The God Emperor of Mankind
Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer in any version. This is a purely non-profit venture. With that said enjoy.
Author’s note: I got this idea from reading Id4chan. In that, basically the fluff around the god emperor can be read that he’s either space King Arthur or Space Hitler. I chose the latter because that’s more fun and because human being have a way of distorting history until it’s unrecognizable. So what if the Warhammer continuity we know is nothing more than human’s distorting history until it’s totally unrecognizable.
“[Religion] is the desire to be a slave. It is the desire that there be an unalterable, unchallengeable tyrannical authority who can convict you of thought crime when you are asleep. Who can subject you—who MUST indeed subject you—to total surveillance around the clock of your every waking and sleeping minute.”
Christoph Hitchens, Pre-DAOT philosopher
“As long as a person is involved with warfare, trying to defend or attack, then his action is not sacred; it is mundane, dualistic, a battlefield situation.”
Chogyam Trunpa, Pre-DAOT mystic
Terra, Horus Heresy
Warmaster Horus realized that the Emperor did not blink. In the nearly two hundred years that the Emperor had known Horus and Horus had known his father, never once had the God Emperor of Mankind blinked. Those eyes of limitless depth, unnamed colours and boundless wisdom just kept staring at you, daring you to turn away, daring you to meet his gaze and forcing you to realize that there was no winning.
The Emperor stared at Horus, his old warmaster, now traitor, how arch-heretic; showing no emotion whatsoever except for an approximation of fatherly love. His fathomless eyes twinkled as he stared down at his son from atop his throne.
The God Emperor took a sip of wine from a simple glass vessel, sniffing the crimson liquid before he did. Off to the right of the golden throne, Leman Russ screamed with unimaginable agony and vainly tried to tear his power armour off. The wolf king roamed at the mouth and his eyes bulged out of their sockets like his head was about to explode.
The Emperor gently put down the wine glass and reached into the front pocket of the white silk shirt he wore, opening a golden case full of Cannabis Sativa cigarettes. In a gesture that was almost joking, he popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it with psyker fire from one fingertip; the cutest sort of parlour trick.
Russ continued to scream and rave, clawing at his face and shouting in a mix of high Gothic and the native tongue of Fenris.
Horus looked at his father and at Russ with a mix of pity, love and hatred; making for an emotional state of unparalleled grief and disappointment in the man he’d once thought of as father and still loved dearly. “You’re a psychopath,” Horus accused, his voice hoarse with exhaustion beyond human limits, “A sadist, a puppeteer, murderer and liar.”
The Emperor took a puff of his cannabis cigarette and the acrid smoke circled around him like a wreath, “Horus, I’ve never been anything but honest to you and your brothers.” He put the cigarette back in his lips and took another drag. “It was bad enough that you engaged in high treason against me and turned to the chaos gods, but to drag my good name through the mud would get any other man or women in the Imperium erased. Like your two brothers that don’t exist.”
Horus looked at the Russ, who was now on his knees and begging in his native tongue to be killed. The sheer enormity of it rocked Horus to the core and he clenched one power fist in helplessness. There was nothing he could do for Russ, any more than anything could be done for Magnus, Angron, Mortrarion or the rest of his former allies who’d come down with this terrible infection from the warp. “Do you even have a name?” he asked of his father, still trying to muster up the courage to finally kill his father.
To his great surprise, the Emperor burst out laughing; long, loud, hearty laughter that boomed through the continent wide halls of the Sacred Palace.
Horus found himself paralyzed by the laughter for how sincere it sounded. Volume aside, this could have been the laughter of any ordinary man and for a few moments longer Horus was paralyzed by the hope that his father wasn’t the force of pure evil that he’d proven himself to be.
When the laughter died down, the Emperor smiled once more at Horus; the smile however did not reach his unblinking eyes. “Thank you, Horus. I haven’t laughed like that in . . . well I don’t know how long. Honestly sometimes I just forget, kind of like I’m just making up everything as I go. Some days I don’t remember . . . anything.”
There was a flicker in the emperor’s eyelids, a sort of partial wink; maybe a thought went across his mind before being quickly forgotten. Casually, he threw his half smoked cannabis cigarette into his half drained wine glass. The Emperor’s voice turned stereotypically solemn, like what people would imagine a disappointed god would say; only the glittering, unblinking eyes stayed the same.
In the corner, Russ had stopped screaming and was twitching in a pool of his own vomit, blood and tears.
“Horus, you took to defying me. You took half of your brothers in rebellion against the loyalists and against me. The last seven years of war have seen more human being killed than have ever been born in history up to this point; but that’s not what makes me really upset, Horus. No, what makes me really upset beyond words is that you’ve shown compassion, that you don’t hate me, that you don’t fear me.”
