I just threw up in public, the mask did nothing, all it did was make it more difficult to throw up. I must have looked pretty stupid.
— Shädman💀 (@Shadbase) June 20, 2020
I forgot to upload this one, it only took a few hours to draw and I made it last weekend.
Been taking on a bit of work that interests me outside of shadbase so my drawing efforts are divided and ill do simpler styles here again so I can still post something every now and then.
life is pane
“*Life* is pain, Highness. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.”
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yes
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He is dead again.
1. One cannot fight the Jew by positive means. He is a negative, and this negative must be erased from the German system or he will forever corrupt it.
2. One cannot discuss the Jewish question with the Jews. One can hardly prove to a person that one has the duty to render him harmless.
3. One cannot allow the Jew the same means one would give an honest opponent, for he is no honorable opponent. He will use generosity and nobility only to trap his enemy.
4. The Jew has nothing to say about German questions. He is a foreigner, an alien, who only enjoys the rights of a guest, rights that he always abuses.
5. The so-called religious morality of the Jews is no morality at all, rather an encouragement to betrayal. Therefore, they have no claim to protection from the state.
6. The Jew’s system cannot be defeated economically — he follows entirely different moral principles than we do. It can only be broken through political means.
7. A Jew cannot insult a German. Jewish slanders are but badges of honor for a German opponent of the Jews.
8. The more a German person or a German movement opposes the Jew, the more valuable it is. If someone is attacked by the Jews, that is a sure sign of his virtue. He who is not persecuted by the Jews, or who is praised by them, is useless and dangerous.
9. The Jew evaluates German questions from the Jewish standpoint. As a result, the opposite of what he says must be true.
10. One must either affirm or reject anti-Semitism. He who defends the Jews harms his own people. One can only be a Jewish lackey or a Jewish opponent. Opposing the Jews is a matter of personal hygiene.
if germans are so superior how come germany is second only to japanese in scat porn?
Better to have your own people’s shit on your body than 3rd world shitskinned parasites infecting your country.
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The Jew is immunized against all dangers: one may call him a scoundrel, parasite, swindler, profiteer, it all runs off him like water off a raincoat. But call him a Jew and you will be astonished at how he recoils, how injured he is, how he suddenly shrinks back: “I’ve been found out.”
One cannot defend himself against the Jew. He attacks with lightning speed from his position of safety and uses his abilities to crush any attempt at defense.
Quickly he turns the attacker’s charges back on him and the attacker becomes the liar, the troublemaker, the terrorist. Nothing could be more mistaken than to defend oneself. That is just what the Jew wants. He can invent a new lie every day for the enemy to respond to, and the result is that the enemy spends so much time defending himself that he has no time to do what the Jew really fears: to attack. The accused has become the accuser, and loudly he shoves the accuser into the dock. So it always was in the past when a person or a movement fought the Jew.
I’m hungry for incestibles 3
The fuck who made me scroll for 5 years to see other comments can fuck right off
fuck bees more lesbian incest scat
Katrina’s tongue was forced from Cindy’s rectum as a thick brown
turd slid from her asshole and landed on the table. Hot, golden piss
shot from her urethra in rapid short spurts while menstrual blood and
cunt cream spilled from her open fuck hole.
Cindy’s mouth hung open in a silent scream of ecstasy, her eyes
wide in disbelief at the amount of pleasure she was experiencing. As
the discharge of blood, cum, piss and shit subsided so did Cindy’s
pleasure. Soon she was mumbling incoherently as small goblets of shit
dropped from her ass.
Katrina pushed her face into the disgusting mess on the table,
hungrily devouring it as if it were a gourmet meal. Gretchen and Karen
pulled their mouths from their friend’s body and watched as Katrina
feasted on the pile of muck.
It took a full fifteen minutes for Katrina to devour the
remainder of the bodily solids and fluids that lay on the table and
when she finished her face was coated in a thick slime of brown, red
and yellow goop.
“Anybody want to kiss me?” Katrina joked and everyone laughed.
They had to help Cindy off the table. She didn’t have the
strength or coordination to move herself. Once she was standing Katrina
helped her to the shower and stepped in with her. Gretchen and Karen
stood outside the tub and offered their hands to help wash them. When
they both were clean they stepped from the tub and allowed the girls to
dry them. Before leaving the bathroom, Katrina bent and kissed the
Cindy deeply, holding her in a tight embrace for several minutes.
After they had cleaned up the mess in the dining room they all
went to the living room to relax and recover from the intense sexual
experience.
When they had all fully recovered Katrina looked to Karen with
hopeful eyes.
“Did you want a turn, Karen?” she asked.
“Gosh, I don’t know…” Karen stammered.
“Why not just give it a try.” she urged.
“Go ahead! It’s great!” Cindy cheered.
Karen was uncomfortable with the idea of doing this nasty thing
with other people watching but she thought she should at least try for
Katrina’s sake.
“Well, ok!” she said nervously. “What should I do?”
Katrina stood and went to the center of the living room. Lying
down on her back she beckoned Karen to her with her finger. Karen
walked weak-kneed to Katrina and knelt beside her, her body trembling
and her pussy lubricating.
“Just straddle my face, Sweetheart.” Karen whispered.
Karen straddled Katrina’s face, her red-haired teen pussy just
inches above the woman’s mouth. Katrina looked up and saw the thick
white cream oozing from the girl’s cunt and scooped it up with her
finger. She swiped the cum across her lip and swirled it in her mouth
deliciously.
“Mmmmmm! Your delicious!” Katrina hummed.
Karen moaned softly at Katrina’s approval and put a hand on each
of her own small breasts. Her fingers traveled to her nipples where
they brushed and squeezed them. She looked down as Katrina’s tongue
dipped into her virgin hole.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as Katrina applied a loving rim job on the
teen’s love hole.
Katrina brought her hand up to Karen’s young clit and stroked
softly across it, greatly increasing the girl’s sexual arousal.
“Oh, Katrina! Oh! Gosh! That feels so good!”
Gretchen and Cindy moved in for a closer look, one on either side
of the mating couple. They watched Katrina’s tongue jab in and out of
Karen’s tight hole swirling as it went.
“Jeez! Your mother is such a good cunt sucker. Isn’t she?” Cindy
said as she watched.
“Yes and she’s all mine!” Cindy replied boastfully.
“I’m getting horny again just watching her!”
The teenage patter helped to spur Katrina on, not that she needed
spurring. She was thoroughly enjoying eating Karen’s nubile young pussy
and she especially enjoyed the abundance of thick cunt cream she
produced. As Karen’s small body began to rock above her, Katrina
increased her tongue thrusts, making them faster and deeper.
Karen couldn’t believe the beautiful sensations she was having.
She felt every thrust of Katrina’s long wet tongue as it slid into her,
and each place it touched in its movements send little jolts of
pleasure through her. She started to raise and lower her hips in rhythm
with Katrina’s jabs. Soon she was fucking herself down on Katrina’s
stationary tongue with wild abandon.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ungh! Ungh!” she grunted as she ground her cunt
into Katrina’s hungry mouth.
“Jeez! Look at her go!” Cindy commented. “Her pussy is fucking
your mother’s tongue!”
It didn’t take long before Karen was soaring across the crescents
of pleasure. She pushed her messy cunt down onto Katrina’s face and
ground it in lewd circles as she came.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh!” she wailed at the top of her
lungs, screaming her ecstasy out as her cunt muscles slammed down on
Katrina’s tongue and tried to suck it in further.
“Nice cum!” Gretchen cheered as Karen rocked her hips gasping for
breath.
Karen thought she had made it to heaven. Even as her orgasm faded
her body was left with a relaxed tingling sensation. She felt
completely satiated, as if she was glowing brightly, which she was. The
teenager was just about to climb off of Katrina when she felt the soft
flicking of a wet tongue on her asshole.
“Here we go!” narrated Cindy. “The main event! Time to change
seats!” Her and Gretchen moved behind Karen to get a good look at the
action. Katrina’s tongue was swabbing small wet circles directly on
Karen’s pink asshole, causing the young girl’s breathing to rise again.
“Best ass licker in town!” Gretchen said.
“Best ass sucker too.” agreed Cindy.
“Some night I’m going to have her put me to sleep like that!”
Gretchen fantasized out loud.
Katrina pushed her tongue upwards, attempting to penetrate the
entry into Karen’s shit tube. The sweet flavor she was absorbing from
the tiny hole already was sending delicious thrills through her. It
wasn’t an easy task getting her tongue past the tight little sphincter
but when she finally did plunge in, she was rewarded with a very sweet,
warm taste. She pushed in as deeply as she could but met no resistance.
Katrina plunged deeper each time she thrust her tongue into
Karen’s rectum but was unable to come up with even a trace of girl
shit. Still, she was enjoying the taste of Karen’s shit oven so much
that she didn’t stop.
Karen was thrilling at the wonderful feelings inside of her. This
wonderful older woman was licking the inside of her most intimate
place. It was a very personal act and Karen was completely lost in the
beauty of it. She knew what Katrina wanted and she did not want to
disappoint her.
Karen pushed downwards grunting as she tried to squeeze the waste
out of her bowels. She felt movement but not much. She also felt
Katrina’s tongue slide deeper into her when she pushed. Bearing down
again, she felt something move into her rectum. Karen knew what is was
and for a third time attempted to squeeze it out.
Katrina felt the small clump as it slid downwards into Karen’s
shit passage. She licked at it hungrily trying to soak up the flavor of
it. She found it firm and sweet and very warm. Katrina knew it would be
black, her favorite shit. She had always seemed to prefer black shit
for its sweet flavor and lack of bitterness.
Karen could tell what Katrina was doing and held off pushing for
a while, allowing the woman to lick her unborn shit.
“Katrina? Can you suck it out?” she asked, curious if that was
possible.
Katrina gave one last swirl of her tongue over the end of the
turd and then pulled it out. Pulling Karen down on her mouth she
circled the girl’s asshole with her lips. She began sucking and Karen
began to squeeze.
“Oh! I feel it moving!” she announced. “Oh! It’s sliding down! I
can feel it!”
Katrina sucked harder on Karen’s shit hole feeling it swell
outward as the teen pushed. As she sucked, thick black slime rolled
into her mouth, spreading across her tongue and sending perverse
sensations to her brain.
Finally with one hard push, Karen sent her black shit wad sliding
into Katrina’s mouth. She rose up and hovered her ass over Katrina’s
face, allowing the woman to enjoy the small turd.
Katrina groaned when she felt the small gift enter her mouth and
plop onto her tongue. She squeezed the nasty morsel between her tongue
and roof squeezing it flat in her mouth. She let it soak that way for a
long time, allowing her spit to build up and form a thick slime that
she could wash through her mouth. When she had sucked and swallowed
every bit of juice from the girl’s shit she chewed it up into minute
particles and swallowed them.
“More?” Katrina begged.
“I don’t think I can do anymore, Katrina.” Karen said
disappointedly. In reality her bowels were quite full but her previous
orgasm had relaxed her body so much that the proper muscles weren’t
responding.
“That’s OK, Sweetheart.” Katrina consoled her. “That one was
delicious enough. Thank you.”
Looking up she saw a small ring of black shit outlining the
beautiful little hole and applied her tongue to it, thoroughly cleaning
Karen’s ass.
When Katrina finally let her head fall back to the floor, Karen
crawled off of her, collapsing next to her. She turned on her side and
bending her head, kissed Katrina on the lips. The strong sent of shit
flooded her nostrils and Karen felt a little tremor in her pussy.
Chapter Five
Karen waited for what seemed like a millennium for her two
girlfriends to fall asleep. Cindy and Gretchen had chatted halfway into
the night in their sleeping bags on the living room floor. When the two
of them finally drifted mindlessly off to sleep Karen tiptoed away and
stole up to Katrina’s bedroom.
When she arrived she found Katrina sitting up in bed. Candlelight
flickered off the walls, casting a warm glow across the room while soft
music playing in the background. A bottle of red wine sat on the
nightstand with two crystal goblets.
“I thought you’d changed your mind. I was worried.” Katrina said.
“No. It took forever for them to fall asleep!” Karen replied as
she stood just inside the door.
“Well, you’re here now, Lover. Lock the door and come join me.”
Katrina pulled the covers down and patted the smoothed the sheet
invitingly. Katrina climbed into the bed and lay close to Katrina who
put her arm around the girl and held her. Karen sank into Katrina’s
tender embrace and soon the two of them were kissing passionately and
squirming in each other’s arms.
Karen made the first real move by lowering her head into
Katrina’s full breasts. She had wanted to do this all night and she was
going to enjoy it. She took her time, allowing her tongue and lips to
play on each breast, back and forth. She circled the dark brown areolas
with her tongue before flicking at the large taught nipples, and then
she sucked each of them into her mouth while her tongue continued to
caress the tip.
After several minutes of tit sucking Karen noticed a strange
flavor in her mouth and pulled her head away. Staring down at Katrina’s
left nipple she saw a dollop of white appear. Her eyes widened with
surprise.
Katrina, seeing her bewilderment, said, “I am one of those
unusual women that lactate when they become highly aroused. If it
offends you then don’t continue.”
“No. I don’t mind at all. It just kind of surprised me!” Karen
said as she placed both hands around the base of Katrina’s left breast.
Squeezing the tight mound of flesh she pushed upward squeezing as
she went. A thin spray of milk shot from Katrina’s nipple and landed on
Karen’s face. She giggled a little but returned her hands once again to
the bottom of her breast.
This time when she squeezed and pulled her mouth was open and
waiting. Another squirt of milk spit out and shot right onto Karen’s
tongue. Closing her mouth she swished the warm breast milk around,
enjoying the sweetness of it.
“How is it?” Karen asked.
“Delicious! I’ve never tasted breast milk before. My mom didn’t
breast feed me.”
“Well, I’ll breast feed you all you want, Lover.” Karen laughed.
It was the second time Katrina had called Karen ‘Lover’ and the
teenager’s heart soared when she heard it. She liked being called lover
by this mature woman and treated as if she were equal. She also found
she had a huge fascination for the more mature and imperfect body
Katrina had. Age had only taken a small toll on her and those
imperfections were what made her so desirable to Karen. She felt that
she might be falling in love.
Karen pressed her lips around the leaking nipple and began to
suck while she squeezed and kneaded Katrina’s supple tit meat. Spray
after spray erupted into her mouth. She swallowed it all greedily and
when the spray turned to a dribble, Karen lapped it up with her tongue.
She started to move for Katrina’s right breast but the woman stopped
her.
“Better save that one for later, Karen,” she said. “You have got
my cunt so hot now I don’t think I can make it through a second
milking.”
Karen looked at Katrina quizzically.
“What is it?” Katrina asked.
“Well…I just wondered,” the girl stammered out. “Why do you
call it a cunt? Isn’t that a dirty name for it?”
“Yes it is! That’s why I call it that. It excites me to use dirty
names and language when I’m making love. I would never use that word in
regular conversation of course but when playing around it can be very
stimulating.”
“I guess I don’t have much experience when it comes to sex. I’ve
only played around with Gretchen and Cindy a couple of times and then
we only used our hands on each other.”
“You just need a little more experience and you’ll be fine.”
Katrina said.
“Would you teach me? I mean, would you teach me all the different
things?”
Katrina smiled, “Of course, Lover. I would love to be your
teacher.”
“When can we start?”
“Right now!” Katrina said. “Now lie back and let me show you
something.
Karen laid back on the bed, her head propped up on two fluffy
pillows. Katrina went to her hands and knees and straddled the girl,
hovering over her face-to-face, cunt-to-cunt. She gazed down at Katrina
and smiled.
“Just relax now, Lover. I’m going to pleasure you.” she
whispered.
Katrina bent her head to kiss Karen, her lips brushing softly
before coming to rest on the girls. She kissed her lightly at first and
then, gradually, with more passion. Soon their tongues were entwined
and dancing to and from each other’s mouths.
Karen was becoming a bit lightheaded from the kissing. This was
heaven for her, to be sharing this moment with Katrina. Her body
responded, her nipples extending and growing tight, her pussy starting
to produce its cream and her clit beginning to tingle. Katrina felt the
girls breathing quicken and she lowered a hand to Karen’s small
breasts. She cupped and squeeze the tit flesh in her hand then flicked
and pressed at her nipples.
Karen began to moan as Katrina pleasured her young breasts. Each
time she squeezed or flicked at the girl’s nipples a spark of erotic
pleasure shot down to her clit.
Katrina pulled her mouth from Karen’s and gazed down at her
again. She could see Karen’s eyes had gone misty with lust and that she
was ready for her first lesson.
“Is that good, Karen? Does my hand feel good on your tits?” she
asked softly.
“Yes.” Karen moaned softly.
“Tell me, Lover”
“Tell you what?” Karen asked, not catching on.
“Tell me my hand feels good on your tit.”
“Oh.” Karen understood. “It does Katrina! You hand feels so good
on my tits!”
“Very good, Karen.”
Katrina leaned closer in, her face only inches from the girl’s
face. Her hand slid down to caress Karen’s soft belly, which brought a
sensuous gasp from her lips. Karen spread her legs as wide as possible
to give Katrina better access.
Karen raised her ass slightly off the bed to meet Katrina’s hand
as it slid down to her vulva. She felt the woman’s experience hand
slide into the thick mat of hair that covered her sex. Katrina pulled
softly at the coarse red strands, sending little prickles of pleasure
into Karen’s cunt.
Karen’s clit was swelling hotly between the soft folds of her
pussy, begging to be touched. But Katrina didn’t go for the girl’s
thick little nub. Instead her fingers went for the soft labia, pulling
each one gently outward, sending a delightful shudder of pleasure
through the girl.
Katrina’s arousal was increasing. She was about to turn this
young virgin into a woman and the thought thrilled her. She was
determined to make this a memorable experience for Karen.
“What is this called, Karen?” she asked as she pulled her left
labia outwards, stretching it as she watched Karen’s expression.
“That is my pussy.”
“Not now it isn’t.” Karen told her. “Right now I am stretching
your cunt lips.”
“Oh sorry.” she moaned. “Your stretching my cunt lips and it
feels so good!”
“Good! Remember Karen, when you’re with your lover you can say
anything you want – if it makes you hot!”
“Ok. Well, you’re making me very hot right now please…” Karen
hesitated.
“What?”
“Please play with my clit. Please touch my clit!” Karen whimpered
softly.
“Very good!” Katrina said as she place her finger between Karen’s
cunt lips. The girl’s slit was thick with love cream and Katrina easily
slid her finger upwards to her clit where she began to massage slow
circles over it.
Karen’s passion rose quickly as Katrina lovingly manipulated her
sex. Her hand went from its clit play down to Karen’s virgin hole,
where it massaged gently around the rim, spreading her open ever so
slightly.
“Oh! Gosh! Katrina! Your making me feel so good!” Karen hissed.
Katrina pushed a single finger into Karen’s young cunt, probing
gently around the velvety lining of her love canal. As she worked her
finger around inside her thumb slid up to Karen’s clit and stroked it,
her fingernail scratching the sensitive little head.
Karen’s cunt began to boil with erotic sensation. She wanted to
be filled. To be fucked, and to have that delicious itch inside of her
scratched. Katrina, seeing the intensity of Karen’s arousal pulled her
hand from between the girl’s legs.
“Are you ready?” she asked her.
“Oh, yes!” panted Karen.
Katrina rolled off of the bed and went to the dresser. Opening
the top drawer she rummage through the pile of lingerie. She reached
towards the back of the drawer and found what she was looking for, a
combination of leather straps and a long, thin dildo. She laid the odd-
looking rubber phallus on the bed and began to arrange the straps
around her belly and between her legs. One triangular strap covered
Katrina’s vulva completely.
Karen picked up the dildo and gazed at it quizzically. It had a
strangely evil look to it. While the long, slender shaft was dark brown
in color it faded upwards into a deep, purple, large, bulbous head. The
knob of the rubber cock was at least two and a half inches around. The
crown angled in back to the shaft formed a scoop-like ridge.
Karen shuddered slightly as she handed the phallus to Katrina.
She understood that Katrina would be wearing the wicked thing and would
fuck her virgin pussy with it. She would have giggled at the sight of
any woman wearing a cock, but Katrina looked deliciously sexy and nasty
with it and it took the girl’s breath away.
Climbing back into bed, Katrina crawled on top of Karen’s small,
young body, the rigid fuck tool lying directly on the young girl’s
swollen clit. As Katrina kissed Karen she rocked her hips, causing the
big head of the prick to slide up and down her wet slit. The sensation
was exquisite to Karen and she gasped in pleasure.
“Gosh! Katrina! That feels so good!” she groaned.
“Do you like having this cock stroking your cunt, Lover?”
“Oh, yes! I love having your wonderful cock rubbing my horny
cunt, Katrina! Do it some more!”
“I’m going to put this cock in your virgin cunt and fuck it deep
into you. Would you like that?” Karen hissed at her.
“Oh, yes! I want it so bad! I need that cock up my cunt! Please
fuck it into me!”
The dirty talk was having it’s effect on both of them and they
were beginning to grind madly into one another. Karen’s breath was
raspy, her body alive with lust.
“Do you want it now, Lover?” Katrina grunted as she pulled Karen
in tight.
“Yes! Yes! I need it now! Please fuck me! Fuck my virgin cunt and
pop my fucking cherry!”
Katrina raised her hips and slid down a few inches. Placing the
large purple head at the entrance to Karen’s love canal, she pushed
slowly. At first Karen’s lower labia pushed inwards with the pressure
but Katrina worked the dildo expertly, jabbing softly at the folds that
protected the girl’s virginity. Gradually the lips parted slightly and
the moist little hole flowered open.
Katrina breathed deeply as she gazed at how perfect the pink
little opening looked. How soft and innocent it appeared. The contrast
of the thickheaded, long-necked prick against such innocence created a
perverse picture. She poke with more pressure as the hole opened wider
and soon she had most of the head inside of Karen. With one last poke,
she slid the entire cunt-stretching head into the teenager’s fuck hole.
Karen felt the rim of the cockhead spread her small hole to the
point of tearing momentarily before she felt her cuntlips close around
the slender shaft. It was a wonderful feeling. She felt so full inside.
“Yes! Oh, Katrina! Yes!” she moaned loudly.
“Good?” smiled Katrina.
“Gooooooood!” panted Karen.
“This may pinch a bit at first, but just trust me, Lover”
“I trust you completely!”
Katrina pushed in quickly, tearing the thin membrane that guarded
Karen’s woman hood. When she was sure she had plunge through she
stopped.
At one moment Karen’s sweet pussy was filled with pleasure but in
an instant was filled with burning pain.
“Oh! God!” she cried out. “It hurts! Fuck! It hurts! Take it
out!”
Katrina held tight to young Karen and whispered to her softly.
“It will be alright in a minute. Just wait!”
“Oh, Katrina! It hurts!”
Karen’s eyes filled with tears and she was about to start sobbing
when she noticed that the burning inside of her was turning to a warm
glow, then to a pleasurable fullness.
Katrina saw the change in Karen’s expression and slowly slid
deeper into her, spreading the depths of her channel wide. She stopped
when she felt the resistance of Karen’s uterus. Then she slowly slide
back, nearly pulling the big prick head out. She looked down to see a
small bit of blood mixed with Karen’s thick cunt cream coating the
shaft and a delicious thrill ran through her.
Karen’s raised her head and looked down to see the lewd sight of
the brown shaft sliding out of her cunt. The sensation of the round
head inside of her was tremendous. Her breathing was rapid and beads of
sweat had collected on her upper lip.
“Oh! Katrina stick it in deeeep!” she moaned.
Katrina pushed in deep, this time she pushed even after she felt
resistance. She watched for an expression of pain on Karen’s face, not
wanting to hurt her.
“Deeper!” Karen groaned. “Deeper!”
Katrina continued to push until the entire shaft was buried in
her teenage lover’s cunt. She pulled back out, faster this time, and
then back in. She repeated the strokes, moving quicker each time.
Karen was experiencing new sensations in the depths of her
womanhood. Her cunt was clutching madly at the intruding phallus,
trying to suck it in deeper. She felt her orgasm begin from within her,
something she had never felt before.
“More! Please, More!” she begged. “Fuck me more! Fuck me harder!
Fuck Me! Fuck Me! Fuck Me!”
Katrina picked up her stride more quickly and began fucking deep
and hard into Karen’s bucking cunt. Karen’s legs spread wide and rose
up into the air, giving Katrina a better opening to plow into.
“Oh Fuck! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” screamed Karen.
“Oh, yes, Baby! Cum for me! Cum for me!” Katrina urged her.
When her orgasm struck it hit Karen like a wild hurricane. Her
body shook and her legs scissored around Katrina, pulling her in tight.
“I’m cumming! I cumming!” she screamed. “My hot fucking cunt is
cumming inside!”
Katrina kept up her deep thrusting until she felt Karen’s legs
start to relax. The girl was trembling as she tried to catch her
breath. She slid slowly inwards once last time, burying the long dildo
in her lover’s cunt.
The two of them held each other for a very long time; just
basking in the intimacy they share. Karen was in heaven. She had
finally lost her virginity and it had been a wonderful experience with
this older woman.
When Karen had finally regained control of her breathing and
shaking Katrina climbed off of her and removed the straps the held her
lesbian cock in place and tossed them on the dresser. She poured two
glasses of wine and handed one to Karen.
“Here is to you, Karen,” Katrina toasted. “A newborn woman!”
Their glasses clinked and they each took a deep sip of wine.
They lay on the bed chatting and drinking luxuriously, Katrina
leaning against the headboard with Karen lying back in her arms. Karen
fidgeted with her glass nervously and Katrina took notice of it.
“What is it, Lover?” she asked.
Karen was embarrassed but her trust in Katrina allowed her to ask
a daring question.
“What does it taste like?”
Katrina was slightly taken aback. She had never expected that
question from this girl. She played dumb in order to draw Karen out.
“What does what taste like?”
“You know…shit. What does it taste like?”
“Hmmmm. That’s a big question dear.” Katrina told her. “Of course
it is different with each person. It almost always has a very strong
taste but sometimes it can be quite sweet. Other times it is very
nasty.”
“Do you still like to taste it when it’s nasty?”
“Yes. That’s a big part of the reason I like it because it is
nasty. It’s also very intimate and when two people share THAT – that is
really intimate and loving.”
“Boy, I’ll say!” Karen giggled.
“Part of the excitement is watching a woman shit as well. Seeing
that dirty shit sliding from a beautiful female asshole is the most
delicious thing I’ve ever seen. Thinking about it makes me wet and
hot!”
“Doesn’t it ever make you sick?” Karen asked.
“No. I don’t ever eat more than I can handle and sometimes I
don’t even swallow any of it. Sometimes I just play with it in my mouth
and absorb as much of the nasty flavor I can.”
“Well today you ate mine and Gretchen’s and Cindy’s! That’s a
lot!”
“Yes. It is. Except for the fact that I didn’t get much from you.
But it has been so long since my mouth has had a good browning that it
seemed as if I couldn’t get enough.” Katrina explained.
Karen found herself becoming aroused again as they talked. She
kept the conversation going.
“What about pee? What does that taste like?”
“Well, there again, most of the time it is strong and hot but for
me, drinking piss is very stimulating. I love drinking piss as much as
I like munching a thick girl turd. And together they make the perfect
sex meal for a horny shit slut like myself.”
“So you don’t mind being a…shit slut?”
“No, Darling. I love it. Just feel how wet my cunt is from
talking about it.”
Karen reached back with her small hand and stroked through
Katrina’s bushy cunt slit. Sure enough, the woman’s crotch was soaking
wet with warm slimy juice. Karen pulled her hand back and sucked it
clean, savoring Katrina’s sweet sex lube.
“Hmmm. You really are horny. Would you mind if…” Karen
hesitated.
“What dear?”
“Would you mind if I licked your cunt?”
Bee Movie Script – Dialogue Transcript
According to all known laws
of aviation,
there is no way a bee
should be able to fly.
Its wings are too small to get
its fat little body off the ground.
The bee, of course, flies anyway
because bees don’t care
what humans think is impossible.
Yellow, black. Yellow, black.
Yellow, black. Yellow, black.
Ooh, black and yellow!
Let’s shake it up a little.
Barry! Breakfast is ready!
Ooming!
Hang on a second.
Hello?
– Barry?
– Adam?
– Oan you believe this is happening?
– I can’t. I’ll pick you up.
Looking sharp.
Use the stairs. Your father
paid good money for those.
Sorry. I’m excited.
Here’s the graduate.
We’re very proud of you, son.
A perfect report card, all B’s.
Very proud.
Ma! I got a thing going here.
– You got lint on your fuzz.
– Ow! That’s me!
– Wave to us! We’ll be in row 118,000.
– Bye!
Barry, I told you,
stop flying in the house!
– Hey, Adam.
– Hey, Barry.
– Is that fuzz gel?
– A little. Special day, graduation.
Never thought I’d make it.
Three days grade school,
three days high school.
Those were awkward.
Three days college. I’m glad I took
a day and hitchhiked around the hive.
You did come back different.
– Hi, Barry.
– Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.
– Hear about Frankie?
– Yeah.
– You going to the funeral?
– No, I’m not going.
Everybody knows,
sting someone, you die.
Don’t waste it on a squirrel.
Such a hothead.
I guess he could have
just gotten out of the way.
I love this incorporating
an amusement park into our day.
