u/The_Cult_of_5661

I was out doing my raccoon girl adventures today and I saw a group of furries with tails on in downtown Portland. I congratulated the group on their transition and inquired about how they attached their tail. One of these trenders had the nerve to say, “it’s not up my butt if that’s what you mean…”

What the fuck are these young chits doing? Are they like bending their tail around to penetrate themselves/other people? As if trans girls don’t have enough stigmatization for having a gock. Now people are gonna be worried about getting penetrated by an AMAB furry tail.

uj\ heading over to Furlandia now. hope to see some of you there. I’ll be wearing my Domino’s raccoon costume.

I’m more like the raccoon girl version of that uncle who fought in a few wars and saw some shit, but instead of a war, it was Mormonism. The owner drops the puppygirl off at my place so that her parents can safely visit. The puppygirl borks that my place smells like ozone and peanut butter, but eventually settles in on my dog bed and gets comfortable.

She gets bored while I’m working on a project and starts digging around my stuff. She finds a pair of Magic Underwear hidden in a secret shelf beneath my chem cabinet and is like, “Miss Waccoon Giwl, what’s this?”

I see the magic underwear and start getting flashbacks to being a Mormon boy. For some reason, Run Through the Jungle by CCR starts playing. I start chittering that I’m going to find Elder Charlie and furiously making funeral potatoes and Jello.

The puppygirl’s owner arrives to pick her up and finds us covered in jello and funeral potatoes writhing around on the floor. The puppygirl doesn’t even understand what happened, but had a great time and wants to come back soon. The owner reluctantly makes this a regular thing. Such is life in Portland.

Here’s the deal: Our queer furry polycule is looking to form a corporation to legally avoid paying taxes. That’s where you (the chaser) come in. Your job is to essentially be the Better Call Saul of accountants for us. We don’t care how slimy, filthy, or weird it is as long as it’s technically legal. CPA? More like CPGay, am I right fellas?

What do you get in exchange? You’ll get a front row seat cuck chair to all of our critter orgies, a gock pic for every form you fill out, and a DL for quicky for every $10,000 in taxes you save us.

The best part: As a research based polycule, we’ll offer you first dibs on the S.U.P.E.R.G.O.C.K. once we invent it.**

What are you waiting for? Claim this offer before it’s too late!

**We are not liable for any physical, emotional, spiritual, or quantum damage caused by the S.U.P.E.R.G.O.C.K.

**The S.U.P.E.R.G.O.C.K. must only be used in a Class I cleanroom. Bunnysuit not provided.

As many of you know, at 31 years old, I’m quite the old raccoon girl myself. To even wake up and have high enough blood pressure to function, I have to take 20 mg of adderall, 300 mg of caffeine, 67 other various vitamins, and the occasional piece of nicotine gum.

Then when I’m finally awake, I run around chittering furiously trying to get ready for the work day. The puppygirls left over from the night before need to be let out to go potty, my cheetah boyfriend is chirping at me from the refrigerator, and then I have to check and make sure the my dragon gf hasn’t vored any of the leftover puppygirls.

The entire time, my joints are cracking and popping like some kind of anticlimactic werewolf transformation. Then I have to take out my drill and use my DIY harbor freight powered dilator. Then it‘s off to work where I crawl around and inhale strange gasses that slowly make me more feral while fixing machines.

Like I’ll admit I’m ADHD as fuck, but where so these people even get the time? If I have a spare moment to post on reddit, it’s going to be while I’m covered in sweat, blood, and chemicals. Even if I wanted to insult them, I’d just end up saying that their titties look like a Salvador Dali painting of a 1980 Chevy Citation being sold by a coked out car salesman in Henderson, Nevada while a Vietnam vet furiously masturbates making eye contact with the salesman, or some shit like that.

I’m beginning to think I might not be cut out to be an elder tran.

Rock scissors Paper.

He starts wailing about how he wants to kill all the radical trans people. Before the bartender could say anything, he runs toward the stairs to the basement. The bar tender yells out, "you really don't want to do that!" But he doesn't listen.

As trump enters the staircase to the basement, he hears chittering and borking noises echoing off the walls. He gets down to the basement and sees some kind of strange raccoon like creature performing surgery on some kind of dog next to a pool of oozing black fluid.

Trump lunges toward the raccoon, but accidentally falls into the fluid. Whatever was in that fluid seemed to make the raccoon far more powerful than she previously was. Trump quickly succumbed to exhaustion like you would expect from an 80 year old. He passes out in the fluid.

He wakes up to the sharp smell of ammonia salts the raccoon keeps around in case people get faint during surgery. His cock hurts. He looks down to see a swirling mess of black goop dancing on his cock. The raccoon had implanted a neodymium baculum into his cock.

Trump runs out of the bar naked screaming obscenities. Since he was completely covered in ferromagnetic fluid, an ICE agent thought he was black. The agent pulls his P320 out of its holster, but accidentally shoots his femoral artery due to the numerous design flaws associated with the gun.

