Chad the Bird films at Green Mill Cocktail Lounge! That’s closer to me than my grocery store, I could have been walking there instead of watching his standup a week later on TikTok! Humans! Humans of Chicago! Join me this Saturday at 3pm at Green Mill Cocktail Lounge in Uptown!
I got a verbal agreement, and I’m waiting on a signature to make it official, but for now—I got a verbal acceptance of my offer on a condo! Keep your fingers crossed. 🙂
Wish me luck. I’m waiting to hear back about an offer on a condo. I’m only check my phone every couple of seconds for updates, I’m not excited or anything.
I was offline most of last evening, so I was surprised by the hack of FurAffinity and their associated Twitter accounts. It’s shocking that someone would do this, but don’t let it throw you.
What they want is to discourage us. We are a community. We found each other and encouraged each other to explore and be our true selves, in a lot of ways that make bigots uncomfortable and scared. Stand fast. Nobody online can hurt us in a way that matters.
Don’t lose hope or back down. We’re not a website—we’re not going anywhere. We are goddamn proud of who we are and what we do, and we are right to be. People who hate furries usually hate us because we’re not straight, white, cisgender, allosexual, allistic, or because we have the gall to want more than hustle culture and capital. They consider these things unacceptable in polite society. We will continue to do our thing—and we will do it LOUDER.
I am a furry, among other things. The alt-right considers me a degenerate and a deviant. In accepting myself as I am and in finding my community, I am happy and proud. I will be happy and proud out of spite, at the very least.
Now, what we can do personally: Make sure your art is posted somewhere you control. Use social media, but keep copies somewhere safe. Consider a personal website. Use 2FA and secure passwords. Talk to your friends, check in with friends who are being quiet, help each other, and continue to create and do what brings you joy. Illegitimi non carborundum.
I know this is a difficult time for everybody, and we’re all upset by how unfair and sudden the loss of Dragoneer was, but I want to talk about the GoFundMe started in Dragoneer’s name to support FurAffinity. I don’t want to make any assumptions, but I have some questions.
As of Thursday, August 15, 2024 at 6:00pm CDT, 2745 donations put $153,519 into the FurAffinity GoFundMe. Obviously this is a tremendously generous outpouring of support from the community. Dragoneer and his contributions to the furry fandom meant a lot to a lot of us, and a lot of people wanted to give something back. For a goal of $75,000, to double the goal in just days is laudable and says a lot about the generosity of our community.
This morning, though, the GoFundMe’s goal nearly tripled to $221,800. Obviously, information comes to light gradually when a person passes, so a revision was not unexpected. But FurAffinity, via Susan Hess AKA Sciggles, is asking for nearly a quarter of a million dollars. From an initial estimate of $75,000, this is staggering.
If the initial estimate was so far off, some questions need to be answered about who is determining how these generous donations are going to be spent, and the basis for their huge request. To that end, I’ve divided up the expenses listed on the GoFundMe page into three categories, and listed my questions and concerns on each.
Medical expenses: $38,300. This is a bare minimum. Medical bills can take months to be processed and sent to patients, so this number is very likely to rise, possibly significantly. What is the plan when that happens?
Back taxes owed: $6,000. This only covers taxes owed to the IRS for fiscal year 2022. Taxes for fiscal year 2023 and 2024 will still be due, and we as yet have no information on what they will be. State taxes are also entirely absent. What is the plan when those come due?
Mortgage: $12,600. Who owns the house? Is Rita staying at the house? How long is Rita staying at the house? What happens after six months? Why isn’t the house being sold to settle estate debts?
Funeral expenses: $13,000. The average funeral in Virginia costs approx. $8000. Why is this so high?
Medical examiner and cremation: $9,500. What are they trying to examine? Is this part of a potential medical malpractice lawsuit? If so, won’t the proceeds from any medical malpractice case go toward paying medical bills?
Legal fees: $5,000.00. The cost of the deed transfer ($3,500) seems very high. This estimate also does not include the estate lawyer’s fees for time spent administering the estate. This number is likely to rise, possibly significantly.
This is the big one. The majority of the ask is for this category.