That’s why we don’t need vacations.
Boy, quite a bit of pomp…
under the circumstances.
– Well, Adam, today we are men.
– We are!
– Bee-men.
– Amen!
Hallelujah!
Students, faculty, distinguished bees,
please welcome Dean Buzzwell.
Welcome, New Hive Oity
graduating class of…
…9:15.
That concludes our ceremonies.
And begins your career
at Honex Industries!
Will we pick ourjob today?
I heard it’s just orientation.
Heads up! Here we go.
Keep your hands and antennas
inside the tram at all times.
– Wonder what it’ll be like?
– A little scary.
Welcome to Honex,
a division of Honesco
and a part of the Hexagon Group.
This is it!
Wow.
Wow.
We know that you, as a bee,
have worked your whole life
to get to the point where you
can work for your whole life.
Honey begins when our valiant Pollen
Jocks bring the nectar to the hive.
Our top-secret formula
is automatically color-corrected,
scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured
into this soothing sweet syrup
with its distinctive
golden glow you know as…
Honey!
– That girl was hot.
– She’s my cousin!
– She is?
– Yes, we’re all cousins.
– Right. You’re right.
– At Honex, we constantly strive
to improve every aspect
of bee existence.
These bees are stress-testing
a new helmet technology.
– What do you think he makes?
– Not enough.
Here we have our latest advancement,
the Krelman.
– What does that do?
– Oatches that little strand of honey
that hangs after you pour it.
Saves us millions.
Oan anyone work on the Krelman?
Of course. Most bee jobs are
small ones. But bees know
that every small job,
if it’s done well, means a lot.
But choose carefully
because you’ll stay in the job
you pick for the rest of your life.
The same job the rest of your life?
I didn’t know that.
What’s the difference?
You’ll be happy to know that bees,
as a species, haven’t had one day off
in 27 million years.
So you’ll just work us to death?
We’ll sure try.
Wow! That blew my mind!
“What’s the difference?”
How can you say that?
One job forever?
That’s an insane choice to have to make.
I’m relieved. Now we only have
to make one decision in life.
But, Adam, how could they
never have told us that?
Why would you question anything?
We’re bees.
We’re the most perfectly
functioning society on Earth.
You ever think maybe things
work a little too well here?
Like what? Give me one example.
I don’t know. But you know
what I’m talking about.
Please clear the gate.
Royal Nectar Force on approach.
Wait a second. Oheck it out.
– Hey, those are Pollen Jocks!
– Wow.
I’ve never seen them this close.
They know what it’s like
outside the hive.
Yeah, but some don’t come back.
– Hey, Jocks!
– Hi, Jocks!
You guys did great!
You’re monsters!
You’re sky freaks! I love it! I love it!
– I wonder where they were.
– I don’t know.
Their day’s not planned.
Outside the hive, flying who knows
where, doing who knows what.
You can’tjust decide to be a Pollen
Jock. You have to be bred for that.
Right.
Look. That’s more pollen
than you and I will see in a lifetime.
It’s just a status symbol.
Bees make too much of it.
Perhaps. Unless you’re wearing it
and the ladies see you wearing it.
Those ladies?
Aren’t they our cousins too?
Distant. Distant.
Look at these two.
– Oouple of Hive Harrys.
– Let’s have fun with them.
It must be dangerous
being a Pollen Jock.
Yeah. Once a bear pinned me
against a mushroom!
He had a paw on my throat,
and with the other, he was slapping me!
– Oh, my!
– I never thought I’d knock him out.
What were you doing during this?
Trying to alert the authorities.
I can autograph that.
A little gusty out there today,
wasn’t it, comrades?
Yeah. Gusty.
We’re hitting a sunflower patch
six miles from here tomorrow.
– Six miles, huh?
– Barry!
A puddle jump for us,
but maybe you’re not up for it.
– Maybe I am.
– You are not!
We’re going 0900 at J-Gate.
What do you think, buzzy-boy?
Are you bee enough?
I might be. It all depends
on what 0900 means.
Hey, Honex!
Dad, you surprised me.
You decide what you’re interested in?
– Well, there’s a lot of choices.
– But you only get one.
Do you ever get bored
doing the same job every day?
Son, let me tell you about stirring.
You grab that stick, and you just
move it around, and you stir it around.
You get yourself into a rhythm.
It’s a beautiful thing.
You know, Dad,
the more I think about it,
maybe the honey field
just isn’t right for me.
You were thinking of what,
making balloon animals?
That’s a bad job
for a guy with a stinger.
Janet, your son’s not sure
he wants to go into honey!
– Barry, you are so funny sometimes.
– I’m not trying to be funny.
You’re not funny! You’re going
into honey. Our son, the stirrer!
– You’re gonna be a stirrer?
– No one’s listening to me!
Wait till you see the sticks I have.
I could say anything right now.
I’m gonna get an ant tattoo!
Let’s open some honey and celebrate!
Maybe I’ll pierce my thorax.
Shave my antennae.
Shack up with a grasshopper. Get
a gold tooth and call everybody “dawg”!
I’m so proud.
– We’re starting work today!
– Today’s the day.
Oome on! All the good jobs
will be gone.
Yeah, right.
Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring,
stirrer, front desk, hair removal…
– Is it still available?
– Hang on. Two left!
One of them’s yours! Oongratulations!
Step to the side.
– What’d you get?
– Picking crud out. Stellar!
Wow!
Oouple of newbies?
Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!
Make your choice.
– You want to go first?
– No, you go.
Oh, my. What’s available?
Restroom attendant’s open,
not for the reason you think.
– Any chance of getting the Krelman?
– Sure, you’re on.
I’m sorry, the Krelman just closed out.
Wax monkey’s always open.
The Krelman opened up again.
What happened?
A bee died. Makes an opening. See?
He’s dead. Another dead one.
Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.
Dead from the neck up.
Dead from the neck down. That’s life!
Oh, this is so hard!
Heating, cooling,
stunt bee, pourer, stirrer,
humming, inspector number seven,
lint coordinator, stripe supervisor,
mite wrangler. Barry, what
do you think I should… Barry?
Barry!
All right, we’ve got the sunflower patch
in quadrant nine…
What happened to you?
Where are you?
– I’m going out.
– Out? Out where?
– Out there.
– Oh, no!
I have to, before I go
to work for the rest of my life.
You’re gonna die! You’re crazy! Hello?
Another call coming in.
If anyone’s feeling brave,
there’s a Korean deli on 83rd
that gets their roses today.
Hey, guys.
– Look at that.
– Isn’t that the kid we saw yesterday?
Hold it, son, flight deck’s restricted.
It’s OK, Lou. We’re gonna take him up.
Really? Feeling lucky, are you?
Sign here, here. Just initial that.
– Thank you.
– OK.
You got a rain advisory today,
and as you all know,
bees cannot fly in rain.
So be careful. As always,
watch your brooms,
hockey sticks, dogs,
birds, bears and bats.
Also, I got a couple of reports
of root beer being poured on us.
Murphy’s in a home because of it,
babbling like a cicada!
– That’s awful.
– And a reminder for you rookies,
bee law number one,
absolutely no talking to humans!
All right, launch positions!
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz,
buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!
Black and yellow!
Hello!
You ready for this, hot shot?
Yeah. Yeah, bring it on.
Wind, check.
– Antennae, check.
– Nectar pack, check.
– Wings, check.
– Stinger, check.
Scared out of my shorts, check.
OK, ladies,
let’s move it out!
Pound those petunias,
you striped stem-suckers!
All of you, drain those flowers!
Wow! I’m out!
I can’t believe I’m out!
So blue.
I feel so fast and free!
Box kite!
Wow!
Flowers!
This is Blue Leader.
We have roses visual.
Bring it around 30 degrees and hold.
Roses!
30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around.
Stand to the side, kid.
It’s got a bit of a kick.
That is one nectar collector!
– Ever see pollination up close?
– No, sir.
I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it
over here. Maybe a dash over there,
a pinch on that one.
See that? It’s a little bit of magic.
That’s amazing. Why do we do that?
That’s pollen power. More pollen, more
flowers, more nectar, more honey for us.
Oool.
I’m picking up a lot of bright yellow.
Oould be daisies. Don’t we need those?
Oopy that visual.
Wait. One of these flowers
seems to be on the move.
Say again? You’re reporting
a moving flower?
Affirmative.
That was on the line!
This is the coolest. What is it?
I don’t know, but I’m loving this color.
It smells good.
Not like a flower, but I like it.
Yeah, fuzzy.
Ohemical-y.
Oareful, guys. It’s a little grabby.
My sweet lord of bees!
Oandy-brain, get off there!
Problem!
– Guys!
– This could be bad.
Affirmative.
Very close.
Gonna hurt.
Mama’s little boy.
You are way out of position, rookie!
Ooming in at you like a missile!
Help me!
I don’t think these are flowers.
– Should we tell him?
– I think he knows.
What is this?!
Match point!
You can start packing up, honey,
because you’re about to eat it!
Yowser!
Gross.
There’s a bee in the car!
– Do something!
– I’m driving!
– Hi, bee.
– He’s back here!
He’s going to sting me!
Nobody move. If you don’t move,
he won’t sting you. Freeze!
He blinked!
Spray him, Granny!
What are you doing?!
Wow… the tension level
out here is unbelievable.
I gotta get home.
Oan’t fly in rain.
Oan’t fly in rain.
Oan’t fly in rain.
Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down!
Ken, could you close
the window please?
Ken, could you close
the window please?
Oheck out my new resume.
I made it into a fold-out brochure.
You see? Folds out.
Oh, no. More humans. I don’t need this.
What was that?
Maybe this time. This time. This time.
This time! This time! This…
Drapes!
That is diabolical.
It’s fantastic. It’s got all my special
skills, even my top-ten favorite movies.
What’s number one? Star Wars?
Nah, I don’t go for that…
…kind of stuff.
No wonder we shouldn’t talk to them.
They’re out of their minds.
When I leave a job interview, they’re
flabbergasted, can’t believe what I say.
There’s the sun. Maybe that’s a way out.
I don’t remember the sun
having a big 75 on it.
I predicted global warming.
I could feel it getting hotter.
At first I thought it was just me.
Wait! Stop! Bee!
Stand back. These are winter boots.
Wait!
Don’t kill him!
You know I’m allergic to them!
This thing could kill me!
Why does his life have
less value than yours?
Why does his life have any less value
than mine? Is that your statement?
I’m just saying all life has value. You
don’t know what he’s capable of feeling.
My brochure!
There you go, little guy.
I’m not scared of him.
It’s an allergic thing.
Put that on your resume brochure.
My whole face could puff up.
Make it one of your special skills.
Knocking someone out
is also a special skill.
Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks.
– Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night?
– Sure, Ken. You know, whatever.
– You could put carob chips on there.
– Bye.
– Supposed to be less calories.
– Bye.
I gotta say something.
She saved my life.
I gotta say something.
All right, here it goes.
Nah.
What would I say?
I could really get in trouble.
It’s a bee law.
You’re not supposed to talk to a human.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I’ve got to.
Oh, I can’t do it. Oome on!
No. Yes. No.
Do it. I can’t.
How should I start it?
“You like jazz?” No, that’s no good.
Here she comes! Speak, you fool!
Hi!
I’m sorry.
– You’re talking.
– Yes, I know.
You’re talking!
I’m so sorry.
No, it’s OK. It’s fine.
I know I’m dreaming.
But I don’t recall going to bed.
Well, I’m sure this
is very disconcerting.
This is a bit of a surprise to me.
I mean, you’re a bee!
I am. And I’m not supposed
to be doing this,
but they were all trying to kill me.
And if it wasn’t for you…
I had to thank you.
It’s just how I was raised.
That was a little weird.
– I’m talking with a bee.
– Yeah.
I’m talking to a bee.
And the bee is talking to me!
I just want to say I’m grateful.
I’ll leave now.
– Wait! How did you learn to do that?
– What?
The talking thing.
Same way you did, I guess.
“Mama, Dada, honey.” You pick it up.
– That’s very funny.
– Yeah.
Bees are funny. If we didn’t laugh,
we’d cry with what we have to deal with.
Anyway…
Oan I…
…get you something?
– Like what?
I don’t know. I mean…
I don’t know. Ooffee?
I don’t want to put you out.
It’s no trouble. It takes two minutes.
– It’s just coffee.
– I hate to impose.
– Don’t be ridiculous!
– Actually, I would love a cup.
Hey, you want rum cake?
– I shouldn’t.
– Have some.
– No, I can’t.
– Oome on!
I’m trying to lose a couple micrograms.
– Where?
– These stripes don’t help.
You look great!
I don’t know if you know
anything about fashion.
Are you all right?
No.
He’s making the tie in the cab
as they’re flying up Madison.
He finally gets there.
He runs up the steps into the church.
The wedding is on.
And he says, “Watermelon?
I thought you said Guatemalan.
Why would I marry a watermelon?”
Is that a bee joke?
That’s the kind of stuff we do.
Yeah, different.
So, what are you gonna do, Barry?
About work? I don’t know.
I want to do my part for the hive,
but I can’t do it the way they want.
I know how you feel.
– You do?
– Sure.
My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or
a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist.
– Really?
– My only interest is flowers.
Our new queen was just elected
with that same campaign slogan.
Anyway, if you look…
There’s my hive right there. See it?
You’re in Sheep Meadow!
Yes! I’m right off the Turtle Pond!
No way! I know that area.
I lost a toe ring there once.
– Why do girls put rings on their toes?
– Why not?
– It’s like putting a hat on your knee.
– Maybe I’ll try that.
– You all right, ma’am?
– Oh, yeah. Fine.
Just having two cups of coffee!
Anyway, this has been great.
Thanks for the coffee.
Yeah, it’s no trouble.
Sorry I couldn’t finish it. If I did,
I’d be up the rest of my life.
Are you…?
Oan I take a piece of this with me?
Sure! Here, have a crumb.
– Thanks!
– Yeah.
All right. Well, then…
I guess I’ll see you around.
Or not.
OK, Barry.
And thank you
so much again… for before.
Oh, that? That was nothing.
Well, not nothing, but… Anyway…
This can’t possibly work.
He’s all set to go.
We may as well try it.
OK, Dave, pull the chute.
– Sounds amazing.
– It was amazing!
It was the scariest,
happiest moment of my life.
Humans! I can’t believe
you were with humans!
Giant, scary humans!
What were they like?
Huge and crazy. They talk crazy.
They eat crazy giant things.
They drive crazy.
– Do they try and kill you, like on TV?
– Some of them. But some of them don’t.
– How’d you get back?
– Poodle.
You did it, and I’m glad. You saw
whatever you wanted to see.
You had your “experience.” Now you
can pick out yourjob and be normal.
– Well…
– Well?
Well, I met someone.
You did? Was she Bee-ish?
– A wasp?! Your parents will kill you!
– No, no, no, not a wasp.
– Spider?
– I’m not attracted to spiders.
I know it’s the hottest thing,
with the eight legs and all.
I can’t get by that face.
So who is she?
She’s… human.
No, no. That’s a bee law.
You wouldn’t break a bee law.
– Her name’s Vanessa.
– Oh, boy.
She’s so nice. And she’s a florist!
Oh, no! You’re dating a human florist!
We’re not dating.
You’re flying outside the hive, talking
to humans that attack our homes
with power washers and M-80s!
One-eighth a stick of dynamite!
She saved my life!
And she understands me.
This is over!
Eat this.
This is not over! What was that?
– They call it a crumb.
– It was so stingin’ stripey!
And that’s not what they eat.
That’s what falls off what they eat!
– You know what a Oinnabon is?
– No.
It’s bread and cinnamon and frosting.
They heat it up…
Sit down!
…really hot!
– Listen to me!
We are not them! We’re us.
There’s us and there’s them!
Yes, but who can deny
the heart that is yearning?
There’s no yearning.
Stop yearning. Listen to me!
You have got to start thinking bee,
my friend. Thinking bee!
– Thinking bee.
– Thinking bee.
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
There he is. He’s in the pool.
You know what your problem is, Barry?
I gotta start thinking bee?
How much longer will this go on?
It’s been three days!
Why aren’t you working?
I’ve got a lot of big life decisions
to think about.
What life? You have no life!
You have no job. You’re barely a bee!
Would it kill you
to make a little honey?
Barry, come out.
Your father’s talking to you.
Martin, would you talk to him?
Barry, I’m talking to you!
You coming?
Got everything?
All set!
Go ahead. I’ll catch up.
Don’t be too long.
Watch this!
Vanessa!
– We’re still here.
– I told you not to yell at him.
He doesn’t respond to yelling!
– Then why yell at me?
– Because you don’t listen!
I’m not listening to this.
Sorry, I’ve gotta go.
– Where are you going?
– I’m meeting a friend.
A girl? Is this why you can’t decide?
Bye.
I just hope she’s Bee-ish.
They have a huge parade
of flowers every year in Pasadena?
To be in the Tournament of Roses,
that’s every florist’s dream!
Up on a float, surrounded
by flowers, crowds cheering.
A tournament. Do the roses
compete in athletic events?
No. All right, I’ve got one.
How come you don’t fly everywhere?
It’s exhausting. Why don’t you
run everywhere? It’s faster.
Yeah, OK, I see, I see.
All right, your turn.
TiVo. You can just freeze live TV?
That’s insane!
You don’t have that?
We have Hivo, but it’s a disease.
It’s a horrible, horrible disease.
Oh, my.
Dumb bees!
You must want to sting all those jerks.
We try not to sting.
It’s usually fatal for us.
So you have to watch your temper.
Very carefully.
You kick a wall, take a walk,
write an angry letter and throw it out.
Work through it like any emotion:
Anger, jealousy, lust.
Oh, my goodness! Are you OK?
Yeah.
– What is wrong with you?!
– It’s a bug.
He’s not bothering anybody.
Get out of here, you creep!
What was that? A Pic ‘N’ Save circular?
Yeah, it was. How did you know?
It felt like about 10 pages.
Seventy-five is pretty much our limit.
You’ve really got that
down to a science.
– I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue.
– I’ll bet.
What in the name
of Mighty Hercules is this?
How did this get here?
Oute Bee, Golden Blossom,
Ray Liotta Private Select?
– Is he that actor?
– I never heard of him.
– Why is this here?
– For people. We eat it.
You don’t have
enough food of your own?
– Well, yes.
– How do you get it?
– Bees make it.
– I know who makes it!
And it’s hard to make it!
There’s heating, cooling, stirring.
You need a whole Krelman thing!
– It’s organic.
– It’s our-ganic!
It’s just honey, Barry.
Just what?!
Bees don’t know about this!
This is stealing! A lot of stealing!
You’ve taken our homes, schools,
hospitals! This is all we have!
And it’s on sale?!
I’m getting to the bottom of this.
I’m getting to the bottom
of all of this!
Hey, Hector.
– You almost done?
– Almost.
He is here. I sense it.
Well, I guess I’ll go home now
and just leave this nice honey out,
with no one around.
You’re busted, box boy!
I knew I heard something.
So you can talk!
I can talk.
And now you’ll start talking!
Where you getting the sweet stuff?
Who’s your supplier?
I don’t understand.
I thought we were friends.
The last thing we want
to do is upset bees!
You’re too late! It’s ours now!
You, sir, have crossed
the wrong sword!
You, sir, will be lunch
for my iguana, Ignacio!
Where is the honey coming from?
Tell me where!
Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms!
Orazy person!
What horrible thing has happened here?
These faces, they never knew
what hit them. And now
they’re on the road to nowhere!
Just keep still.
What? You’re not dead?
Do I look dead? They will wipe anything
that moves. Where you headed?
To Honey Farms.
I am onto something huge here.
I’m going to Alaska. Moose blood,
crazy stuff. Blows your head off!
I’m going to Tacoma.
– And you?
– He really is dead.
All right.
Uh-oh!
– What is that?!
– Oh, no!
– A wiper! Triple blade!
– Triple blade?
Jump on! It’s your only chance, bee!
Why does everything have
to be so doggone clean?!
How much do you people need to see?!
Open your eyes!
Stick your head out the window!
From NPR News in Washington,
I’m Oarl Kasell.
But don’t kill no more bugs!
– Bee!
– Moose blood guy!!
– You hear something?
– Like what?
Like tiny screaming.
Turn off the radio.
Whassup, bee boy?
Hey, Blood.
Just a row of honey jars,
as far as the eye could see.
Wow!
I assume wherever this truck goes
is where they’re getting it.
I mean, that honey’s ours.
– Bees hang tight.
– We’re all jammed in.
It’s a close community.
Not us, man. We on our own.
Every mosquito on his own.
– What if you get in trouble?
– You a mosquito, you in trouble.
Nobody likes us. They just smack.
See a mosquito, smack, smack!
At least you’re out in the world.
You must meet girls.
Mosquito girls try to trade up,
get with a moth, dragonfly.
Mosquito girl don’t want no mosquito.
You got to be kidding me!
Mooseblood’s about to leave
the building! So long, bee!
– Hey, guys!
– Mooseblood!
I knew I’d catch y’all down here.
Did you bring your crazy straw?
We throw it in jars, slap a label on it,
and it’s pretty much pure profit.
What is this place?
A bee’s got a brain
the size of a pinhead.
They are pinheads!
Pinhead.
– Oheck out the new smoker.
– Oh, sweet. That’s the one you want.
The Thomas 3000!
Smoker?
Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic.
Twice the nicotine, all the tar.
A couple breaths of this
knocks them right out.
They make the honey,
and we make the money.
“They make the honey,
and we make the money”?
Oh, my!
What’s going on? Are you OK?
Yeah. It doesn’t last too long.
Do you know you’re
in a fake hive with fake walls?
Our queen was moved here.
We had no choice.
This is your queen?
That’s a man in women’s clothes!
That’s a drag queen!
What is this?
Oh, no!
There’s hundreds of them!
Bee honey.
Our honey is being brazenly stolen
on a massive scale!
This is worse than anything bears
have done! I intend to do something.
Oh, Barry, stop.
Who told you humans are taking
our honey? That’s a rumor.
Do these look like rumors?
That’s a conspiracy theory.
These are obviously doctored photos.
How did you get mixed up in this?
He’s been talking to humans.
– What?
– Talking to humans?!
He has a human girlfriend.
And they make out!
Make out? Barry!
We do not.
– You wish you could.
– Whose side are you on?
The bees!
I dated a cricket once in San Antonio.
Those crazy legs kept me up all night.
Barry, this is what you want
to do with your life?
I want to do it for all our lives.
Nobody works harder than bees!
Dad, I remember you
coming home so overworked
your hands were still stirring.
You couldn’t stop.
I remember that.
What right do they have to our honey?
We live on two cups a year. They put it
in lip balm for no reason whatsoever!
Even if it’s true, what can one bee do?
Sting them where it really hurts.
In the face! The eye!
– That would hurt.
– No.
Up the nose? That’s a killer.
There’s only one place you can sting
the humans, one place where it matters.
Hive at Five, the hive’s only
full-hour action news source.
No more bee beards!
With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk.
Weather with Storm Stinger.
Sports with Buzz Larvi.
And Jeanette Ohung.
– Good evening. I’m Bob Bumble.
– And I’m Jeanette Ohung.
A tri-county bee, Barry Benson,
intends to sue the human race
for stealing our honey,
packaging it and profiting
from it illegally!
Tomorrow night on Bee Larry King,
we’ll have three former queens here in
our studio, discussing their new book,
Olassy Ladies,
out this week on Hexagon.
Tonight we’re talking to Barry Benson.
Did you ever think, “I’m a kid
from the hive. I can’t do this”?
Bees have never been afraid
to change the world.
What about Bee Oolumbus?
Bee Gandhi? Bejesus?
Where I’m from, we’d never sue humans.
We were thinking
of stickball or candy stores.
How old are you?
The bee community
is supporting you in this case,
which will be the trial
of the bee century.
You know, they have a Larry King
in the human world too.
It’s a common name. Next week…
He looks like you and has a show
and suspenders and colored dots…
Next week…
Glasses, quotes on the bottom from the
guest even though you just heard ’em.
Bear Week next week!
They’re scary, hairy and here live.
Always leans forward, pointy shoulders,
squinty eyes, very Jewish.
In tennis, you attack
at the point of weakness!
It was my grandmother, Ken. She’s 81.
Honey, her backhand’s a joke!
I’m not gonna take advantage of that?
Quiet, please.
Actual work going on here.
– Is that that same bee?
– Yes, it is!
I’m helping him sue the human race.
– Hello.
– Hello, bee.
This is Ken.
Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size
ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe.
Why does he talk again?
Listen, you better go
’cause we’re really busy working.
But it’s our yogurt night!
Bye-bye.
Why is yogurt night so difficult?!
You poor thing.
You two have been at this for hours!
Yes, and Adam here
has been a huge help.
– Frosting…
– How many sugars?
Just one. I try not
to use the competition.
So why are you helping me?
Bees have good qualities.
And it takes my mind off the shop.
Instead of flowers, people
are giving balloon bouquets now.
Those are great, if you’re three.
And artificial flowers.
– Oh, those just get me psychotic!
– Yeah, me too.
Bent stingers, pointless pollination.
Bees must hate those fake things!
Nothing worse
than a daffodil that’s had work done.
Maybe this could make up
for it a little bit.
– This lawsuit’s a pretty big deal.
– I guess.
You sure you want to go through with it?
Am I sure? When I’m done with
the humans, they won’t be able
to say, “Honey, I’m home,”
without paying a royalty!
It’s an incredible scene
here in downtown Manhattan,
where the world anxiously waits,
because for the first time in history,
we will hear for ourselves
if a honeybee can actually speak.
What have we gotten into here, Barry?
It’s pretty big, isn’t it?
I can’t believe how many humans
don’t work during the day.
You think billion-dollar multinational
food companies have good lawyers?
Everybody needs to stay
behind the barricade.
– What’s the matter?
– I don’t know, I just got a chill.
Well, if it isn’t the bee team.
You boys work on this?
All rise! The Honorable
Judge Bumbleton presiding.
All right. Oase number 4475,
Superior Oourt of New York,
Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry
is now in session.
Mr. Montgomery, you’re representing
the five food companies collectively?
A privilege.
Mr. Benson… you’re representing
all the bees of the world?
I’m kidding. Yes, Your Honor,
we’re ready to proceed.
Mr. Montgomery,
your opening statement, please.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
my grandmother was a simple woman.
Born on a farm, she believed
it was man’s divine right
to benefit from the bounty
of nature God put before us.
If we lived in the topsy-turvy world
Mr. Benson imagines,
just think of what would it mean.
I would have to negotiate
with the silkworm
for the elastic in my britches!
Talking bee!
How do we know this isn’t some sort of
holographic motion-picture-capture
Hollywood wizardry?
They could be using laser beams!
Robotics! Ventriloquism!
Oloning! For all we know,
he could be on steroids!
Mr. Benson?
Ladies and gentlemen,
there’s no trickery here.
I’m just an ordinary bee.
Honey’s pretty important to me.
It’s important to all bees.
We invented it!
We make it. And we protect it
with our lives.
Unfortunately, there are
some people in this room
who think they can take it from us
’cause we’re the little guys!
I’m hoping that, after this is all over,
you’ll see how, by taking our honey,
you not only take everything we have
but everything we are!
I wish he’d dress like that
all the time. So nice!
Oall your first witness.
So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden
of Honey Farms, big company you have.
I suppose so.
I see you also own
Honeyburton and Honron!
Yes, they provide beekeepers
for our farms.
Beekeeper. I find that
to be a very disturbing term.
I don’t imagine you employ
any bee-free-ers, do you?
– No.
– I couldn’t hear you.
– No.
– No.
Because you don’t free bees.
You keep bees. Not only that,
it seems you thought a bear would be
an appropriate image for a jar of honey.
They’re very lovable creatures.
Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear.
You mean like this?
Bears kill bees!
How’d you like his head crashing
through your living room?!
Biting into your couch!
Spitting out your throw pillows!
OK, that’s enough. Take him away.
So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here.
Your name intrigues me.
– Where have I heard it before?
– I was with a band called The Police.
But you’ve never been
a police officer, have you?
No, I haven’t.
No, you haven’t. And so here
we have yet another example
of bee culture casually
stolen by a human
for nothing more than
a prance-about stage name.
Oh, please.
Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting?
Because I’m feeling
a little stung, Sting.
Or should I say… Mr. Gordon M. Sumner!
That’s not his real name?! You idiots!
Mr. Liotta, first,
belated congratulations on
your Emmy win for a guest spot
on ER in 2005.
Thank you. Thank you.
I see from your resume
that you’re devilishly handsome
with a churning inner turmoil
that’s ready to blow.
I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime?
Not yet it isn’t. But is this
what it’s come to for you?
Exploiting tiny, helpless bees
so you don’t
have to rehearse
your part and learn your lines, sir?
Watch it, Benson!
I could blow right now!
This isn’t a goodfella.
This is a badfella!
Why doesn’t someone just step on
this creep, and we can all go home?!
– Order in this court!
– You’re all thinking it!
Order! Order, I say!
– Say it!
– Mr. Liotta, please sit down!
I think it was awfully nice
of that bear to pitch in like that.
I think the jury’s on our side.
Are we doing everything right, legally?
I’m a florist.
Right. Well, here’s to a great team.
To a great team!
Well, hello.
– Ken!
