My Megaplex History.

For over 20 years, Megaplex was my life's work-my heart, my hustle, my everything. I poured in time, money, and health to build something for the furry community, only to have it ripped away in a way that still feels like a knife in the back. I'm sharing my story now because the truth matters-not just for me, but for everyone who believed in what we created.

In 2001, Furry Spring Break (FSB) was created and run by a single individual—not a company or formal organization. There was no corporate structure, just one person taking on the responsibility. When plans for a second year began, the hotel required two signatures on the contract. But no one, myself included, was willing to put their personal assets on the line. As a homeowner, I wasn’t willing to risk everything, knowing how unpredictable conventions can be—especially in the furry community, where chaos sometimes isn’t far behind. The original founder refused to incorporate, so no corporate veil could protect signers. With no one willing to co-sign, he canceled the event and walked away, despite people already having flights booked to Florida.
That’s when a small group of us stepped in. We formed a C-Corporation—Pawpet Live Experiences, Inc.—and signed the hotel contract under this new entity. That saved the event and led to the birth of Megaplex #1. The con went forward, giving everyone who had already booked flights a place to gather.

The early years were hard. We often failed to meet our hotel room block minimums, and I personally paid out of pocket to cover the shortfalls so we wouldn’t default on contracts. I also funded the AV equipment for the first several years, as the con didn’t have the budget to buy or rent gear. Eventually, once the con grew, I sold the equipment to the organization—at a loss of nearly 70%.
At one point, a treasurer failed to file taxes—sales, state, and federal—which I only found out about after tax liens were placed on our accounts. I had to secure a $30,000 personal loan to cover the back taxes and penalties, and avoid facing criminal charges. I was the only board member with tangible assets, so if the IRS decided to pierce the corporate veil, I was the one they would come after. I restructured and tightened the con’s budget to pay off that loan in two years.
Thanks to those efforts and many more, I left Megaplex in a strong financial position—strong enough to survive the COVID-19 shutdown. When events resumed, the con was not only stable but growing again.

Then things changed.
I supported bringing in new board members after COVID, believing in the need for new energy and perspectives. But some of these individuals had barely one con’s worth of experience. They quickly voted out all senior members—including myself—citing reasons that, in my case, were based on misinformation. I later discovered that the person acting as the con’s “HR Rep,” someone I never got along with, had been actively withholding communications and concerns from me. I wasn’t “ignoring” issues—I simply never knew about them. After we were forced out, that same HR person was eventually removed—but the damage was done.
We had built Megaplex into one of the top 10 furry conventions in the U.S. It had finally reached the point of self-sustainability. Ironically, none of those who replaced us had the means to keep it afloat had things gone south. But because it was now on solid footing, they didn’t have to risk what we did.
I never wanted the spotlight. I never served as Con Chair (though I co-chaired a few years). My role was always behind the curtain—paperwork, finances, insurance, licensing, tech, registration systems. Most attendees didn’t even know I was involved. That was fine with me. I just wanted to make sure things worked.
We built that con from the ground up. And when it was strong enough to stand on its own, it was taken from us.
Instead of starting their own event, this new group walked in and took over something others had poured years and tens of thousands of dollars into. For over 20 years, I gave Megaplex my time, money, energy, and health. I worked 40+ hours a month year-round. Meanwhile, some board members only showed up for the 4-day con and did nothing in between.

After we were gone, they changed policy so that the board no longer had any hands-on responsibility. Now, volunteers are treated poorly, communication is non-existent, and morale has collapsed. Staff are left in the dark—something I worked hard to prevent. Now they’re paying people to fill basic staff roles because no one wants to volunteer under this leadership.
When board changes occurred during my time, we always kept lines of communication open. We offered lifetime attendance to outgoing members, and always encouraged them to stay on as staff. But when Scooby, Stitch, and I were removed, the door was slammed shut in our faces. No communication. No thank you. Just silence.
It was the coldest, most disrespectful treatment of any board member in the history of the con.
As much as Megaplex meant to me—and it meant the world—I can no longer attend. That chapter was forcibly closed. I can’t return while the current leadership remains.
This was the biggest part of my life. I invested over $40,000 and 20 years into it. When something so core to your identity is ripped away, it’s devastating. I’ve struggled to find purpose since.

The only thing that keeps me going now is the thin numbness held in place by meds. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive what was done to us. I just hope that someday, people remember the work that was done, and the sacrifices that made it possible.

People keep suggesting I should start a new event or get involved with others, but I just can’t. After everything that happened, I lost all the motivation I once had. For the past four years, I’ve avoided local meets, partly because I don’t want to run into the people who were responsible for all this. The only conventions I still go to are AC and FWA, and even those are hard for me. At this point, the only reason I keep going is because I’ve never missed one, and it feels like a personal challenge to keep that streak alive.
But the truth is, when I do go, I don’t really participate. I don’t attend panels, dances, or main events—I don’t even step into the ballroom anymore. I mostly stay in my room. I used to go to movies every week, but now I don’t care about them at all. Even going out to dinner feels like a struggle. The only time I leave the house for those things is when people pressure me into it and won’t let up until I give in.
Before I found furry, I was a hermit. I didn’t date, didn’t take vacations, didn’t do anything social. Even back in high school and college, I never went to parties or social gatherings. Furry was what finally changed that—it gave me the ability to be in a crowd without panicking. But now, I feel like I’ve lost that progress. I’m back in panic mode.
I feel bad when new people try to meet me, because I just freeze up. I panic, shut down, and probably come across like I’m uninterested or cold. But it isn’t that—I just can’t handle being around people anymore. People always say that time heals, but in my case, it feels like things are only getting worse.  I no longer fursuit without a cause.  If I'm not at work, I don't get out of bed.  a weekend is usually 48 hours in bed.. sleeping, where there may be a good dream to give me solice, or more often, a nightmare to wake me up in a panic.. I'm broken, and no longer feel happiness.

For now, I'm still hanging onto FPS, since I feel there is purpose there for others that are involved with it.  I still like tinkering with the tech behind it.  I'm definitely not the performance talent behind it anymore, since the music licensing took away what I did when the show first started, just lip syncing to songs.  But as the evolution has happened, the rest of the cast has been able to interact and entertain the audience, and I try to keep that platform going.  It is basically the last hobby I participate in.

So right now seeing any friends I would love to see again, but all have ">>Soon Megaplex" in their tag lines.. nearly 90% of my timelines..  It just feels like a stake in the heart knowing I won't be seeing them.  And to make it even worse, I attempt to go to Denfur to get away from Orlando, and the locals to Denver decide to head to FL instead, so that just adds to the frustration.