Bob's Transformation, submitted by Abraham. The other day I was eating some chicken wings and thinking, "I sure wish I could transform myself into a glorious eagle and steal hats from people." The thought of my skin giving way to a barrage of feathers and my hands morphing into wings was quite exciting, as I quickly conjured up images of myself attacking American flags, shredding them and causing old people to faint. I would be the scourge of eagles everywhere, a horrendous traitor swooping in low to destroy dreams and ruin timeless symbolism. I could virtually annihilate the reputation of the eagle species, and strike a stern blow against the notoriously stodgy flag industry. Of course that would be inappropriate as our flag is quite inspiring and also probably very hard to tear, even with a razor sharp beak and monstrous devil claws.
My transformation fantasy lasted about 2.3 minutes, and I moved on to the important business of gawking at some EMTs hurriedly loading an expired hobo into an ambulance, lest his morose odor give somebody a frown. However, there are some who entertain these fantasies for longer than 2.3 minutes, turning them into perverse fantasies that grow ever more complex and stupid.
This site in particular is all about one guy's delightful fantasy of transforming into a horse, which has zero practical benefits. I mean at best maybe you could Christopher Reeve some sucker into a lifetime of paralysis, but that's not likely. The life of a horse is generally spent eating hay and towing carts, which are two things that do not make me hot and bothered in a sexual manner for a wealth of very good reasons.
I am quite happy with my life - great family, terrific friends, good health, and plenty of old cars to beat on (OK. more hair would be nice). However, I have always been fascinated with the idea of transformation - becoming a different person or creature.
OK - the local mad scientist has just come to the door with his Instant Transmogrification Gun. What do I tell him to set it for? Something equine would be my first choice. Preferably some sort of draft horse, like a Shire or Clydesdale. Young and healthy, of course, with rolling fields to run in and lots of lovely mares. However, anything from a Shetland Pony to a Unicorn would be fine.
There are no practical benefits whatsoever to transforming into a horse. It is at best childish escapism, and the most ridiculous kind at that. True, you'd likely have a large horse penis, but you're pretty much limited to using that on other horses. I suppose that's probably the entire point of having a horse transformation fetish, which makes me angry that it's hidden behind all this pretentious window dressing. Just come out and say you want to bang horses. We won't think any less of you, because there really isn't anywhere else to spiral downward from when being a zoophile. You're already stinking up the bottom of the barrel, so please don't try to tell me it's actually a treasure chest full of adventure.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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