To be, or not to be a furry: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the fursuit to suffer
The tails and musk of outrageous smell,
Or to take arms against a sea of conventions,
And by opposing end them? To wiff: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The degeneracy and the thousand natural shocks
That fur is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To wiff, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the musk and repellent,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud furry's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
Be all my sins remember'd!”
Come to fur con with us.