The bullet ricochets and hits trump near his spine. He is alive, but badly injured. An ambulance arrives and takes him to the hospital. The doctor orders an MRI test for him, but is worn out and overworked due to hospital funding being cut. He doesn't do any followup.

A technician takes the howling trump and puts him into the mri machine. As soon as he gets into the machine, blood and ferromagnetic fluid splatter everywhere. The place looks like hypercock Puro dumped his load into to the MRI machine. All that is left of Trump is a pile of black goop and blood.

Soon, the news gets out that the person the ICE agent shot was trump. Every single ICE agent commits suicide in mass as the guilt that they killed their lord and savior sets in.

JD Vance, now the president, addresses the nation. Every single internet connected device is switched to his address due to some shady palantir shit. JD Vance is wearing an especially thick layer of eyeliner and is wearing a Black Veil Brides shirt that is noticeably too small.

The members of Panic At The Disco are led onto a stage by armed military men pointing guns at them. JD Vance joins them on stage. Tears cause his black eyeliner to run down his face. His knees quiver with the sexual tension of every Midwest Emo cub flowing through him at once.

He sings the most mediocre cover of Worse Than Nicotine ever recorded. He attempts to add some Midwestern emo style into it by half speaking the lyrics to the song, but messes up the delivery and fails to hold tempo with the rest of the band.

Mr.Beast attempts to give a glowing review of his cover. This pisses off everyone so much that they finally decide to cancel him. He is never heard from again.

Later that night, the raccoon girl attempts to pleasure herself with the transduced electromagnetic fields from JD Vance's shitty cover. She struggles to cum. Her boyfriend sees her struggling and cuddles up next to her. He lovingly says, "Double Happiness Canned Chinese Cigarettes" then seductively whispers "Portrait Edition" into her ear. The raccoon girl cums. It’s just another day in Portland, Oregon.

Think about it, the main reason we get kicked out of our jobs is because someone finds out we’re not human and starts chasing us out of the building while wacking us with a broom. But semiconductor fabs don’t have brooms. They’re too dirty. It’s basically an infinite employment hack.

If I talk with a loud and deep voice, everyone thinks I'm a crazy tran who doesn't know what is going on.​Then the toxic fume abatement system blows up and bad things happen.

If I talk like a girl, everyone thinks I'm a crazy girl who doesn't know what is going on. Then the toxic fume abatement system blows up and bad things happen.

Chittering in an unsettling tone and twitching my snout used to work, but then they installed this machine near my workspace that just constantly makes angry electronic chittering noises.

Now my boss mostly just makes me crawl around under the floorboards sifting through junk to find expensive components they lost. Admittedly, that's pretty affirming, but then I'm right below all the gas lines.

I saw someone on r/4racc talk about how common it is to go from being a professional exterminator to transitioning into some kind of vermin. The idea personally makes me a bit uncomfortable. Like don’t get me wrong, it‘s common for transraccs and other creatures to have unhealthy coping mechanisms, but couldn’t they have just sought out a bunch of wild thrill seeking behaviors like sneaking into abandoned mines, hopping trains, or embezzling money from rich politicians? Do people who are only transgender ever deal with anything similar?

All the femboys that I’ve dragged to my house to nurse from me while I chitter and clean my weapons wished me a happy Mother’s Day.

*yells* Double Happiness Canned Chinese Cigarettes……*whispers* Portrait Edition

Someone yells out, “It’s the raccoon.” I chitter nervously. I couldn’t stay long. I was there for a reason. The twink of perpetual cigarettes had an order for me. He wanted me to bring a cup of shitty black coffee back to his twink nest so that he could have black coffee and cigarettes.

I have known this twink for decades. He knew me back when I was a Mormon boy in my past life and knows me in my current raccoon girl life. This twink has peered into my soul. Besides that, I owed him a favor. We work together in the tricking rocks into thinking factory. He had covered logistics for me. I fucking hate logistics.

Anyways, I got the coffee and attempted to get to the twink’s nest, but an entire parliament of therians was following me around. To be fair, I am dating most of them. Suddenly, another raccoon walks out onto the sidewalk. I followed the raccoon for a bit becoming totally distracted from the task at hand. But I was hungry and thought the raccoon might lead me to a dumpster with food in it.

I remembered that I had a cosmic Crisp apple in my backpack. I cut the apple and convinced the raccoon to stop for a moment and share an apple with me. All the therians following me started filming it and talking about how cute it was to see two raccoons hanging out.

We finished the apple and parted ways. Then I suddenly remembered that the twink of eternal cigarettes needed his black coffee. If he went without caffeine for much longer, he might summon every twink in Brighton to grungle around me for a day. I hate it when that happens. I arrived at his nest and gave him his black coffee. He found the story of the raccoon most pleasing and forgave me for my tardiness.

We walked around and caught up for a bit and he got to see my girlfriend’s cool new dragon scales. Then we parted ways. Anyways, what did I miss here?