Okay... I digress. I gotcha, I gotcha, enough... kidding around.

It is established here that Garfield is in a rage; an ultimate rage of fury and hatred, caused by colorblindness. We know the "what", we know the "why"... but let us examine the "how", the how of his rage is particularly interesting here. We've looked at his posture and called it "powerful", "in control", "statuesque", "etc., etc." Composed rage... It's peculiar, and I've talked to a number of psychologists and psychiatrists, and even a couple of anger management therapists about this concept...

Could we see the same kind of behavior in a human? Is Garfield representative of something more specific than just chaos and rage? Deciphering this is going to take some perseverance. for sure.
The psychologists pointed to a phenomenon in humans, and, yes, I believe one of the anger management counselors brought it up as well. The idea that people, oftentimes, will bottle their rage... Garfield the cat, here... well, he could be bottling his anger, inside, shoving it deep into his cat gut, to ignore and deal with at a later time.

Eh, well... No, that's not exactly right. Garfield has already acted out, he's already stolen the pipe... he's SMOKING the pipe, he's already dealt with his anger. He's already lashed out, so, psychologically, what is going on here? What is this cat doing, and how does it impact his owner, Jon Arbuckle... psychologically?
Well, Garfield is angry. He is acting on his anger... but is this passive anger, or aggressive anger?

Passive. It is passive because if Garfield has a problem with Jon specifically... he's choosing a passive way of dealing with that problem. He has not confronted Jon, and said, "Jon, I have a problem with the way you've decorated this room; as a cat, I am colorblind, and this room sends me into a rage... You've created a rage room for me here, and I don't like it; I want you to change it."

Instead of that confrontational approach, though, Garfield has chosen to steal Jon's pipe... and that, in turn, angers Jon... but Jon decides to be aggressively angry, and yell at Garfield, so... now, instead of a calm conversation between two respectful parties, you have two... heated, angry individuals, each with a problem and no direct line to solving it. The layered emotions here tell a story with tight, focused brevity that would make Hemingway weep. This is an entire drama, in just three panels, people.
...but let's not be remiss, and miss the humor of the situation, the... absurdity of it all... for certainly, there is a reason that the visual shorthand for drama includes both the crying mask AND a laughing mask. Comedy and tragedy complement each other, and meld together to create drama, tension, the height of humanity, the peak of art, that reflects back to us our own condition. .and here in its basest form, we can laugh at this comic yes, COMIC, in which a cat smokes a pipe... Hah... when was the last time you've SEEN such a thing in your life? Never, I presume... I certainly never have...

The Greek muse, Thalia's presence is strong in this work of art, here. Comedy, it is COMEDY... and if you look at the structure again, you'll see this perfect form of thirds works magically for the transmission of, yes, YES, a JOKE. The joke.... is as old as time... even cavemen told jokes, and the joke here is that Jon has lost his pipe... or he thinks he has... but lo and behold, it is the cat, Garfield, who has the pipe. surprise, surprise, the cat is smoking!

Again, the transition, from set-up to punchline takes place between the second and third panels... but make no mistake, the comic is more than just a comic... Yes, it IS funny, of course it is... it is operating at the height of sophisticated humor, on par with any of Shakespeare's piercing wit.

On the one hand, Garfield the comic, with Jon the man, humor as art... the other hand, Garfield comic, with Jon the man, stirring... no, RIVETING drama... as with everything, it is tension, and release. TENSION... and RELEASE...

A cycle.
I keep returning to this idea, because it is so omnipresent. Yes, you could... and yes, I have done this, on more than one occasion... you could print this comic strip on a giant piece of paper. The dimensions would be something like... thirty-four inches by eleven inches.

Now, tape the ends together, with the comic facing inward. Stick your head in the middle of this Garfield comic loop and READ, start at the first panel; Jon is reading the newspaper... he feels for something on the end table.

Second panel; he sets the newspaper down, something is not right..."Where could my pipe be?" he thinks...and then, the payoff; the third panel, Garfield has Jon's pipe, and is smoking it.

But, aha! The paper is in a loop, around your head... so that you can see that, once again, Jon is in his seat, reading the paper... and so on, and so on, you can literally read the comic strip for an eternity!

I spent many a relaxing Sunday afternoon reading this strip, over and over... reminded of the Portuguese death carvings, which always begin and end with the same scrawled image.