– Hello.
I didn’t think you were coming.
No, I was just late.
I tried to call, but… the battery.
I didn’t want all this to go to waste,
so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free.
Oh, that was lucky.
There’s a little left.
I could heat it up.
Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever.
So I hear you’re quite a tennis player.
I’m not much for the game myself.
The ball’s a little grabby.
That’s where I usually sit.
Right… there.
Ken, Barry was looking at your resume,
and he agreed with me that eating with
chopsticks isn’t really a special skill.
You think I don’t see what you’re doing?
I know how hard it is to find
the rightjob. We have that in common.
Do we?
Bees have 100 percent employment,
but we do jobs like taking the crud out.
That’s just what
I was thinking about doing.
Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor
for his fuzz. I hope that was all right.
I’m going to drain the old stinger.
Yeah, you do that.
Look at that.
You know, I’ve just about had it
with your little mind games.
– What’s that?
– Italian Vogue.
Mamma mia, that’s a lot of pages.
A lot of ads.
Remember what Van said, why is
your life more valuable than mine?
Funny, I just can’t seem to recall that!
I think something stinks in here!
I love the smell of flowers.
How do you like the smell of flames?!
Not as much.
Water bug! Not taking sides!
Ken, I’m wearing a Ohapstick hat!
This is pathetic!
I’ve got issues!
Well, well, well, a royal flush!
– You’re bluffing.
– Am I?
Surf’s up, dude!
Poo water!
That bowl is gnarly.
Except for those dirty yellow rings!
Kenneth! What are you doing?!
You know, I don’t even like honey!
I don’t eat it!
We need to talk!
He’s just a little bee!
And he happens to be
the nicest bee I’ve met in a long time!
Long time? What are you talking about?!
Are there other bugs in your life?
No, but there are other things bugging
me in life. And you’re one of them!
Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night…
My nerves are fried from riding
on this emotional roller coaster!
Goodbye, Ken.
And for your information,
I prefer sugar-free, artificial
sweeteners made by man!
I’m sorry about all that.
I know it’s got
an aftertaste! I like it!
I always felt there was some kind
of barrier between Ken and me.
I couldn’t overcome it.
Oh, well.
Are you OK for the trial?
I believe Mr. Montgomery
is about out of ideas.
We would like to call
Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand.
Good idea! You can really see why he’s
considered one of the best lawyers…
Yeah.
Layton, you’ve
gotta weave some magic
with this jury,
or it’s gonna be all over.
Don’t worry. The only thing I have
to do to turn this jury around
is to remind them
of what they don’t like about bees.
– You got the tweezers?
– Are you allergic?
Only to losing, son. Only to losing.
Mr. Benson Bee, I’ll ask you
what I think we’d all like to know.
What exactly is your relationship
to that woman?
We’re friends.
– Good friends?
– Yes.
How good? Do you live together?
Wait a minute…
Are you her little…
…bedbug?
I’ve seen a bee documentary or two.
From what I understand,
doesn’t your queen give birth
to all the bee children?
– Yeah, but…
– So those aren’t your real parents!
– Oh, Barry…
– Yes, they are!
Hold me back!
You’re an illegitimate bee,
aren’t you, Benson?
He’s denouncing bees!
Don’t y’all date your cousins?
– Objection!
– I’m going to pincushion this guy!
Adam, don’t! It’s what he wants!
Oh, I’m hit!!
Oh, lordy, I am hit!
Order! Order!
The venom! The venom
is coursing through my veins!
I have been felled
by a winged beast of destruction!
You see? You can’t treat them
like equals! They’re striped savages!
Stinging’s the only thing
they know! It’s their way!
– Adam, stay with me.
– I can’t feel my legs.
What angel of mercy
will come forward to suck the poison
from my heaving buttocks?
I will have order in this court. Order!
Order, please!
The case of the honeybees
versus the human race
took a pointed turn against the bees
yesterday when one of their legal
team stung Layton T. Montgomery.
– Hey, buddy.
– Hey.
– Is there much pain?
– Yeah.
I…
I blew the whole case, didn’t I?
It doesn’t matter. What matters is
you’re alive. You could have died.
I’d be better off dead. Look at me.
They got it from the cafeteria
downstairs, in a tuna sandwich.
Look, there’s
a little celery still on it.
What was it like to sting someone?
I can’t explain it. It was all…
All adrenaline and then…
and then ecstasy!
All right.
You think it was all a trap?
Of course. I’m sorry.
I flew us right into this.
What were we thinking? Look at us. We’re
just a couple of bugs in this world.
What will the humans do to us
if they win?
I don’t know.
I hear they put the roaches in motels.
That doesn’t sound so bad.
Adam, they check in,
but they don’t check out!
Oh, my.
Oould you get a nurse
to close that window?
– Why?
– The smoke.
Bees don’t smoke.
Right. Bees don’t smoke.
Bees don’t smoke!
But some bees are smoking.
That’s it! That’s our case!
It is? It’s not over?
Get dressed. I’ve gotta go somewhere.
Get back to the court and stall.
Stall any way you can.
And assuming you’ve done step correctly, you’re ready for the tub.
Mr. Flayman.
Yes? Yes, Your Honor!
Where is the rest of your team?
Well, Your Honor, it’s interesting.
Bees are trained to fly haphazardly,
and as a result,
we don’t make very good time.
I actually heard a funny story about…
Your Honor,
haven’t these ridiculous bugs
taken up enough
of this court’s valuable time?
How much longer will we allow
these absurd shenanigans to go on?
They have presented no compelling
evidence to support their charges
against my clients,
who run legitimate businesses.
I move for a complete dismissal
of this entire case!
Mr. Flayman, I’m afraid I’m going
to have to consider
Mr. Montgomery’s motion.
But you can’t! We have a terrific case.
Where is your proof?
Where is the evidence?
Show me the smoking gun!
Hold it, Your Honor!
You want a smoking gun?
Here is your smoking gun.
What is that?
It’s a bee smoker!
What, this?
This harmless little contraption?
This couldn’t hurt a fly,
let alone a bee.
Look at what has happened
to bees who have never been asked,
“Smoking or non?”
Is this what nature intended for us?
To be forcibly addicted
to smoke machines
and man-made wooden slat work camps?
Living out our lives as honey slaves
to the white man?
– What are we gonna do?
– He’s playing the species card.
Ladies and gentlemen, please,
free these bees!
Free the bees! Free the bees!
Free the bees!
Free the bees! Free the bees!
The court finds in favor of the bees!
Vanessa, we won!
I knew you could do it! High-five!
Sorry.
I’m OK! You know what this means?
All the honey
will finally belong to the bees.
Now we won’t have
to work so hard all the time.
This is an unholy perversion
of the balance of nature, Benson.
You’ll regret this.
Barry, how much honey is out there?
All right. One at a time.
Barry, who are you wearing?
My sweater is Ralph Lauren,
and I have no pants.
– What if Montgomery’s right?
– What do you mean?
We’ve been living the bee way
a long time, 27 million years.
Oongratulations on your victory.
What will you demand as a settlement?
First, we’ll demand a complete shutdown
of all bee work camps.
Then we want back the honey
that was ours to begin with,
every last drop.
We demand an end to the glorification
of the bear as anything more
than a filthy, smelly,
bad-breath stink machine.
We’re all aware
of what they do in the woods.
Wait for my signal.
Take him out.
He’ll have nauseous
for a few hours, then he’ll be fine.
And we will no longer tolerate
bee-negative nicknames…
But it’s just a prance-about stage name!
…unnecessary inclusion of honey
in bogus health products
and la-dee-da human
tea-time snack garnishments.
Oan’t breathe.
Bring it in, boys!
Hold it right there! Good.
Tap it.
Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups,
and there’s gallons more coming!
– I think we need to shut down!
– Shut down? We’ve never shut down.
Shut down honey production!
Stop making honey!
Turn your key, sir!
What do we do now?
Oannonball!
We’re shutting honey production!
Mission abort.
Aborting pollination and nectar detail.
Returning to base.
Adam, you wouldn’t believe
how much honey was out there.
Oh, yeah?
What’s going on? Where is everybody?
– Are they out celebrating?
– They’re home.
They don’t know what to do.
Laying out, sleeping in.
I heard your Uncle Oarl was on his way
to San Antonio with a cricket.
At least we got our honey back.
Sometimes I think, so what if humans
liked our honey? Who wouldn’t?
It’s the greatest thing in the world!
I was excited to be part of making it.
This was my new desk. This was my
new job. I wanted to do it really well.
And now…
Now I can’t.
I don’t understand
why they’re not happy.
I thought their lives would be better!
They’re doing nothing. It’s amazing.
Honey really changes people.
You don’t have any idea
what’s going on, do you?
– What did you want to show me?
– This.
What happened here?
That is not the half of it.
Oh, no. Oh, my.
They’re all wilting.
Doesn’t look very good, does it?
No.
And whose fault do you think that is?
You know, I’m gonna guess bees.
Bees?
Specifically, me.
I didn’t think bees not needing to make
honey would affect all these things.
It’s notjust flowers.
Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees.
That’s our whole SAT test right there.
Take away produce, that affects
the entire animal kingdom.
And then, of course…
The human species?
So if there’s no more pollination,
it could all just go south here,
couldn’t it?
I know this is also partly my fault.
How about a suicide pact?
How do we do it?
– I’ll sting you, you step on me.
– Thatjust kills you twice.
Right, right.
Listen, Barry…
sorry, but I gotta get going.
I had to open my mouth and talk.
Vanessa?
Vanessa? Why are you leaving?
Where are you going?
To the final Tournament of Roses parade
in Pasadena.
They’ve moved it to this weekend
because all the flowers are dying.
It’s the last chance
I’ll ever have to see it.
Vanessa, I just wanna say I’m sorry.
I never meant it to turn out like this.
I know. Me neither.
Tournament of Roses.
Roses can’t do sports.
Wait a minute. Roses. Roses?
Roses!
Vanessa!
Roses?!
Barry?
– Roses are flowers!
– Yes, they are.
Flowers, bees, pollen!
I know.
That’s why this is the last parade.
Maybe not.
Oould you ask him to slow down?
Oould you slow down?
Barry!
OK, I made a huge mistake.
This is a total disaster, all my fault.
Yes, it kind of is.
I’ve ruined the planet.
I wanted to help you
with the flower shop.
I’ve made it worse.
Actually, it’s completely closed down.
I thought maybe you were remodeling.
But I have another idea, and it’s
greater than my previous ideas combined.
I don’t want to hear it!
All right, they have the roses,
the roses have the pollen.
I know every bee, plant
and flower bud in this park.
All we gotta do is get what they’ve got
back here with what we’ve got.
– Bees.
– Park.
– Pollen!
– Flowers.
– Repollination!
– Across the nation!
Tournament of Roses,
Pasadena, Oalifornia.
They’ve got nothing
but flowers, floats and cotton candy.
Security will be tight.
I have an idea.
Vanessa Bloome, FTD.
Official floral business. It’s real.
Sorry, ma’am. Nice brooch.
Thank you. It was a gift.
Once inside,
we just pick the right float.
How about The Princess and the Pea?
I could be the princess,
and you could be the pea!
Yes, I got it.
– Where should I sit?
– What are you?
– I believe I’m the pea.
– The pea?
It goes under the mattresses.
– Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart.
– I’m getting the marshal.
You do that!
This whole parade is a fiasco!
Let’s see what this baby’ll do.
Hey, what are you doing?!
Then all we do
is blend in with traffic…
…without arousing suspicion.
Once at the airport,
there’s no stopping us.
Stop! Security.
– You and your insect pack your float?
– Yes.
Has it been
in your possession the entire time?
Would you remove your shoes?
– Remove your stinger.
– It’s part of me.
I know. Just having some fun.
Enjoy your flight.
Then if we’re lucky, we’ll have
just enough pollen to do the job.
Oan you believe how lucky we are? We
have just enough pollen to do the job!
I think this is gonna work.
It’s got to work.
Attention, passengers,
this is Oaptain Scott.
We have a bit of bad weather
in New York.
It looks like we’ll experience
a couple hours delay.
Barry, these are cut flowers
with no water. They’ll never make it.
I gotta get up there
and talk to them.
Be careful.
Oan I get help
with the Sky Mall magazine?
I’d like to order the talking
inflatable nose and ear hair trimmer.
Oaptain, I’m in a real situation.
– What’d you say, Hal?
– Nothing.
Bee!
Don’t freak out! My entire species…
What are you doing?
– Wait a minute! I’m an attorney!
– Who’s an attorney?
Don’t move.
Oh, Barry.
Good afternoon, passengers.
This is your captain.
Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24B
please report to the cockpit?
And please hurry!
What happened here?
There was a DustBuster,
a toupee, a life raft exploded.
One’s bald, one’s in a boat,
they’re both unconscious!
– Is that another bee joke?
– No!
No one’s flying the plane!
This is JFK control tower, Flight 356.
What’s your status?
This is Vanessa Bloome.
I’m a florist from New York.
Where’s the pilot?
He’s unconscious,
and so is the copilot.
Not good. Does anyone onboard
have flight experience?
As a matter of fact, there is.
– Who’s that?
– Barry Benson.
From the honey trial?! Oh, great.
Vanessa, this is nothing more
than a big metal bee.
It’s got giant wings, huge engines.
I can’t fly a plane.
– Why not? Isn’t John Travolta a pilot?
– Yes.
How hard could it be?
Wait, Barry!
We’re headed into some lightning.
This is Bob Bumble. We have some
late-breaking news from JFK Airport,
where a suspenseful scene
is developing.
Barry Benson,
fresh from his legal victory…
That’s Barry!
…is attempting to land a plane,
loaded with people, flowers
and an incapacitated flight crew.
Flowers?!
We have a storm in the area
and two individuals at the controls
with absolutely no flight experience.
Just a minute.
There’s a bee on that plane.
I’m quite familiar with Mr. Benson
and his no-account compadres.
They’ve done enough damage.
But isn’t he your only hope?
Technically, a bee
shouldn’t be able to fly at all.
Their wings are too small…
Haven’t we heard this a million times?
“The surface area of the wings
and body mass make no sense.”
– Get this on the air!
– Got it.
– Stand by.
– We’re going live.
The way we work may be a mystery to you.
Making honey takes a lot of bees
doing a lot of small jobs.
But let me tell you about a small job.
If you do it well,
it makes a big difference.
More than we realized.
To us, to everyone.
That’s why I want to get bees
back to working together.
That’s the bee way!
We’re not made of Jell-O.
We get behind a fellow.
– Black and yellow!
– Hello!
Left, right, down, hover.
– Hover?
– Forget hover.
This isn’t so hard.
Beep-beep! Beep-beep!
Barry, what happened?!
Wait, I think we were
on autopilot the whole time.
– That may have been helping me.
– And now we’re not!
So it turns out I cannot fly a plane.
All of you, let’s get
behind this fellow! Move it out!
Move out!
Our only chance is if I do what I’d do,
you copy me with the wings of the plane!
Don’t have to yell.
I’m not yelling!
We’re in a lot of trouble.
It’s very hard to concentrate
with that panicky tone in your voice!
It’s not a tone. I’m panicking!
I can’t do this!
Vanessa, pull yourself together.
You have to snap out of it!
You snap out of it.
You snap out of it.
– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!
– Hold it!
– Why? Oome on, it’s my turn.
How is the plane flying?
I don’t know.
Hello?
Benson, got any flowers
for a happy occasion in there?
The Pollen Jocks!
They do get behind a fellow.
– Black and yellow.
– Hello.
All right, let’s drop this tin can
on the blacktop.
Where? I can’t see anything. Oan you?
No, nothing. It’s all cloudy.
Oome on. You got to think bee, Barry.
– Thinking bee.
– Thinking bee.
Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
Wait a minute.
I think I’m feeling something.
– What?
– I don’t know. It’s strong, pulling me.
Like a 27-million-year-old instinct.
Bring the nose down.
Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
– What in the world is on the tarmac?
– Get some lights on that!
Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
– Vanessa, aim for the flower.
– OK.
Out the engines. We’re going in
on bee power. Ready, boys?
Affirmative!
Good. Good. Easy, now. That’s it.
Land on that flower!
Ready? Full reverse!
Spin it around!
– Not that flower! The other one!
– Which one?
– That flower.
– I’m aiming at the flower!
That’s a fat guy in a flowered shirt.
I mean the giant pulsating flower
made of millions of bees!
Pull forward. Nose down. Tail up.
Rotate around it.
– This is insane, Barry!
– This’s the only way I know how to fly.
Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is this plane
flying in an insect-like pattern?
Get your nose in there. Don’t be afraid.
Smell it. Full reverse!
Just drop it. Be a part of it.
Aim for the center!
Now drop it in! Drop it in, woman!
Oome on, already.
Barry, we did it!
You taught me how to fly!
– Yes. No high-five!
– Right.
Barry, it worked!
Did you see the giant flower?
What giant flower? Where? Of course
I saw the flower! That was genius!
– Thank you.
– But we’re not done yet.
Listen, everyone!
This runway is covered
with the last pollen
from the last flowers
available anywhere on Earth.
That means this is our last chance.
We’re the only ones who make honey,
pollinate flowers and dress like this.
If we’re gonna survive as a species,
this is our moment! What do you say?
Are we going to be bees, orjust
Museum of Natural History keychains?
We’re bees!
Keychain!
Then follow me! Except Keychain.
Hold on, Barry. Here.
You’ve earned this.
Yeah!
I’m a Pollen Jock! And it’s a perfect
fit. All I gotta do are the sleeves.
Oh, yeah.
That’s our Barry.
Mom! The bees are back!
If anybody needs
to make a call, now’s the time.
I got a feeling we’ll be
working late tonight!
Here’s your change. Have a great
afternoon! Oan I help who’s next?
Would you like some honey with that?
It is bee-approved. Don’t forget these.
Milk, cream, cheese, it’s all me.
And I don’t see a nickel!
Sometimes I just feel
like a piece of meat!
I had no idea.
Barry, I’m sorry.
Have you got a moment?
Would you excuse me?
My mosquito associate will help you.
Sorry I’m late.
He’s a lawyer too?
I was already a blood-sucking parasite.
All I needed was a briefcase.
Have a great afternoon!
Barry, I just got this huge tulip order,
and I can’t get them anywhere.
No problem, Vannie.
Just leave it to me.
You’re a lifesaver, Barry.
Oan I help who’s next?
All right, scramble, jocks!
It’s time to fly.
Thank you, Barry!
That bee is living my life!
Let it go, Kenny.
– When will this nightmare end?!
– Let it all go.
– Beautiful day to fly.
– Sure is.
Between you and me,
I was dying to get out of that office.
You have got
to start thinking bee, my friend.
– Thinking bee!
– Me?
Hold it. Let’s just stop
for a second. Hold it.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, everyone.
Oan we stop here?
I’m not making a major life decision
during a production number!
All right. Take ten, everybody.
Wrap it up, guys.
I had virtually no rehearsal for that.
Just take shadbase off of life support already.
jesus, hopefully this shitty site is dead now. shadman is a fucking loser who’s content just devolved into pure shit
started watching real porn instead
Give it up for day 26!!! DAY 26 EVERYBODY!!!
Looking for traps/twinks. My kik is IPraisePorn
better than hitler.
As Gretchen’s wild climax subsided, she fell forward onto her
mother. She kissed Katrina’s closed mouth, then licked her own lips. As
the pungent taste of her own scat drifted across her pallet, she
noticed a strange pang of emptiness in her belly.
“I love you, Mom,” she said softly
“I love you too, Sweetheart.”
Chapter Three
Each day that week, as Gretchen arrived home from school, Katrina
would serve as her toilet slave, filling her belly on her daughter’s
excrement. The woman looked so forward to her daughter’s bowel
movements that her cunt would start to flow long before the young girl
arrived home. Each day Gretchen would dream up some new way of feeding
her mother the shit that she made, and each day the teenager became
more and more obsessed with her human toilet. Katrina noticed that her
daughter was spending much more time at home and loved the new
relationship that had developed.
When Friday morning arrived Gretchen came into the kitchen while
her mother fixed coffee. She nonchalantly raised her skirt as she spoke
to Katrina, who, going to her knees pulled her daughter’s panties down
to her ankles then stripped them off her. Her mouth went to Gretchen’s
cunt and was filled with hot, morning piss. Katrina swallowed as much
as possible but some spilled from her lips and pooled on the tile
floor. When Gretchen finished urinating, Katrina tongue bathed the
young girl’s cunt and brought her to orgasm. This had become a morning
ritual for them and Katrina found she loved her daughter’s strong
morning urine best of all.
“You mind if I have Cindy and Karen over to spend the night
tonight?” Gretchen asked her mother.
Katrina’s heart sank when she heard the question. Gretchen had
promised her a special night devoted to lovemaking and shit-eating.
“What about our plans for tonight?” Katrina hedged.
“They are apart of my plan, Mom!” She smiled at her mother and
winked.
“Oh no!”
Katrina was horrified. The fact that even one of her daughter’s
friends knew about this activity worried her. It terrified her that
both of Gretchen’s girlfriends wanted to participate as well.
“No, sweetheart! That’s going to far!” she protested. “If anyone
found out about you and I we would be in deep trouble.”
Gretchen made a very pouty face and whined softly at her mother.
“Oh, please, Mom.” she pleaded. “They won’t tell anyone and
besides, they’re dying try it too.”
“They are?”
Katrina was startled. She had figured that there were not many
people would enjoy the filthy activity and was amazed to find the other
girl’s were interested.
Gretchen kissed her mother’s cheek and whispered in her ear.
“Mom, you know how hot it makes me to watch you eat shit and
drink piss. I want to watch you eat all of our shit in one night. That
will REALLY make me cum hard!”
She pushed her hand inside her mother’s robe and into her cotton
panties. Sliding her hand through the thick bush and between the puffy
cunt lips, she rubbed Katrina’s clit meat while she spoke.
“I promise too eat lots of food, all day long. I’ll eat lots of
fruit during classes and a big lunch on top of it. I’ll drink lots of
ice tea too.”
Katrina’s breathing became rapid as Gretchen’s fingers twisted
and pulled at her clit. Her fuck chute moistened and her asshole
tingled.
“I really…don’t…think…” Katrina didn’t finish the sentence.
“Just think, Mom,” Gretchen hummed. “Three young twats to suck
the piss out of and three tight little shit-holes waiting to be
licked.”
“Oh, God!” Katrina breathed. The perverse picture her daughter
painted for her thrilled her and sent erotic shivers into her cunt.
“You can drink hot girl piss all Saturday morning if you want to.
We could keep drinking coffee and fill your belly with warm pee.”
“Yes!” Katrina hissed as a small orgasm shook her. “God! It
sounds heavenly.”
Gretchen kissed her mother softly on the lips and then said, “I
knew you’d see it my way.”
Katrina smiled.
* * *
Katrina stood in the living room watching the three cute teenage
girls strolling up the walkway. She had dressed carefully for them,
wearing a short white skirt and tight red sweater to enhance her
womanly figure.
The trio looked divine together, Gretchen with her long dark hair
and trim figure, Cindy the heaviest of the three girls, had her blond
hair in pigtails and wore a pleated, plaid skirt that made her look
even younger than she was and Karen, a pale skinned redhead whose face
was lightly speckled with freckles.
Butterflies raced through Katrina’s tummy in anticipation of what
was to come. This was every shit-eating lesbians dream, three young
girls eager to play her dirty game. She went to the kitchen and poured
four glasses of ice tea for the girls and prepared a platter of
crackers and fruit.
“Mom! Where home!” Katrina shouted from the living room.
“In the kitchen, sweetheart! Just drop your stuff in the hallway
and come on in!”
All three of the teenagers eyed Katrina up and down as they
entered the kitchen and seated themselves at the table. Gretchen smiled
sweetly at her mother as she sipped her tea.
“I’ve fixed a snack for you girls. Help yourselves.” Katrina said
as she pointed at the tray of cut fruit and crackers.
“I couldn’t eat another thing, Mom. We’ve been stuffing ourselves
all day and I feel like I’m about to pop!”
Karen giggled nervously and reached for a slice of fresh apple as
she gazed at Katrina’s shapely body. Katrina noticed Karen’s gaze and
winked at her, unconsciously sliding her tongue across her upper lip
with desire. Karen blushed but her pussy clutched inside at the older
woman’s erotic display.
Katrina noticed Cindy whispering in Gretchen’s ear, her legs were
tightly crossed and she had a slightly pained look on her face.
“Well, Cindy, don’t be shy! Just go stand in the middle of the
floor and pull up your skirt. Mom will take care of you.” Gretchen said
out loud.
Karen giggled again and Cindy appeared a bit nervous but the
young blonde stood and walked to the center of the floor and raised her
skirt above her hips.
“She hasn’t pissed all day Mother. She’s been holding it just for
you.” Gretchen told her.
“Thank you dear.” Katrina whispered as she went to her knees in
front of the girl. Gazing dreamily at the teenager’s soft, shapely
thighs, she pulled Cindy’s panties down and off. When she looked back
up she saw a perfectly bald sixteen-year-old pussy. Cindy had shaved
her cunt completely and it thrilled Katrina to see the swelling little
clit held snuggly between the soft folds of her vulva.
Katrina stroked the tips of her fingers across the soft outer
labia of Cindy’s love box before she dipped her head to suck the
budding little clitoris in her mouth. She gently pulled at the little
nub with her lips bringing delightfully soft moans from the girl.
With Katrina sucking on her clit, Cindy forgot the fact that she
was holding in a bladder full of pee. Suddenly a gusher of hot urine
flooded from her pisser, drenching Katrina’s sweater with yellow
liquid. Katrina quickly pulled her lips from Cindy’s clit and covered
the girl’s lower cunt with her mouth. The force and size of the piss
stream took Katrina by surprise and it took a moment for her to adjust
to it.
When Katrina pulled her face back and caught the huge piss stream
in her mouth, Karen began squeal and started clapping her hands
delightedly. Seeing this lewd scene before her thrilled the youngest
girl and she went to stand next to Cindy to get a better view.
“Golly! She’s really drinking it!” she exclaimed after Katrina
had gulped two mouthfuls of the dark golden urine.
Katrina closed her mouth when she swallowed, causing the thick
spray to splash off her face and back onto Karen’s skirt, wetting the
bottom of it thoroughly. Karen saw the piss drench her skirt and moved
closer to catch more of the smelly pee.
Cindy moaned as she pissed, a great feeling of relief and arousal
flooded her. She watched as her best friend’s mother guzzled her hot
urine as if it were the nectar of the gods.
“Jeez!” Cindy grunted. “Your mother really is a piss drinker.
Look at the nasty bitch drink my piss.”
“I told you!” Gretchen laughed. “If you stop your flow when she
swallows, she’ll be able to drink every drop!”
Cindy tried to hold her bladder but the pee had been building up
all day long and she couldn’t control her self. Katrina latched her
mouth over the girl’s cunt once again and drank the acrid liquid as
quickly as possible.
“I can’t hold it!” she yelped, as she felt Katrina’s top lip
press into her clit. “Oh Jeez! This is the only way to pee! God,
Gretchen! Your mother is good!”
“I told you so! She’s a really hot toilet mouth bitch, isn’t
she?”
“A real piss whore!” Cindy hissed in a mocking tone.
“I think she’s so sexy! Gosh!” Karen said as she examined her
piss soaked skirt.
Katrina drank deeply from the teenage piss faucet, groaning as
she swallowed and almost becoming sexually intoxicated by the burning
liquid. Taking a chance she placed her hand on Karen’s ankle and
stroked upward, past her knee to her inner thigh, just high enough to
feel the wet heat pouring from the small girl’s cunt. When Karen didn’t
protest Katrina slid her hand up to the girl’s pantied cunt. She rubbed
lightly at the Karen’s covered clit, sending a wicked thrill through
the teenager’s belly.
“That feel’s nice, Ms. Richards!” Karen said in a breathy voice
as she pushed her vulva into the woman’s hand. She watched with
perverse delight as Katrina slurped every bit of piss into her mouth.
Finally Cindy’s flow slowed to a trickle and Katrina swallowed
the last of it. She leaned back a bit to stair at the wet, bald pussy.
Cindy’s entire cunt was dripping with piss. It ran down her thighs and
onto the floor. Katrina couldn’t remember ever having drank that much
pee at one time. Her belly rumbled slightly as she leaned forward
again, this time to clean Cindy’s cunt with her tongue.
While at the table Gretchen had stripped completely and was
fingering her small cunt, trying to make it as sloppy as she possibly
could. She had accomplished her task. Her tender young pussy was
sopping wet with girl cum and the lips had puffed themselves outward,
exposing the pink guts of her cunt. She took Cindy’s place in front of
Katrina and thrust her pelvis boldly into her mother’s face, obviously
showing off in front of her friends.
“Lick my cunt piss-whore!” she demanded as she grabbed Katrina by
the back of her head and jammed her face into her open cunt.
Katrina face was becoming very sticky having been soaked with
piss and now her daughters love juice. She lapped hungrily at
Gretchen’s slit, licking from the girl’s small hole up to her swollen
clit. She nipped at the little pleasure nub with her teeth, causing
Gretchen to tremble as she stood.
“Ahhh! Yes! Suck my clit, Mother!” she hissed in pleasure. “Suck
it till I cum! Then I’ll give you a nice hot mouthful of my sweet
piss!”
