Anonymous1: They're exchanging saliva while bearing what appears to be a manifestation of all my repressed horror vomited onto a canvas. I can't look away. The horror of this images seeps into my brain like how a fog blankets the hills of a village in Basque. I see a lone goat, a bell jangling around its neck before it stumbles a few steps and dies. I do not vomit. Horror, inside eating away at my mind. I fight the darkness eating away at the edges of my vision as my brain threatens to shut down to prevent trauma.
Those vaginas. They look like a product of the sick mind of Satan imself. They look infected and rotting, like a corpse killed by a horrific virus. It looks like an abbotoir. Innards and death. I vomit without looking away. I feel linked to them. I must endure. Is it possible to die from looking at something?
I keep staring, yet each second seems an eternity. I no longer see them as ponies. They are pale apes displaying something that would give Chuck Norris nightmares. Their underdeveloped brains are insufficient for the task of comprehending their transgressions against Odin. I want to dash their heads open with a rock.
It's over. I check my revolver but I have fired off my last cartridge at an Indian I caught eating a discarded shoe from my trash. I place the pistol to my temple and pull the trigger anyway. I'm left crying as I pump it
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Those vaginas. They look like a product of the sick mind of Satan imself. They look infected and rotting, like a corpse killed by a horrific virus. It looks like an abbotoir. Innards and death. I vomit without looking away. I feel linked to them. I must endure. Is it possible to die from looking at something?
I keep staring, yet each second seems an eternity. I no longer see them as ponies. They are pale apes displaying something that would give Chuck Norris nightmares. Their underdeveloped brains are insufficient for the task of comprehending their transgressions against Odin. I want to dash their heads open with a rock.
It's over. I check my revolver but I have fired off my last cartridge at an Indian I caught eating a discarded shoe from my trash. I place the pistol to my temple and pull the trigger anyway. I'm left crying as I pump it
Click. Click. Click.
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