Note: Offensive content, I'd recommend you not to read any further than this if you don't want to get turned off. 


Bulls are very horny animals, they're like adolescent boys, they just want to fuck the whole day and do no work. Well, they do fuck, but the point is, they can't do it the whole day. Exhaustion, and to an extent, evolution. Bulls (and to an extent adolescents)  are not raised to just fuck, they have a purpose and fodder isn't cheap anymore. So, 'x' cc of local anesthesia is first administered and the bull is made to stand in between the two hanging iron rods, which're as thick and heavy as torpedoes in a sub. The bull is tied and while it's calmly eating it's daily share of grass heavy 'chocolate', adequate arrangements are made such the the testicles of the bull come in the collision course of the two iron torpedoes. The men smoke their cigarettes with the same ease as they do on any normal day. The women hide behind their washing lines peeping from the edge of the linens. The men pull the torpedoes apart and leave them to oscillate, and within seconds there's a dull metallic clank, and the bull roars. The women see their dreams collapse, the cows in the shed far away moo like sirens at the end of a shift at industrial complexes. It's like a burst plastic bag containing tomatoes. The bull doesn't know, but somehow it still feels it, and falls down on it's legs for the final showdown. The scrotum is cleaned and then neatly stitched by the $300 per hour vet.

So I'm in this world where the people talk in strange one liners. No, I'm in this world where the people are themselves strange. The 'big' man once told me how the young boys were castrated. He said the torpedoes come together without the anesthesia on, the boys, aged around thirteen just scream out on pain. Then they're not cleaned and stitched, but they're first sodomized with the lean end of a baseball bat. The big man said,"To get the big dick, you've to be the bigger dick". Young boys, with falsetto voices, young boys who remain young and tender. Young boys who look the wildest fantasies of the queers, they're the young petite blondes. They're programmed, they're chained. Their life for their rest of their lives will remain as the dark secrets of young professionals and old industrialists, chained behind the secret recesses of cackling fireplaces. Religious ceremonies, orgies and "aim the hole with your darts" kinda competitions. "We don't rear them, they're toys, they're made" and the big man adds, "Aren't all the great toys soft?" 

I'm this civilian ambassador from this great foreign land. I import these kids as toys, I sell them on the net for a hundred dollars. "Buy now, an exciting toy with which you can live". The big man comes pushing his gurney. "Tonight, we'll be queer". I say, "Okay". We pull the baseball stick out of the little boy's back and the big man asks me to go in. I look at him, he smiles. "Operational testing". Is the boy crying? Who knows? He's just a toy, the big man asks me to go inside him. I do it, and we both laugh. The big man sticks the baseball bat back and goes around pushing his gurney. "Quality check passed, off to sales", he shouts while pushing the gurney. The big man parcels this boy to some devilishly funny place in mainland China. He came back with my injection, he said, "Things that go up always come down". I smiled and he smiled back.


So, I'm this king from the country which needs cheap blow-jobs. Mentally retarded women (and as my country's haters would say, mentally challenged, envious bastards) who blow for a penny. Those girls with their untidy hair and tattered clothes are trained to do it for a buck. Like Pavlov's dogs, they're starved till they blow. And it becomes a routine. The big man comes back, dressed in white, like my naval commander. He says that people hold out a fetish for mad women, because they cry even when they don't come. He said they're an incompetent man's best friend. My country is rich, my people are poor. They can spare only a penny. They're like the Mc D's a full meal for a dollar, they're everywhere and it's tasty. The big man tells me, that nails are hammered into the little boys ankles, with a chain attached to them. Like those little clapping toys with a winding key, the chain is pulled and the boy cries. He's infected and amputated after three years. Or even better, killed. 


I'm the commoner. My country has perished. The country has no retards, no one. The big man tells me, it's time. I'm ripe he says. He tells me, I'd be greater than my country. I'd be deported, that I'll be fucked and that I'll live. "You're erect, you need to be brought down". He tells me to do what ever I want to do. He said he'd gimme a wallop with the mad woman, he said I could use another boy. He brought in the drilling machine, he said, "This is going to be fun, you'd wish this time repeats itself". He asked me to bend forward. My countrymen, he says, they sacrificed a lot for the greater good. He stripped me, and brought the torpedoes. "This is better than an orgasm, and it's going to last for a long time". My countrymen, I'm the one who sacrificed everything for you. My countrymen, I'm your child and I'm getting raped. With the baseball stick up in my ass, I get torpedoed. My countrymen, me the king, me the commoner, am martyred.