So, this idea of repetition, of the beginning being the end, and the end being the beginning... It's not new, it is an ageless tradition among the best storytellers humanity has ever offered... and I'm not wrong to include cartoonist Jim Davis in that exalted set for this particular strip alone

I'm not foolish enough to deny that great art is subjective... divisive, even, and that some people see this Garfield comic and shrug with no real reaction... but I will say that I believe everyone in the world should see it; at the very least, see it!
You should all see it. Read it. Spend some time with it. Spend an hour reading it... what's an hour? Yes, you could watch some television program, you could play some fast-paced video games or computer games, yes, you could do all those things. But it's just an hour... and if you give this strip a chance, if you look into Jon Arbuckle's eyes... if you look into Jon Arbuckle's SOUL... You might find that you'll really be looking into your own soul.

It is self discovery, that is what I'm talking about here... YOU have the opportunity, the possibility... it could change you. Don't be afraid.

You know, just last week, I was eating lunch near the Municipal Court... like I do every Thursday, and... there was a plumbing banner... a plumbing van, parked out in front, uh... and a man, a plumber, would step out from the court, and retrieve something from this every so often.

A few times, this happened... I thought nothing of it; just a plumber, doing some work at the Municipal Court... but then he came out, and looked through his van, and it was clear. He couldn't find something. I noticed, and thought, "Well, that's sort of similar to the Garfield comic, in a way. Someone looks for something, can't find it,"... but, yes, that probably happens billions of times a day around the world...

...but then, this plumber... put his hands on his hips... then, he scratched his head, and he said aloud...

"Now, where could my pipe wrench be?"

Well, at this, I leaped off the bench, sandwich still in hand, and I rushed over, I shouted, "What was that you said!?"

He looked at me and said, "What? I can't find my pipe wrench, " and I said, "No! No, no, say it... like how you just said it..."

He scratched his head, and repeated, "Now where could my pipe wrench be?"

I slapped him on the back and said, "Garfield!"

He looked so confused, so I said it again... then, I said "Your orange cat took it!"
Heh... ah, then I laughed and laughed... and he smiled, and went back into the courtroom.

I walked away, knowing that the plumber and I, two complete strangers, bonded over this Garfield comic... You see, life imitates art, becomes a common ground.

I have a feeling that if I see this plumber again, we'll be sharing stories like two old friends because we've been united by art. We have a common love for Jim Davis and his characters, his writings... The humor, the drama, that rascal Garfield, the cat. (Oh, and by the way, if you're wondering what I was having for lunch that day, it was a ham sandwich with an apple and potato chips... in a bag, I had a soda as well)

I think it's important to view the Pipe Strip in philosophical terms... We've touched briefly on the notion of existentialism; that theme is very prevalent in this strip. Garfield is, in fact, a modern existential anti-hero... but if Garfield embodies the bewilderment in a meaningless life, what is Jon? What are the telltale signs that inform Jon's philosophical standpoint? His approach, what style of thinking he represents?

Jon is depicted as being grounded in the material world... a world of things; he is surrounded by objects, and he touches these objects, he interacts with them. The newspaper, the end table, the chair... his clothes, all these physical things make up Jon's world. In some sense, even his cat Garfield is an object to him, a thing...

The first ideology that comes to mind when thinking of objects in the tangible world... is pragmatism... Is Jon Arbuckle a pragmatist? His beliefs stem from a useful, coherent view of his environment... a sort of cause-and-effect understanding of his world helps him.

A: Deduce that his pipe is missing... and B: Catches his cat, Garfield, using the pipe.
This kind of empirical and logical thinking lends credence to the idea that Jon is, indeed, a pragmatist... Although, it is hard to entirely ignore the rest of the Garfield comic canon.

While Garfield is consistently anarchic, and embraces the chaos and absurdity of life... Jon Arbuckle exhibits an erratic, unpredictable mix of philosophical behaviors. At times, he is borderline; delusional, an idealist, an almost slap-happy version of Don Quixote. Other moments, he is rigid, nearly to the point of being obsessive... somewhat like a structuralist, and certainly has streaks of sarcasm and negativity that might classify him as a skeptic.

...But isn't there some universal truth in this approach? How can any one man, how can Jon Arbuckle be just one thing? How can any of us be just one thing? We're... an amalgamation of ideas, of emotions... conducts and functions, thoughts and feelings... Jon Arbuckle may very well inhabit tenets of nearly every major philosophical tract known to man. We all might.

