From: Snowcat Subject: Re: A Plan for Alt.fan.furry Date: Saturday, November 22, 1997 3:33 PM A Suggestor wrote in message <653emb$ij2@sdrn.zippo.com>... >Since it seems we have a bunch of different kinds of fur fans, I purpose the >following: [chomp] >Matthew Milam The little snow leopard morph consider's Matt's proposals, and promptly breaks his vow about never delurking again. Bravely he prints off his ideas on the subject, and marches off to give the furry on-line stage another try. Unlike his first entrance, however, he doesn't come in with a grand leap. The little cat skulks out of the wings, tightly clutching his binder of freshly-printed notes. A very large paper clip is fastened firmly to the corner of the pages to prevent a repeat of his previous disaster. Furs in his wake wrinkle their noses at the pungent odor of Johnson & Johnson brand "No More Hairballs" formula shampoo. Snowcat slinks timidly out onto the stage, and realizes that he has emerged ahead of his cue: a skunk morph is in the middle of an impassioned harangue about the state of her favourite MUck. The snow leopard hesitates on the edge of the stage for a moment, then scurries nervously around behind the skunkette, trying to shake the uncomfortable image of walking past the muzzle of a loaded gun. As she snaps a heated retort to a persistent heckler, he can't help but wonder if this gun doesn't have a hair trigger. When moves into the clear past the other morph, he spies an odd assortment of comfortable-looking chairs, and a table at the back corner of the stage. A little cardboard place card on the table reads, "Furry Waiting Area" and he realizes that this is a rest place for furs to bide their time until their turn comes up. With a sigh, he drops his notes on the table and begins looking over the spread of light snacks laid out there, scanning for anything that might catch his feline fancy. Snowy passes over the limp carrot sticks, grubs, taro roots, and a tray of what he suspects might once have been eucalyptus leaves, when his sharp grey eyes latch onto - oh joy! It's a Tupperware bowl full of breaded, deep-fried gerbils! Gerbils.. the snack food of champions! The snow leopard barely hesitates before jamming a golden-fried morsel into his salivating maw. He chows down on another gerbil.. and another one. Uh oh. Somebody went a little heavy with the Cajun spices on these rodents. Cats may not sweat, but this one makes up for that shortcoming with a plenitude of eye watering and theatrical gagging. In a move of desperation, he grabs the ewer of water from the table and raises it to his muzzle. Although his snout is not designed for drinking in this fashion, barely half of the water spills around the edges and down his furry bib. It is while he is in this compromising position that he hears the booming announcement, "And now here's Snowcat to speak out on Matt's proposals for the Furry newsgroup!" The cat gasps in surprise, inhaling a noseful of water. While the poor snow leopard sneezes copiously over the balance of the smorgasbord, the pitcher slips from his paws, spilling the rest of its contents on the table before bouncing to the floor. Regaining his composure as best he can, Snowcat grabs up his soggy notes and bustles toward the front of the stage, blithely unaware of the gerbil tail hanging from the corner of his mouth. Twice, he stops for sneezing fits before he arrives at the podium, soaked down the front and shivering. Without ado, he lays out his notes on the podium, and suddenly regrets that he ran them off on the inkjet printer. For a moment he's locked in panic, but it quickly passes. If his speech notes are now a streaked, soggy mess, he'll just have to improvise for the parts he can't interpret. He clears his throat, tugs at his collar, and taps the microphone twice, nearly deafening a poor fennec who was sitting too near the to the PA. The snow leopard peers at his notes and begins to read aloud. "My dissertation on Matt Milan's suggestions for a.f.f, by Sno.. er," he squints at his notes, but the word is too badly smeared. In a guess borne of desperation, he blurts, "by Snoffal!" The instant he says it, he realizes that he has just mangled his own name. "Er, 'by Snowcat' I mean," he stammers sheepishly. Even as he's speaking, though, a question begins to churn in the back of his mind, not unlike the way his recent snacks are beginning to turn over in his stomach. Thus it is with some consternation that the spotted one muses, "How many days have those gerbil snacks been sitting out? Weren't they there the last time I delurked?" As if in reply, his digestive tract rebels, and he finds himself in the unenviable position of preparing to vomit in front of the whole on-line furry community. With the memory of his hairball incident still burning fresh, he opts for the lesser evil. The little cat grabs his ruined notes and runs for the wings as if there were poachers on his tail. Just as with his last hasty departure, his retreat is greeted with hoots and jeers. An unfortunate stage hand stops the fleeing snow leopard, and with a comradely paw on his shoulder, asks, "Snowy, what's wrong?" ...and the cat shows him. Dave B remove 'nospam' from the address when replying.. Spammers need only remove 'no' from the address.