My friend, Lucky Otter, doesn’t believe I’m a psychopath. Yet, I never “felt” more psychopathic than I did reading her latest blog, A furry that I never met helped me conquer my fear of death. Her son is what is known as a “furry.” I had never heard of them until Lucky blogged about her son. I’m sorry, Lucky. I just can’t relate to this phenomenon.
The furry who helped her overcome her fear of death, Tony Barrett, aka “Dogbomb,” is pictured on the blog I linked to above. His face is what I can only call “creepy.” He has what I would call “a kick me face.” Furries wear animal costumes which look like pajamas with fake fur and a head mask. What I find most off-putting is the way they almost all look like “animals” you would see in kids’ cartoons. They are unbearably CUTE.
I did some research and found that furries love to cuddle with each other. Isn’t that DARLING? They have a reputation for being evil degenerates which seems undeserved. Sure, they have sex. Don’t most adults (and teenagers)? But some have been accused of having sex with real animals and with children. I guess some of them probably do but some non-furries do as well. (shrug) What I find icky is the way they seem so fixated on such infantile images.
When transsexualism became a thing, some people repudiated it by reducto ad absurdum. “What if someone claims to be another species?” they would say. Well, I don’t know how many furries would actually claim to be animals “trapped in the body” of a human being.
The most outrageous example of a transsexual being absurd is the 52-year-old father of seven children who decided he was really a six-year-old girl and abandoned his family to live with a couple who had real children but let him move in to pretend to be one of their kids. It’s amazing how much support he is getting from even the transgender movement which I would have thought would find him an embarrassment. The articles about him keep calling him “her.” No. I draw the line at that.
What I seriously dislike about transgenderism is the way they are so authoritarian. I never had a problem calling drag queens “she.” But I will not be forced to call anyone by a pronoun because they demand it or, even worse, get laws passed to compel the world to support their delusion. Furries don’t have a lot of rules for people not in their genre. At least not so far.
Lucky Otter has a blog post called My son is “furry” — got a problem with that? She introduces the topic by saying, “So far my blog has been pretty inoffensive. Well, I like to think so anyway. But I knew the time would come where I’d have to post about something controversial and now is that time.” But Lucky Otter has never shied away from controversy. She defended people with borderline personality disorder, critiqued anti-narcissist blogs by suggesting many of the writers on these blogs were narcs themselves and regularly badmouths psychopaths. Well, that last thing isn’t all that controversial except to psychopaths.
Well, I am not writing this to diss furries. I am more interested in exploring the difference between my reaction and people like Lucky Otter. About Dogbomb’s video (pictured on her blog), Lucky wrote, “This little animation made me totally lose it for almost an hour. Not just a few tears, but full blown sobbing. This wasn’t actually unpleasant at all, but cathartic. Like a good emotional enema, I felt like my soul had been cleansed.” I played it and thought, “Is that it?” Nothing! I didn’t even connect cognitively to the emotional content. Hm….
And, yet, when I was a child, I wanted to be a cat. Our cat looked so contented. He didn’t have to go to school. Lucky cat. I even told my mother I wanted to “mate” with the cat. When I was older, but still pre-puberty, I wanted to be a boy. I seriously thought of dressing like one and passing. Had transgenderism been an option in those days, I might have chosen it. I’m glad it wasn’t an option because that feeling passed and I was happy to grow into a woman. I never had a problem calling cross-dressers by the pronoun of the gender they were dressing as. But that was a courtesy, not something they were entitled to demand of me. I guess some of the disconnect is due to the fact that I am neither a millennial, nor an empath.