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Episode 42 - Had a flight go wrong? Today we share our airport experiences, both humorous and not-so-humorous. We also invite you to comment with your own experiences, what was the weirdest day you spent at an airport?
Had a flight go wrong? Today we share our airport experiences, both humorous and not-so-humorous. We also invite you to comment with your own experiences, what was the weirdest day you spent at an airport?
Metadata and CreditsWagzTail Podcast 2.0 Episode 42
Runtime: 30m
Cast: Wolfin, Levi & JWingy
Editor: Silent
Format: 128kbps ABR split-stereo MP3
Copyright: © 2012 WagzTail.com. Some Rights Reserved. This podcast is released by WagzTail.com as CC BY-ND 3.0. If distributed with a facility that has an existing agreement in place with a Professional Rights Organisation (PRO), file a cue sheet for 30:00 to Fabien Renoult (BMI) 1.67%, Josquin des Pres (BMI) 1.67%, WagzTail.com 96.67%. Rights have been acquired to all content for national and international broadcast and web release with no royalties due. Podcast image by Pablo Barrios, used with permission.
Episode 42 - Had a flight go wrong? Today we share our airport experiences, both humorous and not-so-humorous. We also invite you to comment with your own experiences, what was the weirdest day you spent at an airport?
Streaming Again !!!!!Dinosaur and shark women stream <333Also have the mic on tonight <33
I don't know if anyone here likes Assassin's Creed but I thought I'd share a commission I just finished.
Review: ‘The Cunning Little Vixen’, by Rudolf T?snohlídek
For a moment I thought his shirt had an upvote.
Furry Movie Award Watch: December 2012
Get Excited For: ‘Summerhill’
The opening scene in Kevin Frane’s upcoming novel Summerhill features an argument between a cyborg dinosaur and a blue alien prince. And it only gets stranger from there.
Summerhill, the vaguely canine protagonist, finds himself on an inter-dimensional cruise ship filled with creatures of all shapes, sizes, and viscosities. How does one interact with a giant wooden insect, or a talking pink raincloud…
Or Katherine, a beautiful human woman with a secret, running from her past, while Summerhill is trying to find his.
Furthermore, what happens when this ship travels to dimensions where the laws of physics are changed? Space operas and jungles are exciting enough, but how about a universe where the world is actually flat?
Add on to this, Summerhill’s new friend Katherine is wanted by the Consortium, an interdimensional law enforcement agency that prevents Existential Integrity Violations (which are just as serious as they sound).
Frane has a knack for exciting adventures and thrillers, as well as a quirky sense of humor. The Dr. Who influence is certainly noticeable in Summerhill, but it is also very clearly its own unique tale unlike anything you’ve read before.
If you want a taste of Summerhill, check out the preview chapter here. It will give you a glimpse into the world Frane has created, with all its eccentricities. Summerhill goes on sale in January and is available for preorder. And be sure to check out the bigger version of Kamui’s cover here.
Every time I see an auction on Furaffinity
South African ‘sexologist’ turns to Jungian archetypes to interpret furry fandom
B-Sides: Episode 3 - It's the holidays...and people are busy and hard to reach and stuff. As such we have a nice and ...
Blood, Toil, Tears and Fur
(This is a lightly edited reprint of a column from Anthro Magazine #20)
I’ve always admired Winston Churchill, perhaps more than anyone else who ever lived. Somehow he managed to cram not one but a whole succession of lives into the span of one. He rode in the last cavalry charge of the British Army; wrote more books than most full-time authors (winning the Nobel Prize in literature along the way); became arguably the most successful columnist and reporter of his day; was a noted watercolorist; coined terms like ‘seaplane’ and ‘iron curtain’; arguably invented the tank; not only prepared the Royal Navy for World War I but also led it during the early and most crucial parts of that conflict; and sponsored key social legislation that few associate him with today. He was present on Wall Street just after the Crash of 1929, in Cuba during the insurrection against Spain, and personally fought in desperate, bloody actions in India. He remains the only person ever voted an honorary citizen of the United States, by special Act of Congress. Oh, and by the way, he also led Britain during the proudest and toughest period of her history, when she stood alone for freedom against Adolph Hitler and all of occupied Europe. Mustn’t forget that part!