Characters are reduced, to make them recognizable, definable; a story needs a good guy, a story needs a bad guy... but rarely is one person defined in such black and white terms. Even Garfield, with all his bad behavior, Machiavellian motivation and general ne'er-do-well attitude, can be kind and thoughtful. You just have to find that rare strip.

Speaking philosophically about the entire Garfield franchise, it's an incredibly accurate depiction of life. Its bold lines and bright colors are merely a facade, a... a red herring, a lie. This cartoon is not a cartoon at all, it is not a... caricature. It is not caricature despite adopting caricature as its visual style and tone...but I don't really like to speak in broad sweeping generalizations about Garfield.
The comic has been running for over thirty years, and to try and boil that all down is just, well... it's impossible. I think the only way that any historian worth his salt will agree with me is to look at individual moments... isolated instances, single comic strips.

Can I discuss this one strip in the context of the entire run of Garfield? Yes, I do that just as a film historian might analyze one movie in relation to the history of all movies, or a war enthusiast might look at a single battle's impact on an entire war. The Pipe Strip is just an instance in the lives of Jon and Garfield.

Perhaps Jon is not a pragmatist at all... let's look at this again. Maybe Jon is exhibiting the traits of a rationalist thinker; his question, "Now where could my pipe be?" is a clue that his thought process stems from the early rationalist questions posed by René Descartes. The well-known quote, "I think, therefore I am," attributed to Descartes, is applicable.

Another close look at the strip, and we see that Jim Davis chose to draw Jon thinking his question.

"Now where could my pipe be?"

Jon does not speak this question aloud, so Jim Davis is also exploring the mind/body duality... Jon's question operates on the level of a literal question... but it also examines the nature of reality. Jim Davis' epistemological approach tells us something about the human condition; Jon's thoughts remain the focal point of this strip.

The comic is, quite literally, centered around his thought.

"Now where could my pipe be?"

This is his reality, this is where cognition, and the power and function of the mind take over. As Plato believed, the body is just a shell for Jon Arbuckle; yes, he can use his physical body to read his paper or cross his legs, but these inputs of touch, sight, hearing, et cetera, these senses are the triggers of the mind, as we see here, the mind... is something greater. It is the originator of ideas, and ideas are forever. Immortal.
Immortality through thought, a... a major theme in literature and philosophy...

...and isn't that what Mister Jim Davis himself has achieved?

Will he live forever?

The universe will continue to spread, and spread outward, and... entropy will turn a chaotic infinity into a homogenous, controlled system. This will take billions of years, and in that time, humans will push technology to heights we can't imagine. We'll explore and inhabit space, and occupy more and more of the universe, just as time allowed our ancestors to... multiply in numbers, and populate more and more of the Earth.

...and as the specific people come and go, their physical bodies will be born, and grow, and die... but their thoughts will remain. and Jim Davis' comics, his glorious Garfield comics... are recorded ideas of his, that will still be here.

Even when the Earth is no longer inhabitable, and humanity has long since moved away to bigger planets, they'll carry with them a record, a record we all keep; mark my words... and look at what we've started, what is... What is the internet? What is the online world, if not a record? Never-ending feed of ideas, immortal ideas... forever placed in the ether of dualism.

What is an idea? Where does it live? How does it manifest itself? Can it live forever? Will it live forever, outside of these physical husks of ours, our bodies?

...and Jon Arbuckle, and Garfield, started merely as thoughts... but they've become so much more. That old cliché rings true, they've taken on a life of their own... and life may not be what we think. Life brings to mind a beating heart, breathing lungs, blinking eyes...

...but the real life is in our imaginations... and who better embodies the definition of imagination if not a simple man... a cartoonist, who puts his ideas to paper so that they may live on, so that our children, and our children's children, and their children's children's children can access the wealth of ideas that have accumulated thus far.
They will plug themselves into an information grid, and they will have access... They will read every Garfield comic, 80,000 years from now, a child will see a simple Jon Arbuckle, reading a newspaper. He will feel around for something, but that something is not there... He will lift his head and think...

"Now where could my pipe be?"

...and Garfield will be smoking the pipe, and Jon will yell "GARFIELD!"

...and what then? 80,000 years from now?

The child reading this comic will smile... and that smile will transcend space and time and the physical limitations of this existence, whatever they may be, however many dimensions exist...

There will always be Garfield... and there will always be its creator...

I'm convinced that mattress/furniture stores exist in a quantum superposition of grand opening and going out of business sale.

It is both and neither at once until an observer records the state at which point it becomes one or the other.

