Massive horse tethered to nothind but a little plastic lawnchair. The horse is labeled. '328,000,000 ameicans'. The lawn chair is labeled 'fewer than 1,000,000 police officers', and the tether is labeled '"laws" lol'.
graphic design shitpost: Stick figure of human leg with the knee labeled "monetizable knee"; stick figure of digitigrade leg, with the knee labeled "uncouth zoophile knee"; text: Ankle unrelated, "we are very smart" - payment processors. Separate graphic on other half - illustration of a doggy, text: Woof woof! I am a representational, animal-shaped character! A hot one, some might say. People are often attracted to me, which make sense - I am depicted with human-like behaviors, and am often drawn as a representation of idealized or exaggerated human experiences. I'm not just a talking dog - I can be a representation of the artist's aspiration to be more playful, more confident - or of something they already love about themselves. Animal-shaped characters have been a part of human expression as long as we have made art - and that tradition will outlive the powers which seek to control and divide us today. Er, grr bark, I mean.
Re: SubscribeStar banning sexual content with characters that don't have "human-like knee orientation" fsjdkldbh
Tried to shitpost and got carried away lol
subscribestar.adult/prohibited_c...
The curse of the werewolf does exist, although it is quite different from the mythological concept of a man transforming into a ravenous beast during a full moon, only to hunt his loved ones. No, this curse is even more terrible than that. It lies in the excruciating frustration of fulfilling the deepest and most irrational desire possible: to leave behind the human condition and constraints, to prowl the wild with skilled feet, guided by keen senses, and intimately accompanied by kindred beings. It is more than just the desire to be free, capable, and not alone; it is a primal summons to return to nature, immerse in nature, and become nature. This deep and unattainable desire will accompany the cursed soul for the rest of its long and unsatisfactory life; and no degree of personal achievements, wealth, and even loved ones will take away the pain from this unfulfilled desire. This is my curse.
Wrote this long time ago, hate that it still true.
Awoo! It's the first full moon of the season! Since a lot of episodes in Season 7 didn't include email segments, we decided to kick things off by getting back to a few folks whose emails we never got to answer!
Listen in here!
zoo.wtf/s8e1-oops-al...
A feral coyote (Evie) looks up at a missing persons poster stapled to a telephone pole. The only clearly visible elements are "MISSING" and a portrait of the person. it is implied that the coyote used to be the person in the poster.
Missing:
Wandering up to a missing persons poster on a telephone pole, and even though your new brain can't understand the words, you still recognize your former face in the picture.
A long since finished com from 3/19/25 for my girlfriend, @cadencecall.bsky.social
#art
Howl howl howl! It's the final full moon of the season, and we've brought a #ZooTT season finale that was a ton of fun to make. We hope you laugh as much as we did as Brass Bulldog hosts another episode of Botched Job! See you in Season 8!
Listen here!
zoo.wtf/s7e12-anothe...
Thanks for your patience while we did this episode right! A new #ZooTT is here, and this time a youth homelessness advocate joined us to revisit the topic of homelessness for zoos!
Tune in here!
zoo.wtf/s7e11-revisi...
Hey friends! With the holidays and subsequent days of familial activities, our production team still needs a little time to get this episode together. We are also waiting for final approval from this month’s special guest, so we don’t want to rush that process since she was kind enough to join us :3
The new Black Mirror episode was pretty weird
'If a vegetarian hotdog is to be ruled out ... on the grounds that it contains no meat, the meat version should be ruled out on the grounds that it contains no dog'.
Highly recommend @georgemonbiot.bsky.social's hilarious column on the livestock lobby's perverse efforts to stop vegan products.
Fools smh
idiot guy: i'm like the wolf i'm stalking my prey alone through the forest and being raw as fuck even if i'm in a group i'm the alpha
actual wolf: i love my friends so much!!! i love to romp and kiss my bros and work together as a family <3 awooo etc etc have you seen the puppies oh my god come see
Drawing of a red furry with the caption; "Be unabashedly shamelessly you!"
for @/nixywulf
Menschen fressen Tiere, Tiere essen Menschen. Der Kreislauf des Lebens? Weit gefehlt! DIE GESELLSCHAFT DER TIERE ist eine deftige und blutige Anti-Fabel von der frisch der 2. Band erschienen ist.😱
Leseprobe zum 1. Band: t1p.de/LeseprobeGeT...
Awoo! The moon is round and full, fellow Zoonatics! It's time for our monthly #ZooTT ritual! Gather around as we ask ourselves -- wait, are we a cult!?
Listen here:
zoo.wtf/s7e9-wait-ar...
Ein Kater öffnet sich seinen Katzen-Eltern: "Mama, Papa - ich bin schwul." Vater (gelassen): "Hauptsache, du bist glücklich!" Mutter (fröhlich): "Wir akzeptieren jeden Schwiegerkater." Im Hintergrund sehen wir einen nervös guckenden, stark schwitzenden Hund mit einem Blumenstrauß in der Hand.
Schönen Abend noch!
They’re out there 🦊🐺🦡🐀🐦⬛
And there are more and more everyday.
