reblogged from shitwald
Kill the idea that naivety is an unforgivable flaw but cynicism is just wisdom, murder it, chop it up and serve it for dinner, I don’t care, just end this bullshit idea that it’s better to hate than to love and better to rot in miserable bitter resignation than to hope for the best.
A history of Rowsby The Dog on the occasion of his imminent sale
reblogged from wild---life
Yesterday, Rowsby’s auction reached its reserve bid, so he’s as good as sold (hopefully). I’m stewing in a tasty bittersweet broth surrounded by morsels of nostalgia, glee, pride, regret, inspiration, self-fascination (srsly how good does my butt look when it’s Rowsby’s butt?) and other flavors too subtle or novel to name. With Wild Life, I’ve sold a bunch of fursuits in the past three years, some with a slight reluctance, but none have made me feel this way because none of the others were MINE. He certainly won’t be my last fursuit - something I never thought I’d say a few years ago - but he’s my first, and he means a lot to me.
This continues for 15 paragraphs beyond the jump: tales of viewing, making, wearing, appreciating, owning, loving, and selling fursuits…
rooshoes said: new scoob look like he escaped from an I Am Weasel parody episode
You’re not even a little bit wrong.