On Friday night, Igby threw a ‘hooray, I’m single’ party, complete with a penis cake and assorted shenanigans. When you arrive and see a car like this parked outside, you know you’ve arrived at a vortex of awesome:
Igby herself started the party in high spirits; meaning, of course, that she was consuming a LOT of spirits. Everyone was, actually–it was one of those parties where games like shots and ladders are not only welcome, they’re EAGERLY welcomed, which means that A)I was one of the oldest people there and B)not a single person would go unscathed by Lady Liquor’s horrible wrath.
I’m pretty sure that drinking wine out of the bottle is equivalent to being a college-age hobo. The next step is to jab a bubble-tea straw into a box of Franzia–the adult juice box.
It’s also a party where homemade penis-shaped cakes are eaten with gusto.
See the girl in the Horrorpops shirt? I’d never met her before, I don’t remember her name, but halfway through the evening, we ended up drinking in the street, walking to meet a friend of hers, and immediately afterwards, she was making me drinks like I was one of her best friends. Drunken stupidity is a powerful friendship adhesive. Also, it turns out she is the owner of the Vehicle of Awesome pictured above.
Then things started going wrong; Igby’s ex showed up and ruined her night. She ended up crying, getting very, very sick, and a sort of gloom was cast over the festivities. People started brainstorming ideas to try and cheer Igby up–one of her roommates (I think?)announced he knew what to do, and that he needed someone short and pliably drunk, glanced over at me, and said that I would do just fine, and that I should follow him into the basement.
That’s when things went HORRIBLY wrong.
Yeah. That’s me. Me in a motherfucking tiger costume. That’s Ryan behind me, while I try to throw up the horns. Even though most everyone saw me go into the basement with the stranger, and the stranger leading a tiger back up the stairs, Ryan was the only person who figured out it was me inside.
So since I was a costumed non-entity, they had their way with me.
After people finished having their fun, I made my way to the bathroom where Igby was camping out. I got in behind her and started rubbing her back, trying to say soothing things even though my mouth was disgustingly full of costume fur. I don’t know if she thought someone with English Mushmouth had sneaked into her party or what, but she looked up to see who was making sympathetic noises and screamed when she realized it was a tiger. Screamed.
Somehow I don’t think it made her feel much better. Just saying.
I managed to shout out ‘AMBER, I’M SWEATING BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!’ and somehow it became the new catchphrase of the drunk and stoned.
But seriously. Sweating. It was hot and gross inside the costume, I couldn’t see, it was constrictive and difficult to breathe, and when I finally managed to remove the head, boob-grabber up there screamed as well because apparently she thought she was molesting a GUY.
Soooo…let us never speak of this again.
that is fantastic.
yiff
erm… not that it’s my fantasy or anything.
Re: yiff
There were no inappropriate holes in the costume or I never would’ve put it on. I was not so drunk that I didn’t think to check and makde sure it wasn’t some sort of fursuit sex costume. 😐
AHAHAAA! These are so freaking awesome!
There needs to be a tiger costume at every party forever!
I am a firm believer that any party is made better by the presence of costumes.
I’ve been told that same thing, recently. I suppose I’ll have to put it to the test.
I agree. And I should be invited, because fun follows me around like a lost puppy.
All in good time. Keep your fu… dammit. Someone already made a fursuit joke.
GODDAMNIT.
Arright, if’n you want your party invite you’re going to have to earn it, ‘cos there ain’t no way I’m lettin’ unaudited roborabble in through the door to swill my high quality premium booze. My parties have got standards. RFCs too. ISO and IEEE certified.
You ‘n’ me, we gots to hang. It is, perchance, the only way to be sure.
Name a time and a place, I’m down!
It’s been an idea-intensive week and my thinking parts have run dry. I’ll have to take a raincheck on proposing hang-out ideas for the moment. Unless by some gargantuan twist of fate you happen to play Jyhad, in which case I’ve got an open seat for you this weekend.
I am of course ever open to suggestions, particularly subliminal ones. It is not my schedule which is overtaxed so much as my brain.
Alas, I am not a Jyhad player! This upcoming weekend is mostly already booked up, so I would have a hard time making it out regardless. Next weekend, though, we should meet up. I will ponder ideas for that time if it works for you!
Next weekend is all good. I’ll keep it free.
Sweet, any better way to get ahold of you other than through LJ comments?
My email address should be in my LJ profile. I check it every ten seconds or so. If you should need more immediate access to my person, we can arrange it by email.
Ping!
I’m just checking to see if I was supposed to have an email but it got lost in transit or if there is in fact no email for any of numerous possible valid reasons including but not limited to attack by giant clowns from space.
