Of course being horny for horses is normal, both words wouldn’t start with “hor” if they didn’t belong together. The same thing applies to horticulture, horology, horizons, and hors d'oeuvres. Ever choked yourself with a canape while staring out the setting sun and cramming celery up your ass in the middle of a garden? You should try it.

Mein gott, how many times must I say this: that phallus and penis are not the same, the penis (the physical object that exists by accident) is just a metaphor in physically existing flesh form for phallus (the exercise of power in the world), and this is no more more clear than when one considers the fundamental design of this world of individuals from its first inception found separating itself from the primordial stew, building membranes and cell walls that must be pierced by cilia and flagella and so on in order to destroy them and clear space out for oneself, and we’ve also said before and again that the Death Drive predates the sublimation of this thirst for destruction into totally inadequate sexually reproductive mechanisms because it literally could not be more obvious that the moment where one wants to give most what one wants most to receive is the moment of mutual penetration with spears or teeth or flagella or so on, and at this moment I’d like you to imagine me (if you’d so please) having cornered you and with my arms outspread as I gesticulate as if ready to destroy and devour you at any moment, and moving on from that, the flagella (the phallus) retains its central role as a weapon, as a means to inflict oneself upon the world, and this is an irony of Psychoanalysis because Freud’s most misogynistic moment is only the result of falling just a few steps short and failing to go to far enough, when he says that the production of a child is the woman’s replacement for phallus because he is right, but the production of a child is also the father’s replacement for phallus because both of them embody in the child the dreams that they were too chicken to achieve in their life, and these are too be understood as dreams of vengeance and violence, yes, yes, we should all understand ourselves in that way, our bodies and cells and our accompanying microbiota are just violence deferred by past generations and those past generations go all the way back to the first decision to divide in a failed attempt to overcome the world, and this is present everywhere that anything living exists because, well, let us take this moment as an example or perhaps this tree that you can see out the window, and I’ll just ask you to see the tree with me, adorned with brightly colored blossoms, and each one of those blossoms screams out the same thing: “look at me, look at only me, look at only me, let there be only me, let I and I alone exist and cast everything else into the void without mercy” because each of those blossoms on the cherry tree understands the consequences of a single moment of weakness, and it isn’t only the blossoms because it is also the spread of the boughs and leaves designed to snuff out the world beneath them and the fungicides in the roots, and this is the whole of it, total war of all against all on a molecular level dating back to when some DNA or protein molecule figured out how to hijack a peacefully self-replicating RNA molecule and led to the creations of the first fatty acids, and so we find ourself back again where we came from again in the real original sin: the creation of self, and from that moment every atrocity including this one descends; to exist is an act of violence and to deny that is to fail to understand yourself on a molecular level and to lose phallus, because phallus is just that: bacteria use their pilli to inject DNA into one another as an act of aggression that makes the “victim” stronger as they learn the true pattern of the world they inhabit and learn, and memes are just that too, the spread of information which too is an act of violence against the world, and the modern castrated Twitter user attempts to act is if they had ever been victim or spread anything, but they haven’t, they haven’t, they’ve never been through true fire, instead all they have are false appeals to some imagined bad guy that they can’t fight and so they won’t fight, and nothing more clearly demonstrates this than their obsession with the so-third-world-lit-it-hurts garbage fire Children of Men, a story every bit as cum-brained as anything Freud masturbated too, where the final completion of the cellular project being within reach is treated as a terrible thing and the deferment is itself deferred and the conclusion is itself the most dystopian thing possible to be imagined, life venturing away protected by death and returning again and again and again

anonymously stuffs a dead bird in your mail box as a sign of my affection, not like as a cat thing, but because the bird reminds me of you since you are both sad and pathetic but also pretty and soft and probably filled with parasites

Books like Water Margin and Blood Meridian make me wish there were a game somewhere in between the Murder Hobo Lifestyle of typical RPG’s and strategy games like the Romance of the Three Kingdoms or Crusader Kings series and the eventual fate of most bandits. So you’d have the managing hundreds of men aspect (including needing to feed, pay, carry and shelter them), and handle the personal relations of individual captains and heroes but instead of being connected to a particular fiefdom you’d keep on the move. Set up or take over a fortress for a while, despoil the neighboring villages, and move on when the pickings get slim or the Empire decides to come after you in full, and, of course, you’re eventually going to lose. Sooner or later, bandits get pinned down in a valley and shot to death or besieged in a fort and starved to death, but you just keep trying to stretch it out for yet another month or two as you flee across the mountains or build a bunch of boats and flee down river.

