Boy, oh Boytaur!


Um. Wow.

And I’m not even sure if that’s in a good or bad way.

No. No, I am sure.

It’s both. As in, I think when I looked at this my brain was broken into tiny pieces, but I kind of liked it. And that’s probably illegal, somewhere.

Surprisingly few Harry Hamlins or even Harryhausens, all things considered. Pervs nowadays just have no sense of tradition!

I should explain.

After all, that’s what the blog is for: for you to come here and have bizarre things explained by me, as if they were entirely normal and if you were raincoaster, they would be, trust me. Remember, a poisonous spider bit me once and it died. We are very far indeed through the looking-glass here at the ol’ raincoaster blog, yessir.

One of the first blogs I really became addicted to was an innocent little cooperative blog called Chimera House. There were five or six posters there, and although at first it was confusing, eventually it became clear to me that all of these people lived in the same house and had schedules which never overlapped, so they were using the blog as a digital way of leaving notes on the kitchen table for one another. So far, so simple.

So you’d think.

a Palace of Mirrors is a strange place to feel alone

Now, as anyone who’s ever lived with roommates knows, things can get heated, especially when one has to rely on the old note-leaving thing, and it doesn’t help when they’re posted on some server in Cupertino or wherever and getting a couple of hundred hits a day, either. Things did, indeed, get heated, heated to an extent far beyond anything Gawker or most of the civilized world‘s ever seen. Two of the posters ended up having an affair and then a nasty breakup when the girl switched to sleeping with a different roomie and leaving him heated mash notes on the blog for all to see and then deciding she might be lesbian after all, since it was “less work”. But this was as nothing compared to the drama when a clueless outsider appeared and the talk on the blog was all, should we let him post or not, and all he doesn’t know and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, but then ultimately it became clear to everyone that, as much as they were having a blast ragging on him in the blog, it was just not practical to have one roomie so out of the loop, so they looped him in.

And at that point the blog began to get, in the way that blogs that are microcosms of society will eventually get, a little bit of what you’d call media attention.

At which point, the blog owner made a new Page explaining that this was the blog of a person with multiple personality disorder and it was the way that all the various personalities, who obviously could not communicate face-to-face, would keep in touch. The blogger said, I am a person who is like this; some people consider it a disorder, but I’ve recognized it and learned ways to manage things so that while the situation isn’t resolving to anything approaching normalcy, it’s working for us. So the rest of you can just fuck off.

Which I thought was pretty damn sane.

Which brings us, in a roundabout way, to Boytaurs. See, Furries are one thing, and costumes are all very amusing for awhile and so on, but the thing about Boytaurism, if I may coin a term, is that it refuses to be constrained at all. You’re not zipped into some cheap fursuit that smells faintly of chemicals and strongly of the guy who sold it to you on eBay. You’re not wearing a corset you can’t wait to rip off at the end of the night. Boytaurs and their ilk exist completely online; they are avatars in the purest sense of the word. You can literally be any form you want in the boytaur universe, although you’re obviously going to be more popular if you have a face like Orlando Bloom and a body like David Beckham (with some extra legs or a tail or whatever). And you know what? You can have those things. Who needs a magic wand when you’ve got photoshop, eh? Zeta Male no more, in the universe of your own creation.

Silhouette Centaur is the SFWest thing on that site

So, what is a boytaur?

boy·taur \’boi-tawr\ n 1 : a guy with four (or more) legs 2 : a guy with any of a variety of multilimb or other transformations 3 : a guy who enjoys the company of boytaurs, and is thus a boytaur in spirit

There’s something wildly, almost primally, attractive about a guy with four legs: the crowding of long, sculpted thigh muscle, the four calf muscles bobbing and working in rhythm with his four-legged walk, the four strong male feet supporting his powerful boytaur body. Boytaurs know this attraction well, and it is our constant joy, both to have and to share.

Of course, many boytaurs don’t stop with four legs. Some add more legs, going six-legged or more. Some add extra arms. And many, enjoying all their boytaur feet, decide to go wristfooted as well.

Other boytaurs have completely different transformations, or none at all, but are still boytaurs in spirit, enjoying their augmented bodies, and sharing that joy freely. is dedicated to helping that sharing go on across the internet, all around the world.

Brought to you via AtomicFez, the only person on the internet whose surfing habits are even stranger than mine.

Add to FacebookAdd to NewsvineAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Furl

National Cleavage Day

That caught your attention, didn’t it?

Well, yesterday really was National Cleavage Day in South Africa, presumably the only podunk nation/state that Wonderbra could talk into this pulchritudinous publicity stunt. Which is not to say we look upon it as a cynically synthetic corporate holiday (although we do) but rather to say we think that Wonderbra is picking a nation that needs all the help it can get, seriously.

When was the last time you heard of a Playboy Bunny from South Africa? Come on, try. And have you eyeballed Winnie Mandela? The woman’s waist outmeasures her boobage by nearly two to one. I know middle-aged basement-dwelling geeks who have three cup sizes on her, and they’re men!

Speaking of which, it’s time to address the sexism inherent in a National Cleavage Day which includes only potential consumers of the Wonderbra. Surely we should, in the name of fairness, open it up to potential consumers of the Brossiere as well. And among those, there is one clear winner.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen and those of both genders who are less than ladylike or gentlemanly, the best chest in the world belongs to one person, and one person only, and that person does not use a Wonderbra.

Hugh Jackman, the perfect chest

add to : Add to Blinkslist : add to furl : Digg it : add to ma.gnolia : Stumble It! : add to simpy : seed the vine : : : TailRank : post to facebook

Beaver Shots: Wild Road Beaver

Beaver is, of course, the national animal of Canada, and for good reason: who doesn’t like a friendly beaver? Why, there’s nothing so welcoming to travel-weary tourists as the sight of a naked beaver straddling the dotted line in the middle of the highway, greeting the newcomers with what passes for wild abandon here in Canuckistan.

You’ve heard, perhaps, of the Canadian who asked the US border guard to say “Please?” He got pepper sprayed.

And a few years ago there was a lineup at an ATM in Montreal. A Canadian got to the front of the line, got his money from the machine, said “Thank you,” to the machine…

And the American in line behind him beat him up.

Chocolate Beaver Shot!

Chocolate beaver is available for sale right in broad daylight on Robson Street! It’s really quite brazen the way they pose in the window, hoping to entice some passerby in a moment of weakneses to give in to his baser instincts!

Chocolate Beaver

photo by April Smith, intrepid Fearless photographer

Hot Man Post: You asked for it!

Some time ago max the Blonde Assassin noted that we’d gone for a very long time without a hot man around these parts (you’re telling me!) and so we resolved to take all steps necessary to rectify the situation ASAP and STAT, even.

And so it came to pass.

So to speak.

Say hello to Trent Reznor in an intimate moment (with grateful appreciations and sumptuous photocredits {don’t spend them all in one place} to the somewhat notorious AgentBedhead): Continue reading