Drawing of two puppies and a rainbow with the caption; "I found my people and realized there was nothing wrong with me"
Friends and community
Alrighty, we were able to donate a whopping 240,41€ to ANINOVA through the digital album sales of the last 2 months, plus the first sales of physical CDs at Eurofurence! 🥳🤫
Thanks everyone for supporting us and donating! ❤️
Awoo! It’s the full moon! Ready for the #ZooTT Howloween episode?
Of course you’re not! It’s too early in the month!
So surprise! We did something different instead! Take a listen!
zoo.wtf/s7e8-bonus-o...
I'm watching that documentary "Before Stonewall" about gay history pre-1969, and uncovered something which I think is interesting. The documentary includes a brief clip of a 1954 televised newscast about the rise of homosexuality. The host of the program interviewed psychologists, a police officer, and one "known homosexual". The "known homosexual" is 22 years old. He identifies himself as Curtis White, which is a pseudonym; his name is actually Dale Olson. So I tracked down the newscast. According to what I can find, Dale Olson may have been the first gay man to appear openly on television and defend his sexual orientation. He explains that there's nothing wrong with him mentally and he's never been arrested. When asked whether he'd take a cure if it existed, he says no. When asked whether his family knows he's gay, he says that they didn't up until tonight, but he guesses they're going to find out, and he'll probably be fired from his job as well. So of course the host is like ... why are you doing this interview then? and Dale Olson, cool as cucumber pie, says "I think that this way I can be a little useful to someone besides myself." 1954. 22 years old. Balls of pure titanium. Despite the pseudonym, Dale's boss did indeed recognize him from the TV program, and he was promptly fired the next day. He wrote into ONE magazine six months later to reassure readers that he had gotten a new job at a higher salary. Curious about what became of him, I looked into his life a little further. It turns out that he ultimately became a very successful publicity agent. He promoted the Rocky movies and Superman. Not only that, but get this: Dale represented Rock Hudson, and he was the person who convinced him to disclose that he had AIDS! He wrote the statement Rock read. And as we know, Rock Hudson's disclosure had a very significant effect on the national conversation about AIDS in the U.S.
Some amazing gay history. Listen up kids.
A hand-drawn black-and-white cover image in a sketchy ink style. At the top, large stenciled type reads: “LOOK INTO MY EYES ONE LAST TIME.” Below the title is a syringe and a small medicine vial labeled “LUPINEX – Therionyl – 5mL,” with a stylized eye logo on the label. The vial and syringe are crosshatched with vintage texture lines. Below the drawing, in handwritten script, is the phrase: “Homecoming, not vanishing” and the signature Shimi & Critter.
![[Art on Page] A detailed graphite drawing of a wolf’s eyes. One, the left is more formed than the right — indicating a near but not complete transition. The fur around them is dense and wispy, rendered in fine pencil lines that suggest softness and depth. The eyes are highly realistic and expressive, staring directly outward with intense, soulful focus. They seem alert but ancient—wide with instinct, watching as if waiting for something to begin. The drawing fades at the edges into blank white space, giving the eyes a floating, disembodied presence.
Look into my eyes one last time
Look into my eyes. Hold them close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that weighs choices against rules, that folds shame into tidy, human-shaped pockets. Watch it loosen. Watch the corners of doubt unhook themselves like small animals from a net and dart away. There is no melodrama here, no violent yanking; it slips. The human mind peels like old bark, and underneath, the thing that always was settles warm and terrible and simple.
They give me the last injection in a room that smells faintly of cedar and lemon. No needles, no cold clinical lecture — only the careful hands of doctors, veterinarians and nurses who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I lost the ability to count days back. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. I do not want to name it; names are the thin net that caught me for years.
The burn is a rumour. It goes through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a convent bell that signals not death but a calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, to coil, to push.](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:6hpcvbf2bhtwyfh5cfmx6clw/bafkreievifoujnv75rp5xqfgciv32ujns4h34ljset745atwuduopqikei)
[Art on Page] A detailed graphite drawing of a wolf’s eyes. One, the left is more formed than the right — indicating a near but not complete transition. The fur around them is dense and wispy, rendered in fine pencil lines that suggest softness and depth. The eyes are highly realistic and expressive, staring directly outward with intense, soulful focus. They seem alert but ancient—wide with instinct, watching as if waiting for something to begin. The drawing fades at the edges into blank white space, giving the eyes a floating, disembodied presence. Look into my eyes one last time Look into my eyes. Hold them close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that weighs choices against rules, that folds shame into tidy, human-shaped pockets. Watch it loosen. Watch the corners of doubt unhook themselves like small animals from a net and dart away. There is no melodrama here, no violent yanking; it slips. The human mind peels like old bark, and underneath, the thing that always was settles warm and terrible and simple. They give me the last injection in a room that smells faintly of cedar and lemon. No needles, no cold clinical lecture — only the careful hands of doctors, veterinarians and nurses who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I lost the ability to count days back. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. I do not want to name it; names are the thin net that caught me for years. The burn is a rumour. It goes through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a convent bell that signals not death but a calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, to coil, to push.
