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There was a time when Barkley and Woofington were content just being two flamboyantly gay dogs in the big city. They had the money, and the notoriety, and the swag apartment. But this weekend, they wanted more. Their friends Pusslesnag and Crumbs were in town and they wanted to give them a visit that they wouldn't forget.

"Woofington, old chap," Barkley, a German shepherd dog wearing a top hat and a monocle, piped to his canine companion.

"Yes, Barkley old bean?" Woofington replied, taking a draw on his long cigarette holder. His husky tail curled up between the tails on his dress jacket.

"I think a party is in order," the shepherd put on his formal gloves. "Pusslesnag and Crumbs will be here quite rapidly."

"Did you inquire upon the time of their arrival?" the husky blew out a ring of light gray smoke and puffed.

"Nay," Barkley responded, "but I did inquire about the time of their departure."

"And where-haps shall we rendezvous with our feline friends?" Woofington wiggled his whiskers to and fro.

"The club, mon ami," Barkley woofed.

"Aye, yes. But which one?" Woofington barked.

"Mon Ami," Barkley flicked a piece of cheese off of his bottom teeth with his tongue. "That's the name of the club."

"My friend," Woofington's eyebrows furrowed, flustered. "What is the name of the club that we are going to tonight?"

"That is the name of the club!" Barkley ruffed. "Mon Ami!"

"Mon ami!" the husky bellowed. "What is the name of the club?"

"Woofs," the shepherd put a paw on his beloved friend's shoulder, "do you do this in jest? Because you make this same conversation every time we go to the club. Which is every night."

"May-haps...," Woofington flashed a sly grin. "But Barkley, you do ask for it so."

"Come then," Barkley pointed to the door of their lavish and super-stylin' apartment. "Let us go! The night, it beckons!"

The two dogs slid outside, doing a pose from the disco era as they bounced into the street.

"Who in the fuck do they think they are?" a tall mole woman jeered.

"Maybe they're just so cool," a green man shark suggested, "that to us they seem uncool."

"Nah that ain't it," the mole bobbled her head from side to side. "They are just those gatdamn Barkskley and Wooferston guys. Always being dumb and shit and looking stupid."

"You think so?" the shark guy glanced sideways at the lady, raising his cheek.

She ate him.

"Marvelous weather we're having tonight, Woofs," Barkley commented. "But what's that odor?"

"Madame, did you just ingest some tunafish?" Woofington asked the mole tramp prostitute.

"Oh I know that you just didn't..."

They shot her.

With like a gun they were carrying in their tuxedo pants.

"Murderers again, Barkley," the husky smiled and put a finger to his muzzle as if saying "shush".

"Quite!" the GSD danced Gangnam Style on the hooker's dead body. Could it just be a body? Is the "dead" really necessary there?

He danced on the hooker's body.

"Oh my, well look who it is," the husky-butt squeaked.

"Pusslesnag and Crumbs? Our fine cat friends who we are meeting at the club? The ones for which we have embarked upon this journey to see, and our story will not cease until we have found said friends and partied with them til the sun doth rise?" Barkley asked. And asked and asked.

"No, it's Bentley," Woofs said.

"Bentley the tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurtle?" the shepherd ingested the previous statement and regurgitated a response. "From Sly Cooper?"

"Yes," Woofington affirmed. "The very one."

"Whaz crack-a-lackin my fine furred friends? You homies got blunts? Tell me you ain't holdin' out on a reptile here," Bentley articulated.

"Why are you talking like that?" the husky inquired inquisitively.

"I always mother fucking talked like that, you bitch!" Bentley relayed. "Matter o fact, you jive-asses should talk like me. Shiz."

"We didn't mean to offend..." Barkley retreated.

"Naw," Bentley spooged. "I ain't mad a'cha. I just always mother fucker talk like I'm mad."

"Want to accompany us to the club, Mon Ami?" Woofington extended an invitation.

"I dig," Bentley dug.

The three of them formed a merry band and skipped along the black-bricked road of Oz until they finally reached the club.

"Woofs! Barkley!" a tall and slender pink tom cat called out from the waiting line at Mon Ami.

"And... Bentley..." the other feline mumbled angrily.

"Snags! Crumbsy!" Barkley ran up and hugged his friends. "Glad you could make it. How was your flight?"

"Oh it was fantasmic," pink Pusslesnag combined fantastic with orgasmic. "Our pilot, Mister Travolta was purely a-murr-zing!"

*POP CULTURE REFERENCES!*

"Oh I'm sure he was," Woofington hooted. "He's a-murr-zing at everything though, isn't he?"

"Pray tell..." Crumbs lifted his eyebrow (and his tail), "what is that reptile doing here? I thought this was a cats-and-dogs night out?"

"Hey. Hey!" Barkley looked straight at the camera. "We are furries good-fellow! And furries do not discriminate amongst ourselves. We are all children of Gaia and other poppycock."

Crumbs sighed, his shoulders slumping, and his fine turquoise fedora slipped down over his moistening eyes. "I guess I learned something today. Something that I had somehow forgotten. We all have."

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," Bentley spun around and agreed(?). His wee little turtle tail twitched tumultuously in terrific time.

"Quite!" Woofington concluded. "But alas, we are here. Mon Ami. And wouldn't you know, it says on the sign right there..." He uncomfortably started looking down at the street. He even put his paws in his pockets and started whistling.

"What does it say?!" Bentley growled, his anger rising upongst his noggin.