That’s what.
I don’t want to be attacked by clowns from space! I haven’t thought of anything fun to do–do you have any ideas?
Maybe. Give me delicious emails at robertbjones AT yahoo DAWT com and we can stop this lj thread necrophilia and get on with some proper… um. email-ophelia-mancy. Thing. This requires discussion. And made-up words.
*sigh*
My friend is a furry.
Also, who the hell invited ex?
Ex invited himself.
Also, I’m not saying I know anyone in the mob or anything, but saying that I’m a furry is a pretty quick way to have an ‘accident’, if you get my point. 😛
I think it would be a unwise move to have an accident in your fursuit.
IT’S NOT MY FUR SUIT! IT’S A COSTUME. OWNED BY SOMEONE ELSE. WITHOUT ACCESS HOLES FOR FURRIES.
That’s it! :orders mob hit:
:orders counter-ninjas:
The Family will kick the shit out of your ninjas.
Wrong. The Family will meet The Yakuza and form a mutually beneficial business deal.
Then, they will both laugh at yo…the
fursuitcostume.I think they’ll appreciate the tremendous amount of character and inner strength it takes to be an object of ridicule for other people’s amusement. 😛
You seem to be an optimist.
If I didn’t believe at least that much, this whole ‘dressing like a robot’ premise would be right-out.
If it scared Igby… think of it…. Ex would have shit his goddamn pants if you had leapt out the front door and attacked him wearing your
fursuit!Tiger Costume!Batman is soooo getting sued.
I’m pretty sure it’s still considered assault and battery even when you’re costumed. 😉
I used to volunteer at girl scout events that involved climbing inside weird Muppet costumes, not just weird Muppet costumes, but HOME MADE Muppet costumes. The worst was Kermit, The head was so small I nearly passed out several times, and the gloves had these extra long “frog” fingers so there was no picking anything up in them. I’m pretty sure that costumes like that are really some sort of weird Chinese torture device
Troop leader, troop leader, why is Kermit having a seizure?!?
When I make/select my costumes my biggest rules are that I need to be able to breathe comfortably and retain a decent amount of finger dexterity–anything less is miserable, no matter how awesome it looks.
So how’s the ‘let us never speak of this again’ thing working out for you, anyhow?
Not as well as I would have imagined.
Soooo…let us never speak of this again.
As a former participant in a drunk dance-off involving a Christina Aguilera song, duly noted.
…But am I the only one who is curious as to why he just happened to have a tiger costume lying around?
Since you brought it up…I want to know more about this dance-off. At least, did you win? Is there video footage?
He told me why he had it, but I forgot. 🙁 I KNOW I would have remembered if the answer had anything to do with ‘it gives me sexual pleasure’.
It was “Mexican Night” at my friends’ apartment when I was studying abroad in Australia and I had a little too much red wine and rum and Kahlua, and ended up challenging one of my friends (who was a cheerleader at Syracuse at the time) to a dance-off. I ended up winning with my robot dancing, actually.
And I think there is, somewhere. (Un)fortunately, the one person I know who might have it is somewhere in Peru for the Peace Corps, so… I don’t think he has any access right now.
Actually, I’ll take that back. I apparently did speak of it again, because hell, it was a lot of fun. (Although I tend to leave out the Christina Aguilera part, for everyone’s sanity.)
Hmmm. You sure he’s being honest? 😉
No inappropriate holes, no strange fur matted anywhere; I think he was telling the truth.
SWEET for winning a dance-off with the robot. SWEET.
Yes. I developed a good reputation for being able to do a “broken down robot” dance quite well.
I want to see video proof of this ‘broken down robot’ dancing awesomeness. 😀
H8 YOU.
#1 Talk about alcohol loosening people up. No wonder furries are all about sex!
#2 You should have seen Hot Rod, my 1980 Chevy Citation. My hood ornament was a Ninja Turtle.
1. Uh…what?
2. Awesome! Which one?
YIFF IN HELL
ITT: FURRIES
Re: YIFF IN HELL
ITT?
Were you jumpin’ around all nimbly bimbly from tree to tree?
I WISH.
Oh dear god. that was crazy!
At the time, it was surreal. Now I’m wondering if it was a good idea to post it on the internet!
I seriously needed some cheering up today and this did me well.
Oh robot.
At your service!
Your secret
is still safe with me. its one of those blurs in life that isn’t a dream right?
Re: Your secret
Well, if it was a dream, then you were there, and you were there, and you…
Excuse me, I just slipped into ‘Wizard of Oz’ mode.
It’s not much of a secret, unfortunately. AND it’s not a dream. I fail. 🙁