I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again–inserting the word “fur” wherever the letters P, E, and R have a chance get-together is a crime against the English language, and good taste in general. If I see one more furson’s fursona being furrennially fursecuted, I may gouge my eyes out to escape my own fursonal Furgatory.

Or at least make them write “I will not make an already fringe movement look even more silly by mutilating a language that never did anything to deserve this kind of abuse,” six hundred times on the chalkboard.

Didn’t we learn from “herstory” and “wymmyn” and all the other tortured verbal constructions of the more embarassing bits of the feminist era? This sort of thing does not lend a movement legitimacy, it makes you look like a raving nutjob. Call it furry, sure. Call yourselves furries, great, although some sneaking part of my brain still expects a “furry” to be covered in body hair, rather like my husband’s psychotic ex-roommate, Eytane, who had back hair that you could lose change in. (And that was his best trait.) But really, hasn’t the poor language suffered enough under l33tsp33k and the tragic bastardized Japanese “OOOO! KAWAAAIIII!” thing? Must insult be added to injury? Using “fur” as a gender-neutral pronoun is one thing, but c’mon–some days it reminds me of how the Smurfs talked.

Enough! The language is for communicatin’, not some kind of depraved voice-recognition code between the terminally cute! Fur Is Murder! (of the English language, anyway.)

Thank you. That is all.

(Man, catharsis galore! I shoulda gotten one of these years ago…)

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