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Dude. You knew what you were asking for.""You're saying I posted a coded message advertising my fervent desire for people to get their sex smell all over my house, WHILE DRESSED AS ANIMALS!?" "Yes." "Oh. Well, that makes perfect sense then. All right. Have fun." Cynthia and Mike the fat tiger looked at me blankly. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" I shrieked at them. "DON'T ANIMALS UNDERSTAND SARCASM?" With surprising speed the fat tiger suddenly lunged at me. I recoiled in horror, stumbling to the ground as I backed away. The man-beast fell on me, using his extra 50 pounds to easily pin me down. "Growl," he whispered in my ears.It was right around here when I think my penis retracted itself entirely within my body cavity. If it helps, please visualize the remainder of the story as if told by a hermaphrodite. Full body panic spasm. I was suddenly in the middle of a very special episode of the 80s sitcom that is my life. But I knew there was no Mr. Drummond coming to make everything better. I struggled to fight the man-tiger off, but given my reluctance to touch any part of him, I found the process somewhat difficult. I was forced to devise a new martial art on the spot, using nothing but the principles of elbows and cringing. Big playful, furry slaps and terrifying noises greeted my ineffectual blows. Elsewhere in the apartment I could hear Cynthia letting more people in. Very quickly the house began filling up with people clad in costumes. Cats, dogs, gerbils, hamsters, wolves. Winnie the fucking Pooh. They were mostly just talking and chatting first. Someone found the stereo and put on some music. Did you know that furries have their own music? I do. Not long after that, Mike the fat tiger got off me, but by that point I had completely lost control of the situation. Apparently word must have gotten out on some sort of Furry phone tree, because people started showing up by the car load. In very short order the chatting and music was drowned out by an entirely different, and much worse type of sound. It was the aural equivalent of tasting someone else's barf.

I was going to actually go out and find real pictures of furry humping for this article. But then after thinking about it for a bit, I didn't. Naturally I called 911. They did say they'd send animal control over right away, but it wasn't until five minutes later that I realized they were fucking with me. My experience with Mike the fat tiger demonstrated that I wouldn't get far trying to physically throw these people out. I found a flashlight, and using the old shine a light on the ground and see who chases it trick, managed to lure a couple guys dressed as cats outside. But that was the extent of my success. This was happening. Watching it happen was out of the question. Reluctantly then, I retired to the porch, where I spent the next six hours crying and collecting admission. EPILOGUE: All told, the furries were actually OK people. The house wasn't that badly messed up at all, although I cleaned it thoroughly regardless, and in truth, will probably never stop cleaning. The Care Bears were gone. I was OK with that. I don't think I really wanted them back anyways. Some good news though: I cleared $2200 at the door. Though that's also probably bad news, the more that I think about it. __