But because you know exactly where the store is located, you cannot know how fast it is going out of business because of your uncertainty about its business momentum.

All around us, all the time pairs of anti-discount mattress stores and discount mattress stores are popping into existence, forming the quantum memory foam that is the basis for the universe. Without the pressure of this quantum memory foam strip malls would collapse.

We can see evidence of this when a pair is created such that one half is within the sales radius of a supermassive furniture store like Ikea-- one of them is pulled in and the other escapes as a Hawking mattress store.

You girls are funny. I like to listen to your tiny 110 IQ brains working in their somewhat feeble and halting fashion. It's like watching those gibbons at the circus they teach to smoke cigars and ride a little tricycle around in a ring. You know, you're almost right. Compared to modern men, anyhow. Since the average male nowadays is a pathetic wreck who looks like a crossbreeding experiment between Don Knotts and PeeWee Herman, you girls are really closing the gap. Soon the average male will be nearly as weak as a physically fit woman.

I weigh 320 pounds. I run the mile in 5:20. The commanding chief of police of Queensland recently described me to his staff as "superhuman freak from another world who only looks like one of us on the outside." He also said "Technically, the guy is an unlicensed weapon of mass destruction just walking around outdoors. If I ever get orders to arrest this guy, I'm bringing a tank and a rocket launcher." He also described me as "without a doubt the most brilliant software developer we have ever contracted with."

If you go to the Vault-Co website and have a look at the Vulcan Fortress, remember those one ton drums you see on the site were offloaded from the delivery truck and then rolled around the site ... by me, working alone. In many cases I carried the 400 lb stainless steel air intake pipes down into the five meter pit on my back. These pipes required six people to unload when they arrived and I was not there to assist. Just one of those pipes would crush you girls like the gravitational field of a black hole.

Simple , I'm looking for a submissive, playful , sexy Slut. You need to do all that I say and obey all that I tell you to do. I'm looking for a slut for this weekend . You need to be curvy , Big boobs are a must and very eager and willing to please. I love giving oral and receiving as well. I'm athletic and in great SEXUAL shape, If you a submissive cumswallowing whore , who likes getting your pussy sucked and nibbled on and have an interest in getting a load shot down your throat, a load shot deep into your moist pussy and a hot thick load shot into your ASS. Then contact me , Put ' red rubber super ball" in the subject line and i will respond. looking forward to cumming in you.
I WILL only respond to REAL reponses
For a little while now I've been wanting to act like a cub...without my fursuit. I have a few problems though and I don't really know how to handle them without asking this subreddit. My first problem is that when I roleplay, I have to actually look very similar to a cub For it to have any effect. If I don't look like a cub, I really can't consider myself a cub and after a while I get kind of disgusted with myself for some reason I don't know. For instance, if I were to look down and see my hairy man legs it would ruin the whole thing and I'd probably feel disgusted with myself. For some reason ears and a tail really don't seem to do anything as that kind of just implies a half human half animal thing.

Second of all, diapers can be somewhat sexual to me if I actually wear them with my fursuit and I wouldn't want to bring sex anywhere near my roleplays. im kind of at a loss for ideas here, maybe somebody here could help?
I'm a regular Joe with a small dick I'm looking for a woman who enjoys a small dick but is willing to have some hot sex with me if you like my ad and you want to get to know me please feel free to send a picture and some info I'm looking for a relationship for ongoing activities I'm a laid-back kind a guy and I'm never pushy I'm 420 friendly and drink friendly. Put friend in the subject line so I know who real
Slosh, slosh, Jackal rummages around, delighting in the warm, satisfying feeling of food being sent deeper within her. Beneath all the ice cream and pastries she devoured is the remnants of an intruding vixen she found and bound. Once tied up, she proved easy enough to swallow down, and since being subjugated to Jackal's powerful insides she's more a fox-laden soup than the thick vixen she previously was.

With all the vixen left to digest, the purple canine simply went about her normal routine: eating, sleeping, relaxing, only occasionally paying attention to her engorged middle as the chyme within her is absorbed and turned into much more useful pudge. For the better part of the day Victoria the vixen is processed by Jackal's guts, even her clothing isn't spared by the canine's impressive anatomy. By the time Victoria's bulge has shrunk from a massive beanbag to a firmer beachball size, does Jackal begin to assess the damage the fox is doing to her curves. She's not afraid to get physical -- while she's rubbing her hefty potbelly, her free hand thumps and slaps against the surprisingly resilient hill of purple. Her hand sinks and rebounds from her skin, accompanied by the delightful noise of fluids sploshing around within her. The firmness, when compared to her earlier belly's jostly softness, means parts of the white fox is already permanently added to Jackal's frame as chub.

