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Alcohol Abuse

Post Date: August 8, 2007
Post Title: A Simple Request to My Friends

Prelude: One year ago, early morning in Las Vegas. I woke up on the floor of our friends’ hotel room with a brain that felt like a lava lamp and a throat swelled shut from dehydration. Hangover Hall of Fame. I rolled over and spied a mostly full Dasani bottle that the Water Fairy had miraculously left for me to inject into my dusty bloodstream. Thank God. I reached over, aiming my hand through a narrow squint, and pulled it toward my lips for an open-throat chug.

My hotel-mates were shocked awake by the loudest spit-take in history. I had chugged pure vodka, and then sprayed an entire mouthful onto the bed. I fought against waves of dry vomiting as everybody around me laughed their faces off, instantly realizing what had happened. Why, God? Why?

And then tonight: A hard-fought late basketball game left me absolutely exhausted, carelessly slapping soap and shampoo on my sweaty body in the shower. Too careless, because I managed to squeeze a huge dollop of Burny brand shampoo right into my tear ducts. Ouchy. I struggled for a while, trying to quickly rinse and scrub out my eye, then shut the water off and ran out to the bathroom. Frantically searching with one good eye, I managed to find some saline solution (presumably left by someone, since I don’t wear contacts). I forced my eye open and sprayed hard. Caron heard the blood-curdling shriek from the kitchen and sprinted over. She found me with my head under the faucet and inspected the sink for blood, thinking I had stabbed myself shaving. What she probably saw instead was dissolved eye particles, carved out by the pure whiskey that Greg had left in that saline bottle. In the medicine cabinet. Apparently, he and Richard had used the bottle to smuggle booze onto a cruise ship, then came straight to my place afterward, then left the bottle on my desk... Why, God? Why?

Hence the simple request to my friends: Please store alcohol in its proper container when I am around, or at least shoot me a heads up. Thanks.

Post Date: April 18, 2007
Post Title: Furries!

I was late for my league basketball game, so I thought I’d try a shortcut. I decided to take the dirt road that traces around the soccer field and connects directly to the parking lot. Being surrounded by thick trees on three sides, the field was almost pitch black — that is, until my weaving headlights carved their way across the middle.

And that was how I caught them. Good God, I wish I hadn’t, but it was through procrastination, a risky shortcut, and an unbelievably awful patch of luck that I found myself smack in the middle of a massive animal mascot orgy.

On first sight, I thought it was a mugging, so I swerved onto the field to help out, or at least scare the attackers off. As I approached, my confusion became a slow, burning realization of the entire unhappy situation, causing me to brake to a halt as the costumed bunny and teddy bear stopped in mid-perverted-activity under the glow of the headlights to return my incredulous stare.

Then the passenger door opened. I hadn’t noticed the kitty and puppy dog quietly sidling up to my car, flanking both sides, until it was too late. The spotted-fuchsia kitten lunged through the passenger side, growling in a suspiciously masculine voice in order to create a distraction for the beagle that had just swung open my door. I was dragged to the ground. As the puppy mounted me, smothering me and muttering something about how the dog was going to give the man a bone, I caught sight of the entire lewd scene: at least a dozen others in animal costumes, including oversized heads, contorting themselves in acrobatic positions that were, frankly, almost as impressive as they were revolting.

Something in me snapped — maybe my adrenal glands kicked in a little extra to avoid the interspecies, homosexual mating. With a sliding push-up maneuver, I managed to buck the furry off of my body and leap to my feet. The pooch-man grabbed hold of my side pocket and gave it a sharp tug, tearing it halfway off and leaving a perfectly J-shaped rip in the cloth. In one of those weird, slow-motion moments, I recall looking down and thinking that it looked like I was in a swordfight in The Legend of Jorro.

Then I came to my senses and ran. In my frantic sprint to the car, I still couldn’t help my heart from melting a little when I saw the adorably surprised look on the kitty-cat mask. Although that sentiment quickly faded when I noticed the human leash she had been bringing over to our little doggy pile of rape. As I jammed the car into reverse, the door still open, I heard the teddy bear scream, “I know where you live!” My heart sank. I recognized that voice; he works in my building. God knows how long he’s been spying on me, licking his lips under that bear head, and furiously doing I-don’t-even-want-to-imagine-what on the other side of the window as he stared at me in my bedroom with my bunny slippers on.

So I bid you all goodbye, my friends. Tonight, I stock up on knives and cross into Mexico; they’ll never take me alive.

Title: Sqrabbit | Address: sqrabbit.com
Author: Jake Feala | Blogging from: La Jolla/UTC | Blogging since: January 2005

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Post Date: August 8, 2007
Post Title: A Simple Request to My Friends

Prelude: One year ago, early morning in Las Vegas. I woke up on the floor of our friends’ hotel room with a brain that felt like a lava lamp and a throat swelled shut from dehydration. Hangover Hall of Fame. I rolled over and spied a mostly full Dasani bottle that the Water Fairy had miraculously left for me to inject into my dusty bloodstream. Thank God. I reached over, aiming my hand through a narrow squint, and pulled it toward my lips for an open-throat chug.

