Substances ingested: ethanol (4 beers earlier in the night) 150mg MDMA + 20mg MA (oral, at once), ~100mg MDMA (insufflated, throughout the night) ~100mg ketamine (insufflated, bumps) cannabis (bud, hashish & kief, smoked, throughout the night) nitrous oxide (3 whippets). Names and certain identifying details changed.

Okay dudes, I had the internettest night ever seeing Showtek on friday. It was internet personified, or, for reasons that will become obvious, ‘fursonified’...

Log in to see images!

So I meet up with my buddy and his new gf and we end up hanging out with these two androgynous teenage hipster-kandi-kid friends of my buddy, let’s call them “Tet” and “Pingpong”, whose respective male/female statuses i am still not entirely sure about as I just stopped bothering to use pronouns after the bomb kicked in. I hook Pingpong up with alice and he/she says “I haven’t fried since FC”, and, because I am rolling, my self censor fails to prevent me from blurting out “...Further Confusion???” and his/her eyes light up like I’m a poster for the ****ing Lion King live on Broadway. “You know what that is? Did you go?” “HAH. Sorry. I’m not a furry. But, yes, i am aware of their, uh, comings. I go on 4chan. I have a deviantart.” with the most polite yet suitably snide tone I could muster. “Internet. Fart on a **** sandwich. Lollerz.”

I was struck by the immense fortuitousness of a conversation that had taken place at a Pokemon rave (where I was dressed as team rocket) while I was tweaking and tripping on 2c-E (not a particularly useful combination, by the way). Some girl had a notebook of pokemon cards out, which i thought that she was selling, and I dutifully informed her that “I, too, was a business entrepeneur, and my new business plan was to sell Ecstasy to furries, since they just sit around dancing and screwing and giving each other backrubs anyway.” I wondered if Pingpong was having a mental communication with his/her ‘fursona’, if it came to visit them like an animal spirit guide. As i closed my eyes, I saw pink baby kittens and turquoise baby bunnies, curled around each other like yin-yangs in an infinite spiraling field. “It’s ****ing easter morning up in these fractals, everybody.”

Showtek is about to come on, I jump up and down a little to cheesy hardstyle with all the sweaty 14 year olds and have an e-tastic time, and I finally meet up with this TCC goon i had been talking to a little. And, being fabulous person dudes rolling face, we immediately start exchanging moist mbumages, making out and bumping and grinding all night, and I realise, I’m essentially a ‘human furry’! Meeting on the internet, giving each other “scritchies” and “yerfies” and whatever the ****. My ‘fursona’ that I project into the universe is an attractive, cool human being with self confidence, I guess on some level it’s all just pretend, everyone still knows I’m a fat spergin’ nerd on the inside but no one worth my time really cares at all!

So, in that sense, furries are the most honest people in the world. they don’t give a **** whether anyone thinks they’re nerdy or weird or whatever. I may not understand their desire to suck Disney’s Robin Hood’s dog male reproductive organ but I can dig that they’re about spreading the message of universal love, engaging in freelove, and are mastering the revolutionary future of communication to bring light into the lives of people who might feel lonely or out of place in normal social situations which is a net positive for the world. Furries aren’t afraid to ask the difficult questions, and that question is, what if everyone on the internet was a cat. The Caternet.

In my head, I’m playing SuperFX motorcycle-dodge-em with a beam of light, ducking around the raining shrapnel from exploding prismatic diamonds, and building up a substantial bank of the currency ‘awesome points’. Even my drug-induced hallucinations were nerdy tonight. But I wasn’t the only one, by any means. Everything tonight was internet. Not just internet, it was ****ing anime. The pink spiky hair. Hooded wizards swirling glowing orbs of light around. The weird crazy looking robot monster things that emerge from the bathroom floor and try and defeat your party. It looked as though someone had defeated one already and it dropped loot, or else some clumsy e-tard had dropped a bomb in the urine-filled floor drain and I decided, despite my affinity for stale boy ****, I was rolling quite hard enough, thank you very much.

Meanwhile, my buddy (who has been talking about this show for months and how excited he is to see Showtek) is so head over heels for this girl he’s with that they spend the entire night in the car together, and miss the headlining set. Adorable. I give goon dude a last kiss and meet up with the furries to go take a puff puff of that dutch stuff. On the way out they gush about how cute all the raver kids’ little animal-ear hats and hoodies are and i wonder if bape makes one with monkey ears and a tail so i can look cool and not just gay. In the car, I give the two of them back mbumages. Pingpong makes contented noises in response that could be described as beast-like. Tet explains to me about how it’s short for ‘Bastet’, how he/she has always felt kindred with cats as well as having feline abilities and unmatched reflexes. It makes me think of woman's genitalshands Mac from “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”.

I remember a few months back when, in the afterglow of a ‘Foxy Methoxy’ fueled marathon sex session, my ****buddy jokingly informed me that my spirit animal was the fox (he being 1/16th Blackfoot and 15/16ths Redneck was naturally an expert on matters Indian and arcane). But foxes and cats are natural enemies and competitors in the wild, and I was not ready for that ****. Plus, I was informed that foxes are basically the Deadmau5 of the furry world, boring and overplayed. Surely my own spirit animal must be something unique like a muscular half-demon, half-dragon kitsune with crystalline obsidian eyes that pierce your soul. It’s around 3 AM at this point. **** is starting to get downright WEIRD up in here, I’m sobering up a bit by this point and I’m looking forward to taking a roadtrip with molly up the nasal highway. so me and the lovebirds bid adieu to the furries and head to the afterparty.