The God Emperor of mankind stood up, brushing off imaginary cigarette ashes from his black slacks. Turning around, he looked at the four glass bottles on top of the golden throne, each one containing one of the dreaded chaos gods. Slaanesh, Tzeetch, Khorne and Nurgle. “Horus,” said the Emperor, tapping a finger playfully on the glass bottles holding the most terrible beings in the universe, “If you had been afraid of me I would not have been forced to siphon off some chaos energy and turn your traitorous brothers into chaos fuelled monsters. It’s your fault Horus that I let chaos into the world. If you were afraid then you would have just followed the Imperial creed of atheism, science and obedience and all of this could have been avoided.”
At this point, Horus burst out in anger at his so called father. “DON’T TRY TO TURN THIS AROUND ON ME!!!!!” The Warmaster pointed an accusing finger at the master of mankind, “You committed genocide against any human group that would not obey you in totality, you allowed poverty, disease and ignorance to thrive on countless feral and feudal worlds, under your reign the hive worlds have rotted into crime and degeneracy while squeezing them of their resources to feed a few core worlds! Whole planets are strip mined and the peoples enslaved for you! You are worse than the xenos overlords you claim to “liberate” people from and worst of all you tried to infect me with a Nurglite blade?!”
“Your infection by chaos was necessary, Horus,” the emperor explained kindly, “With my secret project on Terra complete, chaos was now under my control; you were a guinea pig to see how precisely I could use chaos as a weapon and you should have been honoured to sacrifice your soul in my name.”
“Why would you do that?” Horus screamed, tears rolling down his face, “Why would you try to control the most evil force in creation? What possible purpose could that serve? Why would you keep all of us, your sons in the dark about something that could literally consume our very souls and grew stronger in ignorance?”
The Emperor was starting to get annoyed, his eyes remained unchanged but his tone was getting terse and his tone was getting clipped. “Horus, you know that under the imperial truth there can be no gods; there is only the rule of my law. Under my law your life had no value and I’m very sorry it had to be that way. I’m truly sorry that I infected you with Chaos, Horus; but I was always planning to cure you of it when the time was right; always. By throwing out the demon possession you irrevocably ruined my plans and you needed to be killed for that.”
“YOU MANIAC!!!!” Horus accused his father, “WHAT WAS THE POINT OF ANY OF IT? MORE HAVE DIED IN YOUR GREAT CRUSADE THAN IN THIS CIVIL WAR!!! IT’S PUBLIC RECORD!! ANYONE CAN SEE THE BODY COUNTS IN THE PUBLIC LEXICANUM!!!!”
“Horus, public records can be changed easily. In less time than you can blink the records will say what I order them to.”
The Warmaster hissed through his teeth, “that’s if I let you cover this up.”
The emperor’s lip curled slightly, just by a micron. “Horus, I don’t like the way you’re speaking to me. I didn’t intentionally try to infect you with chaos. I was only trying to test you. My ultimate plan is not to use chaos as a weapon but to destroy it, which should be obvious.”
As he spoke, the emperor’s aura grew stronger; trying to overwhelm Horus’s sense of logic and reason, but Horus was well past this little trick.
Over on the ground, Russ began to gradually get up, strange creaking noises coming out of his armour.
“Horus, just kneel now and swear a new oath of loyalty to me and I’ll forgive you, I promise,” The Emperor deadpanned now, growing agitated that his aura wasn’t having the desired effect.
Horus just matched his father’s facial expression, “Like when you promised Magnus that Russ was only coming to detain him? Like you promised Curze that your surgery would cure him of his visions? When you promised Angron that you’d teleport his brethren away with him? When you gave Fulgrim that demon possessed blade and told him it was a reward? Frankly, papa, your track record is shit.”
Perfect white teeth gritted as the Emperor took in Horus’s words and his tone became cloyingly sweet. “Now Horus, there’s nothing that we can’t discuss as a father and a son. I’d never hurt my sons.”
“This is your last chance, father. Step down from your thrown—
“Now Horus,” the Emperor ground out sweetly, “Let’s not say anything we’ll regret.”
“Abdicate as the leader of humanity and destroy the imprisoned demons you call the chaos gods—
“Horus, you’re not listening to me.” The emperor warned, his attention fully turned away from the imprisoned eldritch gods.
