First came the tentacle rape.
It was the beginning in a long line of horrors that OMGJeremy has subjected me to in his articles since the very beginning in 2002. (OMGJeremy.com was the site that most of us used to write for.) But you know what they say: what doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger. Well, I must be invincible by now. And not only have I seen a lot, but I’ve written about a lot too, articles that have been lost to time mostly, including a review of a site that teaches women how to rape their husbands. But in 2003, I found something that managed to combine all of those and more. It’s as if all my nightmares Go-Go-Power-Morphed into some unholy Megazord and returned to feed me my own ass.
“What is it?” you’re probably asking as you close the door and open a new browser window. Why It’s none other than Furcadia — an online game that let you take on the role of an animal and interact with others in a series of dream worlds. And not surprisingly in the least, it contains the three big staples of the internet diet: furries, cybersex, and MMORPGs.
“Oh, but something containing furries, cybersex, and MMORPGs can’t possibly be bad!” many claim. “They go together beautifully, like sugar and spice. Or box cutters and jumbo jets.” Well, behind the cute appearance of Furcadia’s webpage, I can assure you that there is nothing beautiful about it, at least not at the time I last visited it, which was well over a decade ago. A playful dragon welcomed you to the site, but failed to mention that soon after you join his fantastical world filled with strange animals and weird magic shit that’s usually associated with crazy fantasy settings, you’ll immediately be solicited for e-sex willy-nilly. That’ll teach me to start reading disclaimers.
Now, for those of you who aren’t playing with a full deck, and before we begin this journey through Furcadia, let’s go over briefly as to what a furry is. Basically a furry is someone who identifies more with animals than people. Certain hardcore furries (IE: most) take this an itty-bitty bit too far, wishing to be genetically or surgically transformed into an animal, or dressing up in an animal suit to have sex. This is where “yiffing” comes in. Don’t be fooled! Yiffing may sound like a cute word, but so does Luftwaffe. As for yiffing, the word is derived from the sound a fox makes when mating. That should tip you off to its definition. Though I can’t really vouch for the word’s authenticity, as I have never gotten close enough to a fox to view it before it lunged for my throat, let alone listen to it mate. But as it stands, we’ll just go with yiff means furry sex.
For some reason I knew a lot of furries. I guess you couldn’t write for OMGJ and not to be a magnet for this sort of thing. It’s not like we tried. Anyway, I eventually caved in to one’s request for me to play Furcadia. He offered to show me around the place, including “FurN”, the X-Rated section. I agreed, having nothing better to do except piles of work that would determine if I graduated from college or not. Choose your poison I guess. And you can now see which bottle of toxic death elixir I swallowed. The following is a jumbled collection of fragmented sentences and low-quality screencaps that detail my adventures in Furcadia, neatly divided into nine sections: one for each day I was there.
The First Layer of Hell: Lions and Tigers and Bears, OH YES
My guide decided that he would show me the less disturbing stuff first, then work our way up to the really bad stuff. Of course, in Furcadia “disturbing” is pretty relative and even the light stuff is enough to make pacemakers explode. But I figured it would probably be good to start with the lighter stuff first, since I don’t want to immediately throw myself at my monitor in a futile yet maddening attempt to squash the little animals on the screen with my imaginary body mass.
Furcadia is divided into “dreams,” which are user-created environments that other players can interact with. The first dream stop we came to was an orgy hut that conveniently doubled as a DDR arcade. After trying the DDR machines for a few seconds (they don’t do anything) I left my guide and traveled down a hallway that led to two doors: One marked “Yiff” and the other marked “Orgy.” I walked into Orgy only to find an empty room filled with pillows. Mercifully, most rooms in Furcadia are empty. I walked into Yiff next and found a bunch of bedrooms, whose walls were decorated with pictures of tentacle rape. I laughed, as if they expected this to phase me in some way. I eat rape for breakfast! My guide caught up to me and we admired the brave decorating strategy.
