Wednesday the 29: I have a headache
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Monday the 27: In my previous life I was a piece of string.
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Friday in the AM: It is potentially contrary to my own interests to give out cards with this url on them in a place congregated by some of the people who do the stuff I’m complaining about in it. However, I don’t actually expect anyone to read this. I certainly didn’t.
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Wednesday in the AM: Part of the ceiling in my apartment just collapsed. So if I don’t update this thing this week, it’s because I’ve been crushed and ceiling-murdered and not because I’m attending some frivolous gathering in Pittsburgh.
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Fur-affinity, I mention that a lot. It is a website that I post my silly drawings on. It is designed to provide a place for egotistical people with no imaginations to draw boring humans based on themselves who happen to have tails and animal heads standing around doing absolutely nothing. I already meet several criteria and they are generously working to bring me up to no standards. All the same I get more attention there than other parts of the internet. My comfort level with it varies; I feel less welcome than I did a year ago (writing stuff like this probably doesn’t help), but I’m not thumbing my nose at it entirely like I was four years ago. Once non-affiners learn about it, they can make a fuss over the website’s explicit content. I don’t like it either but in all honesty I’ve been having the unprompted, unwelcome sexual fetishism of other folks shoved at me my entire life. Ads for doritos, ads for telephones, ads for terrible movies, ads for cars mostly in ads. It is a classic unquestioned fact that this is a prime selling point of a fair quantity of products that are largely unrelated to naked dealings. Doritos in fact seem like they ought to have the opposite effect. Doritos ought to repel all potential company.
Including Reggie Wedgie, but only because this would violate his exclusive contract with Generico McDollarstorito brand.
I think one of the reasons the risky business business and the talk show show so so irked me is that I have long taken issue with underpant exhibitionism in general.
I hate “cute” words for underpants. Under-panting of this sort only exists to restrain the perspiration and any accompanying negativeness of the traditionally least ventilated place on a clothed person, and covering it with such a small object only makes it less ventilated. The reason it does not get ventilated is because that is in addition the part excrement[s] (also incredibly not cute) come out of and few people take the time to thoroughly scrub down everything that touched it after it’s left. They scrape paper against it! It’s horrible. Why draw attention to it with garish colors?
This is also the only section of a humanoid in which three or more large independent units converge, and the friction heat generated by standard bipedal locomotion cannot be understated when one equips winter layers. One essentially cooks one’s own pelvic intersection by walking. I find nothing enticing about the thought of the thing we use to contain this. Imagine if you found a discarded cow intestine that had been rotting in a desert for a day. And then imagine you put it in a bag and carried it around with you. Why would you do that? And why do you call the bag “Finkledy?”
On a more easily arguable note, I hate the use of pluralization to refer to what is obviously a single object. An underwear triangle is not a “those” or a “these.” It is a that.
The furry junk, I’m allowed to screen out the inarguable pornography (so long as the uploader has properly tagged it), but I can’t do anything about the incorrigible bonanza of nearly naked triangle-clad beasts doing absolutely nothing. Triangles are jerks.
This is not a nearly naked triangle-clad beast, but it’s almost worse and will likely lead to that anyhow.
Even if I had conventionally normal inclinations where physical contact with other beings was concerned this would bother me. Wouldn’t it? Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe I’m in denial about all this.
Facebook seems to be trying to tell me that I am sex.
Sex: ALL OF IT
Prior to such a revelation I’d have been surprised to find this outside my apartment.
*(don’t type that in the comments here. It will get eaten and porn doesn’t taste good)
And yet it is not enough. I must have more power!
More and more power!
ABCDEast and west, going on a POWER QUEST
I must exceed the incredible power of Norton and Sandy Duncan!
Feed me power food!
Feed me ULTRA power food!
You FOOL! Give that to me!
At last! Aw haw haw ha hwah uh!
What are you getting at, fiend? How dare you appear before me in such a powerful pose!
No!!! Natural human reproductive inclinations! My one weakness!
If only… I had not acted in such haste…
PurpleSpace sez:
There is always time for disco.
Dagobert sez:
I told you “draw furries” was a command.
Concerning the bag of sun-baked intestines, I imagine some folks have simply come to the conclusion that since everybody finds themselves compelled to drag around such a bag of intestines, it’s silly to act all hush-hush about it, like it’s some shameful personal secret. And if we don’t have to pretend it’s not there, hey, why not decorate it? People decorate everything. They also prefer to do whatever they can to make life’s unpleasant inevitabilities less unpleasant, so why not the intestine bag as well? Alternatively, maybe they just want to have the underwear that’s fun-to-wear.
And there have most certainly been efforts to make excrement seem cute. They have typically not been very successful.