After the titillating reveal of Eridan's artistic reciprocation, I feel it's only responsible of me to belatedly drop the piece that inspired his sordid tryst with the pen to begin with. Behold: Doom Slaying Feast your eyes on the artistic rendition of a dude with nothin' to lose. Behold the glory and gusto of a stallion in a world of marefoids, all clamoring for a suckle at his attention glands, as if he's going to willingly fork over any of that to some girls that really don't even seem all that interested in what he has to say. See how these shortsighted bessies (all of lower social denomination than him, of course) all make attempts at him in one way or another to garner his favor, only for them to ultimately end up ground under his pristine, seapony boot heel. Don't you know, silly rabbit? Tricks are for chicks, and he's been duping you all into thinking there's any part of this worth salvaging. Prospective victims of his runnin' gob circle him, and he sounds a warning shot that no one listens to. Honestly? The writing is on the wall with this one. Poison dart frogs in bright colors kind of thing. C'mon, guys. Be real with yourself. Anyway. There's also a dope-ass volcano in the background, to represent passion and tension coming to an explosive peak. Blam. The heat of the Earth mother herself erupts outward, but isn't near giving or gracious enough to torch this entire scene. She's Mama alright, but Mama doesn't take kindly to easy ways out, and death is the ultimate cheat code to salvation.
HAHA. THAT WOULD BE DIFFICULT.
Least mysterious fan of the year goes to: Listen, man, I can tell that you're just about up to your ankles in these fine, equine dealings, so I know you've got taste. If you're enticing me to get back in the detective saddle, consider my feet placed back in the stirrups.
hAHA. EXCELLENT. THAT WOULD GIVE ME AN EXCUSE. TO STOP PROCRASTINATING. ON MY PROJECT.
HMM?
that loamy crone an her slaggy eruptions are not the only thin that are comin to a head this fine moontide dirk i find myself seized by a paroxysm a vvolcanic proportions as i rub my roamin bulbs all ovver this masterpiece as if it wwere a scantily dressed foid an i a slightly more confident pervvert the battles just begun my next pen an pencil blitzkrieg wwill strike you wwhen you least expect it
Take out the as if part, broski, there's no denyin' that you're a tried and true pervert of the most unpruned and unrefined variety. Strictly speakin', you are ol' Aqualung on the park bench, pants hastily put on and eyes roaming the horizon for any sign of cleavage. Which isn't a diss on you. Just an observation. It's in style to be a perv these days. Peep the dash, it's every other bit. Regardless, pony up. Let's *Play ball*.
dont compare me to a bunch a feckless hobbyists mate theres a difference vvaster than the depth a the pelagic zone betwween me and these artless kinksters postin their oily booties and monstrous third skippers on chittr i cant remember the last time i felt lust but degradin foids evven in mare form is a full time gig
I think you'll find that these regular ingrates are postin' like they've got a gun to their temple and a fear boner worthy of photography, but sure. It's all about the stats you run on the womenz, man, and where that's concerned, you have no rival. Barring me and my serious case of the post-ironiez. Zzz. Remember how we used to gallop?
Used the same z bit twice, which I'll admit is gauche and pretty obscene. Do you mind if we just sweep this whole thing under the rug, actually? Let's forget I ever even did it.