Hey you strange creatures from all over the internet, be they furry, scaley, aquatic, or some weird space-faring cannibalistic cheese-wedge! It’s time again for the InkedFur Furry Friday, brought to you once again by the people at the strange hybrid of arts and bulges that is, indeed, InkedFur.com. Use the supersecret code “listen2badger” for a discount!
While you guys run to the feeding troughs labeled for your species and the avian furs screech loudly and without purpose in your ears, I’m gonna fill the void that is your self-respect with yet another legal issue that touches on the issues of the Furry Fandom as we deep dive into disgrace.
Specifically, we’re going to talk about something that concerns the fuck out of me, and that’s the interactions within the furry fandom of older, and likely well-meaning, members and the younger generation nipping at their heels to take over the torch. Yep, guys, today I’m writing the furry equivalent of a “how to deal with millennials” piece telling you what the pitfalls, legal and practical, are from the social interactions folks may have with minors in the furry fandom, and especially how to take the time to cover your ass while still being supportive. We’re going to do this in two parts: Romantic Interactions and the inherent risks, and next time Social Interactions and the inherent risks.
So, with all the pups and cubs safely in bed, let’s just get right into the whole fucking issue that is the human puppy mill of the furry fandom in “A Minor Problem, Part 1: Your Underage Romance.”
So I was gonna spend some time today on the whole “1L Guidance” thing again, but you know when life reaches up and smacks you around a little? That happened Friday evening as I was preparing to go out and be the Amazing Dancing Badger for a group of furries in Connecticut over the last weekend. This time, the dose of reality came in the form of a link from the super-secret LawyerSlack, a place where attorneys gather…you know, like a Bar Association meeting but with less liquor and pretentiousness. Someone posted an article about a Connecticut Councilman from the town of New Milford who “voluntarily resigned” after his participation in a certain fandom – possibly one filled with large talking animals and a love of the movie Zootopia – became even more exposed than it had been before.
And, because I’m not a goddamn fan of hypocrisy, let’s talk about this shit.
My god, what’s this? Is it…could it be? Yes, yes it is time to open up the kennel and spread wide all those SPHs, because it’s InkedFur.com’s Furry Friday on Lawyers & Liquor once again. Hold on, let me dig into my Closet of Shame and put on the badger head again before we get the ball rolling.
Alright, so, last time I really pissed some people off by talking about how every single one of you are idiots for the manner in which you do business in re the contracting for and payment for fursuits. I was advised, while enjoying a glass of “Don’t Give a Fuck,” that more than a few fursuit makers were upset because I suggested things like “progress payment plans.” The largest complaint I heard was “We have to make a living! That means we need the money now to complete other projects and pay our expenses!”
Two things: 1) you’re running a business, maybe on the side but still a business, and you shouldn’t be counting on future funds to pay for past projects and 2) I get it. I really do. This shit isn’t inexpensive to do, and that’s why you need to be more careful about accepting commissions and maybe engaging in smaller work to build capital on the side and get a good reserve of money in before committing to doing this stuff for all or a majority of your income. Businesses need start-up funding. Trust me guys, solo lawyers run into the same damn problem all the time, and we do the same thing. Despite the product, your business model is not unique.
But today’s post is really for the fursuit makers and may piss off some of the other members of the fandom, and to that end I say: “Let me pour another glass of ‘Don’t Give a Fuck’ before I get rolling.” Because today? Today I’m going to tell all those awesome fursuit makers out there how letting anyone under the age of 18 order a fursuit from them is a really fucking bad idea business wise and legally.
You pricks done howling in outrage yet?
Awesome, let’s play fetch with your emotions.
My life is a blur of furries and cars these days.
There is nothing left for me. I’m dispensing with all of the neat and happy intro stuff this time to dive right into the breakdown of my time at IndyFurCon 2017.
I swear to god these guys are like a cult. They lure you in with all of the neat art and friendliness, you think maybe it’d be a little fun to interact with them, then next thing you know you’re hauling ass across three states in the dead of night because they raised money for a convention and your stupid ass made a promise to go to another convention on like three days notice if they did that. So, you know, you hop your ass in the car and drive in the dead of night through fucking Ohio to go visit the furries in Indianapolis, arriving in the “Oh my god, there’s a three in the morning now?” hours of Saturday worn out from a drive to shamble into a hotel and be greeted by a giant goddamn panda who, despite running a convention, is now currently waiting for your arrival in particular.
Every weekend has turned into a mixture of Hunter S. Thompson and Salvador Dali for me now. This is my life. So take my sweaty, cold, oversized hand and close your eyes tight, and we’ll just get right down to business here as we discuss Indy Fur Con: The End Result Of A Series of Bad Decisions.