Tendons unlearn the polite phrasing of two-legged steps and curve toward the old, fourfold geometry of running. My hands tighten and flatten; the knuckles find a new logic. Fur prickles along my forearms as if a thousand small moths take flight together and settle again. Each hair is a note in a chord I’ve felt… no… known in my bones since childhood. Look again. See how the pupils widen, how the whites retreat like a shy moon. My last maps of metaphor — the maps that turned hunger into lists and longing into projects — dissolve. Where there had been a ledger of self, there is now only the immediate ledger of scent and sound and the earth’s exact tilt beneath my weight. I do not mourn the maps. I never used them as well as the human world predicted and as I pretended. Sound changes. Those little, trivial noises of the room condense into a chorus: the slow tick of breath in the person beside me, the whisper of fabric, the distant wet confluence of gutters. And underneath that: a low, patient life-frequency — root and soil and river. It is not music so much as an acknowledgment. I find I can hear the insect conversation inside the walls, the sap walking up the birch, the small, stupid heartbeat of a mouse two blocks away. There is an intimacy to it that is almost rude. Breath becomes work and worship at once. My ribcage narrows, then widens in ways I know but cannot name. Milk memories — a thing to shame into silence when human — rise like a tide: the cadence of suckling, the doctrinal simplicity of being called to feed and to protect. A swelling around my belly that is not fat but purpose. I think of my children who never were, of the packs I have loved in mute pieces. The notion of motherhood is larger than gender; it is a compass with teeth. My children! You are my children and you are my all!
My jaw shifts. I feel the slow, inevitable rearrangement — a socket loosens, a hinge finds its voice. A tooth erupts where an organised thought had lived. The smell of iron, rain-damp soil, and sleeping bodies that have waited for me — flooding my mouth like saliva. Tears come and I do not know if they are human or creature; they taste of salt and release. There is a tenderness in my own trembling that I have never allowed before. Outside the window, someone whose scent I knew laughs and it sounds to me like a distant bell. The handlers murmur: careful, gentle, let her and her pack decide. My mouth forms the shape and bark of guttural assent I could not voice when I was wholly human. Somewhere a crate opens as if the world is taking a breath with me. They will test me further, yes. They will see whether my newness walks toward the wild or clings to the small, safe hands of fosterers who will teach me boundaries, how to pass in a world of paved things. I do not fear them. I am no longer wrapped in that ledger — of consent, of cost, of consequence. I am wrapped in appetite and mercy. The choice, if there is one, feels less like an argument and more like a direction: toward den or home, toward the kill lovingly taken or the bowl lovingly given. Look once more. There is no human drama in my eyes now — only depth, like a riverbed where stones remember every footstep. The last scrap of thought, the tiny librarian of my life who loved lists, things and order, exhales and steps back through the doorway we are leaving open. I feel it go, and where it is gone there is fullness, a pulse that answers the creature’s call without translation. This is not a loss. It is not my obliteration. It is the solving of a long, clenched equation. I am not lessened. I am finally the shape I have been learning. Look into my eyes, one last time. I am awakening. — Shimi & Critter @shimi.bsky.social
New zine: “Look Into My Eyes One Last Time”
A final love letter to the self I shed
A prayer for the creature. Becoming
A reckoning, a surrender. Homecoming
This is my deepest wish laid bare—needle, fur, breath, & mercy. Being held with a care I never found.
#AnimalHRT #Therianthropy #ShortStory
All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed. -- Richard Adams
This a was an especially enjoyable episode once again!
I loved the fantastic space pirate story line with all of it's humour and suspense!
It said a lot of important things about the times and the political environment we find ourselves in now.
And all the songs were fucking hits, as always! ❤️
The full moon is high up in the sky, and if you look closely, you might even see The Ark passing by overhead! This episode, #ZooTT is broadcasting from the stars with new zoo music from incredible artists! Plus, Aqua shares some helpful tips!
Check it out here!
zoo.wtf/s7e7-space-p...
Awooooooo! Soon we’ll be launching into orbit and howling at the moon from SPACE! Get pumped for brand new music from your favorite zoo musicians, as well as exclusive tracks from new artists on the scene! #ZooTT is Go for Launch!
Okay, there's another 1.53€ to donate to Aninova.
Also, our album is finally on Youtube now! :D
We heard that many people prefer it as a music listening platform over bandcamp, go check it out and maybe leave a nice comment!
LIKECOMMENTANDSUBSCRIBEANDHITTHEBELLAAH!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=duEz...
Awoo! It's the full moon again! And that means it's time for another episode of #ZooTT! This month, we dug deep into our mailbag and accidentally did a whole episode with only emails! Oops!
Listen here:
zoo.wtf/s7e6-oops-al...
Heeeeeeey, our amazing friend zipwok just released his second album Paw Pads on Bandcamp!
❤️❤️❤️
Check it out, is has hits after hits on it!
Don't forget to support zooey artists and leave him a few bucks for the great work he did!
zipwok.bandcamp.com/album/paw-pads
