By Zack Fair

For three weeks, I toiled away in my room.  Sweat-stained Hanes contained rolls I had been trying to get down.  The diet of McDonald’s number two meals and Taco Bell’s chalupas did not help, but while I bookmarked Goons with Spoons, running a guild takes up too much time to cook like that sweet Rachel Ray.  I was up all night on my seventh bottle of Bawls, cardboard and duct tape strewn all over the room.  My costume would be the star of the show.

Sure, there’d be plenty of Clouds, but Zack cosplayers? (Cosplayers dress up as their favorite character from cartoons or video games)  No, I’d be the only one, seducing all the con honeys with my forty-eight-inch Buster Sword.  I pulled a muscle in my back measuring out the sword to perfection, and when Mom came in with an ice pack, I could see her hesitate.  The wall scrolls dripped with humidity, but my rig ran cool with quad core processors and four gigs of RAM.  My mom sprayed me down with Febreze, and the cool touch of the ice pack on my back warmed my black heart.

If only I could find a woman like my mom at this con.  I imagined meeting a Yuna or Tifa while my mom massaged the small of my back, and the touch of a woman stretches my Hanes ever so little.  When she left, I browsed through the Deviant Art for FFX-2 hentai and made a deposit into an empty McNugget box.  The image of three cactuars penetrating Yuffie from every direction left my mind as I unstuck myself from the chair and return to my work.

A few days later, I found myself amongst my kind, in my element. I explored the Dealers Room and picked up a sealed copy of Bible Black and a pin bearing the image of Knuckles the Echidna. I checked up on my guild in one of the computer labs, and then, after a few sticks of Pocky, I was ready to head out.

I-Con—my time to party—anime dance party.  I passed out from an overzealous fog machine and the sweet stench of 5,000 pounds of nerd in the room.  My last vision was of an overweight Edea Kramer as I hit the ground and felt my Garnier Manga Head hair spikes stab into my temple.
I awoke in a secret den of furries. A fox and a horse told me to drink down some Red Bull, and like the recipient of a Phoenix Down, I was alive again. I saw steam pipes all around me, alas, the furry underground I-Con lair!  I realized my Zack costume is gone and replaced with a Knuckles suit.

The room was stale with the stink of yiffing.  I looked to my left and saw a pink donkey—not my type, but she was still a fine piece of ass. I choked, as I glimpsed, to my right, a sweet Amy Rose.  Oh, how I’d love to cream in her rabbit.  A single tear fell from my face as I saw her arms around Sonic, and in lonely frustration, I ran out.  I wandered the endless tunnels for hours, chaffing in every crevice of my fur suit.  At last I found a ladder out.

A group of students suddenly surround me.  Pink collared shirts and gel-laced hair contrast with giant muscular physiques.  They tore off my mask and asked me what I was supposed to be, and when they noticed my suit’s glory hole they beated on me like a meat piñata.  A blow to the head sends me reeling, and the last thing I see is a white light and Sephiroth reaching out for my hand.

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