One feature of the yiff rooms we found is a dice game, and not just any dice game either mind you. The concept is simple (as in simply horrible): You roll virtual dice to see what sexual action to perform, and on which part of the other person’s body to perform it. Being desperate for article material, I agreed to play this damnable game with a random stranger that happened to be there. “Don’t worry,” I say to myself, “it’ll just be like playing Monopoly, only with someone jabbing a plastic hotel into my eye.” So this furry character rolls the two dice and they come up on “suck” and “genitals.” Oh hell. He then proceeded to give me oral sex by typing in my chat window, saying that he is giving me a blowjob. This was, by far, the most disappointing blowjob I have ever received. I immediately responded by screaming and logging out.
My Furcadia Journal:
Having gotten a text blowjob from a furry, it’s apparent that Jesus hates me. That’s okay, he knows where he can stick his eternal salvation. On a hopefully unrelated topic, my shower sprayed me with blood this morning.
The Second Layer of Hell: How Many Licks?
My guide says he has something to show me. I regretfully load up Furcadia and follow him into what I can only describe as a “sex farm.” Hay-covered stables line the room. Inside, the animals are milking each other. But not in the way you’re thinking. And even though this was more than enough to make me slightly faint, this wasn’t even the bad part. He takes me to this one furry and tells me to click on him. I do, and the guy’s description pops up:
“Looking for a younger furry to play my daughter in an incest/rape fantasy. Must have experience and good spelling/grammar.”
These descriptions are common in Furcadia, as every character generally has one describing himself, or what they want, etc. So as you can imagine, pretty much every player’s description is either HORRIBLE HORRIBLE HORRIBLE or really pretentious. Observe:
Me too, my friend. Me too.
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
I didn’t expect to reach the incestuous rape so soon. It’s actually pretty disappointing. Kind of like getting to the centre of a Tootsie Pop after only one lick. Fortunately for me, the big horrible Tootsie Pop known as Furcadia still had plenty of surprises left.
The Third Layer of Hell: Hay Guys What’s Going On?
I decided to go off on my own to see what the non-terrifying parts of Furcadia were like. The answer: Pretty damn boring. I clicked on other furries to get their descriptions, and saw things like “(so-and-so) has been idle for 4 years, 6 months, 14 days, 11 hours, and 37 minutes.” Stand in any one spot and you’re sure to hear people say “I’m bored” or “what a slow night.” A slow night? This from the group of people who probably get excited from degaussing their monitors. Have you tried going outside maybe? Oh, that’s right, you might actually run into a REAL animal! The horror! I asked my Furcadia-playing friend if it was always like this. He broke it down for me as such:
Also, there were the occasional calls of “n00b” and “u suk” to make all the Counterstrike players feel at home. You’ll have to excuse me though, for not being offended when a six foot tall bunny with big glassy eyes tells me where to shove it.
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
To add to the frustration, Furcadia has the worst interface of all time. People get in my way and block my route constantly. I often find myself waiting half a minute for someone to move their hideous animal mass out of my damn way. At least in RuneScape you can move through other players and pretty much ignore their existence. Super Tip: use the arrows on the side panel to move. That way you won’t accidentally click on other people making it look like you actually give a shit about the attention-starved Furcadia denizens. Still, this doesn’t fix the problem of players getting in my way. At one point I tried taking out my shotgun to clear a path. Shit. This. Isn’t. Counterstrike.
Another issue I have is with the gigantic wings of other players. From what I can tell, if you pay Furcadia, you can get add-ons to your character, such as phoenix wings or gryphon parts or whatever. Well, the bloody add-ons only manage to make the whole interface worse by eclipsing the whole damn screen, littering an already hideous view with rainbow colored wings.
The Fourth Layer of Hell: The Crackhouse
My guide was away on the fourth day, but I found someone else to cover. This person generously offered to take me to their dream. To my surprise, he had forgone the usual “palace of unearthly sexual delights” motif. Instead, he built a giant jungle fortress. It looked like some sort of Colombian drug dealer’s compound. I told him this, and he joked that all he needed now was gun turrets surrounding the base. Right. Because the offer of fursex isn’t enough of a deterrent. Well, don’t forget to turn the turrets INWARDS, where they’ll do the most good. It would also be cool if you filled the turrets with flesh eating bees instead of bullets, and maybe had Dinosaurs that could fly with robotic wings and preyed upon the citizens. But that’s just my personal opinion.