FurAffinity debts: $87,400. This includes a working capital loan ($32,000), the balance owed to IMVU for FurAffinity’s buyback ($17,000), and past contract services owed ($38,400). Are there any other outstanding debts owed by Frost Dragon, LLC or FurAffinity? Who owns this debt? What was the plan to pay it back? What were the terms of the debt? Was it in Dragoneer’s name, or Frost Dragon LLC’s, or FurAffinity’s? Is this number likely to rise as more information is discovered, or are all of FurAffinity’s debts and contracts known?
FurAffinity operating expenses: $50,000. This includes two months of operating costs to help with the transition of ownership ($20,000 each), plus an additional $10,000 for backup savings. Where are these numbers coming from? What happens at the end of two months? What is the plan to pay FurAffinity’s operating expenses moving forward? Why is FurAffinity’s current income not supporting its operating costs?
Do the donations go to Dragoneer’s estate, or to someone else? Who is accountable for the quarter-million they’ve asked for?
Testing another thing quick. Bluesky, can you read this?
Just testing something quick. Let me know if you see this!
Apex glided through the sky at subsonic speed toward Professor Nemesis’ mountain lair. No need to rattle any windows on a holiday, after all.
As the thought crossed his mind, infrared lasers from the foothills tracked onto him. Subterranean launch platforms spat missiles in swarms. The roar drowned out his super-hearing. He dove and swerved to avoid the first wave—not too good a turn radius on these models—only to see them arc around to follow him. Guided by the lasers, no doubt.
Apex squinted, and electromagnetic waves flowed in a torrent from his eyes, then narrowed and focused to a specific frequency. Sure enough, the missiles veered to follow Apex’s signal and slammed back into their own launchers.
Apex touched down at Professor Nemesis’ front door.
The gargantuan titanium skull rising out of the mountain was crushed in places. One eye lit up a sickly green. Apex turned up toward it and arched an eyebrow. “Missiles?” he said for the benefit of the camera no doubt tunneling data back to the professor. “Those haven’t been effective against me for fifty years. You might as well come out and talk, Nemesis.”
The mouth of the skull yawned open.A shrunken, greying scientist in badly oversized lab clothes decorated in a green skull motif shuffled out to meet Apex. “A mad scientist’s budget doesn’t stretch like it used to,” he coughed.
Apex reached out a hand toward Professor Nemesis. “You kept your word. Every dollar spent trying to kill me matched by a charitable donation. And no innocents endangered.”
Nemesis slapped Apex’s hand away. “As if I would endanger the innocent. My quarrel is with you, you monkey.” He gave a wet, wracking cough and doubled over. “No using—“ he started. “No using your micro vision to diagnose me. You promised.”
“I wish you would let me—“
“I let you do enough.” Nemesis’ eyes watered. “Every year, I let you condescend to me, and you get stronger, and I get older.”
Apex offered his hand again. This time, Nemesis took it without looking. They were silent together.
“I will kill you,” Nemesis said finally.
“Merry Christmas, Professor Nemesis.”
Content warning: body horror
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They raised the yellow tape over my head and let me onto the scene. The air thickened with the smells of copper, metallurgy, leftover scrap, paint, thinner. Blood, of course.
“Nobody touch nothing,” I said. Flatfoots gave me the evil eye and got out of my way. I thumbed my camera drone to life and let it flit and snap.
Three-point lighting flooded the scene with washes of pink and blue. The chalk circle was there, centered, again. Somewhere in the fumes of acetylene there was probably incense.
The vic’s head and neck rose out of the body of an old Triumph Rocket III motorbike, one of the old wheeled ones. A gas guzzler. The face froze in a roar of rage or terror, chrome horns riveted onto its head. The blood mixed with oil and rust and pooled down below. I checked the fuel gauge—empty. It had run all night before it was found.
“We know who did this,” said one of the buzzcuts.
“Shut up,” I told him.
“It was broadcast.”
“Of course it was.”
He scowled. “Why do we need you to to solve this murder?”
“Murder?” I looked back at the Triumph. Not a centaur—two wheels made this a satyr. Symbolic of wild excess and temptation. The motorbike usually meant freedom, but the empty gas gauge told a different story. The victim was no doubt alive at the beginning. This was the end of the road, as it were. The broadcast made it a performance. A sacrifice to a dying god of a dead culture.
“I guess it is a murder,” I said, finally. “But is it a crime? Or is it art?…”