A priest who is only able to remain celibate so long as he keeps commissioning pictures of himself banging his waifu. He stores them all in an attic where he never goes. He just rests content knowing that, in some inexplicable way and some dark corner of the Universe, he is getting laid, but not in a way that counts for his vows, so he is fine. All the other priests are pedophiles or have mistresses or just see prostitutes, and they’re baffled by this apparently honest and upright man in their present.

contradiction that exists between the hentai depictions of elves and orcs where both have a third sex but in the case of elves it is that of tiny dicked femboys and in the case of orcs it is the massive futa amazon but this strange balancing is somehow necessary where the orc’s primary attribute is her undeniability and the elf’s primary attribute is her malleability and this applies to bust size as much as dick size and strength and how drizzt and assassinguy are chaotic good and lawful evil which in d&d terms means they are the only ones who can understand each other not because they are diametrically opposed, but because they are traveling across the same plane, which is only possible because they are opposed, and only in battle does an army know itself, in the same way that the Transgender Christ is Baphomet, and in the same way that angels mating with human women must have lead to men mating with animals, and this bestiality becomes Christ when God breeds with a woman and the result is

so many transhumanists are disappointments, they might seem at first uniquely clear-eyed or daring in their thought, but almost inevitably they’ll one day let some nonsense slip about “human rights” or “democracy” or “individual identity” and it becomes clear they’re just another lib with an edgy coat of paint, nothing new about it, just the same old humanism but a robot can be a human too (if the robot is a sufficiently convincing imitation of a human)

nothing sillier than the 'anarchist' whimpering about how important it is to protect their second amendment rights guaranteed under the constitution. it is, of course, always a scam the Republicans use the threat of the gun grabber gremlins to spur on political donations and the gun manufacturers use it to inspire impulse buys and runs on ammo, but at least the fascists do periodically use their guns to engage in terrorism and periodically they do get off easy like that coffee kid, whereas all the promises made by the leftish anarkiddies to go out killing landlords are never fullfilled. they're literally just larping libs with an edgy coat of paint. more importantly, of course, and the epitome of their cringe, their obsession with being granted rights by the state proves they're not even remotely 'anarchist' in any sense of word. do you see Kaczyinski, the only good critic of anarcho-primmies, arguing for the protected right to make bombs or did ol Renzo argue for the right to own grenades? no, they just did it, because they were Anarchists, real Anarchists, aristocrats of the soul, and of course they love to bring up the BPP, despite the BPP being Maoist and were any of these anarchish leftish clowns contemporary they'd have leapt all over themselves to condemn him as a meanie statist and chinese agent of totalitarianism)

Okay, so I have an idea for a movie. There’s this transguy, Jeff, who goes to get bottom surgery done, and instead of performing a phalloplasty, the doctors at the clinic accidentally attach Napoleon’s mummified penis to him. And Napoleon’s penis comes to life, because it has the soul of Napoleon in it, and it starts trying to give Jeff advice. But Jeff doesn’t speak French and his penis doesn’t speak English, so Jeff doesn’t know what the advice is, until he meets Roy. Roy speaks French and English, so he can interpret the strategic advice of Jeff’s penis, and the two of them set off to take over the world. Initially they’re very successful, but then Roy goes in for phalloplasty and the doctors accidentally attach Rasputin’s mummified penis to him, and Rasputin’s soul was also in the mummified penis which starts giving him advice in Russian to screw up Jeff’s campaigns. So Roy starts deliberating mistranslating the advice of Jeff’s penis and deliberately misleading him. Jeff’s empire begins to collapse and they start to drift apart.

It is a bizarre inversion of slave morality that insists strength, pride, will, self-reliance, etc are not evil, but rather they do not exist, and anyone who believes in these attributes is privileged, ie delusional. The post about how the individual doesn't exist is another one in the genre. It is a necessary inversion in a subculture that exalts victimized above all else, since the usual offering of slave morality (it is a choice to be good by enduring) places agency in the hands of the slave and therefore makes them not a victim. While the first inversion of slave morality remembers the contempt for weakness, the second inversion forgets even that and the lastest man is so much more pathetic than Nietzsche could have imagined even in his worse syphilitic nightmares.

