a blue self existing hand waiting for time to change and for the noosphere to replace this silly game.
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My pussy is pissed off.
It all started when bushes started to spread like weeds, and became violent. She hit the streets looking to manufacture the demise of the man, perpetuating her savagery through me. She joined the frontlines of the kitty connection (a.k.a. the pissed off pussy patrol). My pussy transferred her leadership to me. I write her propaganda in order to keep your mind moving between trips to the gas station, McDonalds, & your TV.
Consider this weekly news to abuse the man with.
This is the quantum physics of the revolution / shit before its time to expand the mind and lay waste all your automated assumptions. To feed this system is a crime. Pissed Off Pussy maintains the function of the vigilante fist used to puncture the eye of the man as he cries / to punish for all of the lies about “freedom†while we sit incarcerated to wait for a bush to detonate his blazing nuclear tomahawk with his childhood playmates.
This is not just a survival guide, but a tool to oppress the oppressor.
Pissed Off Pussy spits: ‘kill men!’ and you ask why? Why does the man kill? Why does he try to place his slimy little conspirators between my thighs when he really wants to crush me / purchase my pleasantries / own the reason why I’m allowed to survive, as if it’s a gift to me?
Follow the leader(s): kill because you can.
Use the man’s lies to victimize his mind. Flip the script. Rape “politically correct†ideologies. Curse. Massacre. Split him from his sanity. Lack sportsmanship. Play for the Pissed Off Pussy Team.
Pissed Off Pussy is the pusher of hallucinogenic mind energy, reflecting the transverse of the piss and shit we are fed daily. She intoxicates angrily, hungry for the destruction of the dick who smacks her in the face while she bleeds; trying to perpetuate seeds of revolution.
She asks: ‘Why are we expected to give out pussy to members of patriarchy so freely / accused of pimping ourselves for profit / first date fuck nightmares as he thinks I owe him the spread of my cheeks for the cost of the putrefied meat he wants to buy me from Denny’s?’ Reciprocity is not a realistic part of this dream. Dick verbiage to me is as deep as a condom.
And for the “men†who hate, realize as you grab your rocks to get off your cock, I mastered more than you ever will before you even started masturbating. Real men are on the Pissed Off Pussy team. Don’t try to hate, try to eliminate the predisposition for brutality. Consider it unsafe to stroll through the streets holding dear your capitalistic notions of safety, security. Pissed Off Pussy is now on the scene.
For the ladies who need a more explicit directive in your quest to capture the revolutionary spirit, Pissed Off Pussy has a poem to help inspire you:
as they stare at your tits, try to kill them.
as they learn your gaze, change your hair.
as they steal your heart, steal their wallets.
as they smack your face, punch them there...