He took me through several security gates and blast doors to the elevator. Then he took me down to see his jail cells, communal showers, and what I can only describe as a “rape pit.” Admittedly, it was impressive, if not altogether frightening. As soon as we got to the bedroom, he said he had to go. This was a relief, because there’s only so much I’ll do for an article.
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
Crosses tend to burn my hands when I touch them now. I must be ascending deeper into the pits of Beelzebub. Anyway, having seen the cool drug runner compound, I decide to make my own Furcadia dream using the dream editor. After all, “if you build it, they will cum.” So, using the designing skills I honed from years of playing The Sims, I successfully manage to create a giant empty room with a carpet. Then I decide to put a few throw pillows on the floor. Then I put a few ferns outside. Then I add a coffee table. Then I convulse in agony when I realize what I’m doing. Suffice it to say that my first attempt at an online bordello failed.
The Fifth Layer of Hell: Mooglish?
On this day I went to the House of Nekk. I must say, the girl who owns it is quite a piece of work. The first thing that happened when I entered her dream was fall into a pit of skulls. I had to click the back button because there was no other way out. I went in again and carefully read the dream’s description. Apparently you need the password to enter the “good” part of her dream, which I’m hoping is the “functional” part of this place. Apparently you need to visit her webpage in order to find the password. This is already bad business, as just about any web page from anyone involved with Furcadia was a mess of huge animated animal GIFs and biographies so boring that they make your average Dungeons and Dragons role player look like a high class fantasy writer. So I followed the link to her Geocities page, hoping that I wouldn’t be napalmed with pictures of muscular horses ramming into each other’s intestines. Thankfully her site was just filled with boring shit I couldn’t care less about. It took me a few minutes to locate the password, which was buried deep within her HTML treasure trove. When I finally got inside, there wasn’t much to behold. Just a bunch of people talking about how bored they were. Oh, but there was this darling kitten!
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
The whole password thing was very needle-in-a-haystackish and VERY annoying. Usually I have to visit ROM sites to get that sort of 5-star treatment. (PS – the password is “Mooglish”) Also, that drama queen Nekk can go to hell for sapping my precious lifeforce.
The Sixth Layer of Hell: ÀtDŠØ†àèµ†!!!
Today I encountered something so HORRIBLE… so… utterly TERRIFYING, that Jeremy made me promise NEVER to disgrace the English language by writing about it. I agreed, but cleverly got around it by writing it in Korean:
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
Yeah, I’m clever like a fox. ^______^
The Seventh Layer of Hell: Furcadia’s Hogwarts
On the Seventh Day of Furcadia, I went to the “School of Yiff.” The first thing upon entering the school was that I noticed my character now had breasts. Forced sex changes are something you have to get used to enduring in Furcadia. You control your gender about as much as you control the weather: Sometimes you’ll have a cock, sometimes you’ll have breasts, sometimes you’ll have both, etc. It’s not exactly a toy in a cereal box, but guessing which genitals you’ll get when entering a dream is still the most fun you’ll have in Furcadia.
The School of Yiff is just like any other school. You’ve got the principle’s office, the janitor’s closet, the classrooms, the cafeteria, and the BDSM chamber. I wandered around and eventually found the “Oral Sex” classroom. Sadly, there was no one around to teach me how to deep throat a goat cock. Damn education budget cuts. Don’t they realize that our kids are the FUTURE? But interestingly though, the Oral Sex room was right next to the cafeteria. I joked to a nearby catgirl that they should merge the two rooms to save space. Hell, I was forced to eat worse at my school. She ignored my obviously high-classed humour, and went back to touching her special kitty area. Then I went to the school counselor’s office where two people were on the therapy couch, doing… things.
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
Later that night something happened and every dream disappeared from the X-Rated area of Furcadia. At first I thought my wishes had all come true, but when I saw that they were still airing that Good Charlotte video on TV [note from Amandoll, 2017: hahaha Good Charlotte?? Video on TV?? Amazing. Good riddance, 2003], I knew that couldn’t be it. Whatever the case, the dreams quickly reappeared, and Furcadia’s denizens flooded back in a crantastic wave of pent-up sexuality that can only occur when you don’t have access to online graphic sex for the extended period of twenty five minutes.
