Rock Me Like a Furricane

It's that time of year again. Anthrocon, the world’s largest furry convention, begins this Thursday in Pittsburgh. And, as my boy TK has been reporting via Twitter, attendees have already started rolling into town (and he’s been meeting new friends; I'm trying to get him to go out like Johnny Drama).

I'm not a furry, but the whole culture fascinates me. Two years ago my friends and I, in a moment of drunken spontaneity, spent part of a night hunting furries. We posed for pictures and joked with them. My ex-girlfriend danced with them. Her friend rubbed one’s belly while he laid on his back, kicking his legs in the air. It was so much fun that last year Dupa and I each took a half day off of work to sit at the bar across the street from their hotel and hold a safari of sorts. Dozens of our friends eventually joined us, and countless pictures with deer, wolves, birds, cats, etc. now litter everyone’s personal Facebook pages.

This Friday I’ll be at it again—though Dupa and I have each called off for the entire day this time. It has officially become a tradition; cold drinks, sweaty-hot costumes, and good times. Bring your camera. Leave behind your threshold of “wtf”.