Lots of familiar faces but no one I really know very well, all of whom are as ****ed up as me or more, and in varying states of drunk and/or K-holed as well. We take a bump, I decide to give the lovebirds some alone time and make some new friends. I hear the words “Ben has Special K” and am filled with the glowing, inexorable urge to make Ben my first new best friend. I give him a line, he hands me a bullet, I’m coming up hard and it’s time to talk COMIC BOOKs.

He’s interested in foxy methoxy but it’s a little too late in the evening to break it out so I try to explain. “It turns you into a literal fox. But also a caveman. No, wait, that’s wrong. It’s weird. It makes you trip in 5 senses. That’s why it’s sexually enhancing, touch is incredible. Incredibly WEIRD.” Someone hands me a whippet and I decide it’s as good a time as any log on to the caternet. Crack. Pssssshhhhhhhhht. Inhale. :wom: “Oh! Oh, oh, oh… I’m a rocketship blasting off! No, I’m a spinning pyramid made of three cats laying back-to-back in the shape of a triangle, flailing their legs around. Now I’m ketchup. Now I’m dubstep. Bwaaa wa wa waaawawawa… Laughing My Fat ****ing bum Off, dudes.” Ketamine and nitrous are dubstep, fursonified.

The whippet wears off. “Oh yeah, what were we talking about? Foxy. You get visuals, mushroom-like I guess. Sounds just sound weird, like one time I thought every car driving by sounded like a pack of galloping, howling wolf-horse ghosts.” (New spirit animal?) “Tasting is a lot of fun, it messes with your appetite but I like to just taste little bits of things as entertainment. Smells too, though that part’s not so fun, sometimes it can get a little gross. Smell is the most ancient, bestial sense.” I got distracted several times during this conversation when I decided to duck into some of the various portals/foxholes opening up into the eternal mega-mind that was this giant, expensive, fancy house, ending up downstairs or in the bathroom or in various bedrooms where someone would invariably hand me weed or whips, all of which were incredibly amazing even though I had been given tours of the house 2 or 3 times previous.

Ketamine and MDMA, while being an absolutely fantastic combination (and great with psychedelics as well), also tend to give you the attention span of Trig Palin. “Wow! I’m here! And now I’m here again! Wooooowww!!!” I wandered back into the kitchen. “Wow! I left my bag of COMIC BOOKs on the counter with this rolled up $20 like 3 times so far and everything’s still in it, no one’s even touched it. That’s amazing. You guys are so trustworthy. This place is straight up legit.” “Yeah man. Everyone here is chill as ****.” “Tight. Honesty rules. *wanders off into one of the other rooms again, leaving bag of COMIC BOOKs on the counter exactly where it was before and returning in 10 minutes to repeat the same conversation*”

My buddy and his GF (who are still totally into each other) and I decide to hit up the hot tub with three of the people throwing the party, even though I’m secretly freaking out a little because I didn’t bring a swimsuit and am not drunk enough to be chill with these near strangers / COMIC BOOK dealers seeing my wing wong. But at least they’ll know I’m not wearing a wire, right? And we’re talking serious weight. One of them pulled out a bag of molly earlier, and, due to its size (had to be at least 50g), my nitro-kitty-addled mind bumumed someone had pulled out a ziplock bag full of flour and was getting ready to make fried chicken. And I thought I was hot **** with my gram of Canadian pure! ****! These aren’t some n00bzors, these dudes see more weight in a week than the equivelant net worth of my entire life! And they can see my male reproductive organ! ****!

We talk about the various festivals coming up this summer, the merits of Shambhala vs Burning Man. Two were dedicated Burners, my friend and I were for sure going to do the Shimmy Shambles, and one was undecided. They talk about the community aspect of organizing theme camps, and getting their playa names. I told them every time I go to a rave I get some e-tard to give me a different rave name but it never really feels genuine. “Well, yeah. Playa names have to resonate with you. Sometimes they just don’t come to you until you’ve been in the desert, brain melted into a delusional state from a week of 100 degree temperatures and LSD. That name pops into your head and you just know it’s right, it’s your personal name.” Like Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum, names that never belong to more than one cat. Maybe that’s what a fursona is. Maybe furries reach that point of religious desperation, whether through drugs, or prolonged BDSM, or hysterically sobbing from the crippling loneliness of only being attracted to people who pretend to be cartoon animals on the internet, and the true name, their own personal Yahweh, spills forth from their lips like a stream of conscious poetry.

“My new rave name / personal spirit animal is Triangle Fox-Portal Cat-Pyramid.” On later reflection, it needs a little work. Guess I just haven’t tripped hard enough yet. We dried off and my friend took a whippet. “How about a little salvia to spice things up? Maybe mix it up with some DMT?” I cajoled. Things were calming down that night, but life was starting to give me more and more of these sort of opportunities so I know it’s not going to be a long wait. It was good to know I have friends and allies on my quest to explore the greyed-out areas of the neural map. Like the caternet, it’s a vast and unexplored universe with dark corners that can get a little kinky, strange, and… well, furry.

worth the read imo. not as good as iirz on acid though i think

That…was a trip through your psyche I hope I never have to take again.