Where ya goin' for tomorrow?
Where ya goin' with that master hound?
And I feel, and I feel when the dogs begin to smell her ...

The it has returned to its banging pack of hounds. Previously, I had referred to it as a she. But when it first claims to like dehumanization, and then after seeing the damage caused by that activity, still returns to that activity, assigning "she" to it is my mistake. I repent. This human who I write about tonight is not a female, but an it. And so it shall be.

I suppose one's intuition must be consciously confirmed. And the record is in existence. The it, confused and broken down by her bang pack, was to the point of not being able to think. It was failing at its place of employment. It floated without meaning. A different voice encountered the it. The it was encouraged to get out. Though resistant at first, the abuse turned that to hesitation and then finally desperation as it feared and felt it being blind to some great pulverization that was happening to it. It got out. It attained renewed strength. It then returned. The strength and the improvement I witnessed. The return I speculated on.

But it returned. It confirmed it. It did the typical addiction habit of lying, saying it never said it should leave the bang pack, because the pack was abusing and permanently damaging it. No, it never said that. Even though, of course, it did, on two different occasions. But the renewed health was used to return to the folly. Like millions previous to it, it thought just a little less scening and I'll be ok. Yes, just a little less, and the darkness may be controlled. So in its folly, the it returned to the folly. And at the folly, the hounds were predictable. In one of the first times the it returned to its bang pack, it got damaged. It got severely damaged. The gangbang porn scene is a tired cliche where the double blocked female is slapped around and told she is a worthless slut. In fact, a death in Aruba recently followed that exact course: the alleged murderer has video tapes of him violently striking his female object on the face and the legs. So, in the same way, the it that crossed my path was damaged. Sex rough enough to break a tooth and cause a jaw infection. Predictable. The gang pack lost its precious piece of fuckmeat - literal fuckmeat, not some tame virtual chatroom composite -- the gang lost its meat - and when given the chance came back with predictable violent vengence to retrain the fuckmeat that it is fuckmeat. Its do not have wills. Its do not have choices. This it exists to deliver its compliant holes to the bang pack. "It will not do that again, will it? (slap slap) Will the fuckmeat do that? (strike strike)" All very predictable, all very mongrel-esque. So the retraining caused damage. That does not matter with an it. Most especially when the it, with the pain and with the damage and with the jaw infection, is still committed to returning to the pack as the fully sub-human.

The it has returned and enjoys the growing identity of no identity. Ironic how the banging pack of hounds have turned a once thinking female into a who returns to its ...

... when mangy dogs defile her ...
... got time, time to wait for tomorrow ...

tgd