April 16, 2009: Yiffcon '09

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 16, 2009

Hear knock outside door. It is Dreiberg. Again. Wants to go on another "adventure". Hurm. Fat middle-aged man. Trying to relive glory days when he and LOLSCHACH would travel world, battling injustices and righting wrongs. Unfortunately, recent adventures with Dreiberg have had scarcely any similarities to "good ole days".

Promises things will be different. Guarantees good time. Says we're going to the Ancient Indian Burial Ground Hotel in rural Colorado. Bought weekend passes to some convention called "Yiffcon '09". Not interested. Fat man pleads with me. Guarantees there will be delinquents to punish. Fine. Whatever.

Pile into Archie and take off. Ask what kind of convention this "Yiffcon" could be. Dreiberg won't tell. Not an encouraging start.

Arrive at the Ancient Indian Burial Ground Hotel. Strange name. Ominous ring to it, though can't quite place why.



Enter lobbey. At last discover what fandom "Yiffcon" caters to...


Furries.

Disgusting, wretched sexual deviants. Worst gutter scum the internet fetish toilet has ever manufactured. Investigated furries before. Farmer Jeremiah Brown had been complaining of livestock being sodomized by mysterious gang of overweight men in bunny costumes. Turned out to be furries: people who are sexually attracted to animals to the point of dressing in animal costumes and partaking in massive orgies or..."yiffing".

No excuse for bestiality. Only okay to hurt animals if they've eaten children. Even then, sex is out of question. Brimming over with rage. Cannot contain furry..."FURY". Look at Dreiberg. Why would he bring me here to this viper's nest; a convention of my worst enemi--


Dreiberg. Large, overweight man. Socially retarded. Dressed in unflattering, poorly designed...bird costume.

No. Not Dreiberg. No...

Begin to back away. Dreiberg looks at me in confusion. "Something wrong, LOLSCHACH? Aren't you having fun?" Furries line up beside and behind him. Veritable army of pig-raping delinquents. Too many. Must resort to tactical retreat.

Run down hallway and into dealer room. Hundreds of leering, squirrel-hungry maniacs, publicly masturbating to drawings of animals. Dealer approaches me unsolicited. Begins to speak.

"Hey, is that a Watchmen costume? I used to love that cartoon when I was a kid! It came on right after Chip 'n Dale's Rescue Rangers! Bubastis was soooooo hot. Not Gadget-hot, but pretty close. Here, check out this lithograph I drew..."


Disgusting. Nauseating. Wrong. WRONG. Feel breakfast surging upward from pits of stomach. Lift up face just in time to project glob of hot vomit all over sniveling creep with "sexy" Bubastis lithograph.

Furry is not pleased. Takes the offensive. "Oh my god! What is your problem!? Wait, are you a... a... fursecutor?"

Entire dealer room goes dead quiet. Creep must have said the magic word. Fat, ugly middle-aged men stare at me through their skunk and chipmunk costumes, eyes smoldering with hatred. Then, I hear it:

"FURSECUTOR!!!"

They attack. Hundreds of animal-raping miscreants in costumes which wouldn't even be socially acceptible on Halloween. All swarming my way. Head back out into the hallway and sprint away from convention area, into hotel quarters. Stay ahead of the pack. They are fat. LOLSCHACH isn't. Advantage: LOLSCHACH.

Must find way out. Hotel is built like maze. Endless, identical hallways. Room after room. No exit in sight. Run upstairs. Suspense building to ultimate climax. Reach top of staircase. Look down hall toward only open door. Eyes are met with unforgettable, brain-scarring horror:

Madness.

MADNESS.

Can't stand anymore. Must leave. See window at end of hall. Run as fast as possible. Fold arms over face and crash straight through glass. Fall three stories into snowbank. Ankle sprained. Ribs bruised. Pull six-inch shard of glass out of shoulder. Worth it.

Hobble over to Archie and wait for Dreiberg. He eventually comes. Can tell I am furious. Begins babbling excuse and apology.

"Hey, LOLSCHACH, I'm really sorry. I know you're not all that into this sort of thing, but I thought you might be able to have a little fu--"

"Take. Me. Home."

Dreigberg nods pathetically and waddles into Archie. Starts engine. Before taking off, hands me package. "Got this for you in the dealer room. Thought you might like it, but I understand if you don't want it..."

Worst "adventure" Dreiberg has ever taken me on. Promise self not to hang out with Dreiberg for at least a week or more. Still, one positive element came from this grotesque experience. Am now aware of where and when these dog-molesting monstrosities gather. Can make preparations for "Yiffcon 2010". Had better begin amassing ammunition.