing gambling and heroin addiction?
Hey at least you're not cutting a dickhole in your fursuit.
Dateless virgin at 39?
At least you've preserved your dignity and haven't once cut a dickhole in your fursuit.
Thanks to my lack of sleep (fucking last minute fursuit) and some bad nutritional choices ( the SuperSponsor lunch had no vegetable protein. C'mon, really? Not even a stack of bread or some rice? :P ) I ended in a severe depression on Saturday after the parade that I never really shook off.
So speaking of recently I viewed a documentary on bestiality with a friend (no way I was braving that shit alone) and the part I found most... Disturbing I guess (outside of the obvious) was none of them were vegetarians. You'd really think if you "viewed animals as your spiritual equal" you wouldn't be frying them up for a nice Saturday dinner.
Of course all that shit is just a front to excuse fucking animals as a human but whatever.
Of course, there were lots of good times! It was nice to see the people I DID know, though most of them were busy behind tables or running off to some meet or going out to eat with people or running around in suit, etc, etc.
Running off to "meat" someone, more like.
The Yuengling, GODDAMN the Yuengling. The suiting was fun, though as usual no one cared about a new non-dog suit, though there was some amusement from the few people who noticed Gryffindor's name. I got to meet a bunch of birds, which was neat.
Yuengling is a type of beer and when he says "birds" he doesn't mean 60s British slang for women.
Worry not, gentle readers: I will translate from twat to English for you.
In any case, I don't know if I'll go back next year. If my friend goes back, yeah, probably. If not, probably not. Also, there's a possibility of me going to China next year for Kung Fu during the same time period, though with the sad state of my knees, that may not be a good idea.
When I imagine someone going to China to learn Kung Fu I imagine-- I don't know someone like Bruce Willis or something.
Not furry fucking pussy "I can't socialize or interact normally so I have to fuck men in a puppy dog suit and I have bad knees" going.
So, I'm going to AC, and given that AC's theme is "School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" or somesuch,
I'd have gone as a Space Marine if I knew that was the theme.
Mutants, heresy and sorcery all in one place.
I can think of no easier way to scourge the foes of the Emperor from Holy Terra than attending.
Also what's AC?
Air Conditioning?
Assassin's Creed?
Armor Class?
These are the only things I know of that have the acronym "AC".
Google offers that it might also be Asheron's Call (old MMORPG), "Alternating Current" (as in "AC/DC" and I'm putting Hells Bells on as we speak) so no idea.
Oh and here's a picture of him and his, err, boyfriend (he calls him "his dragon" but for once I understand this relationship so I'll just keep it in simple terminology).
Taken at home, after a nice dinner at Sent Sovi in Saratoga. I love my dragon.
So speaking of there's a place that sells dragon dildos.
Just thought I'd mention there's a business dedicated to selling fake mythological beast genitals.
Some people say our society is too decadent. I wonder where they get such silly notions?
There are days when I exist as an impostor in my own flesh.
Also speaking of being a mutant I've been playing Fallout: New Vegas lately and I've found the easiest way to complete the game is to make your character like Clint Eastwood and then play as a Space Marine.
Here's how one quest is supposed to go:
gotta clear out ghouls from a rocket factory but you find out they're really just a religious cult and will leave the planet shortly if you can clear out the Nightkin from the basement but the Nightkin are just there for the Stealth Boys hidden somewhere in the basement but they can't get to them because one ghoul is holding ground in the basement but he won't clear out until he's confirmed his girlfriend's condition when she got cut off during the first Nightkin raid but he can't get to his girlfriend because a particularly nasty Nightkin called "The Jailer" is guarding the room she's in--
here's how I handled it:
TO THE LAST, KILL THEM ALL.
VICTORY.
All kinds of cash and loot from those heathens.
It is a day almost like any other day. I wake up, I prepare, I arrive, I work. Yet there are moments where the world seems to clench, as if the veins of reality were experiencing an arrest. I am heading somewhere irrelevant, with a purpose non-specific. I see many people on my path: some smile, some politely nod, others glance, and the remainder ignore.
I mean the game itself kind of encourages this behavior. It gives me a gun called "the incinerator" that shoots fireballs and expects me not to burn a bunch of radioactive zombies to ash with it?
Oh it's one of those rare days where he's updated since I started typing this up.
Let's take a gander before I'm off to do something not this:
Oh. No he hasn't.
What's going on? All the entries are in a slightly different order now--
UUUUUUUH forget it.
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