He was also without question a furry, long before there was a name for such a thing.
Shocked? So was I, when I first came upon the truth while reading The Last Lion, a biography of the man by William Manchester. Unlike all the other biographies I’d read, this one was up close and personal—more about the man himself than his accomplishments. In it I learned of the troubled, attention-starved youth with a wild and vivid imagination, who couldn’t ever quite fit in and all but failed out of school because he couldn’t deal with the regimentation of rote learning. I cried with the adolescent who refused to abandon his nurse despite the fact that he was mocked for it by his peers—his parents had cast her off to live on nothing, and young Winston helped her with money from his own allowance and kept in close touch until the day she died. Later, I grew to know the brilliant young man whose keen intellect eventually became apparent to everyone, but whose poor social skills kept him an outcast. And, I have to admit, everything seemed to be fitting a familiar sort of pattern.
But I couldn’t quite put a name on it until I ran into his fursuit.
Yes, it’s true: Winston Churchill owned a fursuit. More than that, he owned a whole closet full of costumes, though apparently this was his favorite. He wore it quite frequently, it seems, playing and roughhousing with his grandchildren. As difficult as it might be to picture, according to Mr. Manchester Winston Churchill loved to dress up as a gorilla.
I blinked when I read that part, as little bells and whistles began to ring in my mind. Churchill also kept odd hours, sleeping twice a day instead of once, and did his best work late at night. In a nation noted for its eccentrics, he was an oddball. Winston loved animals deeply—his home was supposed to be a working farm, but he could never bring himself to slaughter any of the livestock and even worried for days once over a sick goldfish. More and more alarms went off…
…until finally I hit the hard, definitive paydirt, the letters between he and his wife.
Here’s a quote from Manchester…
Like other lovers, they invented pet names for each other. Clementine was “Cat”, or “Kat”, Winston was “Pug”, then “Amber Pug”, then “Pig”. Drawings of these animals decorated the margins of their letters to each other, and at dinner parties Winston would reach across the table, squeeze her hand, and murmur “Dear Cat”.
Or, at a later date…
“We are going to bathe in the lake this evening,” he told her in a typical note. “No cats allowed! Your Pug in clover, W.” And she would assure him that while he was gone “your lazy Kat sits purring and lapping cream and stroking her kittens.”
These were not one-offs, taken out of context. Due to Churchill’s odd schedule and frequent travels, he and his beloved Kat didn’t see much of each other, and even while living in the same house they wrote each other frequent letters. Practically all of them are full of love—and they’re equally full of what we today would recognize in a heartbeat as typical anthropomorphic on-line role-play.
Here’s another example, among many. In closing a long letter in which Churchill’s political enemies are clawed to pieces, Clementine wrote her husband:
“Good-Bye, my Darling. I love you very much. Your Radical Bristling—” here she drew an indignant cat.
It goes on and on and on in this vein. A modern-day fur, looking at this body of correspondence, cannot help but feel right at home. Indeed, he might even envy the easy and natural way that these two very-much-in-love individuals unselfconsciously communicated using the anthropomorphic symbols and language that clearly meant so much to them. Matters continued in this vein to the very end, as did their love. If any part of Churchill’s life can be described as filled with joy, this was probably it.
A lot of people seem to enjoy bashing furs. These same sorts of people seemed to enjoy bashing Churchill as well until he grew into such a historical giant that no one dared any longer. He started out life as an awkward, troubled, sickly and accident-prone youth that no one understood and who seemingly couldn’t get ahead. But he grew tall and strong, perhaps taller and stronger than any other man of his time. There’s not the slightest doubt in my mind that, were he alive today, we’d find him attending furcons and hanging around in furry chatrooms.
I’d submit that Winston Churchill’s furriness, along with the intelligence, creativity and sensitivity that so often accompany it, was an essential component of his colossal strength. Certainly, it was a major part of who he was, and how he saw the world.
Which apparently wasn’t, if you’re reading this, so very different from the way that you and I see it.
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