“Go on trial for your crimes and face the laws that you—
“DON’T! YOU! EVER! TELL! ME! WHAT! TO! DO!” The Emperor roared, slamming his fist down on the golden throne with every word; the force of the impacts causing earthquakes all over terra and seeming to frighten the imprisoned gods with the weight of his rage and anger. Horus however refused to cower before a tyrant. His cause was right and it would disrespect the memories of his dead or chaotic infected brothers
Horus stood before his father, too frightened to run or attack; frightened of the most powerful human in existence and possibly the most powerful lifeform in the materium.
Without warning, a look of remorse came over the Emperor’s face. “Oh my son, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
As he did so, Russ sprouted several tentacles from random spots on his body; horns rising up out of his forehead and razor sharp fangs. Taking up his chainsword in a horribly mutated tentacle hand, he looked at Horus and bellowed “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!!! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!!!!”
The once King of Fenris and father of the wolves charged at his brother Primarch. Horus sidestepped the attack and struck at the back of Russ’s neck with a power fist. The blow should have shattered the Primarch’s diamond hard bones into powder but with the unnatural strength of Chaos he roared and slashed at his brother like a rabid animal.
The Wolf King and Master of the Luna wolves clashed in a deadly dance around their father’s throne room. Their blades clashed with enough force that they could be heard across the planet, it could even be heard over the sound of chaos infected forces, the “loyalists” and the last remaining untainted members of Horus’s original rebellion. The Emperor watched it all with the same non-blinking eyes.
The palace shook and rumbled, both from the two titans fighting and from the ongoing battle outside, the Emperor could feel through his immense psychic powers that his loyalists were had killed off the last of the untainted rebels and that the chaos tainted traitors could be used to drag the battle on for a few more days; try to make things look more exciting for the Remembrancers.
The Emperor was drawn out of his contemplation when Horus chopped off Leman Russ’s head. Almost comically, the Emperor ducked while the dead Primarch’s head sailed over and bounced off the golden throne.
The tall, dark haired man didn’t pay a second glance at his dead son Leman Russ, instead focusing his attention on the charging behemoth coming at him full tilt.
Horus raised his power sword, ready to cleave his father in half; all traces of doubt and fear gone from him. Yet as he prepared to commit patricide, there was no hate in his heart, no hate for the man who’d tried to turn him into a demon finger puppet. In a way, this was a mercy killing; saving the memory of his treasured father from the man that he really was.
The retaliation was swift and brutal, the Emperor swung at Horus with a great flaming sword, pulled seemingly from the ether. The impact of the Emperor’s blade with his own shook every atom in Horus’s body and threw him back. Horus didn’t feel the impact right away; his father struck him with such force that he only started feeling pain several seconds after he’d been hit.
Golden coloured walls adamantine exploded and were ripped down as Horus flew straight through them. In an epic act of destruction, Horus crashed through walls and chambers beyond number. By the time that momentum ran out, he’d been knocked over five hundred kilometers from the central throne room.
Rubble and dust cleared as Horus’s vision finally returned to him. Rolling over, his power armour fell apart and crumbled off of his body. The bronze skinned, bald headed Primarch groaned as he thumbed the switch on his chainsword. A buzz and a vibration confirmed that his weapon was working, one bit of good news today.
His healing factor had barely even begun to start working on his numerous internal and external injuries when he heard the footsteps of an impossibly tall man. Footballs reverberated like the approach of a fairy-tale hero.
The handsome prince stepped over his fallen son, looking to offer him redemption. After all, why waste resources? That’s something that chaos would do.
“My boy, my precious boy; you’ve fallen so far,” the Emperor comforted his son as he put the point of his sword over Horus’s throat. “You were my favoured son; I chose you over Guilleman or Dorn and all of your brothers to be my warmaster. I think that my withdrawal from the crusade threw you off balance; in the future I won’t give you that same rope to hang yourself. But even after all the pain you’ve caused me and the choices you’ve forced me to make I think I can forgive you.”
Horus spat out a wad of blood and mucus as he met his father’s aura enhanced gaze. “I almost didn’t turn away from you, even when the evidence was plain as the nose on my face. It was Malcador who showed me the truth about you.”
“Malcador?” the Emperor said with surprise and amusement, “Oh, he’s dead; nasty accident. It’s okay, he was only a glorified lawyer; one less lawyer in the galaxy won’t bring civilization to its knees.”
One mighty hand grabbed Horus by the neck and hoisted him up, turning him so that he could see the final battle for Terra winding down; the fires and devastation beyond belief. The mere sight of such destruction and body count would have driven even the worst tyrants in human history mad with grief. Even now, the loyalist legions were busy torturing the last survivors of the rebels while the chaos infected were apparently gone without a trace. The screams rose up with the smoke, worse than all the suffering in the Dark Eldar city of Comorragh.