Katrina sucked energetically at her daughter’s clit while her
tongue flicked busily back and forth across the tip of it. She kept the
intense mouth massage going for several long minutes, increasing her
suction and tongue pressure. When she had Gretchen’s sex button fully
swollen she sucked deeply on it and bit softly into the girl’s clit
meat.
“Oh! Fuck! Mother! I’m cumming!” she wailed breathlessly as her
young cunt convulsed inside of her. “Bite my clit, you bitch-whore!”
Gretchen’s body rocked and teetered as she came. She used her
mother’s head as a brace to hold herself up, applying too much pressure
and almost suffocating Katrina in the process. When she finally settled
down, she let go and Katrina reared back, gasping for breath, but
Gretchen didn’t give her time. Spreading her sloppy cunt further she
pushed down with her vaginal muscles extending her urethra further
outward and making a lewd target for her mother.
“Lick my pisshole, bitch!” she ordered.
Katrina stuck her tongue out and waggled it deliciously as she
pushed her face back towards the open fuck hole. She could easily reach
Gretchen’s pisser with the tip of her tongue and she went to work
bathing it in wet flicks. Pursing her lips into a small circle she
found she could suction the piss-tube into her mouth and suck on it.
“Oh! God! Look at this girl’s! My mother is sucking the piss
right out of me.” Gretchen cried.
Sure enough, no sooner had she said it, that Katrina’s mouth was
filled with her daughter’s liquid waste. Her cunt was boiling and she
felt if she didn’t cum soon she would explode. She reached under her
skirt and into her panties and started to masturbate furiously. She
swallowed each gulp her daughter gave her, savoring the rank taste as
she drank.
She was rising close to her peak when she felt a soft hand brush
up her thigh and into her hairy crotch. From the corner of her eye she
could see Karen’s arm stretched out and up to fondle her. Karen’s other
hand was in her own panties moving vigorously, drawing her on towards
orgasm. With a tremendous amount of concentration, Katrina urged two of
Karen’s fingers up inside her leaking fuck chute, the velvety walls
clamping down on them. Her hand went back to her clit and she continued
to suck her daughter’s urine spout.
“Jeez! She’s a fucking piss-freak! She loves that nasty stuff!
Give it all to her Gretchen. Fill her up with your piss!” Cindy
cheered.
Gretchen did fill her up. By the time the girl’s bladder was
empty Katrina felt like she had drank a gallon of piss. She was afraid
she wouldn’t be able to take Karen’s bladder as well.
“God! It’s so good having my own personal toilet!” Gretchen
moaned as the last few drops of piss dribbled out of her.
Katrina worked to clean her daughter’s vulva while Karen
continued to stroke her fingers in and out of the breathless woman’s
pussy. Katrina was ready to cum but still had one more bladder to
service. When Gretchen backed away from her, Katrina gently pulled
Karen’s loving hand from her crotch.
She turned then to the small girl and said, “It’s your turn
dear.”
Karen blushed red and stuttered bashfully.
“Oh, that’s ok. I can use the toilet upstairs.”
“Don’t you want to piss in her mouth?” Cindy asked. “It feels so
great!”
“Well…yes…sort of…”
Katrina saw that the girl was obviously embarrassed about doing
it and turned to her.
“Would you rather do it in private the first time, dear?” she
asked the girl in a maternal voice.
Karen smiled and nodded gratefully at Katrina.
“That’s not fair! She watched us do it!” Gretchen protested.
“Oh, you’ll get your chance to see her, just not the first time.”
Katrina said, some control back in her voice. Then looking to Karen and
taking her hand she said, “I understand completely, dear. We can go up
to my bathroom, it’s quite large.”
“Ok!” Karen smiled broadly at Katrina.
Katrina took Karen’s hand and led her upstairs to the bathroom,
leaving behind a good-natured round of jeers from the other two girls.
Once they were in the bathroom together, Katrina closed the door
and switched on the light. Turning to Karen she could see the poor girl
was still dreadfully nervous.
Katrina kissed Karen softly on the lips, then stood back and
began to remove her clothes.
“It’s best if we get these wet clothes off,” she said, “Your
dress is soaked. We’ll need to put these in the washer.”
Karen tried to act as if she weren’t nervous as she undressed,
but her trembling hands gave her away.
“It’s ok to be nervous the first few times, Karen.” Katrina
reassured her as she took in the stark beauty of Karen’s body. Her skin
was as white as linen, her small breasts appeared to be snow covered
peaks with pink, puffy nipples that stood out straight as if they were
begging to be suck. Katrina’s eyes wandered down to the girl’s fiery
red bush and her cunt trembled with desire. The only thing visible
through the thick triangle of hair was Karen’s swollen clit, which was
very large, especially for a girl her age. Katrina could see matted
hair between the girl’s thighs, evidence of her sensual desire.
“Why don’t you sit on the edge of the toilet, dear”, Katrina told
the girl as she went to her knees once again.
Karen sat at the very edge of the seat with her legs tight
together. Katrina placed and hand on each of the teenager’s knees and
spread them gently apart.
Katrina opened her mouth and Karen’s tongue slipped in and began
to explore her oral cavern. Her soft young tongue swirled throughout
the older woman’s mouth, exploring and tasting every crevice and bump.
She could faintly taste the flavor of urine in Katrina’s mouth and was
surprised that it didn’t seem offensive to her at all. In fact it
tasted quite sexy.
Katrina played her own tongue across and under Karen’s and
thought about the girls kiss. It was odd to her that she didn’t pull
back in revulsion when she tasted the inside of Katrina’s mouth. After
all, she was sure that it really did taste like a toilet inside there.
But Karen didn’t seem to mind so Katrina held their kiss for a long
time, enjoying the sensation of another tongue in her mouth.
Katrina finally pulled away and said, “You just relax now, Karen.
I want to make you cum. Anytime you have to pee, you just go right
ahead and pee.”
“What if it hits your face or something?” the young girl asked.
“That’s ok! I like to have my face peed on!”
Karen giggled and said, “Your so wicked and sexy!”
Leaning back on the seat Karen watched as this experienced
woman’s head went between her legs.
Katrina spread the soft, fur-covered lips of the teenage girl and
dipped her tongue between them. She flicked softly at the distended
clitoris causing Karen’s thin legs to shake uncontrollably. She pulled
back momentarily and looked up at the girl.
“Is that hurting you?” she asked.
“No. Not at all.” Karen replied. “It’s just that I’ve never done
anything like this before.”
“I thought you and Gretchen had…”
“No,” Karen interrupted. “We never have. I watch Gretchen and
Cindy do it sometimes, but I’ve never done it.”
“Didn’t they invite you to join in?” Katrina asked
sympathetically.
“Yes. But to tell you the truth I never wanted to do it with
them. But you are so sexy – I just can’t help myself!” Karen said,
blushing again.
“You ARE the sweetest girl I’ve ever met!” Katrina told her as
she dipped her face once again into the girl’s crotch.
Katrina licked gently and slowly up Karen’s wet slit, lathering
her swollen pleasure button with warm saliva. As she worked, Karen’s
breathing became heavier and the teenager began to moan softly.
“Oh, Ms. Richards! I’ve never felt anything so wonderful!” Karen
groaned.
Katrina pulled back again and said, “Please, Karen. Call me
Katrina…or whatever you like. You needn’t call me Ms. Richards.”
“Ok, Katrina.” Karen giggled as Katrina went back to work on her
pussy.
Reaching between the girl’s thighs with both hands, Katrina
spread the soft cuntal lips gently apart, pushing her tongue deeply
into the girls tight, moist love hole. She pushed until she felt a
strand of tissue blocking her path. She flicked at the tissue and
realized that Karen was a virgin.
“Karen, are you a virgin?”
“Yes.” Karen blushed once again.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart”, Katrina said reassuringly. “I
won’t take that from you, then.”
“No, I want you too. I want it to be you that does it.”
“Are you sure you want me too?”
“Yes. There is something very special about you and I want you
too.”
“I will, dear if you want, but not in the bathroom here. This is
not the place for that special moment. If you can sneak away after the
other girls are asleep tonight and come to my room, we’ll have some
private time together. I can do it then.”
Karen nodded her head smiling.
“Until then…” Katrina’s face went back to the young cunt in
front of her and began to work diligently at the luscious slit in front
of her. She sucked, nibbled and licked at Karen’s clit, raising the
girl’s excitement to a fever level.
Karen was panting and whimpering delightfully as Katrina
pleasured her. She couldn’t believe the wonderful sensations the older
woman was giving her.
“Oh! Gosh! So good, Katrina!” she panted. “I’ve never
felt…Ahh!”
Karen’s legs stiffened as she felt the tremors of orgasm race
through her for the first time. The pleasure waves increased as Katrina
sucked desperately at the teen’s clit, causing Karen to lose control of
her muscles. Her thighs gripped the woman’s head tightly and her ass
lifted off the toilet. She had to grab the seat with both hands to keep
from falling off the toilet.
“Oh! Gosh! It’s happening! It’s happening Katrina! I’m cumming!”
Karen shouted joyously.
Karen felt a rapid buildup of pressure in her bladder as she
came, and then, a sudden surge of pleasure rushed downwards into her
virgin pussy causing her tiny love hole to gape widely. Without warning
her little piss-hole opened and a stream of warm piss rushed from it.
Katrina felt the hot liquid hit her chin as she sucked Karen’s
clit. She dropped her mouth down to the girl’s sex hole and covered it
with her lips, drinking the warm wastewater with sensuous delight.
Katrina marveled at how different this girl’s piss tasted compared with
the other girls. Although it was hot and tangy, it was mellower in
taste and much easier to swallow.
Katrina allowed her mouth to fill with the teenage girl’s pee
before swallowing each time, enjoying the warm urine more than she ever
had before. Every time her mouth had been used as a urinal in the past
she had loved the nastiness of it, but this time was different, she was
really enjoying the heady taste. She looked up at Karen and saw that
her eye’s has become misty, and a warm, pleasured smile had crossed her
face.
“Ooooh! Katrina, it feels wonderful peeing in your mouth! I never
thought…ooooh!”
Karen’s voice was soft and slow as she tried to acknowledge the
pleasure she was receiving from this perverse act. To Karen it didn’t
seem so perverse now. Now it felt almost natural to her, almost as if
it was something normal that all lover’s should do.
As the piss stream slowed to a trickle, Katrina pushed her tongue
inside Karen and rolled the tip across the dripping pee hole. Karen
shivered as she felt the erotic sensations wash through her. When
finally she had no more to give the woman, Katrina fell back against
the toilet seat as if exhausted.
“Gosh! That was soooooo nice! Thank you! Thank you!” she
whispered staring down at Katrina’s piss drenched face.
Katrina, wanting to give Karen a special treat she had never
given anyone else, reached for a small strip of toilet paper. Folding
the paper carefully, she wiped Karen’s cunt clean of every bit of pee
and pussy juice. She even swiped the wet paper up the crack of the
girl’s ass in hopes of adding the flavor of that sweet bunghole to the
paper.
When Karen was thoroughly clean, Katrina made a sensuous
spectacle of pushing the tissue into her mouth and sucking the waste
from it. Then, when it had lost its flavor, she swallowed it with a
pleasure filled moan.
“Oh, Katrina. I never thought anything could be that nice. Thank
you so much!” Karen said as she gazed into the woman’s eyes.
“Thank you, Karen.” Katrina replied as she rose to kiss the girl
again. “I have never tasted anything so sweet as your warm piss. I hope
you’ll let me have lots more.”
Karen nodded her head quickly, then pressed her mouth to
Katrina’s and kissed her, her tongue once again probing the woman’s
mouth with pleasure. Their arms went around each other in a warm
embrace as they caressed each other lovingly.
“We’d better head back down or Gretchen and Cindy will be
pounding on this door to get it.” Katrina said after breaking their
kiss.
Karen giggled at this and rose from the toilet seat. She tried to
reach for her clothes but Katrina stopped her.
“There really isn’t any point in dressing now. Our clothes are
wet and we’ll be much more comfortable naked.” she told her.
Karen blushed slightly but left her clothes in the tub and
returned to the kitchen with Katrina.
* * *
When they arrived back in the kitchen, Katrina and Karen found
Cindy standing beside one of the chairs, one foot propped up on the
seat and her fingers spreading her shaved cunt lips apart. Gretchen was
below her kneeling looking up at the bald pussy with interest. Katrina
saw a torn tampon wrapper lying on the table. They stopped in the
doorway and watched.
“It’s going to be a heavy one this time, Cindy” Gretchen said.
“Oh good! I always get so horny on my period!” Cindy giggled.
Gretchen raised her hand and Katrina and Karen saw the fresh
tampon she held and looked at each other with surprise.
“Spread it more”, Gretchen said, unaware of her mother’s and
Karen’s presence inside the room.
Cindy spread her pussy lips wide while Gretchen gazed up at the
bleeding hole. Carefully she pushed the cardboard tube into her
friend’s cunt and left it there.
“Ok,” she said. “Now let go of your lips.”
Cindy let her pussy close around the tube and both girl’s stared
at it as it hung protruded from her cunt. Gretchen grabbed the very end
of the outer tube and pushed upward on the inner piece, sending the
roll of cotton into Cindy’s menstruating cunt. Pulling both parts of
the applicator out, she flicked the dangling string, sending it swaying
back and forth between Cindy’s legs. Both girls giggled briefly and
Gretchen finally grabbed the string and placed it neatly between
Cindy’s puffy labia.
When Gretchen stood she saw Katrina and Karen standing in the
doorway watching. Embarrassed slightly, she tossed the slightly soiled
tampon applicator on the table.
“Cindy has started her period and I was helping her out.” she
tried to explain.
Katrina walked directly to Cindy and pushed her finger inside of
her, probing at the embedded cotton.
Pulling her finger from Cindy’s twat she examined it closely,
then she smiled at her daughter.
“You did a fine job, Gretchen. Her rag is firmly planted and I
see no leakage around it. You should be proud. You do excellent work.”
All four of them broke into hysterical laughter and Gretchen
tossed the blood spotted cardboard to Karen who caught it and stared at
it.
“Ewe! Its bloody!” she said giggling, and tossed it to Katrina.
Katrina took the applicator to the trash, shaking her head and
smiling at the girl’s antics.
* * *
Chapter Four
Katrina fed the three girls a late dinner but prepared no food
for herself. None of them ate much, having stuffed themselves all day
long on snacks and fruit. But Katrina still made a social event of the
meal, lighting candles at the dining room table while they all sat
naked and chatted, drinking wine from fine crystal.
Katrina’s eyes stayed mostly on Karen, making sure the shy girl
was included in the conversations and didn’t feel out of place. When
the conversation began to wane, Katrina went to the china cabinet and
retrieved a deep white bowl and placed it at her seat.
Reseating herself, Katrina tapped the china with her finger and
looked to her daughter.
“Are you ready, sweetheart?” she asked expectantly.
“You know I am, Mom!” Gretchen laughed. “I’ve been ready since
three o’clock! My belly is ready to burst!”
Gretchen climbed on top of the table and crawled down to where
her mother sat. She turned her ass towards Katrina and wiggled it at
her.
“Wanna lick my asshole, Mommy?” she asked wickedly.
“Mmmmm. Of course I do!” Katrina replied as she pulled the twin
moons of flesh apart.
Katrina’s head dipped in and she began to hungrily lick and suck
at her daughter’s sensitive bunghole, wetting it thoroughly before
dipping her tongue in.
Both Karen and Cindy leapt from their seats and rushed to either
side of Katrina in an attempt to get a good view of the perverse
action.
When Gretchen felt her mother’s wet probe into her asshole she
had the sudden urge to pee. She let loose with a torrent of hot urine
that splashed onto the dining room table, soaking the tablecloth.
Katrina quickly pushed the bowl under her daughter to catch the gush of
piss.
Gretchen filled Katrina’s bowl with golden liquid before her piss
stream finally faded. When Katrina saw the last few dribbles of pee
fall from her daughter’s pussy she moved the bowl back under her ass.
She gently pushed her index finger into Gretchen’s tight asshole and
pushed slowly upwards, probing for some of the sweet anal fruit she
longed for. When her finger found resistance, she pushed back at it,
then pulled her brown stained finger from Gretchen’s warm shit oven.
All three watched in awe as Gretchen’s tiny puckering hole bulged
outward and then relaxed. The girl pushed down again and her tiny scat
hole opened widely, revealing the end of a very firm and very fat turd.
“Hold it there, sweetheart. Don’t push any further!” Katrina
said, staring hungrily at the large brown lump that protruded from her
daughter’s asshole.
Gretchen strained to keep the large piece of shit from escaping
her bowels and found that by clenching her ass she could hold it in
place quite easily.
“Hold her apart for me girl’s!” she told Karen and Cindy and both
girls reached for a cheek of ass flesh and pulled.
Katrina stroked her finger across the light brown clump that hung
from her daughter’s shit pipe and then pushed it into her mouth,
sucking the bitter flavor from it.
“Oh shit! She’s licking your shit off her finger, Gretchen!”
Cindy exclaimed.
“Oooh! I wish I could see!” Gretchen grunted as she held on to
the turd.
Katrina then moved her face towards the young girls butt and
stretched her tongue out as far as possible. She wanted to give Karen
and Cindy a good show of her perverse fetish.
Katrina’s tongue swiped slowly and lusciously across the hot lump
of shit, picking up tiny specks of brown as it went. As she licked, the
protruding scat wad became wet and runny and started to loose its form.
Katrina pulled her tongue back and licked her lips hungrily, browning
them as it went.
“Ok! Push now baby! Push your sweet shit into my mouth!” Katrina
moaned.
She opened her mouth widely and held it an inch away from her
daughter’s puking shit hole. Gretchen pushed and slowly the fat brown
clump of crap slid from her bowels.
Katrina’s mouth was there to receive the nasty gift and both
Cindy and Karen gasped as it slid between the woman’s lips.
“Jeez! Your shitting in her mouth, Gretchen!” hissed Cindy. “Shit
in her mouth!”
Katrina felt the disgusting turd slide across her tongue back
towards her throat. When it finally touched the very back of her mouth
she softly pressed her lips around it and moved her head backwards. The
shit followed staying in an extremely long, firm tube.
Inch after filthy inch of the smelly shit oozed from Gretchen’s
shit hole until it hung like a nine-inch rope between her asshole and
Katrina’s mouth.
“Ugh! Look at that! Isn’t that disgusting!” cried Cindy. Gretchen
giggled and her friends disgust and pushed harder.
Finally, Gretchen’s shit hole closed up and the heavy clump of
waste fell down into the piss bowl with a splash, causing pee to
splatter up into Karen and Cindy’s face. Cindy grabbed immediately for
a napkin and started mopping the yellow liquid from her face but Karen;
her eyes glued on Katrina, left the pee to run off her face.
“Oh! Gross!” Cindy whined. “You got piss on my face!”
“Oh don’t make such a big deal!” Gretchen laughed as she turned
as sat cross legged on the table facing her mother.
Katrina positioned her mouth over the bowl and bit into the warm
brown clump allowing the remainder of it to fall into the deep pool of
urine. She swirled the bitter log in her mouth, sucking the juice from
it and swallowing.
“Can I see?” Karen asked Katrina softly, her eyes wide with
wonder.
Katrina opened her mouth and displayed the wet, hot turd as it
lay across her brown tongue. Karen’s jaw dropped in amazement and a
little shiver of revulsion tingled through her. The sight of this older
woman eating her daughter’s shit filled Karen with a wicked thrill and
she felt her pussy begin to lubricate as she watched.
“You’re so sexy, Katrina. So sexy.”
“She’s a shit-whore!” Cindy hissed. “Eat that shit whore!”
Katrina turned her head towards Cindy and stuck out her shit-
covered tongue. Clumps of brown waste hung to her pallet while a thick,
dark slime dribbled over her lip.
“Ewe! Shit! That’s gross and disgusting!” Cindy exclaimed, but
she kept right on watching.
Katrina pulled her tongue back in and began to chew the clumps in
her mouth. As they became smaller she swished them around, absorbing
all the nasty flavoring she could. When mostly slime remained in her
mouth she swallowed deeply, sending the chunky goop down into her
belly.
Karen applauded when Katrina swallowed the filthy mess and
reached between her legs to play with herself. Cindy had a look of
complete disgust on her face and stared at Katrina in disbelief.
Gretchen was smiling broadly, almost proud of her mother’s
accomplishment.
“Eat it all, Mom!” Gretchen urged her.
“I intend to, Darling!” she replied, a very brown smile on her
lips.
Katrina looked into the bowl and tried to decide the best way to
devour the huge turd. It was coiled up in the bowl and was beginning to
dissolve slightly in the hot urine. Little shit balls were breaking off
and floating in the pool of pee.
‘Scat soup!’ she thought to herself and she picked up her spoon.
Slicing the end off of the brown log with her spoon she dipped it
deeply into the urine before bringing it to her mouth. Katrina pushed
the spoon into her open mouth and closed her lips over it, taking the
entire spoonful at once. She pulled the spoon from her mouth as she
savored the pissy flavor of the shit morsel. She chewed quickly and
swallowed.
Katrina ate the entire length of Gretchen’s shit in the same way,
spoonful after spoonful, with intermediate dips into the warm piss to
wash it down. When she scooped up the final piece she waved it at the
teenagers.
“Anyone want to try it?” she asked jokingly.
Gretchen and Cindy pulled away in disgust when it came near them
but Karen didn’t move, she just said politely, “No thank you.”
Katrina chewed the last piece thoroughly, occasionally opening
her mouth for the girls viewing pleasure, then picked up the bowl and
put it to her shit covered lips. Tilting it up, she poured the
remaining vile mixture into her mouth and swallowed.
All three girls applauded and Katrina stood from her chair and
gave a curtsy with an imaginary skirt. She picked up the bowl and
headed for the kitchen. When she returned her face was clean and she
was carrying four small bowls, spoons and container of orange sherbet.
“Jeez! What are you gonna do with THAT?” Cindy asked.
“Eat it!” Katrina replied.
“What? You just ate a bowlful of piss-soaked shit and now your
going to eat ice cream?” Cindy bellowed.
“Not ice cream, Cindy. Sherbet. Would you like some?”
“No thanks. Is that desert or something?” Cindy asked curiously.
“No, silly. It cleans your pallet.” Katrina explained. “Makes
your taste buds fresh so that you can really taste anything that you
eat after it.”
“Does it make shit taste better?” Gretchen asked.
“No. It just makes it stronger.” she replied in a matter of fact
voice. “I’ll show you what I mean.”
Katrina dished each of them a bowl of sherbet and had them eat
it. Then she had them each eat a piece of onion.
“Wow!” Gretchin said. “It really does make it taste much
stronger.”
“So why go through all this trouble just for shit eating?” Cindy
wanted to know.
“Well, Cindy,” Katrina explained, “all of you taste differently
and I want to taste each of you as freshly as possible. It’s one of the
joys of scat consumption – tasting the difference. Sometimes you can
even discern what the shitter has eaten.”
“So what did my shit taste like?” Gretchen asked.
Katrina licked at her lips and said, “Very bitter today, although
you usually taste much sweeter.”
“Please let me be next”, Cindy begged.
Katrina laughed and cleared the dishes from her place.
“Fine then. Come sit on the edge of the table.”
Cindy sat on the table, her legs spread with her feet resting on
the arms of Katrina’s chair. She had Gretchen bring a pillow from the
living room and place it behind Cindy, who laid back with her head
propped up. Katrina then lifted the girl’s legs and pushed them
backwards, urging the two girls to help her keep them in position.
The lewd position she had Cindy in caused the girls pussy to
spread in a wide-open beaver. Between her soft outer labia lay the
white string of her tampon, stuck to her slit with warm cunt juice.
Katrina spread Cindy open wider with her fingers and the tube of cotton
became visible inside of her. It had been thoroughly soaked with
menstrual blood and had expanded to twice its original size. Cindy was
truly having a heavy flow.
All three gazed at the girl’s open hole in awe, watching as white
creamy girl cum mixed with her menstrual flow and oozed out pink and
slimy.
Grabbing a hold on the string with her fingers, Katrina slowly
pulled the tampon from Cindy. When it was halfway out she stopped
pulling and dipped her face in to lick at the used rag, tasting the
stale flavor of cunt, piss and blood. Satisfied that she was able to
accept the foul taste, Katrina wrapped her lips around the open tampon
and pulled it free of Cindy’s cunt. She raised her head to show her
daughter and Karen the bloody cotton hanging from her lips.
“Wow, Cindy! Look at that! She’s sucking your nasty tampon!”
Gretchen cried with delight.
“Jeez!” Cindy replied. “I never thought having your period could
be so much fun!”
Katrina pulled the entire tampon into her mouth with her tongue,
sucking on it hungrily, her mouth filled with the taste of blood and
stale cunt. She thrilled at the nasty flavor, knowing she was absorbing
all of Cindy’s girlish fluids.
“That’s so sexy, Katrina!” Karen said as she watched the tampon
string dangle from the woman’s lips. The teenagers tongue was swiping
quickly across her lips and her finger was working furiously at her own
pussy.
Katrina inserted two fingers deeply into Cindy, reaching back to
the depths of her cunt. She massaged at the entrance of her uterus,
stimulating it and causing it to flow even more. Cindy’s breasts began
to heave as erotic sensations traveled from her cunt into her belly and
back again. The girl’s vaginal walls began producing large amounts of
lubrication and her opening increased in size.
“Oh! Dear Jesus! I’ve never felt…oh!” Cindy gasped. “God! It’s
goooooood! So gooooooooood!” Her breathing became rapid and her legs
began to shake uncontrollably as blood and cunt juice drooled from her,
rolling across her perineum and onto her puckering ass.
Katrina used her other hand to spread the mixture around,
completely covering her bald vulva with it. She painted Cindy’s sex
from top to bottom turning her skin a lewd shade of crimson.
Pulling the tampon from her mouth, she used it to swab the pasty
mess all around Cindy’s shithole, even using a finger to push some of
the nasty mess into her rectum.
“If one of you girls will suck her clit now we can really give
her a good orgasm” Katrina said looking from Gretchen to Karen.
Karen jumped up quickly and planted her mouth on her friend’s
clit, sucking and licking with passion at Cindy’s pleasure nub.
Cindy’s body began to shake involuntarily and the girl started
spewing vile, obscene phrases as her orgasm began to race through her.
“Shit! Fuck! Suck my cunt you whore bitches! Suck my nasty,
bleeding fuckhole! Shit! Fuck! Here I cum!” she screamed.
Suddenly Cindy’s sex erupted into a nerve shattering orgasm.
Electrical jolts of pleasure shot from deep inside of her and exploded
into her cunt. Her usually tight love hole spread open widely as her
urethra extended outward. The little pisshole flare and a gush of hot
piss shot out, splashing into Katrina’s face. A second gush of yellow
waste spit outwards but Katrina had her mouth open and waiting and it
shot straight into the back of her throat.
“Ahhhhhhhhh! Fuuuuuuuck!” screamed Cindy as she bucked her hips
wildly.
Karen was having a difficult time maintaining her lip lock on
Cindy’s clit but she held on for dear life, sucking and licking at it
with shear delight.
Cindy’s orgasm tore through her for several long minutes and she
thought she would go crazy from the pleasure of it. As the sensations
started to decrease in intensity she felt an unusual pressure in her
belly. The pressure built as her orgasm waned and then suddenly she
felt severe pressure on her asshole. She pushed downward and her
shithole puckered outward.
Katrina saw Cindy’s sphincter bulge and she leaned down to lick
at it. When the girl pushed down a second time a wet, brown wad of shit
fired from her rectum into Katrina’s waiting mouth. Katrina swallowed
quickly and waited for the next one, still probing Cindy’s womanhood
with her fingers.
Cindy was gasping for breath, her body racked with pleasure. She
put her hands on Karen’s head and held her in place while she gyrated
her hips upward.
“Do it again! Do it again! Make me cum again. Please!” Cindy
pleaded breathlessly.
Katrina and Karen worked diligently at Cindy bringing her once
again to a fever pitch of excitement. Katrina’s tongue had squirreled
its way up into Cindy’s shit coated scat tunnel and was waggling about
inside in search of her nasty food.
“Oh! Suck my tits, Gretchen! PLEASE SUCK MY TITS!” Cindy begged
loudly.
Gretchen grinned as she climbed onto the table. She placed her
mouth over her friends left breast and began to suck deeply on it,
swirling her tongue across the taught and swollen nipple. The added
sensation of having her tit sucked sent Cindy reeling into throes of
delirious ecstasy once again. Again she felt pressure building in her
abdomen as she rose to a vibrating orgasm. Her body shook with
climactic tremors and then suddenly everything released.
Katrina’s tongue was forced from Cindy’s rectum as a thick brown
turd slid from her asshole and landed on the table. Hot, golden piss
shot from her urethra in rapid short spurts while menstrual blood and
cunt cream spilled from her open fuck hole.
Cindy’s mouth hung open in a silent scream of ecstasy, her eyes
wide in disbelief at the amount of pleasure she was experiencing. As
the discharge of blood, cum, piss and shit subsided so did Cindy’s
pleasure. Soon she was mumbling incoherently as small goblets of shit
dropped from her ass.
Katrina pushed her face into the disgusting mess on the table,
hungrily devouring it as if it were a gourmet meal. Gretchen and Karen
pulled their mouths from their friend’s body and watched as Katrina
feasted on the pile of muck.
