By all means, tear down the illusory veil of peace, just as the US has. A rotten situation all around. Targeting oil infrastructure makes sense, strategically, but what does this accomplish?
Anyways, Fuck the Epstein Class. May they all perish at the hands of “Our Lord ” and burn in “Eternal Hellfire”.
How many feathers can they pluck from the proletariat before the Hen rears its head and starts pecking? When will the Cock bear its claws?
The Hen and Cock will soon be naked and bereft of their identity, cold and shivering and scared, reduced to nothing more than sentient bags of flesh and bone, dwarfed by the imposing and seemingly insurmountable stature of the plucker.
In an absence of feathers, flesh is taken.
It hurts. Tremendously.
And soon the Hen and Cock will die together, and they’ll have their insides outside, and they’ll be ground up and eaten, turned to shit.
Shit is inert. Unmoving, unconscious, and utterly incapable.
Could the Hen and Cock have saved themselves, had they a means to defy their innate and learned conditioning?
Hens and Cocks can’t do that.
I say this typing from my phone.
One thing that’s cool about technology is that it lets us operate outside our evolutionary and imparted constraints. Fuck you, multiplication tables. Fuck you, cable news. Fuck you, school system. I have the means to multiply, I have the means to teleport across the globe and see it all firsthand; I have the entire world and the history of Humanity’s entire bloodline in cusp of my fucking hand.
And yet I am still constrained by this bag of flesh. I am flawed, an addict, a slave to The Entertainment, not even a cock, just an ant that moves numbers instead of dirt.
By all means, tear down the illusory veil of peace, just as the US has. A rotten situation all around. Targeting oil infrastructure makes sense, strategically, but what does this accomplish?
Anyways, Fuck the Epstein Class. May they all perish at the hands of “Our Lord ” and burn in “Eternal Hellfire”.
How many feathers can they pluck from the proletariat before the Hen rears its head and starts pecking? When will the Cock bear its claws?
The Hen and Cock will soon be naked and bereft of their identity, cold and shivering and scared, reduced to nothing more than sentient bags of flesh and bone, dwarfed by the imposing and seemingly insurmountable stature of the plucker.
In an absence of feathers, flesh is taken.
It hurts. Tremendously.
And soon the Hen and Cock will die together, and they’ll have their insides outside, and they’ll be ground up and eaten, turned to shit.
Shit is inert. Unmoving, unconscious, and utterly incapable.
Could the Hen and Cock have saved themselves, had they a means to defy their innate and learned conditioning?
Hens and Cocks can’t do that.
I say this typing from my phone.
One thing that’s cool about technology is that it lets us operate outside our evolutionary and imparted constraints. Fuck you, multiplication tables. Fuck you, cable news. Fuck you, school system. I have the means to multiply, I have the means to teleport across the globe and see it all firsthand; I have the entire world and the history of Humanity’s entire bloodline in cusp of my fucking hand.
And yet I am still constrained by this bag of flesh. I am flawed, an addict, a slave to The Entertainment, not even a cock, just an ant that moves numbers instead of dirt.