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Theres no cure?
Category Fursuiting / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 853px
File Size 278.4 kB
Gives me the idea that when I am stuck in-doors in a month or so by SNOW, I should get ALL my plushie lions (and few wolves and foxes) together and spread them all out on the living room floor and take a pic of them.
Right now, in my 11 1/2 X 7' mini-room computer "den" with shelves and bookcases and stereo and three floor cabinets I am surrounded by 25 lion plushies, 13 lion pictures, 10 lion toys (LK etc), 2 lion statuette (one copper and one carved from African "iron wood"), 1 lion bronze plaque,1 lion heraldic neck chain, 2 wolf plushies.
It's nice to have all my "friends" near me.
Submitted for your approval the story of one Kvothe Calamity. Loner. Dreamer. Plushoholic. For Kvothe, plushies are a perpetual part of his waking life. Every crack and cranny of his house is a zoological menagerie of the stuffed animal kingdom. They are his family. Each one has its own name; an identity; a life story. Kvothe devotes as much time to his “family” as would any normal human being to one another. He eats with them, watches television with them; he even bathes with them. And at night he curls up on a bed surrounded by countless dozens of pairs of motionless watching eyes.
Kvothe talks freely to his plushies, and, in his mind’s ears, he can hear them talk back. His plushies have hopes and dreams, and he spends many of his waking hours trying to fulfill those dreams. Many of the dreams involve Kvothe’s own transformation into a purple husky, which is how he imagines himself if he were a plush. By day he works in a toy store; specifically of course the plush section. He places every effort into making sure that every plush is “adopted” into a good home with a caring owner.
Kvothe’s descriptions of the lives and adventures of his “family” are so rapturously believable that his coworkers are shocked and disturbed upon discovering that Kvothe’s relatives are nothing more than immovable toys. When he shows up at work one morning, Kvothe is confronted by two men for his commitment to the local mental hospital for psychiatric evaluation, but Kvothe escapes his would-be captors, and, knowing that he will soon be found, he plans to run away with his plushies. He will not allow his world, and his life, to be destroyed.
Kvothe spends all day hurriedly packing his plushies into suitcases for a long trip, but the ordeal of the past several hours has been too exhausting for him. He falls onto his bed amidst the suitcases of plushies and drifts into sleep. That night, he hears a pair of voices talking to him. They are not voices inside of his own head, but rather they are coming from two of his favorite plushies: a Civet named Duffy and a blue dog named Ruffus. Kvothe is frightened until he is told by Duffy and Ruffus that as a reward for his endearing kindness to his stuffed pals, Kvothe has been invited to join his friends in the fabled Land of Plushies: a golden sunshine-happy world where plushies are alive and live merry lives free of strife and harm forever and ever.
The next day, the police come to the apartment searching for Kvothe. They fail to find any trace of him. But they also fail to notice that on the bed amidst the piles of half-packed plushies there now sits one new plush: A purple husky dogs that bears a striking resemblance to a certain missing person.
I offer to you once more the mysterious disappearance of Kvothe Calamity. Is this a tale of truth, or the product of a deranged mind; a cautionary lesson about keeping to the virtues of moderation, or a promise that your fondest aspirations can inexplicably come true even in your darkest hours? Perhaps this story carries a little of all these truths, and perhaps it speaks to none of them at all. Or it might just be another case of wishful thoughts being granted by...The Twilight Zone.
PS: Happy Birthday! *hugs*
Kvothe talks freely to his plushies, and, in his mind’s ears, he can hear them talk back. His plushies have hopes and dreams, and he spends many of his waking hours trying to fulfill those dreams. Many of the dreams involve Kvothe’s own transformation into a purple husky, which is how he imagines himself if he were a plush. By day he works in a toy store; specifically of course the plush section. He places every effort into making sure that every plush is “adopted” into a good home with a caring owner.
Kvothe’s descriptions of the lives and adventures of his “family” are so rapturously believable that his coworkers are shocked and disturbed upon discovering that Kvothe’s relatives are nothing more than immovable toys. When he shows up at work one morning, Kvothe is confronted by two men for his commitment to the local mental hospital for psychiatric evaluation, but Kvothe escapes his would-be captors, and, knowing that he will soon be found, he plans to run away with his plushies. He will not allow his world, and his life, to be destroyed.
Kvothe spends all day hurriedly packing his plushies into suitcases for a long trip, but the ordeal of the past several hours has been too exhausting for him. He falls onto his bed amidst the suitcases of plushies and drifts into sleep. That night, he hears a pair of voices talking to him. They are not voices inside of his own head, but rather they are coming from two of his favorite plushies: a Civet named Duffy and a blue dog named Ruffus. Kvothe is frightened until he is told by Duffy and Ruffus that as a reward for his endearing kindness to his stuffed pals, Kvothe has been invited to join his friends in the fabled Land of Plushies: a golden sunshine-happy world where plushies are alive and live merry lives free of strife and harm forever and ever.
The next day, the police come to the apartment searching for Kvothe. They fail to find any trace of him. But they also fail to notice that on the bed amidst the piles of half-packed plushies there now sits one new plush: A purple husky dogs that bears a striking resemblance to a certain missing person.
I offer to you once more the mysterious disappearance of Kvothe Calamity. Is this a tale of truth, or the product of a deranged mind; a cautionary lesson about keeping to the virtues of moderation, or a promise that your fondest aspirations can inexplicably come true even in your darkest hours? Perhaps this story carries a little of all these truths, and perhaps it speaks to none of them at all. Or it might just be another case of wishful thoughts being granted by...The Twilight Zone.
PS: Happy Birthday! *hugs*
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