This is Furry propaganda.
They’ll lull you into a sense of safety by drawing cute girl-bird hybrids, hiding behind the rhetorical shield of metaphor.
Next thing you know, you’ll wake up alone on the floor of a super8 motel-room, gasping for air in a sweaty, stain-riddled fursuit you bought second-hand for $300. Vodka and peppermint schnapps bottles strewn about sharing the floor with condom wrappers and cigarette butts.
It’s not too late to save yourself.