My hotel-mates were shocked awake by the loudest spit-take in history. I had chugged pure vodka, and then sprayed an entire mouthful onto the bed. I fought against waves of dry vomiting as everybody around me laughed their faces off, instantly realizing what had happened. Why, God? Why?

And then tonight: A hard-fought late basketball game left me absolutely exhausted, carelessly slapping soap and shampoo on my sweaty body in the shower. Too careless, because I managed to squeeze a huge dollop of Burny brand shampoo right into my tear ducts. Ouchy. I struggled for a while, trying to quickly rinse and scrub out my eye, then shut the water off and ran out to the bathroom. Frantically searching with one good eye, I managed to find some saline solution (presumably left by someone, since I don’t wear contacts). I forced my eye open and sprayed hard. Caron heard the blood-curdling shriek from the kitchen and sprinted over. She found me with my head under the faucet and inspected the sink for blood, thinking I had stabbed myself shaving. What she probably saw instead was dissolved eye particles, carved out by the pure whiskey that Greg had left in that saline bottle. In the medicine cabinet. Apparently, he and Richard had used the bottle to smuggle booze onto a cruise ship, then came straight to my place afterward, then left the bottle on my desk... Why, God? Why?

Hence the simple request to my friends: Please store alcohol in its proper container when I am around, or at least shoot me a heads up. Thanks.

Post Date: April 18, 2007
Post Title: Furries!

I was late for my league basketball game, so I thought I’d try a shortcut. I decided to take the dirt road that traces around the soccer field and connects directly to the parking lot. Being surrounded by thick trees on three sides, the field was almost pitch black — that is, until my weaving headlights carved their way across the middle.

And that was how I caught them. Good God, I wish I hadn’t, but it was through procrastination, a risky shortcut, and an unbelievably awful patch of luck that I found myself smack in the middle of a massive animal mascot orgy.

On first sight, I thought it was a mugging, so I swerved onto the field to help out, or at least scare the attackers off. As I approached, my confusion became a slow, burning realization of the entire unhappy situation, causing me to brake to a halt as the costumed bunny and teddy bear stopped in mid-perverted-activity under the glow of the headlights to return my incredulous stare.

Then the passenger door opened. I hadn’t noticed the kitty and puppy dog quietly sidling up to my car, flanking both sides, until it was too late. The spotted-fuchsia kitten lunged through the passenger side, growling in a suspiciously masculine voice in order to create a distraction for the beagle that had just swung open my door. I was dragged to the ground. As the puppy mounted me, smothering me and muttering something about how the dog was going to give the man a bone, I caught sight of the entire lewd scene: at least a dozen others in animal costumes, including oversized heads, contorting themselves in acrobatic positions that were, frankly, almost as impressive as they were revolting.

Something in me snapped — maybe my adrenal glands kicked in a little extra to avoid the interspecies, homosexual mating. With a sliding push-up maneuver, I managed to buck the furry off of my body and leap to my feet. The pooch-man grabbed hold of my side pocket and gave it a sharp tug, tearing it halfway off and leaving a perfectly J-shaped rip in the cloth. In one of those weird, slow-motion moments, I recall looking down and thinking that it looked like I was in a swordfight in The Legend of Jorro.

Then I came to my senses and ran. In my frantic sprint to the car, I still couldn’t help my heart from melting a little when I saw the adorably surprised look on the kitty-cat mask. Although that sentiment quickly faded when I noticed the human leash she had been bringing over to our little doggy pile of rape. As I jammed the car into reverse, the door still open, I heard the teddy bear scream, “I know where you live!” My heart sank. I recognized that voice; he works in my building. God knows how long he’s been spying on me, licking his lips under that bear head, and furiously doing I-don’t-even-want-to-imagine-what on the other side of the window as he stared at me in my bedroom with my bunny slippers on.

So I bid you all goodbye, my friends. Tonight, I stock up on knives and cross into Mexico; they’ll never take me alive.

Title: Sqrabbit | Address: sqrabbit.com
Author: Jake Feala | Blogging from: La Jolla/UTC | Blogging since: January 2005

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Comments
5

Ridiculously Retarded. Hope the San Diego Reader is ready to lose alot of readers for this stupid remark that is totally not true.

March 25, 2008

I hope the author of the "Furries!" article is aware that his/her article is going to be challenged and opposed by other furs.

Furries is not all about sex and fursuiting.

Do more research, please.

March 25, 2008

What remark? Do you mean the whole article?

March 25, 2008

I don't need to research into this. I'm already well aware that furries as a species are all about love and respect and exchanging the kind of companionship that we in our day-to-day Homo sapiens suits could never feel free enough to give. I'm very liberal about that kind of stuff, to each his own, yada yada. However, every bunch has its bad apples and I'm afraid I could never condone the behavior of this particular subset of very bad, very rapy, yet somehow still very adorable, fuzzy animal-people. I stand by the "article" and all of the facts presented therein.

-JF, from deep within Mexico

March 25, 2008

I died laughing at the booze in the spray bottle LOL

Aug. 7, 2008

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