The Internet can be both a portal of near limitless possibilities, or a livid scarlet letter that haunts you forever. Though I have no dirty photos to my name as yet, my own shameful past has returned to haunt me in the form of.... unwitting Furrydom.
It's like this: having recently discovered the Wayback Machine, I've been rolling in my own excremental website history. My first foray into cyberspace was an angelfire page called The World Domination League, an effort rife with every sin of website design ever conceived- obnoxious gif files,tinny midi and that's saying little of the actual written content, a terrible expression of my tasteless fourteen-year-old self.
The WDL was my personal soapbox, a little platform from which I (then known as "Pookie LaRoue") could sound off about every inanity that crossed my mind, be it the atrocity known as the Spice Girls, the horrors of being a Wiccan in a Catholic school, or what a dick Chris Attersley was being that week. Most of my writing was the sort of angry little rants you'd expect from a socially inept weirdo with a huge persecution complex and yet unrecognized lesbianism (that found an outlet in the(still ongoing)worship of Fairuza Balk. The rest of my writings however, took the form of terrible, terrible angst poetry that sounded like the product of a retarded Trent Reznor, Anime inspired fantasy sagas and excessively gory horror tales rife with tits bouncing free from their ripped bodices and rivers of clotted black blood.
As a perfectionist when it comes to my writing, and one with a critical eye that far exceeds a decent amateur-level skill, it is extremely embarrassing to reread what I was then sure were masterpieces on par with my then-idol Anne Rice. Every so often, the attempt is made and the old binders are brought out. I am never able to make it past two or three pages without having to stifle the urge to vomit up my large intestine.
The best of my high school writings is a werewolf saga that seems to have been written in the voice of the vampire Lestat. The "Hunter" series is meant to be historical, and takes place in eleventh century England, the sole indication of this setting being the use of dates and a lack of lack of guns and cars. The rest of the story reads like a Mary-Sue bloodbath with my exceedingly beautiful yellow-eyed hero tearing out throats in pursuit of his lost humanity (yeah, I know, I know).
With the internet's notoriety as a treasury of bad writing, it really should have come as no surprise that someone out there would like my little werewolf story enough to save it from obliteration. Still, of all the places for Hunter to turn up, I did not expect it to be a directory of Furry fiction.
My distaste for the fandom is well known and (I like to think) fairly reasonable, but maybe, just maybe this is due justice for my shit-talking and Something Awful forum membership. Nevertheless, it is a mark of shame I shall carry with me until those dirty pictures get out.