It took a full fifteen minutes for Katrina to devour the
remainder of the bodily solids and fluids that lay on the table and
when she finished her face was coated in a thick slime of brown, red
and yellow goop.
“Anybody want to kiss me?” Katrina joked and everyone laughed.
from asstr.org
thanks for taking over this comment section with this disgusting story.
Nice cringe story
Looking for a bottom trap or twink. Kik me at IPraisePorn.
trust me, next time you check Shadbase dot com, your little fuckin nuts are gonna start quAkIn buddy. your little N U T S are gonna be QuaKiNg. EAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH EHAHHHHHHHHH EAHHHHH YOURE GONNE SHOOT CUM, YOURE GONNA SHOOT CUM, YOURE GONNA SHOOT H O T C U M, EVERY WHERE and thats a promise. thats a promise folks. youre gonna shoot fuckin hot jizz all over your computer all over your mechanical keyboard and your razor mouse i swear to god that you will bust a nut the next time you drop by this website *CLAP* thats my money back garuntee if you dont bust a nut the next time you play go fuck yourself.
I spurted fats wads just readig this
Cringe
femboys add makko20 on kik
Îmi bag pula în Dorina.
Bag pula-n Dorina.
ATTENTION DEGENERATES: I have Shad locked in my basement. If you want him freed, you must send to me 10 delicious brown femboys! No less! This is a very humble request, I think — surely your smut comics are worth 10 delicious brown femboys?!? If I do not receive delivery of the femboys within five days, I will be forced to make Shad view every episode of Guy Fieri’s “Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives” NONSTOP until he reaches Flavortown!
Hey, I wanna see big cocks, abuse me please, no room for nice guys. Or any mistresses wanna use me as a toy. Kik: idktbh777
I’m laughing my ass off reading the comments keep it up retards
No, you
These comments make my day so i should be thanking you miserable individuals for making me laugh
Edge.
remember when shad used to add 1 awesome pic everyday?
good times
Femboys or fartslaves add jwiiyi on kik
Why isn’t shad active on anything anymore, does anyone have info?
2ded
I believe good things are worth of time, so as art.
I think you need to take some advice from “the sabu” he makes such moreally detailed drawing’s and yet he uploads way more frequently. It’s sad to not see anything for almost a month. 😧
Don’t compare that trash to shadman
This comment section is full of a of racist, anti-Semitic nazis and fucked up people who just go out of their way to come on to this site just to tell a kinky/ edged/ rogues artist to “kill himself”. What’s wrong with you people?
It’s the internet you soft brain Troglodyte. Get use to it or turn off your internet.
I thought people being actual nazis on this PORN website was just a edgy joke. Clearly this comment section proves otherwise.
hail h!tler lol
Its Sieg Hail
it’s heil you fucking downie
1488, death to israel.
If it was within my power, i’d abolish gay marriage, female rights, and racial integration. I’d also defund the welfare state, expel all jews from the west and cease all humanitarian aid to the third world, and subsidize white births in the same way the reproduction of welfare-dependeny ghetto nignogs is subsidized currently by the american government
Nothing about this comment is satirical or ironic or larping; it is 100% genuine.
Prolly why you aren’t in power lol
Fag
Shad, take your time :)
Friendly reminder everyone, Jews are a race before they’re a religion. Any attempt to convince you otherwise is a ploy to let them sink their parasitic claws into your country. Israel performs blood tests and genome sequencing before they let immigrants apply for citizenship.
We are here to look at porn not your political bullshit
Jews are an ethnicity not a race
I don’t care about jews, I am horny
Hi horny, I’m dad
Just like Jlullaby did.
Rest in piece
i hope you aren’t dead or anything
EL esta bien ? Ya pasó mucho tiempo desde su último post.. no abra enfermado ? :(
Shut up taco bell
Goddamn I’d hate to have such toxic fans, take all the time you need Shad
Comin up to the anniversary now
Shad, I love you, and these fuckers honestly piss me off the way they comment about you.
Go cry in a ditch fag
it’s funny that you call people a f*g when you’re on a porn website where the guy draws girls with dicks
If you say so fag
fag
yikes
Simping for shad man yikes
You’re….. really fucking gay dude
You’re…… really fucking gay dude
You’re… really fucking gay dude
I swear to god I hope he is dead. I really mean it.
Why are you here
Edge lord
Edgelord v2
Your art is repugnant, and with its repugnance it attracts the flies that feast upon it. It is a shame that such skilled hands are wasted on a deviant like you. Kill yourself
Still admits skilled hands. Don’t lie, you were titillated too.
The repugnance, how very very unPC, and the pit of fire and trash known as the comments section. These are my personal favorite parts of shadbase.
-Anonymous
I have to agree with Anonymous
which one
Tymeir douglas
Literal edgelord
i’m gonna call it the shad-cycle
shad updload some new pictures——> shad starts posting less pictures—–> he start a new masterpiece(like starfire on heat)—–> he starts postin even less pictures——> he stops posting new stuff for about 3/4 weeks or more—–> everyone assumes shad meet his tragical end—–> he comes back with some new stuff
then repeat.
like, really, this is the 3th or 4th time this shit is happening again.
3th? Is that near obamas 57 states?
Remember that he doesn’t finish a series if we like it xDD
Will he ever post again, come back next month to find out
Can someone post mein kampf English please Really need it thxs
NATION AND RACE
THERE are some truths which are so obvious that for this very reason they are not seen or at least not recognized by ordinary people. They sometimes pass by such truisms as though blind and are most astonished when someone suddenly discovers what everyone really ought to know. Columbus’s eggs lie around by the hundreds of thousands, but Columbuses are met with less frequently.
Thus men without exception wander about in the garden of Nature; they imagine that they know practically everything and yet with few exceptions pass blindly by one of the most patent principles of Nature’s rule: the inner segregation of the species of all living beings on this earth.
Even the most superficial observation shows that Nature’s restricted form of propagation and increase is an almost rigid basic law of all the innumerable forms of expression of her vital urge. Every animal mates only with a member of the same species. The titmouse seeks the titmouse, the finch the finch, the stork the stork, the field mouse the field mouse, the dormouse the dormouse, the wolf the she-wolf, etc.
Only unusual circumstances can change this, primarily the compulsion of captivity or any other cause that makes it impossible to mate within the same species. But then Nature begins to resist this with all possible means, and her most visible protest consists either in refusing further capacity for propagation to bastards or in limiting the fertility of later offspring; in most cases, however, she takes away the power of resistance to disease or hostile attacks.
This is only too natural.
Any crossing of two beings not at exactly the same level produces a medium between the level of the two parents. This means: the offspring will probably stand higher than the racially lower parent, but not as high as the higher one. Consequently, it will later succumb in the struggle against the higher level. Such mating is contrary to the will of Nature for a higher breeding of all life. The precondition for this does not lie in associating superior and inferior, but in the total victory of the former. The stronger must dominate and not blend with the weaker, thus sacrificing his own greatness. Only the born weakling can view this as cruel, but he after all is only a weak and limited man; for if this law did not prevail, any conceivable higher development of organic living beings would be unthinkable.
The consequence of this racial purity, universally valid in Nature, is not only the sharp outward delimitation of the various races, but their uniform character in themselves. The fox is always a fox, the goose a goose, the tiger a tiger, etc., and the difference can lie at most in the varying measure of force, strength, intelligence, dexterity, endurance, etc., of the individual specimens. But you will never find a fox who in his inner attitude might, for example, show humanitarian tendencies toward geese, as similarly there is no cat with a friendly inclination toward mice.
Therefore, here, too, the struggle among themselves arises less from inner aversion than from hunger and love. In both cases, Nature looks on calmly, with satisfaction, in fact. In the struggle for daily bread all those who are weak and sickly or less determined succumb, while the struggle of the males for the female grants the right or opportunity to propagate only to the healthiest. And struggle is always a means for improving a species’ health and power of resistance and, therefore, a cause of its higher development.
If the process were different, all further and higher development would cease and the opposite would occur. For, since the inferior always predominates numerically over the best, if both had the same possibility of preserving life and propagating, the inferior would multiply so much more rapidly that in the end the best would inevitably be driven into the background, unless a correction of this state of affairs were undertaken. Nature does just this by subjecting the weaker part to such severe living conditions that by them alone the number is limited, and by not permitting the remainder to increase promiscuously, but making a new and ruthless choice according to strength and health.
No more than Nature desires the mating of weaker with stronger individuals, even less does she desire the blending of a higher with a lower race, since, if she did, her whole work of higher breeding, over perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, night be ruined with one blow.
Historical experience offers countless proofs of this. It shows with terrifying clarity that in every mingling of Aryan blood with that of lower peoples the result was the end of the cultured people. North America, whose population consists in by far the largest part of Germanic elements who mixed but little with the lower colored peoples, shows a different humanity and culture from Central and South America, where the predominantly Latin immigrants often mixed with the aborigines on a large scale. By this one example, we can clearly and distinctly recognize the effect of racial mixture. The Germanic inhabitant of the American continent, who has remained racially pure and unmixed, rose to be master of the continent; he will remain the master as long as he does not fall a victim to defilement of the blood.
The result of all racial crossing is therefore in brief always the following:
(a) Lowering of the level of the higher race;
(b) Physical and intellectual regression and hence the ……beginning of a slowly but surely progressing sickness.
To bring about such a development is, then, nothing else but to sin against the will of the eternal creator.
And as a sin this act is rewarded.
When man attempts to rebel against the iron logic of Nature, he comes into struggle with the principles to which he himself owes his existence as a man. And this attack must lead to his own doom.
Here, of course, we encounter the objection of the modern pacifist, as truly Jewish in its effrontery as it is stupid! ‘Man’s role is to overcome Nature!’
Millions thoughtlessly parrot this Jewish nonsense and end up by really imagining that they themselves represent a kind of conqueror of Nature; though in this they dispose of no other weapon than an idea, and at that such a miserable one, that if it were true no world at all would be conceivable
But quite aside from the fact that man has never yet conquered Nature in anything, but at most has caught hold of and tried to lift one or another corner of her immense gigantic veil of eternal riddles and secrets, that in reality he invents nothing but only discovers everything, that he does not dominate Nature, but has only risen on the basis of his knowledge of various laws and secrets of Nature to be lord over those other living creatures who lack this knowledge – quite aside from all this, an idea cannot overcome the preconditions for the development and being of humanity, since the idea itself depends only on man. Without human beings there is no human idea in this world, therefore the idea as such is always conditioned by the presence of human beings and hence of all the laws which created the precondition for their existence.
And not only that! Certain ideas are even tied up with certain men. This applies most of all to those ideas whose content originates, not in an exact scientific truth, but in the world of emotion, or, as it is so beautifully and clearly expressed today, reflects an ‘inner experience.’ All these ideas, which have nothing to do with cold logic as such, but represent only pure expressions of feeling, ethical conceptions, etc., are chained to the existence of men, to whose intellectual imagination and creative power they owe their existence. Precisely in this case the preservation of these definite races and men is the precondition for the existence of these ideas. Anyone, for example, who really desired the victory of the pacifistic idea in this world with all his heart would have to fight with all the means at his disposal for the conquest of the world by the Germans; for, if the opposite should occur, the last pacifist would die out with the last German, since the rest of the world has never fallen so deeply as our own people, unfortunately, has for this nonsense so contrary to Nature and reason. Then, if we were serious, whether we liked it or not, we would have to wage wars in order to arrive at pacifism. This and nothing else was what Wilson, the American world savior, intended, or so at least our German visionaries believed – and thereby his purpose was fulfilled.
In actual fact the pacifistic-humane idea is perfectly all right perhaps when the highest type of man has previously conquered and subjected the world to an extent that makes him the sole ruler of this earth. Then this idea lacks the power of producing evil effects in exact proportion as its practical application becomes rare and finally impossible. Therefore, first struggle and then we shall see what can be done. Otherwise mankind has passed the high point of its development and the end is not the domination of any ethical idea but barbarism and consequently chaos. At this point someone or other may laugh, but this planet once moved through the ether for millions of years without human beings and it can do so again some day if men forget that they owe their higher existence, not to the ideas of a few crazy ideologists, but to the knowledge and ruthless application of Nature’s stern and rigid laws.
Everything we admire on this earth today – science and art, technology and inventions – is only the creative product of a few peoples and originally perhaps of one race. On them depends the existence of this whole culture. If they perish, the beauty of this earth will sink into the grave with them.
However much the soil, for example, can influence men, the result of the influence will always be different depending on the races in question. The low fertility of a living space may spur the one race to the highest achievements; in others it will only be the cause of bitterest poverty and final undernourishment with all its consequences. The inner nature of peoples is always determining for the manner in which outward influences will be effective. What leads the one to starvation trains the other to hard work.
All great cultures of the past perished only because the originally creative race died out from blood poisoning.
The ultimate cause of such a decline was their forgetting that all culture depends on men and not conversely; hence that to preserve a certain culture the man who creates it must be preserved. This preservation is bound up with the rigid law of necessity and the right to victory of the best and stronger in this world.
Those who want to live, let them fight, and those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live.
Even if this were hard – that is how it is ! Assuredly, however by far the harder fate is that which strikes the man who thinks he can overcome Nature, but in the last analysis only mocks her. Distress, misfortune, and diseases are her answer.
The man who misjudges and disregards the racial laws actually forfeits the happiness that seems destined to be his. He thwarts the triumphal march of the best race and hence also the precondition for all human progress, and remains, in consequence burdened with all the sensibility of man, in the animal realm of helpless misery.
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It is idle to argue which race or races were the original representative of human culture and hence the real founders of all that we sum up under the word ‘humanity.’ It is simpler to raise this question with regard to the present, and here an easy, clear answer results. All the human culture, all the results of art, science, and technology that we see before us today, are almost exclusively the creative product of the Aryan. This very fact admits of the not unfounded inference that he alone was the founder of all higher humanity, therefore representing the prototype of all that we understand by the word ‘man.’ He is the Prometheus of mankind from whose bright forehead the divine spark of genius has sprung at all times, forever kindling anew that fire of knowledge which illumined the night of silent mysteries and thus caused man to climb the path to mastery over the other beings of this earth. Exclude him – and perhaps after a few thousand years darkness will again descend on the earth, human culture will pass, and the world turn to a desert.
If we were to divide mankind into three groups, the founders of culture, the bearers of culture, the destroyers of culture, only the Aryan could be considered as the representative of the first group. From him originate the foundations and walls of all human creation, and only the outward form and color are determined by the changing traits of character of the various peoples. He provides the mightiest building stones and plans for all human progress and only the execution corresponds to the nature of the varying men and races. In a few decades, for example, the entire east of Asia will possess a culture whose ultimate foundation will be Hellenic spirit and Germanic technology, just as much as in Europe. Only the outward form – in part at least – will bear the features of Asiatic character. It is not true, as some people think, that Japan adds European technology to its culture; no, European science and technology are trimmed with Japanese characteristics. The foundation of actual life is no longer the special Japanese culture, although it determines the color of life – because outwardly, in consequence of its inner difference, it is more conspicuous to the European – but the gigantic scientific-technical achievements of Europe and America; that is, of Aryan peoples. Only on the basis of these achievements can the Orient follow general human progress. They furnish the basis of the struggle for daily bread, create weapons and implements for it, and only the outward form is gradually adapted to Japanese character.
If beginning today all further Aryan influence on Japan should stop, assuming that Europe and America should perish, Japan’s present rise in science and technology might continue for a short time; but even in a few years the well would dry up, the Japanese special character would gain, but the present culture would freeze and sink back into the slumber from which it was awakened seven decades ago by the wave of Aryan culture. Therefore, just as the present Japanese development owes its life to Aryan origin, long ago in the gray past foreign influence and foreign spirit awakened the Japanese culture of that time. The best proof of this is furnished by the fact of its subsequent sclerosis and total petrifaction. This can occur in a people only when the original creative racial nucleus has been lost, or if the external influence which furnished the impetus and the material for the first development in the cultural field was later lacking. But if it is established that a people receives the most essential basic materials of its culture from foreign races, that it assimilates and adapts them, and that then, if further external influence is lacking, it rigidifies again and again, such a race may be designated as ‘culture-bearing,’ but never as ‘culture-creating.’ An examination of the various peoples from this standpoint points to the fact that practically none of them were originally culture-founding, but almost always culture-bearing.
Approximately the following picture of their development always results:
Aryan races – often absurdly small numerically – subject foreign peoples, and then, stimulated by the special living conditions of the new territory (fertility, climatic conditions, etc.) and assisted by the multitude of lower-type beings standing at their disposal as helpers, develop the intellectual and organizational capacities dormant within them. Often in a few millenniums or even centuries they create cultures which originally bear all the inner characteristics of their nature, adapted to the above-indicated special qualities of the soil and subjected beings. In the end, however, the conquerors transgress against the principle of blood purity, to which they had first adhered; they begin to mix with the subjugated inhabitants and thus end their own existence; for the fall of man in paradise has always been followed by his expulsion.
After a thousand years and more, the last visible trace of the former master people is often seen in the lighter skin color which its blood left behind in the subjugated race, and in a petrified culture which it had originally created. For, once the actual and spiritual conqueror lost himself in the blood of the subjected people, the fuel for the torch of human progress was lost! Just as, through the blood of the former masters, the color preserved a feeble gleam in their memory, likewise the night of cultural life is gently illumined by the remaining creations of the former light-bringers. They shine through all the returned barbarism and too often inspire the thoughtless observer of the moment with the opinion that he beholds the picture of the present people before him, whereas he is only gazing into the mirror of the past.
It is then possible that such a people will a second time, or even more often in the course of its history, come into contact with the race of those who once brought it culture, and the memory of former encounters will not necessarily be present. Unconsciously the remnant of the former master blood will turn toward the new arrival, and what was first possible only by compulsion can now succeed through the people’s own will. A new cultural wave makes its entrance and continues until those who have brought it are again submerged in the blood of foreign peoples.
It will be the task of a future cultural and world history to carry on researches in this light and not to stifle in the rendition of external facts, as is so often, unfortunately, the case with our present historical science.
This mere sketch of the development of ‘culture-bearing’ nations gives a picture of the growth, of the activity, and – the decline – of the true culture-founders of this earth, the Aryans themselves.
As in daily life the so-called genius requires a special cause, indeed, often a positive impetus, to make him shine, likewise the genius-race in the life of peoples. In the monotony of everyday life even significant men often seem insignificant, hardly rising above the average of their environment; as soon, however, as they are approached by a situation in which others lose hope or go astray, the genius rises manifestly from the inconspicuous average child, not seldom to the amazement of all those who had hitherto seen him in the pettiness of bourgeois life – and that is why the prophet seldom has any honor in his own country. Nowhere have we better occasion to observe this than in war. From apparently harmless children, in difficult hours when others lose hope, suddenly heroes shoot up with death-defying determination and an icy cool presence of mind. If this hour of trial had not come, hardly anyone would ever have guessed that a young hero was hidden in this beardless boy. It nearly always takes some stimulus to bring the genius on the scene. The hammer-stroke of Fate which throws one man to the ground suddenly strikes steel in another, and when the shell of everyday life is broken, the previously hidden kernel lies open before the eyes of the astonished world. The world then resists and does not want to believe that the type which is apparently identical with it is suddenly a very different being; a process which is repeated with every eminent son of man.
Though an inventor, for example, establishes his fame only on the day of his invention, it is a mistake to think that genius as such entered into the man only at this hour – the spark of genius exists in the brain of the truly creative man from the hour of his birth. True genius is always inborn and never cultivated, let alone learned.
As already emphasized, this applies not only to the individual man but also to the race. Creatively active peoples always have a fundamental creative gift, even if it should not be recognizable to the eyes of superficial observers. Here, too, outward recognition is possible only in consequence of accomplished deeds, since the rest of the world is not capable of recognizing genius in itself, but sees only its visible manifestations in the form of inventions, discoveries, buildings, pictures, etc.; here again it often takes a long time before the world can fight its way through to this knowledge. Just as in the life of the outstanding individual, genius or extraordinary ability strives for practical realization only when spurred on by special occasions, likewise in the life of nations the creative forces and capacities which are present can often be exploited only when definite preconditions invite.
We see this most distinctly in connection with the race which has been and is the bearer of human cultural development – the Aryans. As soon as Fate leads them toward special conditions, their latent abilities begin to develop in a more and more rapid sequence and to mold themselves into tangible forms. The cultures which they found in such cases are nearly always decisively determined by the existing soil, the given climate, and – the subjected people. This last item, to be sure, is almost the most decisive. The more primitive the technical foundations for a cultural activity, the more necessary is the presence of human helpers who, organizationally assembled and employed, must replace the force of the machine. Without this possibility of using lower human beings, the Aryan would never have been able to take his first steps toward his future culture; just as without the help of various suitable beasts which he knew how to tame, he would not have arrived at a technology which is now gradually permitting him to do without these beasts. The saying, ‘The Moor has worked off his debt, the Moor can go,’ unfortunately has only too deep a meaning. For thousands of years the horse had to serve man and help him lay the foundations of a development which now, in consequence of the motor car, is making the horse superfluous. In a few years his activity trill have ceased, but without his previous collaboration man might have had a hard time getting where he is today.
Thus, for the formation of higher cultures the existence of lower human types was one of the most essential preconditions, since they alone were able to compensate for the lack of technical aids without which a higher development is not conceivable. It is certain that the first culture of humanity was based less on the tamed animal than on the use of lower human beings.
Only after the enslavement of subjected races did the same fate strike beasts, and not the other way around, as some people would like to think. For first the conquered warrior drew the plow – and only after him the horse. Only pacifistic fools can regard this as a sign of human depravity, failing to realize that this development had to take place in order to reach the point where today these sky-pilots could force their drivel on the world.
The progress of humanity is like climbing an endless ladder; it is impossible to climb higher without first taking the lower steps. Thus, the Aryan had to take the road to which reality directed him and not the one that would appeal to the imagination of a modern pacifist. The road of reality is hard and difficult, but in the end it leads where our friend would like to bring humanity by dreaming, but unfortunately removes more than bringing it
Hence it is no accident that the first cultures arose in places where the Aryan, in his encounters with lower peoples, subjugated them and bent them to his will. They then became the first technical instrument in the service of a developing culture.
Thus, the road which the Aryan had to take was clearly marked out As a conqueror he subjected the lower beings and regulated their practical activity under his command, according to his will and for his aims. But in directing them to a useful, though arduous activity, he not only spared the life of those he subjected; perhaps he gave them a fate that was better than their previous so-called ‘freedom.’ As long as he ruthlessly upheld the master attitude, not only did he really remain master, but also the preserver and increaser of culture. For culture was based exclusively on his abilities and hence on his actual survival. As soon as the subjected people began to raise themselves up and probably approached the conqueror in language, the sharp dividing wall between master and servant fell. The Aryan gave up the purity of his blood and, therefore, lost his sojourn in the paradise which he had made for himself. He became submerged in the racial mixture, and gradually, more and more, lost his cultural capacity, until at last, not only mentally but also physically, he began to resemble the subjected aborigines more than his own ancestors. For a time he could live on the existing cultural benefits, but then petrifaction set in and he fell a prey to oblivion.
Thus cultures and empires collapsed to make place for new formations.
Blood mixture and the resultant drop in the racial level is the sole cause of the dying out of old cultures; for men do not perish as a result of lost wars, but by the loss of that force of resistance which is contained only in pure blood.
All who are not of good race in this world are chaff.
And all occurrences in world history are only the expression of the races’ instinct of self-preservation, in the good or bad sense.
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The question of the inner causes of the Aryan’s importance can be answered to the effect that they are to be sought less in a natural instinct of self-preservation than in the special type of its expression. The will to live, subjectively viewed, is everywhere equal and different only in the form of its actual expression. In the most primitive living creatures the instinct of self-preservation does not go beyond concern for their own ego. Egoism, as we designate this urge, goes so far that it even embraces time; the moment itself claims everything, granting nothing to the coming hours. In this condition the animal lives only for himself, seeks food only for his present hunger, and fights only for his own life. As long as the instinct of self-preservation expresses itself in this way, every basis is lacking for the formation of a group, even the most primitive form of family. Even a community between male and female beyond pure mating, demands an extension of the instinct of self-preservation, since concern and struggle for the ego are now directed toward the second party; the male sometimes seeks food for the female, too, but for the most part both seek nourishment for the young. Nearly always one comes to the defense of the other, and thus the first, though infinitely simple, forms of a sense of sacrifice result. As soon as this sense extends beyond the narrow limits of the family, the basis for the formation of larger organisms and finally formal states is created.
In the lowest peoples of the earth this quality is present only to a very slight extent, so that often they do not go beyond the formation of the family. The greater the readiness to subordinate purely personal interests, the higher rises the ability to establish comprehensive communities.
This self-sacrificing will to give one’s personal labor and if necessary one’s own life for others is most strongly developed in the Aryan. The Aryan is not greatest in his mental qualities as such, but in the extent of his willingness to put all his abilities in the service of the community. In him the instinct of self-preservation has reached the noblest form, since he willingly subordinates his own ego to the life of the community and, if the hour demands, even sacrifices it.
Not in his intellectual gifts lies the source of the Aryan’s capacity for creating and building culture. If he had just this alone, he could only act destructively, in no case could he organize; for the innermost essence of all organization requires that the individual renounce putting forward his personal opinion and interests and sacrifice both in favor of a larger group. Only byway of this general community does he again recover his share. Now, for example, he no longer works directly for himself, but with his activity articulates himself with the community, not only for his own advantage, but for the advantage of all. The most wonderful elucidation of this attitude is provided by his word ‘work,’ by which he does not mean an activity for maintaining life in itself, but exclusively a creative effort that does not conflict with the interests of the community. Otherwise he designates human activity, in so far as it serves the instinct of self-preservation without consideration for his fellow men, as theft, usury, robbery, burglary, etc.
This state of mind, which subordinates the interests of the ego to the conservation of the community, is really the first premise for every truly human culture. From it alone can arise all the great works of mankind, which bring the founder little reward, but the richest blessings to posterity. Yes from it alone can we understand how so many are able to bear up faithfully under a scanty life which imposes on them nothing but poverty and frugality, but gives the community the foundations of its existence. Every worker, every peasant, every inventor, official, etc., who works without ever being able to achieve any happiness or prosperity for himself, is a representative of this lofty idea, even if the deeper meaning of his activity remains hidden in him.
What applies to work as the foundation of human sustenance and all human progress is true to an even greater degree for the defense of man and his culture. In giving one’s own life for the existence of the community lies the crown of all sense of sacrifice. It is this alone that prevents what human hands have built from being overthrown by human hands or destroyed bat Nature.
Our own German language possesses a word which magnificently designates this kind of activity: Pflichterfüllung (fulfillment of duty); it means not to be self-sufficient but to serve the community.
The basic attitude from which such activity arises, we call – to distinguish it from egoism and selfishness – idealism. By this we understand only the individual’s capacity to make sacrifices for the community, for his fellow men.
How necessary it is to keep realizing that idealism does not represent a superfluous expression of emotion, but that in truth it has been, is, and will be, the premise for what we designate as human culture, yes, that it alone created the concept of ‘man’ It is to this inner attitude that the Aryan owes his position in this world, and to it the world owes man; for it alone formed from pure spirit the creative force which, by a unique pairing of the brutal fist and the intellectual genius, created the monuments of human culture.
Without his idealistic attitude all, even the most dazzling faculties of the intellect, would remain mere intellect as such
outward appearance without inner value, and never creative force.
But, since true idealism is nothing but the subordination of the interests and life of the individual to the community, and this in turn is the precondition for the creation of organizational forms of all kinds, it corresponds in its innermost depths to the ultimate will of Nature. It alone leads men to voluntary recognition of the privilege of force and strength, and thus makes them into a dust particle of that order which shapes and forms the whole universe.
The purest idealism is unconsciously equivalent to the deepest knowledge.
How correct this is, and how little true idealism has to do with playful flights of the imagination, can be seen at once if we let the unspoiled child, a healthy boy, for example, judge. The same boy who feels like throwing up when he hears the tirades of a pacifist ‘idealist’ is ready to give his young life for the ideal of his nationality.
Here the instinct of knowledge unconsciously obeys the deeper necessity of the preservation of the species, if necessary at the cost of the individual, and protests against the visions of the pacifist windbag who in reality is nothing but a cowardly, though camouflaged, egoist, transgressing the laws of development; for development requires willingness on the part of the individual to sacrifice himself for the community, and not the sickly imaginings of cowardly know-it-alls and critics of Nature.
Especially, therefore, at times when the ideal attitude threatens to disappear, we can at once recognize a diminution of that force which forms the community and thus creates the premises of culture. As soon as egoism becomes the ruler of a people, the bands of order are loosened and in the chase after their own happiness men fall from heaven into a real hell.
Yes, even posterity forgets the men who have only served their own advantage and praises the heroes who have renounced their own happiness.
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The mightiest counterpart to the Aryan is represented by the Jew. In hardly any people in the world is the instinct of self-preservation developed more strongly than in the so-called ‘chosen.’ Of this, the mere fact of the survival of this race may be considered the best proof. Where is the people which in the last two thousand years has been exposed to so slight changes of inner disposition, character, etc., as the Jewish people? What people, finally, has gone through greater upheavals than this one – and nevertheless issued from the mightiest catastrophes of mankind unchanged? What an infinitely tough will to live and preserve the species speaks from these facts !