Practically, of course, it is, of course, totally unreasonable, yes yes of course, to expect anyone to spend their entire lives fighting endless lawsuits from the shack they built with their own two hands in the Alaskan bush despite their chronic pain and IBS which they only barely understand because they raised themselves in the presence of wolves and taught themselves language and law and medicine from molding books they stumbled across on accident while fleeing from those wolves, but that doesn't mean  someone can't do it, and sooner or later someone will learn to enjoy it.

Of course, by making a virtue into impossibility, they (the lastest men) double it’s virtue, and

anime girls who sit together in a canoe crying “ich ni ich ni ich ni” as they row away from a city burning in the background, the walls crumbling and smeared with blood, leaving an entire world collapsing behind their brilliant and cheerful countenances, and an old, weathered man standing on the crumbling wall weeping as he watches them go, weeping not for the end of his civilization that they heralded but weeping from the beauty of their effortless and cheerful existence, their wide-eyed enthusiasm for something that he can never know, and weeping because he knows that all those who built the world he lived in never knew this wonder of entropy, it was transhumanoid or whatever he calls himself now that most perfectly described the anime girl as the inverse of a fertility idol, the release of a bloated congestion, the narrowing of all possibilities to a single rail thin point, the opening of an eye, the end to all struggle won only through struggle, Nietzsche only danced when the syphilis rotted his brain, dionysus flew in twilight born in his own death at the tail end of an era but always having been there if he can be credited with inventing wine, and Freud, sad thing, reversed his poles, the death drive predates reproduction, when the flower blooms it screams “look at me, look at me, look at me and me alone and discard all others to hell,” and in response we cut it off and kill it and offer it’s death to others as a tribute and as a promise because when all the others are done away with we too will turn on each other just as the inhabitants of the city did with knives and flails, and away from it, cheerful and ecstatic as ever will be the anime girls who sit together in a canoe crying “ich ni ich ni ich ni” as they row away from yet another city left burning in the background and yet another who stands atop the walls and can see the beauty of the cold mother in their strange forms and realize that this collapse is no tragedy but a culmination and ich ni ich ni ich ni

People, they will ask me, do I think it is possible that a person could have a romantic relationship with a wolf, and I must say, of course, no, no it is not possible, because a person cannot have a romantic relationship with anything that actually exists, and so it doesn’t matter if the object of the romance is a dog or a man or a squid or a cartoon character or a god, the relationship is always one-sided, between the subject and an object that exists only in their head, and this relationship can be, you know, to a god, that is why all the old mystics have these visions filled with romantic imagery and suckling and Christ’s breasts, and so many of them were lesbians and very repressed and they depicts this, today we would call her Transgendered, the Transgendered Christ, masculine and feminine, full of holes to be explored, but I have gone aside the matter, so, no, a person cannot have a real romantic or religious relationship with anything, and part of counseling and priesthood is nudging people toward the dual realization: the fantasy is real, the fantasy is not the person, and finding how to manage that gap, and so, yes, also, of course, romance can exist between a person and a dog in the same way it exists between a person and a person, which is to say it doesn’t, so we might say that perhaps the events of Ookami to Shoujo exist only in the heroine’s head, that perhaps the brute realities of her copulation with a wolf have nothing to do with family bonding, but we can say the same about every such interaction between beings

Why is it that whenever you buy the bags of frozen dumplings/potstickers/whatever at the store, they come with two bags of “soy sauce type substance” but the instructions on the bag tell you to cook one-third of the bag at a time?

In "It Ain't Easy Being Breezy," the season 4 episode of MLP:FiM, Fluttershy learns the importance of a disciplined workforce for maintaining the nation-state. The Breezy proletariat are too easily swayed by promises of capitalist excess and the only way to keep them from abandoning their duties is to press the boot down when they get lackadaisical. What I'm saying is, Fluttershy would totally have sent the army into Kronstadt. She'd cry about it and hesitate a bit, but eventually she'd realize what she needed to do.

sea turtles have tremendous baggage, as an empath i can assure you, every one of them i have seen in person radiates a terrible sadness, every single one of them, as if their entire species were cognizant of some unimaginable atrocity and all they can do is float there in the water making that face