Barkley and the two felines took Woofs's example and started acting nonchalantly. Nonchalant? Nonchalantly? We're gonna go with nonchalantly.

The turtle hobbled up to the front door and inspected the club's sign. "No... Reptiles... Allowed!!!" he read. His head, arms, feet and tail retracted into his shell and he shot off via rocketblast into the distance. You will never hear from him again.

"Did you put that there, Pusslesnag?" Woofington inquired; as he witnessed the pink cat remove the sign, fold it up, and put it into his back pocket.

"Indeed!" the pink one grinned sheepishly and nodded.

"You cur!" Barkley smiled widely and patted his friend on the back. "That was quite rotten. I did not know that you disliked Bentley in such a way."

"I don't," Pusslesnag admitted. "But I did want to show these off..." He pulled a box out of thin air and opened it, revealing...

"SNAKE! SKIN! BOOTS!" the other three howled in excitement as those words appeared in flashy colors above the trio.

"Fabuuuuuuulous!" a passing rainbow commented.

"Those are right-on!" Melissa Etheridge took a break from strumming a kick-ass song for a moment to compliment. John Travolta gave a thumbs-up from his airplane.

"Well now... my shoes, by way of direct association, will not be the center of attention on the dancefloor," Barkley thought to himself, and furrowed his brow.

Woofington, able to read brow-furrow-speak, twitched his cheekfur and retorted, "We must return to the apartment, chap. We will not be out-fabuloused by these pussies."

"Agreed," the Gee Shep lowered and raised his ears in response.

"What are you two doing?" Crumbs asked, tilting his head.

"Well, we must be going," the huskydog meeped out suddenly. "We will return before you know it, good friends. We just... forgot something."

"Rightly so," Woofington piped. "Toodle-loo!"

They zapped off quick as a flash. The ground pulsated in hot-ass dubstep beats and colors with each step. ZAP. WUB. PEE.

Woofington hunched over, his palms resting on his knees, (which is his most favorite position, by the way) and heaved deeply to catch his breath from the sprint [wubwubzzz] to their apartment.

"Quick!" Barkley panted. "To the wardrobe. To the closet. To the chifferobe! They can't out-GAY us!"

"Never!" Woofington slapped Barkley square across the jaw. "Barks, you must never... speak those... words."

"Right, Woofsy," Barkley rubbed his face gingerly. "I just lost focus for a second. Ttell me what which we need."

"Tight t-shirts that would make highlighters feel impotent next to their vivid colors!"

"Yes!"

"Gaudy and clearly-for-attention sneakers!"

"Check!"

"Accessories!"

"Oh gawd, I just came!"

"Condoms!"

They both stopped and laughed, wiping happy tears from their eyes.

"Haha," Barkley's shoulders trembled as he snickered. "We're furries! We don't need condoms."

"Quite!" Woofington quipped and they high-fived each other with their cocks.

"So how do I look, Woofs?" the GSD summoned a response from his friend, while looking in one of the many full-body mirrors they have in their living room.

"Fab," the curlytail squeed. "And me, Barky?" He turned a full three-hundred-sixty degrees, wiggling his butt at his reflection.

"Equally as fabab," Barkley yipped. "But..."

"Indeed..." Woofington averted his gaze from his reflection, ashamed of what he saw.

"There is no way, even with all of our astounding accoutrements, that we will even compare to Pusslesnag," the husky started to cry. "Not with those fish-shoes."

"I know, chap," the gentleman shepherd's eyes also started growing moist, as did his dick. "That's why we have to..." his expression became chipper once again, "...and I'm getting giddy even thinking this. You say it!"

"We have to kill Pusslesnag and Crumbs!" Barkley's muzzle curled into a marvelous smile.

A passing rainbow exclaimed, "Right on!"

"Nobody can get more attention than me," Woofington cleared his throat before continuing. "I mean, than us."

"You are correct, sir," Barkley's eyes narrowed as his face became super-serious. "Let's go."

Pianos and violins thundered their dubstep zap-zap-wub-wub-zzzmmm race back to Mon Ami.

"Snags! Crumbsy!" Woofington bellowed, his eyes glowing a murderous yellow as he approached. "There's something I have to do..."

But his words were cut short.

"You two left before I could tell you," Crumbs explained, pulling out three more boxes; identical to the one he had pulled out earlier, "we got you both matching snake skin boots to go along with ours. Do you like them?"

The two dogs' faces went like this O.O and they snatched up the boots in a quick and stylish manner.

"You guys are our best friends in the whole world!" Pusslesnag hugged the canines and gushed.

"I guess there's some sort of moral we're supposed to learn from this?" Barkley asked, putting on his slick new kicks.

"Being inclusive of your friends, even if they are different than you? Not judging a book by its cover? Standing out with your friends, and not trying to outdo them? Knowing that a true friend will always trust you; always have your back?" Woofington guessed, grasping at straws. The straw salesman that had dropped his merchandise was forever grateful.

"But you forget," Crumbs, in his eternal wisdom, began.

"We're furries!" all four of the friends exclaimed gleefully as those two words flashed above them, confusing Melissa Etheridge and the other onlookers.

"And that means we can do whatever it is that we wish," Barkley adjusted his monocle and smirked a half-smile. "Isn't that right, Woofs?"

"You're fucking god-damned right we can, Barks." Woofington replied. "Fucking god-damned right."

The quadrilogy of friends disappeared into the club and tore that shit straight the fuck up. Everybody remembered it and talked about it on Twitter for nearly a week afterward.