The mental qualities of the Jew have been schooled in the course of many centuries. Today he passes as ‘smart,’ and this in a certain sense he has been at all times. But his intelligence is not the result of his own development, but of visual instruction through foreigners. For the human mind cannot climb to the top without steps; for every step upward he needs the foundation of the past, and this in the comprehensive sense in which it can be revealed only in general culture. All thinking is based only in small part on man’s own knowledge, and mostly on the experience of the time that has preceded. The general cultural level provides the individual man, without his noticing it as a rule, with such a profusion of preliminary knowledge that, thus armed, he can more easily take further steps of his own. The boy of today, for example, grows up among a truly vast number of technical acquisitions of the last centuries, so that he takes for granted and no longer pays attention to much that a hundred years ago was a riddle to even the greatest minds, although for following and understanding our progress in the field in question it is of decisive importance to him. If a very genius from the twenties of the past century should suddenly leave his grave today, it would be harder for him even intellectually to find his way in the present era than for an average boy of fifteen today. For he would lack all the infinite preliminary education which our present contemporary unconsciously, so to speak, assimilates while growing up amidst the manifestations of our present general civilization.
Since the Jew – for reasons which will at once become apparent – was never in possession of a culture of his own, the foundations of his intellectual work were always provided by others. His intellect at all times developed through the cultural world surrounding him.
The reverse process never took place.
For if the Jewish people’s instinct of self-preservation is not smaller but larger than that of other peoples, if his intellectual faculties can easily arouse the impression that they are equal to the intellectual gifts of other races, he lacks completely the most essential requirement for a cultured people, the idealistic attitude.
In the Jewish people the will to self-sacrifice does not go beyond the individual’s naked instinct of self-preservation. Their apparently great sense of solidarity is based on the very primitive herd instinct that is seen in many other living creatures in this world. It is a noteworthy fact that the herd instinct leads to mutual support only as long as a common danger makes this seem useful or inevitable. The same pack of wolves which has just fallen on its prey together disintegrates when hunger abates into its individual beasts. The same is true of horses which try to defend themselves against an assailant in a body, but scatter again as soon as the danger is past.
It is similar with the Jew. His sense of sacrifice is only apparent. It exists only as long as the existence of the individual makes it absolutely necessary. However, as soon as the common enemy is conquered, the danger threatening all averted and the booty hidden, the apparent harmony of the Jews among themselves ceases, again making way for their old causal tendencies. The Jew is only united when a common danger forces him to be or a common booty entices him; if these two grounds are lacking, the qualities of the crassest egoism come into their own, and in the twinkling of an eye the united people turns into a horde of rats, fighting bloodily among themselves.
If the Jews were alone in this world, they would stifle in filth and offal; they would try to get ahead of one another in hate-filled struggle and exterminate one another, in so far as the absolute absence of all sense of self-sacrifice, expressing itself in their cowardice, did not turn battle into comedy here too.
So it is absolutely wrong to infer any ideal sense of sacrifice in the Jews from the fact that they stand together in struggle, or, better expressed, in the plundering of their fellow men.
Here again the Jew is led by nothing but the naked egoism of the individual.
That is why the Jewish state – which should be the living organism for preserving and increasing a race – is completely unlimited as to territory. For a state formation to have a definite spatial setting always presupposes an idealistic attitude on the part of the state-race, and especially a correct interpretation of the concept of work. In the exact measure in which this attitude is lacking, any attempt at forming, even of preserving, a spatially delimited state fails. And thus the basis on which alone culture can arise is lacking.
Hence the Jewish people, despite all apparent intellectual qualities, is without any true culture, and especially without any culture of its own. For what sham culture the Jew today possesses is the property of other peoples, and for the most part it is ruined in his hands.
In judging the Jewish people’s attitude on the question of human culture, the most essential characteristic we must always bear in mind is that there has never been a Jewish art and accordingly there is none today either; that above all the two queens of all the arts, architecture and music, owe nothing original to the Jews. What they do accomplish in the field of art is either patchwork or intellectual theft. Thus, the Jew lacks those qualities which distinguish the races that are creative and hence culturally blessed.
To what an extent the Jew takes over foreign culture, imitating or rather ruining it, can be seen from the fact that he is mostly found in the art which seems to require least original invention, the art of acting. But even here, in reality, he is only a ‘ juggler,’ or rather an ape; for even here he lacks the last touch that is required for real greatness; even here he is not the creative genius, but a superficial imitator, and all the twists and tricks that he uses are powerless to conceal the inner lifelessness of his creative gift. Here the Jewish press most lovingly helps him along by raising such a roar of hosannahs about even the most mediocre bungler, just so long as he is a Jew, that the rest of the world actually ends up by thinking that they have an artist before them, while in truth it is only a pitiful comedian.
No, the Jew possesses no culture-creating force of any sort, since the idealism, without which there is no true higher development of man, is not present in him and never was present. Hence his intellect will never have a constructive effect, but will be destructive, and in very rare cases perhaps will at most be stimulating, but then as the prototype of the ‘force which always wants evil and nevertheless creates good.’ Not through him does any progress of mankind occur, but in spite of him.
Since the Jew never possessed a state with definite territorial limits and therefore never called a culture his own, the conception arose that this was a people which should be reckoned among the ranks of the nomads. This is a fallacy as great as it is dangerous. The nomad does possess a definitely limited living space, only he does not cultivate it like a sedentary peasant, but lives from the yield of his herds with which he wanders about in his territory. The outward reason for this is to be found in the small fertility of a soil which simply does not permit of settlement. The deeper cause, however, lies in the disparity between the technical culture of an age or people and the natural poverty of a living space. There are territories in which even the Aryan is enabled only by his technology, developed in the course of more than a thousand years, to live in regular settlements, to master broad stretches of soil and obtain from it the requirements of life. If he did not possess this technology, either he would have to avoid these territories or likewise have to struggle along as a nomad in perpetual wandering, provided that his thousand-year-old education and habit of settled residence did not make this seem simply unbearable to him. We must bear in mind that in the time when the American continent was being opened up, numerous Aryans fought for their livelihood as trappers, hunters, etc., and often in larger troops with wife and children, always on the move, so that their existence was completely like that of the nomads. But as soon as their increasing number and better implements permitted them to clear the wild soil and make a stand against the natives, more and more settlements sprang up in the land.
Probably the Aryan was also first a nomad, settling in the course of time, but for that very reason he was never a Jew! No, the Jew is no nomad; for the nomad had also a definite attitude toward the concept of work which could serve as a basis for his later development in so far as the necessary intellectual premises were present. In him the basic idealistic view is present, even if in infinite dilution, hence in his whole being he may seem strange to the Aryan peoples, but not unattractive. In the Jew, however, this attitude is not at all present; for that reason he was never a nomad, but only and always a parasite in the body of other peoples. That he sometimes left his previous living space has nothing to do with his own purpose, but results from the fact that from time to time he was thrown out by the host nations he had misused. His spreading is a typical phenomenon for all parasites; he always seeks a new feeding ground for his race.
This, however, has nothing to do with nomadism, for the reason that a Jew never thinks of leaving a territory ·hat he has occupied, but remains where he is, and he sits so fast that even by force it is very hard to drive him out. His extension to ever-new countries occurs only in the moment in which certain conditions for his existence are there present, without which – unlike the nomad – he would not change his residence. He is and remains the typical parasite, a sponger who like a noxious bacillus keeps spreading as soon as a favorable medium invites him. And the effect of his existence is also like that of spongers: wherever he appears, the host people dies out after a shorter or longer period.
Thus, the Jew of all times has lived in the states of other peoples, and there formed his own state, which, to be sure, habitually sailed under the disguise of ‘religious community’ as long as outward circumstances made a complete revelation of his nature seem inadvisable. But as soon as he felt strong enough to do without the protective cloak, he always dropped the veil and suddenly became what so many of the others previously did not want to believe and see: the Jew.
The Jew’s life as a parasite in the body of other nations and states explains a characteristic which once caused Schopenhauer, as has already been mentioned, to call him the ‘great master in lying.’ Existence impels the Jew to lies and to lie perpetually, just as it compels the inhabitants of the northern countries to wear warm clothing.
His life within other peoples can only endure for any length of time if he succeeds in arousing the opinion that he is not a people but a ‘religious community,’ though of a special sort.
And this is the first great lie.
In order to carry on his existence as a parasite on other peoples, he is forced to deny his inner nature. The more intelligent the individual Jew is, the more he will succeed in this deception. Indeed, things can go so far that large parts of the host people will end by seriously believing that the Jew is really a Frenchman or an Englishman, a German or an Italian, though of a special religious faith. Especially state authorities, which always seem animated by the historical fraction of wisdom, most easily fall a victim to this infinite deception. Independent thinking sometimes seems to these circles a true sin against holy advancement, so that we may not be surprised if even today a Bavarian state ministry, for example, still has not the faintest idea that the Jews are members of a people and not of a ‘religion’ though a glance at the Jew’s own newspapers should indicate this even to the most modest mind. The Jewish Echo is not yet an official organ, of course, and consequently is unauthoritative as far as the intelligence of one of these government potentates is concerned.
The Jew has always been a people with definite racial characteristics and never a religion; only in order to get ahead he early sought for a means which could distract unpleasant attention from his person. And what would have been more expedient and at the same time more innocent than the ’embezzled’ concept of a religious community? For here, too, everything is borrowed or rather stolen. Due to his own original special nature, the Jew cannot possess a religious institution, if for no other reason because he lacks idealism in any form, and hence belief in a hereafter is absolutely foreign to him. And a religion in the Aryan sense cannot be imagined which lacks the conviction of survival after death in some form. Indeed, the Talmud is not a book to prepare a man for the hereafter, but only for a practical and profitable life in this world.
The Jewish religious doctrine consists primarily in prescriptions for keeping the blood of Jewry pure and for regulating the relation of Jews among themselves, but even more with the rest of the world; in other words, with non-Jews. But even here it is by no means ethical problems that are involved, but extremely modest economic ones. Concerning the moral value of Jewish religious instruction, there are today and have been at all times rather exhaustive studies (not by Jews; the drivel of the Jews themselves on the subject is, of course, adapted to its purpose) which make this kind of religion seem positively monstrous according to Aryan conceptions. The best characterization is provided by the product of this religious education, the Jew himself. His life is only of this world, and his spirit is inwardly as alien to true Christianity as his nature two thousand years previous was to the great founder of the new doctrine. Of course, the latter made no secret of his attitude toward the Jewish people, and when necessary he even took to the whip to drive from the temple of the Lord this adversary of all humanity, who then as always saw in religion nothing but an instrument for his business existence. In return, Christ was nailed to the cross, while our present-day party Christians debase themselves to begging for Jewish votes at elections and later try to arrange political swindles with atheistic Jewish parties – and this against their own nation.
On this first and greatest lie, that the Jews are not a race but a religion, more and more lies are based in necessary consequence. Among them is the lie with regard to the language of the Jew. For him it is not a means for expressing his thoughts, but a means for concealing them. When he speaks French, he thinks Jewish, and while he turns out German verses, in his life he only expresses the nature of his nationality. As long as the Jew has not become the master of the other peoples, he must speak their languages whether he likes it or not, but as soon as they became his slaves, they would all have to learn a universal language (Esperanto, for instance!), so that by this additional means the Jews could more easily dominate them!
To what an extent the whole existence of this people is based on a continuous lie is shown incomparably by the Protocols of the Wise Men of Zion, so infinitely hated by the Jews. They are based on a forgery, the Frankfurter Zeitung moans and screams once every week: the best proof that they are authentic. What many Jews may do unconsciously is here consciously exposed. And that is what matters. It is completely indifferent from what Jewish brain these disclosures originate; the important thing is that with positively terrifying certainty they reveal the nature and activity of the Jewish people and expose their inner contexts as well as their ultimate final aims. The best criticism applied to them, however, is reality. Anyone who examines the historical development of the last hundred years from the standpoint of this book will at once understand the screaming of the Jewish press. For once this book has become the common property of a people, the Jewish menace may be considered as broken.
*……………*……………*
The best way to know the Jew is to study the road which he has taken within the body of other peoples in the course of the centuries. It suffices to follow this up in only one example, to arrive at the necessary realizations. As his development has always and at all times been the same, just as that of the peoples corroded by him has also been the same, it is advisable in such an examination to divide his development into definite sections which in this case for the sake of simplicity I designate alphabetically. The first Jews came to ancient Germany in the course of the advance of the Romans, and as always they came as merchants. In the storms of the migrations, however, they seem to have disappeared again, and thus the time of the first Germanic state formation may be viewed as the beginning of a new and this time lasting Jewification of Central and Northern Europe. A development set in which has always been the same or similar wherever the Jews encountered Aryan peoples.
someone get this man a medal
What a loser.
It’s okay not everyone can read
What a spic
(a) With the appearance of the first fixed settlement, the Jew is suddenly ‘at hand.’ He comes as a merchant and at first attaches little importance to the concealment of his nationality. He is still a Jew, partly perhaps among other reasons because the outward racial difference between himself and the host people is too great, his linguistic knowledge still too small, and the cohesion of the host people too sharp for him to dare to try to appear as anything else than a foreign merchant. With his dexterity and the inexperience of his host people, the retention of his character as a Jew represents no disadvantage for him, but rather an advantage; the stranger is given a friendly reception.
(b) Gradually he begins slowly to become active in economic life, not as a producer, but exclusively as a middleman. With his thousand-year-old mercantile dexterity he is far superior to the still helpless, and above all boundlessly honest, Aryans, so that in a short time commerce threatens to become his monopoly. He begins to lend money and as always at usurious interest. As a matter of fact, he thereby introduces interest. The danger of this new institution is not recognized at first, but because of its momentary advantages is even welcomed.
(c) The Jew has now become a steady resident; that is, he settles special sections of the cities and villages and more and more constitutes a state within a state. He regards commerce as well as all financial transactions as his own special privilege which he ruthlessly exploits.
(d) Finance and commerce have become his complete monopoly. His usurious rates of interest finally arouse resistance, the rest of his increasing effrontery indignation, his wealth envy. The cup is full to overflowing when he draws the soil into the sphere of his commercial objects and degrades it to the level of a commodity to be sold or rather traded. Since he himself never cultivates the soil, but regards it only as a property to be exploited on which the peasant can well remain, though amid the most miserable extortions on the part of his new master, the aversion against him gradually increases to open hatred. His blood-sucking tyranny becomes so great that excesses against him occur. People begin to look at the foreigner more and more closely and discover more and more repulsive traits and characteristics in him until the cleft becomes unbridgeable.
At times of the bitterest distress, fury against him finally breaks out, and the plundered and ruined masses begin to defend themselves against the scourge of God. In the course of a few centuries they have come to know him, and now they feel that the mere fact of his existence is as bad as the plague.
(e) Now the Jew begins to reveal his true qualities. With repulsive flattery he approaches the governments, puts his money to work, and in this way always manages to secure new license to plunder his victims. Even though the rage of the people sometimes flares high against the eternal blood-sucker, it does not in the least prevent him from reappearing in a few years in the place he had hardly left and beginning the old life all over again. No persecution can deter him from his type of human exploitation, none can drive him away; after every persecution he is back again in a short time, and just the same as before.
To prevent the very worst, at least, the people begin to withdraw the soil from his usurious hands by making it legally impossible for him to acquire soil.
(f) Proportionately as the power of the princes begins to mount, he pushes closer and closer to them. He begs for ‘ patents ‘ and ‘privileges,’ which the lords, always in financial straits, are glad to give him for suitable payment. However much this may cost him, he recovers the money he has spent in a few years through interest and compound interest. A true bloodsucker that attaches himself to the body of the unhappy people and cannot be picked off until the princes themselves again need money and with their own exalted hand tap off the blood he has sucked from them.
This game is repeated again and again, and in it the role of the so-called ‘German princes’ is just as miserable as that of the Jews themselves. These lords were really God’s punishment for their beloved peoples and find their parallels only in the various ministers of the present time.
It is thanks to the German princes that the German nation was unable to redeem itself for good from the Jewish menace. In this, too, unfortunately, nothing changed as time went on; all they obtained from the Jew was the thousandfold reward for the sins they had once committed against their peoples. They made a pact with the devil and landed in hell.
(g) And so, his ensnarement of the princes leads to their ruin. Slowly but surely their relation to the peoples loosens in the measure in which they cease to serve the people’s interests and instead become mere exploiters of their subjects. The Jew well knows what their end will be and tries to hasten it as much as possible. He himself adds to their financial straits by alienating them more and more from their true tasks, by crawling around them with the vilest flattery, by encouraging them in vices, and thus making himself more and more indispensable to them. With his deftness, or rather unscrupulousness, in all money matters he is able to squeeze, yes, to grind, more and more money out of the plundered subjects, who in shorter and shorter intervals go the way of all flesh. Thus every court has its ‘court Jew’ – as the monsters are called who torment the ‘beloved people’ to despair and prepare eternal pleasures for the princes. Who then can be surprised that these ornaments of the human race ended up by being ornamented, or rather decorated, in the literal sense, and rose to the hereditary nobility, helping not only to make this institution ridiculous, but even to poison it?
Now, it goes without saying, he can really make use of his position for his own advancement.
Finally he needs only to have himself baptized to possess himself of all the possibilities and rights of the natives of the country. Not seldom he concludes this deal to the joy of the churches over the son they have won and of Israel over the successful swindle.
(h) Within Jewry a change now begins to take place. Up till now they have been Jews; that is, they attach no importance to appearing to be something else, which they were unable to do, anyway, because of the very distinct racial characteristics on both sides. At the time of Frederick the Great it still entered no one’s head to regard the Jew as anything else but a ‘foreign’ people, and Goethe was still horrified at the thought that in future marriage between Christians and Jews would no longer be forbidden by law. And Goethe, by God, was no reactionary, let alone a helot; what spoke out of him was only the voice of the blood and of reason. Thus – despite all the shameful actions of the courts – the people instinctively saw in the Jew a foreign element and took a corresponding attitude toward him.
But now all this was to change. In the course of more than a thousand years he has learned the language of the host people to such an extent that he now thinks he can venture in future to emphasize his Judaism less and place his ‘Germanism’ more in the foreground; for ridiculous, nay, insane, as it may seem at first, he nevertheless has the effrontery to turn ‘Germanic,’ in this case a ‘German.’ With this begins one of the most infamous deceptions that anyone could conceive of. Since of Germanism he possesses really nothing but the art of stammering its language – and in the most frightful way – but apart from this has never mixed with the Germans, his whole Germanism rests on the language alone. Race, however, does not lie in the language, but exclusively in the blood, which no one knows better than the Jew, who attaches very little importance to the preservation of his language, but all importance to keeping his blood pure. A man can change his language without any trouble – that is, he can use another language; but in his new language he will express the old ideas; his inner nature is not changed. This is best shown by the Jew who can speak a thousand languages and nevertheless remains a Jew. His traits of character have remained the same, whether two thousand years ago as a grain dealer in Ostia, speaking Roman, or whether as a flour profiteer of today, jabbering German with a Jewish accent. It is always the same Jew. That this obvious fact is not understood by a ministerial secretary or higher police official is also self-evident, for there is scarcely any creature with less instinct and intelligence running around in the world today than these servants of our present model state authority.
The reason why the Jew decides suddenly to become a ‘German ‘ is obvious. He feels that the power of the princes is slowly tottering and therefore tries at an early time to get a platform beneath his feet. Furthermore, his financial domination of the whole economy has advanced so far that without possession of all ‘civil’ rights he can no longer support the gigantic edifice, or at any rate, no further increase of his influence is possible. And he desires both of these; for the higher he climbs, the more alluring his old goal that was once promised him rises from the veil of the past, and with feverish avidity his keenest minds see the dream of world domination tangibly approaching. And so his sole effort is directed toward obtaining full possession of ‘civil’ rights.
This is the reason for his emancipation from the ghetto.
(i) So from the court Jew there gradually develops the people’s Jew, which means, of course: the Jew remains as before in the entourage of the high lords; in fact, he tries to push his way even more into their circle; but at the same time another part of his race makes friends with the ‘ beloved people. ‘ If we consider how greatly he has sinned against the masses in the course of the centuries, how he has squeezed and sucked their blood again and again; if furthermore, we consider how the people gradually learned to hate him for this, and ended up by regarding his existence as nothing but a punishment of Heaven for the other peoples, we can understand how hard this shift must be for the Jew. Yes, it is an arduous task suddenly to present himself to his flayed victims as a ‘friend of mankind.’
First, therefore, he goes about making up to the people for his previous sins against them. He begins his career as the ‘benefactor’ of mankind. Since his new benevolence has a practical foundation, he cannot very well adhere to the old Biblical recommendation, that the left hand should not know what the right hand giveth; no, whether he likes it or not, he must reconcile himself to letting as many people as possible know how deeply he feels the sufferings of the masses and all the sacrifices that he himself is making to combat them. With this ‘modesty ‘ which is inborn in him, he blares out his merits to the rest of the world until people really begin to believe in them. Anyone who does not believe in them is doing him a bitter injustice. In a short time he begins to twist things around to make it look as if all the injustice in the world had always been done to him and not the other way around. The very stupid believe this and then they just can’t help but pity the poor ‘unfortunate.’
In addition, it should be remarked here that the Jew, despite all his love of sacrifice, naturally never becomes personally impoverished. He knows how to manage; sometimes, indeed, his charity is really comparable to fertilizer, which is not strewn on the field for love of the field, but with a view to the farmer’s own future benefit. In any case, everyone knows in a comparatively short time that the Jew has become a ‘benefactor and friend of mankind.’ What a strange transformation!
But what is more or less taken for granted in others arouses the greatest astonishment and in many distinct admiration for this very reason. So it happens that he gets much more credit for every such action than the rest of mankind, in whom it is taken for granted.
But even more: all at once the Jew also becomes liberal and begins to rave about the necessary progress of mankind.
Slowly he makes himself the spokesman of a new era.
Also, of course, he destroys more and more thoroughly the foundations of any economy that will really benefit the people. By way of stock shares he pushes his way into the circuit of national production which he turns into a purchasable or rather tradable object, thus robbing the enterprises of the foundations of a personal ownership. Between employer and employee there arises that inner estrangement which later leads to political class division.
Finally, the Jewish influence on economic affairs grows with terrifying speed through the stock exchange. He becomes the owner, or at least the controller, of the national labor force.
To strengthen his political position he tries to tear down the racial and civil barriers which for a time continue to restrain him at every step. To this end he fights with all the tenacity innate in him for religious tolerance – and in Freemasonry, which has succumbed to him completely, he has an excellent instrument with which to fight for his aims and put them across. The governing circles and the higher strata of the political and economic bourgeoisie are brought into his nets by the strings of Freemasonry, and never need to suspect what is happening
Only the deeper and broader strata of the people as such, or rather that class which is beginning to wake up and fight for its rights and freedom, cannot yet be sufficiently taken in by these methods. But this is more necessary than anything else; for the Jew feels that the possibility of his rising to a dominant role exists only if there is someone ahead of him to dear the way; and this someone he thinks he can recognize in the bourgeoisie, in their broadest strata in fact. The glovemakers and linen weavers, however, cannot be caught in the fine net of Freemasonry; no, for them coarser but no less drastic means must be employed. Thus Freemasonry is joined by a second weapon in the service of the Jews: the press. With all his perseverance and dexterity he seizes possession of it. With it he slowly begins to grip and ensnare, to guide and to push all public life, since he is in a position to create and direct that power which, under the name of ‘public opinion,’ IS better known today than a few decades ago.
In this he always represents himself personally as having an infinite thirst for knowledge, praises all progress, mostly, to be sure, the progress that leads to the ruin of others; for he judges all knowledge and all development only according to its possibilities for advancing his nation, and where this is lacking, he is the inexorable mortal enemy of all light, a hater of all true culture. He uses all the knowledge he acquires in the schools of other peoples, exclusively for the benefit of his race.
And this nationality he guards as never before. While he seems to overflow with ‘enlightenment,’ ‘progress,’ ‘freedom,’ ‘humanity,’ etc., he himself practices the severest segregation of his race. To be sure, he sometimes palms off his women on influential Christians, but as a matter of principle he always keeps his male line pure. He poisons the blood of others, but preserves his own. The Jew almost never marries a Christian woman; it is the Christian who marries a Jewess. The bastards, however, take after the Jewish side. Especially a part of the high nobility degenerates completely. The Jew is perfectly aware of this, and therefore systematically carries on this mode of ‘ disarming ‘ the intellectual leader class of his racial adversaries. In order to mask his activity and lull his victims, however, he talks more and more of the equality of all men without regard to race and color. The fools begin to believe him.
Since, however, his whole being still has too strong a smell of the foreign for the broad masses of the people in particular to fall readily into his nets, he has his press give a picture of him which is as little in keeping with reality as conversely it serves his desired purpose. His comic papers especially strive to represent the Jews as a harmless little people, with their own peculiarities, of course – like other peoples as well – but even in their gestures, which seem a little strange, perhaps, giving signs of a possibly ludicrous, but always thoroughly honest and benevolent, soul. And the constant effort is to make him seem almost more ‘insignificant’ than dangerous.
His ultimate goal in this stage is the victory of ‘ democracy,’ or, as he understands it: the rule of parliamentarianism. It is most compatible with his requirements; for it excludes the personality – and puts in its place the majority characterized by stupidity, incompetence, and last but not least, cowardice.
The final result will be the overthrow of the monarchy, which is now sooner or later bound to occur.
(j) The tremendous economic development leads to a change in the social stratification of the people. The small craftsman slowly dies out, and as a result the worker’s possibility of achieving an independent existence becomes rarer and rarer; in consequence the worker becomes visibly proletarianized. There arises the industrial ‘ factory worker ‘ whose most essential characteristic is to be sought in the fact that he hardly ever is in a position to found an existence of his own in later life. He is propertyless in the truest sense of the word. His old age is a torment and can scarcely be designated as living.
Once before, a similar situation was created, which pressed urgently for a solution and also found one. The peasants and artisans had slowly been joined by the officials and salaried workers – particularly of the state – as a new class. They, too, were propertyless in the truest sense of the word. The state finally found a way out of this unhealthy condition by assuming the care of the state employee who could not himself provide for his old age; it introduced the pension. Slowly, more and more enterprises followed this example, so that nearly every regularly employed brain-worker draws a pension in later life, provided the concern he works in has achieved or surpassed a certain size. Only by safeguarding the state official in his old age could he be taught the selfless devotion to duty which in the pre-War period was the most eminent quality of German officialdom.
In this way a whole class that had remained propertyless was wisely snatched away from social misery and articulated with the body of the people.
Now this question again, and this time on a much larger scale, faced the state and the nation. More and more masses of people, numbering millions, moved from peasant villages to the larger cities to earn their bread as factory workers in the newly established industries. The working and living conditions of the new class were more than dismal. If nothing else, the more or less mechanical transference of the old artisan’s or even peasant’s working methods to the new form was by no means suitable. The work done by these men could not be compared with the exertions which the industrial factory worker has to perform. In the old handicraft, this may not have been very important, but in the new working methods it was all the more so. The formal transference of the old working hours to the industrial large-scale enterprise was positively catastrophic, for the actual work done before was but little in view of the absence of our present intensive working methods. Thus, though previously the fourteen-or even fifteen-hour working day had been bearable, it certainly ceased to be bearable at a time when every minute was exploited to the fullest. The result of this senseless transference of the old working hours to the new industrial activity was really unfortunate in two respects: the worker’s health was undermined and his faith in a higher justice destroyed. To this finally was added the miserable wages on the one hand and the employer’s correspondingly and obviously so vastly superior position on the other.
In the country there could be no social question, since master and hired hand did the same work and above all ate out of the same bowls. But this, too, changed.
The separation of worker and employer now seems complete in all fields of life. How far the inner Judaization of our people has progressed can be seen from the small respect, if not contempt, that is accorded to manual labor. This is not German. It took the foreignization of our life, which was in truth a Jewification, to transform the old respect for manual work into a certain contempt for all physical labor.
Thus, there actually comes into being a new class enjoying very little respect, and one day the question must arise whether the nation would possess the strength to articulate the new class into general society, or whether the social difference would broaden into a classlike cleavage.
But one thing is certain: the new class did not count the worst elements in its ranks, but on the contrary definitely the most energetic elements. The overrefinements of so-called culture had not yet exerted their disintegrating and destructive effects. The broad mass of the new class was not yet infected with the poison of pacifist weakness; it was robust and if necessary even brutal.
While the bourgeoisie is not at all concerned about this all-important question, but indifferently lets things slide, the Jew seizes the unlimited opportunity it offers for the future; while on the one hand he organizes capitalistic methods of human exploitation to their ultimate consequence, he approaches the very victims of his spirit and his activity and in a short time becomes the leader of their struggle against himself. ‘Against himself’ is only figuratively speaking; for the great master of lies understands as always how to make himself appear to be the pure one and to load the blame on others. Since he has the gall to lead the masses, it never even enters their heads that this might be the most in
famous betrayal of all times.
And yet it was.
