Friday, May 22, 2009

Taint Flaps

Ever since the internet was implanted in me, I have had the burning desire to explore most every square inch of all idiotic fantasies imaginable. When I was 13, just getting my feet wet in the world of internet chatting via mIRC, I was exposed to the absolute worst of the worst and the weirdest of the what the fucks.

I had a friend who worked with me in concert to find these obtuse chatrooms that would tickle our retard bone. Initially we excavated the futureproof fantasies and behaviors that have made their way to the courthouse and to MSNBC, “why don’t you have a seat over there?” There were thousands of rooms to choose from, all of which could bring some sort of weirdness to furor. We would go to the Jesus chat and talk about being gay, or go to the bi-fem-sex channel and talk about being straight. Really, from a young age, I couldn’t help myself but to instigate conflict for fun and profit.

But, alas, it gets boring. The giggles dissipated and the weirdness stopped being so weird. The jaded personality started to set in, but no! I must charge onward into the abyss of the internet. I needed the bowels to be disem’d and the conniving to be nived. After shaking hands with destiny I discovered the more mundane fantastical existences to be the most interesting and full of stupid.

Disassociated Identities: Chapter 1: Megatron: Litebrite

Robots. Yeah, Robots. Some people think they are a robot. I don’t mean that in how I got all hopped up on racism when I got home from seeing Terminator 2—Now I’m a robot sent to destroy! No. It’s people who have a deep seeded lust for robots and perceive themselves as robots.

Some people may scoff at this. I do. I did when I was 13 and I will till I’m 48, wherein which I will have come full circle to accept the robot ideology. But, at the moment, it seems rational to say that idiots are idiots and some people grab a hold of a childhood memory, clutching their Iron Giant stuffed animal, and wish it would never end.

The physics are mindboggling. You can say that about any fetish really. But how does this materialize in the physical world? Do you put on a makeshift stormtrooper outfit, retrofit it with a power glove and some PCB’s? What is the correct nomenclature for a Robot Enthusiast? These are all questions that everyone has all the time about robots, so I decided to do some digging.

When I stumbled on the Robot Sex Chat on Dalnet, instinctively, my friend and I acted as if we were actively involved in the subculture. At one point people in the chatroom sent me their pictures and explained why this person, who resembled The Silver Surfer wearing Power Ranger gear, looked as if an explosion was coming from its crotch. He/She said it’s the main source of its energy and the focal point of arousal. Penis.

I delved into the inner workings of these circuitboard masturbators, pretending to be a tad bit ignorant to all the rules and idioms that these technosexuals follow. For one, they hate being confused with Agalmatophiliacs--people who get hot and bothered by statues and mannequins. They also are a tortured fetish that likely will never materialize in the way that they envision. I know that doesn’t make sense. Just think about it; the same way that we don’t have reese’s pieces the size of school buses readily available, although feasible, we don’t have robots that we can just order on and molest furiously. Well we do, but they cost a lot and they don’t exactly play twister with you.

This leads me to their last order of business of how they came to be; built or transformed. You can build a robot partner or perceive yourself as being built. You can find other likeminded people that can be transformed into a full time mech-sex machine. It’s basically like being gay. You can either be born gay, or you can have a hard night of drinking, snorting ecstasy and your roommate convinces you to should start showering with him to save on the water bill. Taint.


Furries are a new breed of whoopass sent to earth to wreak havoc on the normalcy pedo, foot, hair, and scat fetishes have all enjoyed for years and years. It just comes bundled in the form of stuffed animal idiocy. Again, I think it has a lot to do with childhood and wanting to hold on to Tigger forever. Forever? Foreverever?

A furry is a person who likes to dress up like an anthropomorphic animal. Some are more far gone than others. Some of them actually think they are said animal and cannot disassociate themselves from that animal. Even though I have a deep seeded idea that I am a reactable, I still have to put on pants and go to work everyday. I wonder if these people can’t function in normal society to the point that they can file for disability.

Otherkin, Were, or Therian: Pick your stupid and run with it.

These are some of the spiritual beliefs of furries. All of which describe a connection that a spirit in a person has with, zOMG, an animal. Only difference between them being is that Were is exclusively a belief in transformation furry-itis; ie. A person puts on a furry costume to become the animal versus, a person being an animal and having to compensate for lack of physical appearance as a meerkat with flexing some latch hook nuts.

It’s like having a pair of underwear that gives you herpes every time you put them on.

The great thing about being a furry is that you can be any animal you want. As long as it’s a tiger, a fox, a wolf, a night fox, a bobcat, a snow fox, a cheetah, or a fox, you’re good. There are the occasional guys who want to go against the grain and be zebras and hippos, but just like the people who come to a costume party dressed up like an orange or a potato, they're fat. For over-generalization purposes all furries are foxes. I have received information from top intelligence that Barack Obama is a Furry, and, yes indeed, he’s a night fox.

Furries all have a Fursona. This is their representative form that they would show to other people in the same way someone may give you a business card or a resume. Just like GIJoe’s of yesteryear, a lot of them have facebook profilesque features to their Fursona. They explain their likes, dislikes, favorite hobbies, (most make you want to vomit like, “I like to lap warm milk out of a dish.” Oh goody you’re a kitty meow meow) and their ideal yiffing partner.

Just as the robotjox from above don’t like being confused with statue humpers, Furries don’t like to be confused with Plushies—which are their own brand of misanthrope. Furries also like to categorize themselves into intensity groupings. There’s the group that thinks they are an animal with or without the suit, the ones who think they’re the animal only with the suit on, the wanna be’s, cartoon fursona enthusiasts, and just crazy mofos that wear their fursuits all the time.

Yiffing is amazing. It’s derived from the sound a fox makes when it mates. I think you can see where I’m going with this. Or do you? Well, Furries yiffing in the real world means that they act like animals, sniff each other, and eventually start to dry hump. It can lead to actual sex, but sometimes not. To me, if I were involved in yiffing, I’d at least want to alleviate some of the lameness and get laid at whatever the cost. I mean for fucks sake, you’re dressed up like a pink fox in a Las Vegas hotel and this convention only comes around once a year. Come on man. Get out there and be somebody! It’s not like the odds are in your favor of finding a yiffing companion at the meat counter in your local supermarket. This is Indiana.

These two groups are often ridiculed for their life decisions as they should be. Don’t get me started on the LARP argument or that fantasy role playing has its place in a healthy imagination. I appreciate that it’s healthy for people to detach from reality and assume a different persona for fun. I have no problem with that. These people, though, live their lives believing they’re the bjork robots or nympho-foxes for real real, not for play play. That’s called insanity and is no different than the guy who thinks the government is out to get him. He’s just homeless in a park and his fursona is a dude with a shopping cart, tin foil hat, covered in newspapers. Not too sexy.:(

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