My Sensitivity Revelation

I was having a debate with a leaf munching pussy recently because I commented that a beached whale waddling past needed to purchase her clothing in a larger size, suggesting loudly to her expansive backside that she might try buying a used circus tent. The limp wristed liberal fucktard decided to make a fuss about my observation, and the battle ensued.



When the pinko socialist tree hugger suggested that I should try being more sensitive to the feelings of others, I gave him my usual response. I grabbed him in a headlock and began punching him in the face repeatedly.

"Is this sensitive enough for you, you dickless weasel? How do you like my sensitivity you little shit stain? If your nutless daddy had stuck around he may have taught you how to get out of a headlock you spineless twat."

About that time I realized that I had scraped one of my knuckles on his teeth while he was opening his mouth to either accept Obama's dick or, more likely now that I think about the circumstances, beg me to stop punching him. While examining the extent of my injury I started flip kicking him in the face.

"You like the taste of my boot, you worthless cum stain? Bet you're a vegetarian, ain't ya? Ha!I knew it! How do you like the taste of boot leather, ya damn hippy? Betcha'd rather eat beef than my boot, wouldn't ya? Then say it, say you want to eat a cow. Lowder ya pussy, shout it!"

But then something unusual came over me, and I was able to put myself in his place. How would he feel, I wondered, if he had scraped his knuckle on the mouth of some scraggly little fag? The thought was so startling that I dropped the snot rag right then and there, barely remembering to give him a courtesy stomp in the groin as I wandered off to contemplate this new sensation.

I drove myself to the clinic to be tested for lameness and testicular shrinkage since I had no idea what feminist and left wing asses the douche bag had been licking. but to my astonishment the doctor informed me that there were no blood tests for those conditions. A little worried, I drove home and appled my own LGBT cleansing treatment. You know, lysol, gasoline, bleach, and tequila. I've carefully monitored myself this week, but have had no sudden cravings for quiche or fruity mixed drinks with umbrellas in them, so I think I'm safe. I am not however, unchanged.

You see, I'm more sensitive to the feelings of others now. I realize that some weak willed bimbos may tremble at the sight of a hand smacking an ass because when they were dressing like five dollar whores as teens their step dad treated them like one. See, I get it now! That dickless bleeding heart liberal I debate probably got all teary eyed and emotional because his mother was a misandristic cunt and his father wasn't around to teach him how to not be a mangina. Shamu flopping down the street doesn't need anyone to explain to her that clothing should actually fit. She already knows that she is less than human and worthless to society, otherwise she wouldn't think a shirt that covered only half her stomach was appropriate public attire. She was probably out looking for a roof sturdy enough to support her weight so she could jump off it even when I called out to her.

I'm turning over a new leaf starting today. I'm going to take some responsibility for my own actions from this moment forward. From here on out, whenever I decide to post a blog that may shatter the already frail mind of someone too weak to handle reality, I'm going to post a trigger warning.

So here goes...Trigger Warning, mother fucker!