Scarcely has the new class grown out of the general economic shift than the Jew, clearly and distinctly, realizes that it can open the way for his own further advancement. First, he used the bourgeoisie as a battering-ram against the feudal world, then the worker against the bourgeois world. If formerly he knew how to swindle his way to civil rights in the shadow of the bourgeoisie, now he hopes to find the road to his own domination in the worker’s struggle for existence.
From now on the worker has no other task but to fight for the future of the Jewish people. Unconsciously he is harnessed to the service of the power which he thinks he is combating. He is seemingly allowed to attack capital, and this is the easiest way of making him fight for it. In this the Jew keeps up an outcry against international capital and in truth he means the national economy which must be demolished in order that the international stock exchange can triumph over its dead body.
Here the Jew’s procedure is as follows:
He approaches the worker, simulates pity with his fate, or even indignation at his lot of misery and poverty, thus gaining his confidence. He takes pains to study all the various real or imaginary hardships of his life – and to arouse his longing for a change in such an existence. With infinite shrewdness he fans the need for social justice, somehow slumbering in every Aryan man, into hatred against those who have been better favored by fortune, and thus gives the struggle for the elimination of social evils a very definite philosophical stamp. He establishes the Marxist doctrine.
By presenting it as inseparably bound up with a number of socially just demands, he promotes its spread and conversely the aversion of decent people to fulfill demands which, advanced in such form and company, seem from the outset unjust and impossible to fulfill. For under this cloak of purely social ideas truly diabolic purposes are hidden, yes, they are publicly proclaimed with the most insolent frankness. This theory represents an inseparable mixture of reason and human madness, but always in such a way that only the lunacy can become reality and never the reason. By the categorical rejection of the personality and hence of the nation and its racial content, it destroys the elementary foundations of all human culture which is dependent on just these factors. This is the true inner kernel of the Marxist philosophy in so far as this figment of a criminal brain can be designated as a ‘philosophy.’ With the shattering of the personality and the race, the essential obstacle is removed to the domination of the inferior being – and this is the Jew.
Precisely in political and economic madness lies the sense of this doctrine. For this prevents all truly intelligent people from entering its service, while those who are intellectually less active and poorly educated in economics hasten to it with flying colors. The intellectuals for this movement – for even this movement needs intellectuals for its existence – are ‘sacrificed’ by the Jew from his own ranks.
Thus there arises a pure movement entirely of manual workers under Jewish leadership, apparently aiming to improve the situation of the worker, but in truth planning the enslavement and with it the destruction of all non-Jewish peoples.
The general pacifistic paralysis of the national instinct of self-preservation begun by Freemasonry in the circles of the so-called intelligentsia is transmitted to the broad masses and above all to the bourgeoisie by the activity of the big papers which today are always Jewish. Added to these two weapons of disintegration comes a third and by far the most terrible, the organization of brute force. As a shock and storm troop, Marxism is intended to finish off what the preparatory softening up with the first two weapons has made ripe for collapse.
Here we have teamwork that is positively brilliant – and we need really not be surprised if in confronting it those very institutions which always like to represent themselves as the pillars of a more or less legendary state authority hold up least. It is in our high and highest state officialdom that the Jew has at all times (aside from a few exceptions) found the most compliant abettor of his work of disintegration. Cringing submissiveness to superiors and high-handed arrogance to inferiors distinguish this class to the same degree as a narrow-mindedness that often cries to high Heaven and is only exceeded by a self-conceit that is sometimes positively amazing.
And these are qualities that the Jew needs in our authorities and loves accordingly.
The practical struggle which now begins, sketched in broad outlines, takes the following course:
In keeping with the ultimate aims of the Jewish struggle, which are not exhausted in the mere economic conquest of the world, but also demand its political subjugation, the Jew divides the organization of his Marxist world doctrine into two halves which, apparently separate from one another, in truth form an inseparable whole: the political and the trade-union movement.
The trade-union movement does the recruiting. In the hard struggle for existence which the worker must carry on, thanks to the greed and shortsightedness of many employers, it offers him aid and protection, and thus the possibility of winning better living conditions. If, at a time when the organized national community, the state, concerns itself with him little or not at all, the worker does not want to hand over the defense of his vital human rights to the blind caprice of people who in part have little sense of responsibility and are often heartless to boot, he must take their defense into his own hands. In exact proportion as the so-called national bourgeoisie, blinded by financial interests, sets the heaviest obstacles in the path of this struggle for existence and not only resists all attempts at shortening the inhumanly long working day, abolishing child labor, safeguarding and protecting the woman, improving sanitary conditions in the workshops and homes, but often actually sabotages them, the shrewder Jew takes the oppressed people under his wing. Gradually he be comes the leader of the trade-union movement, all the more easily as he is not interested in really eliminating social evils in an honest sense, but only in training an economic storm troop, blindly devoted to him, with which to destroy the national economic independence. For while the conduct of a healthy social policy will consistently move between the aims of preserving the national health on the one hand and safeguarding an independent national economy on the other, for the Jew in his struggle these two criteria not only cease to exist, but their elimination, among other things, is his life goal. He desires, not the preservation of an independent national economy, but its destruction. Consequently, no pangs of conscience can prevent him as a leader of the trade-union movement from raising demands which not only overshoot the goal, but whose fulfillment is either impossible for practical purposes or means the ruin of the national economy. Moreover, he does not want to have a healthy, sturdy race before him, but a rickety herd capable of being subjugated. This desire again permits him to raise demands of the most senseless kind whose practical fulfillment he himself knows to be impossible and which, therefore, could not lead to any change in things, but at most to a wild incitement of the masses. And that is what he is interested in and not a true and honest improvement of social conditions.
Hence the Jewish leadership in trade-union affairs remains uncontested until an enormous work of enlightenment influences the broad masses and sets them right about their never-ending misery, or else the state disposes of the Jew and his work. For as long as the insight of the masses remains as slight as now and the state as indifferent as today, these masses will always be first to follow the man who in economic matters offers the most shameless promises. And in this the Jew is a master. For in his entire activity he is restrained by no moral scruples!
And so he inevitably drives every competitor in this sphere from the field in a short time. In keeping with all his inner rapacious brutality, he at once teaches the trade-union movement the most brutal use of violence. If anyone by his intelligence resists the Jewish lures, his defiance and understanding are broken by terror. The success of such an activity is enormous.
Actually the Jew by means of the trade union, which could be a blessing for the nation, shatters the foundations of the national economy.
Parallel with this, the political organization advances.
It plays hand in glove with the trade-union movement, for the latter prepares the masses for political organization, in fact, lashes them into it with violence and coercion. Furthermore, it is the permanent financial source from which the political organization feeds its enormous apparatus. It is the organ controlling the political activity of the individual and does the pandering in all big demonstrations of a political nature. In the end it no longer comes out for political interests at all, but places its chief instrument of struggle, the cessation of work in the form of a mass and general strike, in the service of the political idea.
By the creation of a press whose content is adapted to the intellectual horizon of the least educated people, the political and trade-union organization finally obtains the agitational institution by which the lowest strata of the nation are made ripe for the most reckless acts. Its function is not to lead people out of the swamp of a base mentality to a higher stage, but to cater to their lowest instincts. Since the masses are as mentally lazy as they are sometimes presumptuous, this is a business as speculative as it is profitable.
It is this press, above all, which wages a positively fanatical and slanderous struggle, tearing down everything which can be regarded as a support of national independence, cultural elevation, and the economic independence of the nation.
Above all, it hammers away at the characters of all those who will not bow down to the Jewish presumption to dominate, or whose ability and genius in themselves seem a danger to the Jew. For to be hated by the Jew it is not necessary to combat him; no, it suffices if he suspects that someone might even conceive the idea of combating him some time or that on the strength of his superior genius he is an augmenter of the power and greatness of a nationality hostile to the Jew.
His unfailing instinct in such things scents the original soul in everyone, and his hostility is assured to anyone who is not spirit of his spirit. Since the Jew is not the attacked but the attacker, not only anyone who attacks passes as his enemy, but also anyone who resists him. But the means with which he seeks to break such reckless but upright souls is not honest warfare, but lies and slander.
Here he stops at nothing, and in his vileness he becomes so gigantic that no one need be surprised if among our people the personification of the devil as the symbol of all evil assumes the living shape of the Jew.
The ignorance of the broad masses about the inner nature of the Jew, the lack of instinct and narrow-mindedness of our upper classes, make the people an easy victim for this Jewish campaign of lies.
While from innate cowardice the upper classes turn away from a man whom the Jew attacks with lies and slander, the broad masses from stupidity or simplicity believe everything. The state authorities either cloak themselves in silence or, what usually happens, in order to put an end to the Jewish press campaign, they persecute the unjustly attacked, which, in the eyes of such an official ass, passes as the preservation of state authority and the safeguarding of law and order.
Slowly fear of the Marxist weapon of Jewry descends like a nightmare on the mind and soul of decent people.
They begin to tremble before the terrible enemy and thus have become his final victim.
The Jew’s domination in the state seems so assured that now not only can he call himself a Jew again, but he ruthlessly admits his ultimate national and political designs. A section of his race openly owns itself to be a foreign people, yet even here they lie. For while the Zionists try to make the rest of the world believe that the national consciousness of the Jew finds its satisfaction in the creation of a Palestinian state, the Jews again slyly dupe the dumb Goyim. It doesn’t even enter their heads to build up a Jewish state in Palestine for the purpose of living there; all they want is a central organization for their international world swindle, endowed with its own sovereign rights and removed from the intervention of other states: a haven for convicted scoundrels and a university for budding crooks.
It is a sign of their rising confidence and sense of security that at a time when one section is still playing the German, Frenchman, or Englishman, the other with open effrontery comes out as the Jewish race.
How close they see approaching victory can be seen by the hideous aspect which their relations with the members of
other peoples takes on.
With satanic joy in his face, the black-haired Jewish youth lurks in wait for the unsuspecting girl whom he defiles with his blood, thus stealing her from her people. With every means he tries to destroy the racial foundations of the people he has set out to subjugate. Just as he himself systematically ruins women and girls, he does not shrink back from pulling down the blood barriers for others, even on a large scale. It was and it is Jews who bring the Negroes into the Rhineland, always with the same secret thought and clear aim of ruining the hated white race by the necessarily resulting bastardization, throwing it down from its cultural and political height, and himself rising to be its master.
For a racially pure people which is conscious of its blood can never be enslaved by the Jew. In this world he will forever be master over bastards and bastards alone.
And so he tries systematically to lower the racial level by a continuous poisoning of individuals.
And in politics he begins to replace the idea of democracy by the dictatorship of the proletariat.
In the organized mass of Marxism he has found the weapon which lets him dispense with democracy and in its stead allows him to subjugate and govern the peoples with a dictatorial and brutal fist.
He works systematically for revolutionization in a twofold sense: economic and political.
Around peoples who offer too violent a resistance to attack from within he weaves a net of enemies, thanks to his international influence, incites them to war, and finally, if necessary, plants the flag of revolution on the very battlefields.
In economics he undermines the states until the social enterprises which have become unprofitable are taken from the state and subjected to his financial control.
In the political field he refuses the state the means for its self-preservation, destroys the foundations of all national self-maintenance and defense, destroys faith in the leadership, scoffs at its history and past, and drags everything that is truly great into the gutter.
Culturally he contaminates art, literature, the theater, makes a mockery of natural feeling, overthrows all concepts of beauty and sublimity, of the noble and the good, and instead drags men down into the sphere of his own base nature.
Religion is ridiculed, ethics and morality represented as outmoded, until the last props of a nation in its struggle for existence in this world have fallen.
(e) Now begins the great last revolution. In gaining political power the Jew casts off the few cloaks that he still wears. The democratic people’s Jew becomes the blood-Jew and tyrant over peoples. In a few years he tries to exterminate the national intelligentsia and by robbing the peoples of their natural intellectual leadership makes them ripe for the slave’s lot of permanent subjugation.
The most frightful example of this kind is offered by Russia, where he killed or starved about thirty million people with positively fanatical savagery, in part amid inhuman tortures, in order to give a gang of Jewish journalists and stock exchange bandits domination over a great people.
The end is not only the end of the freedom of the peoples oppressed by the Jew, but also the end of this parasite upon the nations. After the death of his victim, the vampire sooner or later dies too.
*……………*……………*
If we pass all the causes of the German collapse in review, the ultimate and most decisive remains the failure to recognize the racial problem and especially the Jewish menace.
The defeats on the battlefield in August, 1918, would have been child’s play to bear. They stood in no proportion to the victories of our people. It was not they that caused our downfall; no, it was brought about by that power which prepared these defeats by systematically over many decades robbing our people of the political and moral instincts and forces which alone make nations capable and hence worthy of existence.
In heedlessly ignoring the question of the preservation of the racial foundations of our nation, the old Reich disregarded the sole right which gives life in this world. Peoples which bastardize themselves, or let themselves be bastardized, sin against the will of eternal Providence, and when their ruin is encompassed by a stronger enemy it is not an injustice done to them, but only the restoration of justice. If a people no longer wants to respect the Nature-given qualities of its being which root in its blood, it has no further right to complain over the loss of its earthly existence.
Everything on this earth is capable of improvement. Every defeat can become the father of a subsequent victory, every lost war the cause of a later resurgence, every hardship the fertilization of human energy, and from every oppression the forces for a new spiritual rebirth can come – as long as the blood is preserved pure.
The lost purity of the blood alone destroys inner happiness forever, plunges man into the abyss for all time, and the consequences can never more be eliminated from body and spirit.
Only by examining and comparing all other problems of life in the light of this one question shall we see how absurdly petty they are by this standard. They are all limited in time – but the question of preserving or not preserving the purity of the blood will endure as long as there are men.
All really significant symptoms of decay of the pre-War period can in the last analysis be reduced to racial causes.
Whether we consider questions of general justice or cankers of economic life, symptoms of cultural decline or processes of political degeneration, questions of faulty schooling or the bad influence exerted on grown-ups by the press, etc., everywhere and always it is fundamentally the disregard of the racial needs of our own people or failure to see a foreign racial menace.
And that is why all attempts at reform, all works for social relief and political exertions, all economic expansion and every apparent increase of intellectual knowledge were futile as far as their results were concerned. The nation, and the organism which enables and preserves its life on this earth, the state, did not grow inwardly healthier, but obviously languished more and more. All the illusory prosperity of the old Reich could not hide its inner weakness, and every attempt really to strengthen the Reich failed again and again, due to disregarding the most important question.
It would be a mistake to believe that the adherents of the various political tendencies which were tinkering around on the German national body – yes, even a certain section of the leaders – were bad or malevolent men in themselves. Their activity was condemned to sterility only because the best of them saw at most the forms of our general disease and tried to combat them, but blindly ignored the virus. Anyone who systematically follows the old Reich’s line of political development is bound to arrive, upon calm examination, at the realization that even at the time of the unification, hence the rise of the German nation, the inner decay was already in full swing, and that despite all apparent political successes and despite increasing economic wealth, the general situation was deteriorating from year to year. If nothing else, the elections for the Reichstag announced, with their outward swelling of the Marxist vote, the steadily approaching inward and hence also outward collapse. All the successes of the so-called bourgeois parties were worthless, not only because even with so-called bourgeois electoral victories they were unable to halt the numerical growth of the Marxist flood, but because they themselves above all now bore the ferments of decay in their own bodies. Without suspecting it, the bourgeois world itself was inwardly infected with the deadly poison of Marxist ideas and its resistance often sprang more from the competitor’s envy of ambitious leaders than from a fundamental rejection of adversaries determined to fight to the utmost. In these long years there was only one who kept up an imperturbable, unflagging fight, and this was the Jew. His Star of David rose higher and higher in proportion as our people’s will for self-preservation vanished.
Therefore, in August, 1914, it was not a people resolved to attack which rushed to the battlefield; no, it was only the last flicker of the national instinct of self-preservation in face of the progressing pacifist-Marxist paralysis of our national body. Since even in these days of destiny, our people did not recognize the inner enemy, all outward resistance was in vain and Providence did not bestow her reward on the victorious sword, but followed the law of eternal retribution.
On the basis of this inner realization, there took form in our new movement the leading principles as well as the tendency, which in our conviction were alone capable, not only of halting the decline of the German people, but of creating the granite foundation upon which some day a state will rest which represents, not an alien mechanism of economic concerns and interests, but a national organism:
A Germanic State of the
German Nation
Mein Kampf Copypasta – the edge
it’s been a month, he’s dead
jogga
Well it was a good site…
it could be worse, Jlullaby could have comeback…
he dieded
What happened to shad?
Make a new one
Shad 0, Corona 1
r/cursedcomments
So….
WHEN ARE WE GETTING TO 2,500 COMMENTS BOYS?
To 3,000 comments, LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
ily 4ever daddy <3
Get well soon shad! Take care of yourself!
Hope your doing alright shad! Please take care!
Probably got corona, serves him right
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Why would you say that?
Cause he wants to, pair of pussies
rip shad.
i come back here every day just to read the comments if a new thing hasnt been posted and i just laugh at all of them am i the only one doing this
Nah man, I do the exact same. It’s like observing the slow descent and downfall of humanity into madness the longer Shad is gone. Who would of thought Shad was needed for balance in this world.
Yep
wheres all the old stuff
Cmpn shad where is the porn
Yo your health good? What made you throw up mate?
He got fucked by some black dude at a BLM rally and now he has the Ronnies. He is currently in the hospital.
Really?
Really?
Really?
Shad <3
Look guys sure he’s on a moderate hiatus but at least it’s not no hxh hiatus right?
This made me laugh to hard-
Dude it’s been like four weeks and I’m fine with that but I’m still an inpatient person
Shadman fucking died
He literally posted on twitter july 19th
All you Shad-simps are hilarious
“Fuck you, the site is free!”, “you don’t pay to use the site, Shaddy Daddy doesn’t owe you anything!”, “Go somewhere else you horny piece of shit!”
People can express discontent when Shad stops posting if they like, free art or not. Get this; as fans of his work, we actually like to see it. Shocking right? After a good 9 years or so, its not exactly pleasing when one of your favourite artists deviates so far from their original consistency and content. By content I don’t just mean the quality (which is excellent now btw), people loved having comics with maybe a few pinups between – although they’re nice, no one’s really here for a Belle Delphine pinup once every 2 weeks.
He did say he won’t have as much time to make stuff at the moment, and he did express the fact that he wants to take his time and draw higher quality, more detailed stuff, I’ll give Shad his due there. So why not bring back guest artists? A lot of people enjoyed their stuff and it keeps the site alive while he’s off buying cigarettes. To me it just seems stupid not to do so, but I suspect there’s a genuine reason why they’re gone, which I would very much like to know.
The on-off business lately is jarring as well, I like the new content quality, but the massive breaks seem to me like a sign the site is just dying slowly. I’d rather he just kills it now and doesn’t just leave us hoping when he does finally decides to just quit.
At the end of the day, there’s quite a bit of stuff to be critical of in terms of how the site’s being managed recently, stop simping and acknowledge that Shad’s having a shit go of it at the moment. You don’t have to laud him as the epitome of perfection at everything he does to be a fan.
THIS IS SOME PURE ASS FACTS!!! RIGHT HERE MAH BOI!!!
Omg literally this. And what could have soften the blow of disappointment? ANNOUNCING A FUCKING HIATUS. do people really believe he would even get half the shit thrown at him if he would just communicate with his audience? You know? Like he used to do.
Cringe
I love the tears rolling down your livid cheeks as you write this.
Poor, poor entitled baby. I bet your parents even wiped your ass for you.
You’re one of the worst one’s he’s talking about.
Cringe
Nice cock
Your daddy loves when I fuck him with it! Wanna lick it clean? ;-)
Must be clean already, you been fuckin the air
I want to thank you for this comment i feel the exact same way to be honest Shadbase started dying out towards the end of 2018 atleast
In my opinion i wasnt that active in the comment sections in 2018 but clearly towards the mid of 2019 is where all these Simps and Spam bots started happening
As for that stupid fuck who was trolling you Clearly hes just a basic troll doesnt even show that hes fan of Shadbase art and has a ton of Bot Accounts Christineey herself and DumbFuck Educator is a few of his bot accounts
The Comment Section isnt worth using anymore and clearly this site is dead so its a good thing Rule 34 and Pixiv is still a thing
and yet here you are, sniffing my asshole as usual…
Why the fuck do you keep arguing with your own fake profiles?
I would very much like to put you out of your missery
Curb stump perhaps, yes?
I think the Guest Artist thing is over because the loli content gave a huge trouble we didn’t know. That would explain why JLullaby even stopped drawing and if I’m not wrong that happened around the “Logan” trial days.
PS: Because I don’t like loli I’m not sure about who was the one drawing that. I remember JLullaby drawed many topics and I liked his/her art overall.
There was no “Logan trial”. Shad was warned to stop and he did.
Ok, I don’t know the full story, afaik he didn’t explain it (he doesn’t owe us anything anyway, but it’s not my fault if I don’t know it).
I think Jlullaby stopped because he was tired of drawing stuff and wanted to move on to something else. Which sucks cause I liked his stuff
Can you blame shadman for not wanting to post when people come here just to bitch at him about whatever he decides to draw or threaten him just for existing? The poor man has gotten more hate than any other lewd artist on the internet with any actual talent. I hope he ends the site and takes all his art down (even though i know he wont) because people have ruined the community here by not being patient, or complaining whenever he does release something.
If you don’t like how he’s deviated from his consistency and content, then vote with your activity and STOP COMING BACK.
young bottom close to Boston, hit up voidsquid on kik
Not everyone is the same.
Dawaj nowe chuju a nie sie opierdalsz
he´s just gone for cigs again. that happens sometimes. he´ll be back soon. so chill.
Shut sump
Sump?
Yeah it happens, my dad did it two days ago and said he’d be back soon
Shad really needs to find a guest artist to fill in for him when he’s gone. He’s got personal stuff, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have someone else upload. Anybody have any suggestions?
Just fucking wait, like a normal person
Normal people have their limits you know.
Then you’re an entitled fuck
Entitled or not, watching one of your favourite sites die for no known reason ain’t fun. Stuff from Shad’s guest artists is usually pretty good as well, I enjoy it just as much as his stuff usually. JL, for example, did some decent work, glossing over some of the more questionable things he uploaded.
SO DON’T WATCH, RETARD
How can you stop watching this dumpster fire? It’s beautifu!
Ok white boy :)
Negroids aren’t human.
I’m a Spic
even worse
Not worse as a white boy like you
To the People who come here daily to check up on this site and be disappointed. Dont feel down because of it. See it rather as inspiration. Imagine you being just on the peak of your career and imagine now out of of nowhere taking a big giant dump on your legacy. Just smearing crap all around the 10+ years of effort you put into your craft. Letting down thousands upon thousands of people who looked up to you. Just really give everyone a reason to dislike you and every future endeavor you will put out there.
So yeah use this as a example of how not to do it right. don’t be an asshole kids. Let people down easily, don’t just vanish from the face of the earth and let the places you build be festering grounds for pedophiles.
Stfu u dont pay to enter this site so step the f off from that deluded idea inflated by your shitty ego that you deserve shit to be talking dog crap
Seriously you retards are blind as shit. If you didn’t read every single comment yet you’ll notice that shadman obviously gains everytime you visit his website because of the ungodly amount of ads. So technically without having to directly pay to shadman, he’s still getting paid which means everytime you visit his website even if just for a moment to see if there’s something new you are giving him cash. Your “oh you don’t pay for it shut up” arguments don’t work anymore.
Just because something is free doesn’t make it immune to criticism.
Wtf u on about do you pay a fee to enter this site or somethin? Lmao ur deluded to think you deserve shit to talk such dog crap, the dude does his shit, go wank to other shit n fuck off
Wtf u on about do you pay a fee to enter this site or somethin? Lmao ur deluded to think you deserve shit to talk such dog crap, the dude does his shit, go wank to other shit n fuck off
Seem like a white boy simp is trying to get some good boy points with his big daddy Shäd :)
Man I wish people were this obsessed about my work
What work do you do? Is it any interesting?
This is a little taste of a novella I wrote
Enjoy
-==================================-
Xoxo
ChrisdumbfaggotMonkeyCystIchigoWhoreStepMother
Volume One – A Reckoning
Chapter I: In The House Of My Parents
TODAY it seems to me providential that Fate should have chosen Braunau on the Inn as my birthplace. For this little town lies on the boundary between two German states which we of the younger generation at least have made it our life work to reunite by every means at our disposal.
German-Austria must return to the great German mother country, and not because of any economic considerations. No, and again no: even if such a union were unimportant from an economic point of view; yes, even if it were harmful, it must nevertheless take place. One blood demands one Reich. Never will the German nation possess the moral right to engage in colonial politics until, at least, it embraces its own sons within a single state. Only when the Reich borders include the very last German, but can no longer guarantee his daily bread, will the moral right to acquire foreign soil arise from the distress of our own people. Their sword will become our plow, and from the tears of war the daily bread of future generations will grow. And so this little city on the border seems to me the symbol of a great mission. And in another respect as well, it looms as an admonition to the present day. More than a hundred years ago, this insignificant place had the distinction of being immortalized in the annals at least of German history, for it was the scene of a tragic catastrophe which gripped the entire German nation. At the time of our fatherland’s deepest humiliation, Johannes Palm of Nuremberg, burgher, bookseller, uncompromising nationalist and French hater, died there for the Germany which he loved so passionately even in her misfortune. He had stubbornly refused to denounce his accomplices who were in fact his superiors. In thus he resembled Leo Schlageter. And like him, he was denounced to the French by a representative of his government An Augsburg police chief won this unenviable fame, thus furnishing an example for our modern German officials in Herr Severing’s Reich.
In this little town on the Inn, gilded by the rays of German martyrdom, Bavarian by blood, technically Austrian, lived my parents in the late eighties of the past century; my father a dutiful civil servants my mother giving all her being to the household, and devoted above all to us children in eternal, loving care Little remains in my memory of this period, for after a few years my father had to leave the little border city he had learned to love, moving down the Inn to take a new position in Passau, that is, in Germany proper.
In those days constant moving was the lot of an Austrian customs official. A short time later, my father was sent to Linz, and there he was finally pensioned. Yet, indeed, this was not to mean “res”‘ for the old gentleman. In his younger days, as the son of a poor cottager, he couldn’t bear to stay at home. Before he was even thirteen, the little boy laced his tiny knapsack and ran away from his home in the Waldviertel. Despite the at tempts of ‘experienced’ villagers to dissuade him, he made his way to Vienna, there to learn a trade. This was in the fifties of the past century. A desperate decision, to take to the road with only three gulden for travel money, and plunge into the unknown. By the time the thirteen-year-old grew to be seventeen, he had passed his apprentice’s examination, but he was not yet content. On the contrary. The long period of hardship, endless misery, and suffering he had gone through strengthened his determination to give up his trade and become ‘ something better. Formerly the poor boy had regarded the priest as the embodiment of all humanly attainable heights; now in the big city, which had so greatly widened his perspective, it was the rank of civil servant. With all the tenacity of a young man whom suffering and care had made ‘old’ while still half a child, the seventeen-year-old clung to his new decision-he did enter the civil service. And after nearly twenty-three years, I believe, he reached his goal. Thus he seemed to have fulfilled a vow which he had made as a poor boy: that he would not return to his beloved native village until he had made something of himself.
His goal was achieved; but no one in the village could remember the little boy of former days, and to him the village had grown strange.
When finally, at the age of fifty-six, he went into retirement, he could not bear to spend a single day of his leisure in idleness. Near the Upper Austrian market village of Lambach he bought a farm, which he worked himself, and thus, in the circuit of a long and industrious life, returned to the origins of his forefathers.
It was at this time that the first ideals took shape in my breast. All my playing about in the open, the long walk to school, and particularly my association with extremely ‘husky’ boys, which sometimes caused my mother bitter anguish, made me the very opposite of a stay-at-home. And though at that time I scarcely had any serious ideas as to the profession I should one day pursue, my sympathies were in any case not in the direction of my father’s career. I believe that even then my oratorical talent was being developed in the form of more or less violent arguments with my schoolmates. I had become a little ringleader; at school I learned easily and at that time very well, but was otherwise rather hard to handle. Since in my free time I received singing lessons in the cloister at Lambach, I had excellent opportunity to intoxicate myself with the solemn splendor of the brilliant church festivals. As was only natural the abbot seemed to me, as the village priest had once seemed to my father, the highest and most desirable ideal. For a time, at least, this was the case. But since my father, for understandable reasons, proved unable to appreciate the oratorical talents of his pugnacious boy, or to draw from them any favorable conclusions regarding the future of his offspring, he could, it goes without saying, achieve no understanding for such youthful ideas. With concern he observed this conflict of nature.
As it happened, my temporary aspiration for this profession was in any case soon to vanish, making place for hopes more stated to my temperament. Rummaging through my father’s library, I had come across various books of a military nature among them a popular edition of the Franco-German War of 1870-7I It consisted of two issues of an illustrated periodical from those years, which now became my favorite reading matter It was not long before the great heroic struggle had become my greatest inner experience. From then on I became more and more enthusiastic about everything that was in any way connected with war or, for that matter, with soldiering
But in another respect as well, this was to assume importance for me. For the first time, though as yet in a confused form, the question was forced upon my consciousness: Was there a difference -and if so what difference-between the Germans who fought these battles and other Germans? Why hadn’t Austria taken part in this war; why hadn’t my father and all the others fought?