The Eighth Layer of Hell: Dildos
As big a visual shock as fursex is, it doesn’t compare to the descriptive text you’ll see lying around Furcadia. It would great if they illegalized adjectives, but no such luck. So now I’m stuck reading words like “throbbing” and “veiny” in front of nouns like “furcock” and “she-goat.” This is not what words were created for!
One of the worst offenders was the Gay Yiffy Club my guide showed me. The nightclub, like most other rooms in Furcadia, was empty. Nevertheless, this is the description that popped up:
So… figuring that a sweaty dance-floor-cum-orgy-room was the worst thing the Gay Yiffy Club had to offer, I went upstairs to the bathroom. Christ, how wrong I was. Gone are the days of bath time fun that Ernie and Bert rapped about on Sesame Street. Here, floor-mounted dildos and buttplugs were scattered everywhere. On one side of the room, a rabbit was ploughing himself with an impossibly large wall-mounted dildo. This is when I unfortunately learned how to pick up objects by clicking the little hand icon. After the rabbit was done impaling himself, I happily took possession of the wall-mounted dildo, content in the knowledge that I was the first person on my block to own one.
To top off the experience, a tune sounding eerily similar to “Celebration” played in the background the whole time. I’m sure Parliament is thrilled that their song has been bastardized and used for mood music in Furcadia.
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
The local priest came to my house today and tried to exorcise me. I told him there was nothing wrong with me. Only the occasional non-stop rotation of my head and vomiting fire. I tried fighting him off, but lifting the Bible gave him really strong arms.
The Ninth Layer of Hell: Endit
The last stop on the tour was the Yiffy Hospital. At first, everything seemed all right. It just looked like a building in the middle of a forest. But like the glass of water in Jurassic Park, a statue of a nude, big-breasted animal hinted that everything was not okay. Against my pleas, my guide walked up to the statue and touched it. Dildos and anal beads rained to the ground, like some kind of horrible gift from the gods. I screamed, and prayed that this is the part where the dinosaur tears my head off. No luck. We continued on, and saw that hermaphrodite animals were having sex… pretty much everywhere. One female cat had her hand stuck halfway up her vagina. Down a hall past stripper poles was a “dungeon” with switches that controlled the jail cells. In another area were slave pens, where you could sell your furginity to other furries in exchange for “cookies,” the official currency of Furcadia. It’s like all the horrors of Furcadia were all combined into one dream. Now… I’m not exactly sure where the hospital part factored in. In fact, I can only see this as being harmful to my health.
X-1’s Furcadia Journal:
Well, this is where the article ends. Can’t say the same for my emotional scars. But I do have to hand it to the furries – nothing says “dignity” like unbridled cyber orgies. THIS from the group of people that wants to be respected – and sees itself as “persecuted” – by us narrow-minded folks in mainstream society. Well let me tell you – Susan B. Anthony didn’t go to the Seneca Falls Convention and ram a big dildo into herself while dressed as a panda to get attention. It seems subtlety and articulation have passed over these people like a fat girl in gym class.
And congratulations, Furcadia, for making yourself loathed among regular furries. From the people I’ve spoken to, it seems your overall creepiness has ruined the image of furries forever, whatever the hell that was in the first place. Oh well. It’s always the extremists that ruin it for the group. Oh, oh, quick, someone call Hamas and tell them to dress their suicide bombers up as poodles!
Okay, now I REALLY have to end the article. Though sadly I didn’t get to talk about everything I saw. I guess it’s a testament to Furcadia’s badness that I can write over 3000 words on it and still only scratch the surface. Maybe one day you’ll get to hear of my adventures in joining a furry militia – and getting my very own imaginary AK-47! Or hiring a Furcadia “assassin” who promised to annihilate my enemies “for a price.” Or being caged and sold in the Slave Pens by my damn guide. Or getting into a bitchfight with that guy who was convinced he was a werewolf. Or getting drunk and masturbating to pictures of Gadget from the Rescue Ra-