Volunteering at the castration booth (hopefully not a repost)

While I was out volunteering at the castration booth (charity work I do on behalf of the glorious mother corporate socialism Jew-spiracy) someone tried to explain that penises were not actually magic and that by ascribing all sorts of irrelevant characteristics to what is biologically an elongated clitoris, while entertaining af, doesn’t actually help increase freedom as such arbitrary asignations obscure truth, blinding dickweilders and their victims to the various possibilities that not worrying about the shape and utility of reproductive and waste disposal body organs all the time could offer.

I called him a mysoginist and shot him in the dick with my pussy cannon.

He winced in fury and went off to join the alt right because dumb ideas only happen when you suggest the continued lowering of testosterone dominated ideologies and the coinciding increased peace, prosperity, and liberty might not be the worst thing.

Of course, I had to tackle him and while I applied make-up and gender fluidizer to his face and the ragged gash where I shot his dick off, I explained how the sacred yoni-bearers were 9-11ed each month by apes whose overies were pendeluming between their legs.

Penises are magic, people!


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