She gives the fox a few more hours of stewing around within her until a final air bubble wrestles up Jackal's throat as a echoing Burrp!, signaling Victoria's completed digestion, and that means it's time to assess how she's done. Starting from the top, the purple canine's hands move to her previously modest chest, which ballooned into two heavy milk jugs.
I raped myself today.

You read that right. For years people kept saying that washing your asscrack while showering is normal, and "hygienic". Of course I just tried to ignore them, I wouldn't indulge in their satanic self-harm. But the pressure kept building, my ass growing crustier by the day. I found myself starting to believe it wouldn't be that sinful, right? Well I was WRONG!

This morning in the shower it happened. Washed my body and face just like normal, washed my hair, and relaxed for a bit. Then the intrusive thought got in my mind again. "If everyone does it, how can it be that bad?" I found myself reaching for the soap, arms shaking. Got closer to the spot where the sun never shines. Contact. Slowly going towards the middle. I already felt it was wrong, and believe me, I wanted to stop. Just swipe it like a creditcard through a reader and be done with it. I wish I stopped before that moment. I did what I did. After 20 minutes of crying on the shower floor I had to face the facts. I'm gay now.

Spy Kids 3D is one of the few films in which I personally did not find any significant weakness even after many viewings. From the direction, to the acting, to the storyline, to the score, Spy Kids 3D has the word classic written all over, and it really is not much of a surprise that it is now considered by many one of the top five spy movies of all time. Perhaps when it comes to cinematic techniques Spy Kids 3D has not been as revolutionary as The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl 3D, but its influence on motion pictures is comparable. Rarely a movie has defined or re-defined a genre as much as this one did for "spy movies", but its influence goes well beyond that.

But to say that Spy Kids 3D is simply "influential" is to diminish its true qualities, and so is to describe it simply as "a movie about Spy Kids". The Spy Kids are certainly the main focus the story revolves around, but although the movie never tries to forcedly insert separate subjects it contains an amount of psychological and social subtexts that cannot be overlooked. Considerations on how the social environments changes us, on how moral values appear different from different point of views, on how violence can destroy a human soul, and on how power can corrupt an individual are deeply blended into a story that stays practically always true to complete realism, and the result is a picture of astonishing efficacy and believability.
Given the chance for vengeance on General Scales, Krystal eagerly took up the opportunity and dominated the overgrown reptile beneath her paw. With his weapons and armor removed, the muscular lizard was, with great difficulty, sent down the blue vixen's throat, and from there it wasn't long until her bodily functions took care of the rest.

Within Krystal, the massive scalie's bulk is eagerly kneaded and mashed, her stomach effortlessly resisting whatever kicks or punches the indignant reptile can muster. In fact, all his struggles achieve is letting air escape up her throat, causing the occasional Buurp! or belch past the feisty vixen's teeth. Despite his empty, muffled threats, her inner workings grind the chiseled saurian into viscous, nutritious goop in no time. Not all at once of course; the lowermost portions of the lizard are first to be melted and emptied out into Krystal's lower bowels where they sluice and slip around in her red tubing. But, as digestion sets in and General Scales becomes more syrup than solid, her intestines are flooded to near capacity with reptile-rich chyme, which bloats out her crotch and abdomen.

"Ooh! Mmm... This is a much better place for you."

As her bowels go to work siphoning the scalie-mix away, her breasts and butt bubble up, naturally matching the amount he's disappeared by. She pats her potbelly, giggling at the rousing feeling of the slush inside her shifting to and fro. Slapping her belly produces angry grrgls and grrns, obvious protests from her innards wishing to be undisturbed in their work. There's a few obvious chunks of him left at this point, but the lion's share of Scales resides in her intestinal tubing, where her body can eagerly reap the rewards.