Are we not the same as all other Germans?
Do we not all belong together? This problem began to gnaw at my little brain for the first time. I asked cautious questions and with secret envy received the answer that not every German was fortunate enough to belong to Bismarck’s Reich..
This was more than I could understand.
It was decided that I should go to high school.
From my whole nature, and to an even greater degree from my temperament, my father believed he could draw the inference that the humanistic Gymnasium would represent a conflict with my talents. A Realschol seemed to him more suitable. In this opinion he was especially strengthened by my obvious aptitude for drawing; a subject which in his opinion was neglected in the Austrian Gymnasiums. Another factor may have been his own laborious career which made humanistic study seem impractical in his eyes, and therefore less desirable. It was hus basic opinion and intention that, like himself, his son would and must become a civil servant. It was only natural that the hardships of his youth should enhance his subsequent achievement in his eyes, particularly since it resulted exclusively from his own energy and iron diligence. It was the pride of the self-made man which made him want his son to rise to the same position in life, orJ of course, even higher if possible, especially since, by his own industrious life, he thought he would be able to facilitate his child’s development so greatly.
It was simply inconceivable to him that I might reject what had become the content of his whole life. Consequently, my father s decision was simple, definite, and clear; in his own eyes I mean, of course. Finally, a whole lifetime spent in the bitter struggle for existence had given him a domineering nature, and it would have seemed intolerable to him to leave the final decision in such matters to an inexperienced boy, having as yet no Sense of responsibility. Moreover, this would have seemed a sinful and reprehensible weakness in the exercise of his proper parental authority and responsibility for the future life of his child, and as such, absolutely incompatible with his concept of duty.
And yet things were to turn out differently.
Then barely eleven years old, I was forced into opposition for the first time in my life. Hard and determined as my father might be in putting through plans and purposes once conceived his son was just as persistent and recalcitrant in rejecting an idea which appealed to him not at all, or in any case very little.
I did not want to become a civil servant.
Neither persuasion nor ‘serious’ arguments made any impression on my resistance. I did not want to be a civil servant no, and again no. All attempts on my father’s part to inspire me with love or pleasure in this profession by stories from his own life accomplished the exact opposite. I yawned and grew sick to my stomach at the thought of sitting in an office, deprived of my liberty; ceasing to be master of my own time and being compelled to force the content of a whole life into blanks that had to be filled out.
And what thoughts could this prospect arouse in a boy who in reality was really anything but ‘good’ in the usual sense of the word?
School work was ridiculously easy, leaving me so much free time that the sun saw more of me than my room. When today my political opponents direct their loving attention to the examination of my life, following it back to those childhood days and discover at last to their relief what intolerable pranks this “Hitler” played even in his youth, I thank Heaven that a portion of the memories of those happy days still remains with me. Woods and meadows were then the battlefields on which the ‘conflicts’ which exist everywhere in life were decided.
In this respect my attendance at the Realschule, which now commenced, made little difference.
But now, to be sure, there was a new conflict to be fought out.
As long as my fathers intention of making me a civil servant encountered only my theoretical distaste for the profession, the conflict was bearable. Thus far, I had to some extent been able to keep my private opinions to myself; I did not always have to contradict him immediately. My own firm determination never to become a civil servant sufficed to give me complete inner peace. And this decision in me was immutable. The problem became more difficult when I developed a plan of my own in opposition to my father’s. And this occurred at the early age of twelve. How it happened, I myself do not know, but one day it became clear to me that I would become a painter, an artist. There was no doubt as to my talent for drawing; it had been one of my father’s reasons for sending me to the Realschule, but never in all the world would it have occurred to him to give me professional training in this direction. On the contrary. When for the first time, after once again rejecting my father’s favorite notion, I was asked what I myself wanted to be, and I rather abruptly blurted out the decision I had meanwhile made, my father for the moment was struck speechless.
‘ Painter? Artist? ‘
He doubted my sanity, or perhaps he thought he had heard wrong or misunderstood me. But when he was clear on the subject, and particularly after he felt-the seriousness of my intention, he opposed it with all the determination of his nature. His decision was extremely simple, for any consideration of w at abilities I might really have was simply out of the question.
‘Artist, no, never as long as I live!’ But since his son, among various other qualities, had apparently inherited his father’ s stubbornness, the same answer came back at him. Except, of course, that it was in the opposite sense.
And thus the situation remained on both sides. My father did not depart from his ‘Never!’ And I intensified my ‘Oh, yes!’
The consequences, indeed, were none too pleasant. The old man grew embittered, and, much as I loved him, so did I. Ally father forbade me to nourish the slightest hope of ever being allowed to study art. I went one step further and declared that if that was the case I would stop studying altogether. As a result of such ‘pronouncements,’ of course, I drew the short end; the old man began the relentless enforcement of his authority. In the future, therefore, I was silent, but transformed my threat into reality. I thought that once my father saw how little progress I was making at the Realschule, he would let me devote myself to my dream, whether he liked it or not.
I do not know whether this calculation was correct. For the moment only one thing was certain: my obvious lack of success at school. What gave me pleasure I learned, especially everything which, in my opinion, I should later need as a painter. What seemed to me unimportant in this respect or was otherwise unattractive to me, I sabotaged completely. My report cards at this time, depending on the subject and my estimation of it, showed nothing but extremes. Side by side with ‘laudable’ and ‘excellent,’ stood ‘adequate’ or even ‘inadequate.’ By far my best accomplishments were in geography and even more so in history. These were my favorite subjects, in which I led the; class.
If now, after so many years, I examine the results of this period, I regard two outstanding facts as particularly significant:
First: I became a nationalist
Second: I learned to understand and grasp the meaning of history.
Old Austria was a ‘state of nationalities.’
By and large, a subject of the German Reich, at that time at least, was absolutely unable to grasp the significance of this fact for the life of the individual in such a state. After the great victorious campaign of the heroic armies in the Franco-German War, people had gradually lost interest in the Germans living abroad; some could not, while others were unable to appreciate their importances Especially with regard to the GermanAustrians, the degenerate dynasty was only too frequently confused with the people, which at the core was robust and healthy.
What they failed to appreciate was that, unless the German in Austria had really been of the best blood, he would never have had the power to set his stamp on a nation of fifty-two million souls to such a degree that, even in Germany, the erroneous opinion could arise that Austria was a German state. This was an absurdity fraught with the direst consequences, and yet a glowing testimonial to the ten million Germans in the Ostmark. Only a handful of Germans in the Reich had the slightest conception of the eternal and merciless struggle for the German language, German schools, and a German way of life. Only today, when the same deplorable misery is forced on many millions of Germans from the Reich, who under foreign rule dream of their common fatherland and strive, amid their longing, at least to preserve their holy right to their mother tongue, do wider circles understand what it means to be forced to fight for one’s nationality. Today perhaps some can appreciate the greatness of the Germans in the Reich’s old Ostmark, who, with no one but themselves to depend on, for centuries protected the Reich against incursions from the East, and finally carried on an exhausting guerrilla warfare to maintain the German language frontier, at a time when the Reich was highly interested in colonies, but not in its own flesh and blood at its very doorstep.
As everywhere and always, in every struggle, there were, in this fight for the language in old Austria, three strata:
The fighters, the lukewarm and the traitors.
This sifting process began at school. For the remarkable fact about the language struggle is that its waves strike hardest perhaps in the school, since it is the seed-bed of the coming generation. It is a struggle for the soul of the child, and to the child its first appeal is addressed:
‘German boy, do not forget you are a German,’ and, ‘Little girl, remember that you are to become a German mother.’
Anyone who knows the soul of youth will be able to understand that it is they who lend ear most joyfully to such a battle-cry. They carry on this struggle in hundreds of forms, in their own way and with their own weapons. They refuse to sing unGerman songs. The more anyone tries to alienate them from German heroic grandeur, the wilder becomes their enthusiasm: they go hungry to save pennies for the grown-ups’ battle fund their ears are amazingly sensitive to un-German teachers, and at the same time they are incredibly resistant; they wear the forbidden insignia of their own nationality and are happy to be punished or even beaten for it. Thus, on a small scale they are a faithful reflection of the adults, except that often their convictions are better and more honest.
I, too, while still comparatively young, had an opportunity to take part in the struggle of nationalities in old Austria. Collections were taken for the Sudmark I and the school association; we emphasized our convictions by wearing corn-flowers and red lack, and gold colors; ‘Heil ‘ was our greeting, and instead of the imperial anthem we sang ‘Deutschland uber Alles,’ despite warnings and punishments. In this way the child received political training in a period when as a rule the subject of a so-called national state knew little more of his nationality than its language. It goes without saying that even then I was not among the lukewarm. In a short time I had become a fanatical ‘German Nationalist,’ though the term was not identical with our present party concept.
This development in me made rapid progress; by the time I was fifteen I understood the difference between dynastic ‘ patriotism’ and folkish “nationalism’; and even then I was interested only in the latter.
For anyone who has never taken the trouble to study the inner conditions of the Habsburg monarchy, such a process may not be entirely understandable. In this country the instruction in world history had to provide the germ for this development, since to all intents and purposes there is no such thing as a specifically Austrian history. The destiny of this state is so much bound up with the life and development of all the Germans that a separation of history into German and Austrian does not seem conceivable. Indeed, when at length Germany began to divide into two spheres of power, this division itself became German history.
The insignia of former imperial glory, preserved in Vienna, still seem to cast a magic spell; they stand as a pledge that these twofold destinies are eternally one.
The elemental cry of the German-Austrian people for union with the German mother country, that arose in the days when the Habsburg state was collapsing, was the result of a longing that slumbered in the heart of the entire people-a longing to return to the never-forgotten ancestral home. But this would be in explicable if the historical education of the individual GermanAustrian had not given rise to so general a longing. In it lies a well which never grows dry; which, especially in times of forgetfulness, transcends all momentary prosperity and by constant reminders of the past whispers softly of a new future
Instruction in world history in the so-called high schools is even today in a very sorry condition. Few teachers understand that the aim of studying history can never be to learn historical dates and events by heart and recite them by rote; that what matters is not whether the child knows exactly when this or that battle was fought, when a general was born, or even when a monarch (usually a very insignificant one) came into the crown of his forefathers. No, by the living God, this is very unimportant.
To ‘learn’ history means to seek and find the forces which are the causes leading to those effects which we subsequently perceive as historical events.
The art of reading as of learning is this: to retain the essential to forget the non-essential.
Perhaps it affected my whole later life that good fortune sent me a history teacher who was one of the few to observe this principle in teaching and examining. Dr. Leopold Potsch, my professor at the Realschule in Linz, embodied this requirement to an ideal degree. This old gentleman’s manner was as kind as it was determined, his dazzling eloquence not only held us spellbound but actually carried us away. Even today I think back with gentle emotion on this gray-haired man who, by the fire of his narratives, sometimes made us forget the present; who, as if by enchantment, carried us into past times and, out of the millennial veils of mist, molded dry historical memories into living reality. On such occasions we sat there, often aflame with enthusiasm, and sometimes even moved to tears.
What made our good fortune all the greater was that this teacher knew how to illuminate the past by examples from the present, and how from the past to draw inferences for the present. As a result he had more understanding than anyone else for all the daily problems which then held us breathless. He used our budding nationalistic fanaticism as a means of educating use frequently appealing to our sense of national honor. By this alone he was able to discipline us little ruffians more easily than would have been possible by any other means.
This teacher made history my favorite subject.
And indeed, though he had no such intention, it was then that I became a little revolutionary.
For who could have studied German history under such a teacher without becoming an enemy of the state which, through its ruling house, exerted so disastrous an influence on the destinies of the nation?
And who could retain his loyalty to a dynasty which in past and present betrayed the needs of the German people again and again for shameless private advantage?
Did we not know, even as little boys, that this Austrian state had and could have no love for us Germans?
Our historical knowledge of the works of the House of Habsburg was reinforced by our daily experience. In the north and south the poison of foreign nations gnawed at the body of our nationality, and even Vienna was visibly becoming more and more of an un-German city. The Royal House Czechized wherever possible, and it was the hand of the goddess of eternal justice and inexorable retribution which caused Archduke Francis Ferdinand, the most mortal enemy of Austrian-Germanism, to fall by the bullets which he himself had helped to mold. For had he not been the patron of Austria’s Slavization from above !
Immense were the burdens which the German people were expected to bear, inconceivable their sacrifices in taxes and blood, and yet anyone who was not totally blind was bound to recognize that all this would be in vain. What pained us most was the fact that this entire system was morally whitewashed by the alliance with Germany, with the result that the slow extermination of Germanism in the old monarchy was in a certain sense sanctioned by Germany itself. The Habsburg hypocrisy, which enabled the Austrian rulers to create the outward appearance that Austria was a German state, raised the hatred toward this house to flaming indignation and at the same time -contempt.
Only in the Reich itself, the men who even then were called to power saw nothing of all this. As though stricken with blindness, they lived by the side of a corpse, and in the symptoms of rotten-
ness saw only the signs of ‘new’ life.
The unholy alliance of the young Reich and the Austrian sham state contained the germ of the subsequent World War and of the collapse as well.
In the course of this book I shall have occasion to take up this problem at length. Here it suffices to state that even in my earliest youth I came to the basic insight which never left me, but Only became more profound:
That Germanism could be safeguarded only by the destruction of Austria, and, furthermore, that national sentiment is in no sense Identical with dynastic patriotism; that above all the House of Habsburg was destined to be the misfortune of the German nation.
Even then I had drawn the consequences from this realization ardent love for my German-Austrian homeland state.
The habit of historical thinking which I thus learned in school has never left me in the intervening years. To an ever-increasing extent world history became for me an inexhaustible source of understanding for the historical events of the present, in other words, for politics. I do not want to ‘learn’ it, I want it to in instruct me.
Thus, at an early age, I had become a political ‘ revolutionary,’ and I became an artistic revolutionary at an equally early age.
The provincial capital of Upper Austria had at that time a theater which was, relatively speaking, not bad. Pretty much of everything was produced. At the age of twelve I saw Wilhelm Tell for the first time, and a few months later my first opera, Lohengrin. I was captivated at once. My youthful enthusiasm for the master of Bayreuth knew no bounds. Again and again I was drawn to his works, and it still seems to me especially fortunate that the modest provincial performance left me open to an intensified experience later on.
All this, particularly after I had outgrown my adolescence (which in my case was an especially painful process), reinforced my profound distaste for the profession which my father had chosen for me. My conviction grew stronger and stronger that I would never be happy as a civil servant. The fact that by this time my gift for drawing had been recognized at the Realschule made my determination all the firmer.
Neither pleas nor threats could change it one bit.
I wanted to become a painter and no power in the world could make me a civil servant.
Yet, strange as it may seem, with the passing years I became more and more interested in architecture.
At that time I regarded this as a natural complement to my gift as a painter, and only rejoiced inwardly at the extension of my artistic scope.
I did not suspect that things would turn out differently.
The question of my profession was to be decided more quickly than I had previously expected.
In my thirteenth year I suddenly lost my father. A stroke of apoplexy felled the old gentleman who was otherwise so hale, thus painlessly ending his earthly pilgrimage, plunging us all into the depths of grief His most ardent desire had been to help his son forge his career, thus preserving him from his own bitter experience. In this, to all appearances, he had not succeeded. But, though unwittingly, he had sown the seed for a future which at that time neither he nor I would have comprehended.
For the moment there was no outward change.
My mother, to be sure, felt obliged to continue my education in accordance with my father’s wish; in other words, to have me study for the civil servant’s career. I, for my part, was more than ever determined absolutely not to undertake this career. In proportion as my schooling departed from my ideal in subject matter and curriculum, I became more indifferent at heart. Then suddenly an illness came to my help and in a few weeks decided my future and the eternal domestic quarrel. As a result of my serious lung ailment, a physician advised my mother in most urgent terms never to send me into an office. My attendance at the Realschule had furthermore to be interrupted for at least a year. The goal for which I had so long silently yearned, for which I had always fought, had through this event suddenly become reality almost of its own accord.
Concerned over my illness, my mother finally consented to take me out of the Realschule and let- me attend the Academy.
These were the happiest days of my life and seemed to me almost a dream; and a mere dream it was to remain. Two years later, the death of my mother put a sudden end to all my highflown plans.
It was the conclusion of a long and painful illness which from the beginning left little hope of recovery. Yet it was a dreadful blow, particularly for me. I had honored my father, but my mother I had loved.
Poverty and hard reality now compelled me to take a quick decision. What little my father had left had been largely exhausted by my mother’s grave illness; the orphan’s pension to which I was entitled was not enough for me even to live on, and so I was faced with the problem of somehow making my own living.
In my hand a suitcase full of clothes and underwear; in my heart an indomitable will, I journeyed to Vienna. I, too, hoped to wrest from Fate what my father had accomplished fifty years before; I, too, wanted to become ‘something’-but on no account a civil servant.
Then ‘you’ got rejected form art school?
NEIN!
The filthy jews did not understand my love of guys with tits
And my scat art, they called it foul & stomach-turning :”(
Verdammte untermensch!!
Dude….
Stop, dont give the bottom feder attention
Btw i am not talking about lord adolf
But the faggot krystal
HMU on kik i’m horny: danieljig100
If you’re still checking in on Shadbase, looking at the comments and feeling sad about it…
much respect brother, I feel you :)
Bro
Shad’s fucking died
End of an era
Yo Ghost of tsushima is awesome, I have been playing that shit for 6 hours and it’s awesome.
Yeah that game it’s legit amazing. The atmosphere just captivates you.
Bro what if shad is actually just hanging out with Walt disney in Hitler’s secret bunker and the 3 of them are just admiring shad’s thousands of unuploaded art and they are just snickering at the fact that we can’t see them :°)
Guys stop asking him to come back. Don’t you see he is just practicing social distancing :°)
3000th comment niceeee
nani
Come on Shad, you can do it, please come back
where are you shad
Bi guy looking for chats kik- vchylong2
road to 3000 comments
Comment 2093
The comments are just poetry now, all I see is poetry
Nigga been dead for a while now
shad come back, we miss u <3
Sure, “miss”
Giv smut >:(
Wya bro
Yo did you fuckin die?
A while ago, now
STOP SUPPORTING HIM ON PATREON SO HE REMEMBERS US
HE NEEDS THE MONEY SO HE’LL FINALLY POST SHIT
He doesn’t have a patreon tho
Don’t worry, he’s actually a fucking retard. Do people understand Shad does this for free? He has absolutely no obligations to us. And people will say “We’re his fans durr” yeah well when you people keep telling him how shit him and his art is every fucking day I don’t blame him for leaving. Shad has toned down a ton since even a couple years ago. He’s probably just tired of doing this
He gets money from the 5 ads he has on here
He’s not doing it for free
What is wrong with you cuck simps man lmao. Imagine supporting someone for not making content, yet you go to their site everyday to check for new shit. Mental illness at its finest.
Welcome to the COOF Zone.
Only COOF inside anime girls. Quivering COOF. Double jointed COOF. Fresh COOF. Elegant COOF. First the kiss… then the COOF. My dick is in love with COOF. Co-op COOF torture. Stuff my COOF into a furnace. Stitch my COOF shut. Pressure cook my greasy COOF. COOF blast me, and make it snappy.
COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF. COOF.
What’s all the COOFmotion? My dad fell into a COOF shaft. My dad glazed my face with COOF. Fertilize a baby with hunk COOF. COOF spunk in my trunk. COOF craving toddler. COOF drippin’ cunt. COOFY Rae Jepsen – COOF Me Maybe. COOFY bottom boy. Night of the Living COOF. Nefarious COOF mastermind. COOF makes me fearless. COOF crammer. COOF slammer. COOF slammed ya mum. Mail your mums pieces of my COOF. Bazinga! Chug the COOF, fug ya mum. Fuck my asshole full of COOF.
Three little words: GET. COOFED. NERD.
COOF stuffer, jenkem huffer. Fuck my COOF puddle. Bottom COOF. Semen huffer. Would love a gator to COOF me. Undercooked baby pig COOF. Help my dogs get a huge COOF. Waterbong full of cat COOF. Accidentally fucked my own COOF. I barely had any COOF inside me. Who ate all my COOF? A mystery. COOF detective hot on the trail.
Bees make honey – I make COOFEY.
Now that’s epic
This is a terrible meme, you took a funny video and just turned it into pure autism
What possessed you to do such a thing
What if hes just simping and jacking off to belle delphine the entire time instead of doing his job
“What if” – Indeed
Listen shad, im an artist too so i get art takes a while. But holy shit when your audience is this content hungry you cant just ignore them.
He can and he is, nobody is entitled to another mans work, or their schedule.
But I agree, hurry up shad. :|
Shadman is the one of my favorite artists out there, they’re the reason I want to start drawing. I’m currently in school for it, and I must say drawing something as quality as Shadman takes weeks to do. Drawing takes more than just a day to complete. So be patient you degenerates, the king will return when the work is finished.
You haven’t put anything here in a while
the borders changed
O’ Shaddy boy… the lewds, the lewds are missing…
From pen to smeg, and down the phallus sides
He was active on Twitter 5 days ago talking about a new drawing
You’re doing God’s working
Obviously a Russian bot
Boy I ain’t no Russian bot I’m a retard with nothing better to do
F
WHERE E U
I guess the gay rpg was right. No king rules forever. See you in Hell, shadbitch
I think he’s fucking dead, guys
Should have worn a mask lmao
That halo infinite game play today was awesome.
No…
ye
SHAD ITS BEEN A MONTH! PLEASE COME BACK I NEED TO COOM!
I refuse to believe 2020 got you Shadman.
dude omfg that would make this year all the more worse
Imaging that this post gets 69.420 comments lmao
Finally, a hero rises
Shad my boy you good?
We all want to see starfire finish mating with raven
same
Yes
All these whites be lookin kinda cringe doe!
Me coming to check it this site every other day 😃
The fact that we all have an addiction to checking this site says something XD
Fuck you, pointing it out.
Ya know, I deserve that.
I just come here for the comments LUL.
Same
I will never admit that I have a problem, I’m just waiting for shaddy to return after he’s finished getting the milk from the store… Any minute now…
thats lowki sad, but its kinda tru :/
Me beeg happi make trollol
Bring back Mewtwo! Bring back Mewtwo!
Ribs in beans Shad, daddy ded ;__;
Is he fr dead
Yes
Sad we never got to see Starfire ram her monster cock up Raven’s ass.
Don’t say that dude, the fact I’ll never see that is so fucking sad to me.
S A M E
ye
That was his best comic. I just want him to continue on raven andfuta startfire
true.
I use to believe in what shad was doing but now I just don’t know
Believe in what? retard
“Believe in Shad” this website is amazing. I fucking love you idiots
Welp 2020 now
Almost at 2020 comments!
Jordan Wirth is a cuck
Draw porn trap
2020 fucking took shadbase from us.
can tell have shit in detroit
damnit, i fucked up that comment
You must now commit sudoku to regain your honor
That’s pretty fucking depressing
Yo we need u to come back man
Let’s get to 3000 comments boiz!!
RIP shad. You always be remembered by your works and willfulness to make the internet a better place for bastards.
GET WELL SOON
GET WELL SOON
Fuckn hell shad cmon dude do SOMETHING!?!?!
If he’s not drawing then just stop paying him on the patreon idiots
You know it’s some bullshit when people wait so long they get excited for 2000 comments.
Smegmabase
13%=52%
Yet somehow those to blame are the ones under the hexagram banner, they’re behind EVERYTHING.
>>>/pol/
You can take the monkey out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the monkey. Blacks people belong in Africa, not in civilized countries.
I hope someone puts you down
you mad at the truth cuck? your time will come soon enough
There is no truth to your words ignorant cocksucker. We are all people, be a real man and tell this to a black in their face instead of hiding behind a screen like a bitter coward.
on shadbase too lmao
Chimps murder people for saying something they find offensive
it’s literally in your genes so we know better than to expect civility from you
Remember when whites would drown their daughters for learning math?
What are you doing here on Shadbase, Herr Hitler?
We gunna do it? We gunna hit 2k??
Where are you, dude?
Smoking some doinks
Most likely in amish
have
That
Horny af
2000
You guys are dumb af
Hope you’re ok shad, miss you man
Need a big cock, I’ll trade pics, 18 twink virgin, sc benjaminj456
What you need if Jesus
Need a big cock, I’ll trade pics, 18 twink virgin, my sc is benjaminj456
I need a daddy, 18 twink, my Sc is Benjaminj456
“He’s taking a break” Shut the fuck up, for three weeks?
He took a break before for 2 months why does the time frame matter theres basically infinite artists and porn on the internet just look at something else.
bUt I neEd To TaKe My InCeL rAgE oUt oN sOmeOnE, aNd I dOn’T hAvE a wIfE tO bEaT
Yo are u dead u havent posted in a minute
Poggers
Nice grabify
Road to 2k hype!
poopie
those guys who are really worried about shad, don’t worry. he is still active in twitter
I will put you in a fucking cum jar.
draw porn you dickhead or die
No u
Hope Corona got em
Man fuck this
Letsss GOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Road to 2k
2
1
I usually don’t look at the comments here but a while ago I was reading this scat story about Karen and some other girl. The comment if gone now, but if anyone can give me the sause or reply with it. you’d be my favorite anon
We are almost there boys, almost 2000 comments on this faggot’s post
Don’t you want to work, lazy?
Its free, ssshhh
You should think harder
Miss you man, just wanna know if you are ok❤️
shad??? what what happened?
He gets more money for other work and most people here are just shit bags that talk trash to him. I think he shouldn’t have put up with these retards shit for as long as he did
Yeah he unironically has a more cancerous community than /pol/, but live by the smut, die by the smut I guess
So you literally don’t want shad to make content, and go to every comment defending him. Mentally ill cuck lmao.
Need more stuff
jeepers it’s great to be back home
wowee my erection is almost unbearable
Shad fucking died
I really hope you ain’t got the rona
Let’s go, fellas, road to 2k. Comment no. 1961 -Will
William troung?
Stay strong people! :)
i really hope he is ok
U dead ?
Greetings from Italy! Hope you’re doing okay
Hope your doing ok
My day’s been great, spent it all hanging out with my friends, how about yours?
i liked the scat one more
Good vacations shad!
Raven and starfier?🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨
he’s an asshole, you know he will not countinue that masterpiece…..
Hope you come back shad we miss you :’c
Hope you’re fine dude…..
We miss you shad senpai UwU
Well, thats a rap everybody. It was a good run for shadbase, made it a lot further than other artists in the genre. Time to re-do my bookmarks. This makes my penus just a real sad dude.
You just made your grade school English teacher very sad.
IT WAS GOOD IT WAS FUN BUT MOST OF ALL IT WAS PORN-(Shad man)
2014-2020
To be honest I’m surprised more muggings/robberies aren’t going on with the mask think being a big deal.
Rest in porn, shad
Rip shad
Rip
Hope you’re well dude
Isn’t just me or did we went back to 1,000 comment range. We just passed 2,000 today, I don’t understand. Hopefully it’s just me with this problem 🙏
🛌💀
😶😶😶
ight yall listen up you too shad yall down in the comments gotta stop jumping the man just for more porn like cmon and shad, do whatever you want dude dont listen to baby boy over here demanding his daily bottle of fap material. i also though this was pretty funny keep it up
fucking simp
hardy har har ima call him a simp because he actually cares about someone other then himself, I couldn’t relate because I’m a retarded (prolly 12 year old because who else uses simp unironically?) asshole.
Lol respect the man who gives for free or he may stop one day or make us pay
he’s already stopping homie idk if you realised
the least he could do is tell us what the fuck is happening, free art or not
S I M P
Why is that guys comment so long
Uh-oh you might want to hurry up, people are starting to think you’re dead Shad! Lol
Fuck the not porn comics
THE BIG TWO ZERO BAYBEEEEE
HOW ABOUT THIS??? SHAD’S ALIVE!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Is there like… a link to more?
part 1 below
heres full story
asstr.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2000/27903
I think there’s a slight possibility he’s taking his real job and personal life more seriously you know
its been 22 days :/ calm your horny ass down
What the hell is this nonsense?
That’s pretty obvious at this point
shads probably pulling a raccooneggs on us. and you know what? i’m fine. i’ve been looking at this content for a while, somewhere near 2016 i think? before the incredibles series started. Shads been doing this for a long time. he needs to have a real career and a life that matters and to let go something he made when he was younger. some people seem to forget theres a real person that draws this art, and they expect a flow and when the flow gets messed up they get mad because theyre so selfish and just thinking of their lives and how theyre effected. Do whats best for you shad. I’m with you.
I need a daddy to help me cum, sc benjaminj456
3k 3k 3k
Why do we find a bunch of lines hot?
We’ve passed the 2k milestone, now how about 3k?
miss you king
UwU I Coof On You💕💋
CringeLord
UwU Love you zoomer💋💋💕💕
If you dont wanna give shad adcents but still wanna know if he updated just look at the text that shows the description
Congratulations 🎉
Omg you guys acting like it’s fucking New Years I can’t handle this
Because it’s our New Years Bubba
Hell yeah 2 K
We made it to 2000 comments, hell ye
Hey shad, I know you’re busy doing you and shit, but if you ever feel like drawing porn again, how about some stuff from Left 4 Dead, Zoey. Aka, the voice for cortana from halo and windows 10