The last bits of life in General Scales are snuffed out of existence as the stomach he resides within contracts one final time, crushing him down and deeper.

cant believe gender 3 thinks guns arent okay commie libtard shillary wimps cant even wipe their own ass ever since obumber droped bombs all over the middle east but lets not talk about that cause that would not be very humanitarian, burn in hell with your vegan fake meat why even stop eating meat if you like the taste of it ??? one moment they say ban guns cause people die but same time dont want mexican gun people from crossing the border? FIND GOD!!! the american family is in shambles ever since you liberal idiots bailed out wallstreet weve been in the shitter wont even support our troops WHEN THEY DIED FOR YOUR FREEDOM, pull up your pant and get a job you commie hippy cucks you talk about GUNS being dangerous but cant even tell jimmy neutron to push the button that looks like a cheeseburger i mean its obviously fucking salt but he insists on calling it some scientific bullshit

Another week, another laundry load, you think to yourself as you climb down to the basement. You swing open the door, barely awake, not able to think of any relevant puns for a stupid Reddit thread, wearing your last-resort shirt from a decade old fundraiser and basketball shorts.

You groggily drop the basket down, opening the door to the washing machine, and on routine shove your week's clothes into the appliance. But when you reach for the laundry pods, the container's already opened.

Looking into it, you see not a single laundry pod, and no backup detergent anywhere in sight. Your momentary befuddlement is interrupted by a cute, demure "Excuse me?"

In shock, you turn around, and a creature unlike any you've seen before is inside the doorway. A translucent white is her unmistakably feminine body, but with odd transparent fringes along her "head" and behind her sparkling eyes. Her "snout", if you were to pick a word, has two small ridges, one blue and the other orange, glossy and glimmering. A similar pattern crosses her chest, one breast a deep blue and the other a bright tangerine. A floral scent fills the room, and you're getting the full effect of it with your jaw dropped at this creature's beauty.
You mumble something, the spark of recall dancing in your eyes along with the spark of arousal.

"You're missing some clothes..." She sidles up to you, giving you a glimpse of her round backside, again repeating the blue-and-orange motif. "I think what you're wearing could use a wash, too~"

Her half-closed eyes, and her bitten lip, give you all the hint you need. Your clothes join the rest of your laundry in the washing machine, and you embrace your newfound tropical-scented fling. As she hugs you, light squeaking noises, the sound of her taut plastic skin, fill the room, and the aroma becomes almost... alluring, no, intoxicating.

You plant a kiss on her head, on the orange ridge. She runs her mitten-like hands down your back, a refreshing and cooling touch to counterbalance your hot-running blood. "But... You're made of detergent, yet you're full of these dirty thoughts..." you stammer out.
Don't ask questions, just do what comes naturally. Don’t you want to drink me...?" To answer your unspoken, truer question, she kisses you deeply, her unique lips embracing yours, her eyes closing as you join the forbidden love. With a close look at her translucent body, you see the turbulent flows of her inner detergent pulsing and swirling, and soon emotion closes your eyes so you can concentrate on feeling the love filling you both.

After an eternity you'd live and die again for of pure love between two unlikely beings, you break the kiss off, and her hand moves down your side, the taut skin sliding along your shaft. With a squeak she strokes the underside of your glans, winking at you. "There's one kind of dirty I'd love us to become, you know."

You'd almost swear in that moment that beneath the swirling white soapy face of hers it turned the slightest, blushing shade of pink as your firmness pushed into her horn base. You seductively unscrew her top, as she moaned.
“Yes, twist my tight fucking cap.” She moans, spilling between your fingers. You moan at her scent, as it beckons you, mechanically tipping her over as her begs you to sip. To drink.

“Yes Yes Yes DRINK DRINK ME RIGHT HERE ANDNOWYESYOUHAVEJUSTMETHERESONLYTHISRNDITALLYESYOUKNOWTHISISWHARYOUWANTJESUSCHRISTTAKEME”

Gulp after gulp, your eyes roll back in the highest form of ecstasy you’ve ever felt. Yes you think. This is what I want. It’s so beautiful. I don’t want it to end, but I do want it to end. The taste oh god the taste. You picture it’s taste as your mind covers everything you’ve ever known in Tide.

My worthless cunt neighbor had sex once again and she moaned like the fucking whore she is. Moaning is one of the most primitive behaviors that still exist today. It's a whore's call for the nearest males to come and fight eachother to death so that the last survivor will claim the femoid and breed her pussy with his superior genes. If we still lived in the jungle and i heard that noise,i would approach the male fucker and knock him out with my cavemade bat but since we live nowadays in a civilized society with laws and shit,i can't do anything about that so i have to resort to punching my fucking walls. This is why moaning must be criminalized. It disrupts the peace of mind of the male inhabitants of a civilized society. If that whore wants to moan,she can freely go to the amazon rainforest and moan like the fucking primitive animal she is,otherwise she must face either the rope,the electric chair or the flamethrower.