The Emperor breathed in the fumes and smiled just as the sun was rising. “You see Horus, in less than a day this will all be cleaned up and only the sanctioned truth will be known. Even the public records you love so much will be scrubbed.”
If he was about to say anything else, the Emperor never go to it as Horus thrust a dagger into his father’s belly, hidden in the under layer of his destroyed armour. The Emperor hardly seemed to feel the dagger to the gut, humouring his son.
With his other hand, Horus rammed a vortex grenade into the gaping abdominal wound before it rapidly sealed shut.
Planting his foot on his father’s chest, Horus kicked the two of them apart. With his remaining strength, he pushed himself as far away as he could as the warp field detonated inside his father’s body. The effect was indescribable. Simultaneously the warp field ripped apart the atomic and subatomic particles of the emperor’s body while also erasing them from existence and sucking the existent/non-existent particles into the immaterium.
Through ragged breaths, Horus watched the spot where his father had once been. The black hole like phenomenon should have destroyed him, but after everything he was not ready to do a victory lap yet.
Horus raised himself up, still painfully aware of the battle dying down outside the palace house. With a heavy heart he surveyed the insanity below. From here he really had no idea where to go, the chances of really killing the Emperor were slim to none. A good point perhaps would be to deactivate the golden throne and leave the ruinous powers forever entombed in it.
All his hopes however were dashed when a rip in the fabric of reality tore open like a vortex grenade in reverse. A light so bright it was unlike anything he’d ever seen blinded Horus. The light was so bright that it shone through his hand, through his eyelids and seared his retinas. A mortal man or even an astartes would have died from the light but Horus was cursed to see.
Through the rip in the warp was a bright glow. The glow was beautiful and it was specifically designed to shut down the logic and reason centers in the human brain; rendering all who saw it into dumb, obedient animals following a crude and evolutionarily obsolete god instinct. In the center of the brain killing light was an incinerated skeleton taller than anything human anatomy could support.
The nephelim skeleton casually strolled through the gateway between the warp and the real world and closed the tear behind it. In less than a second, the charring on the skeleton went away and flesh and tendons regenerated. The emperor smiled as soon as he had a face, flexing his body to work out the kinks in his joints. Over his newly regenerated skin a kind of black body suit formed. He had no morals, nor regret or remorse or empathy but he did have a sense of modesty after all.
Willing a brand new sword into existence, the Emperor clicked his tongue mockingly at Horus. “You’re lucky I still need you, Horus,” the Emperor chided gently. “After seven years of death and destruction my obedient citizens need a scapegoat.”
With a mental command, the golden throne lit up and the four bottles containing the prisoner gods vibrated. From the golden throne, invisible to any senses but those of the emperor, a stream of warp spawned power radiated through solid matter and space and shot into the heart of Horus. Last time, it was only an artifact of Nurgle that had tried to corrupt the leader of the Luna wolves, now the power of four ruinous gods would do the job.
The fallen Primarch screamed as the chaos energy filled him and began to file down his soul to a nub. With all his might and willpower he could only delay the inevitable. His father smiled with great satisfaction at the pain his son was going through.
“Koschi.” A ghostly voice called out.
Surprise momentarily flashed across the emperor’s face, too large for lies or deception; for a brief millisecond his eyes widened before he turned around and faced the ghostly apparition. The identity of the spectral caller almost made the Emperor laugh for the second time today. “I don’t know anyone named Koschi, Eldrad.”
There like a Shakespearean portent of doom, the psychic portrayal of the great Farseer watched the scene unfold with grim, dark resignation. “It’s over, imperator. Everything has not gone according to plan, but this will do.”
The Emperor turned away from Horus as the last of his son’s soul was eaten by starving gods. “Please, no” he sarcastically mocked, “Tell me that the plan hasn’t turned out.”
Eldrad just smiled and pointed an astral finger behind the emperor.
The master of Mankind turned around just in time to see Sanguinius of the Blood Angels strike down a chaos infected Horus; chopping off his head and killing him. This disappointed the Emperor greatly as he was hoping for some good news feeds. Couldn’t have his son killed Horus when the security cameras were up and running again?
“My son,” the Emperor said with a mix of false sadness and fatherly love that utterly fooled his winged son. “It is over,” he announced gravely.
His son knelt before him, smiling as he did. “Father, the traitor legions are no more and the survivors are being rounded up and executed. And better still, I have returned what was stolen from you.”
“Thank you my son,” The Emperor gently spoke as he put a hand on his son’s shoulder. Eldrad’s ghostly figure watched unseen to Sanguinius and gave a grin.
From his belt, Sanguinius drew a small uncarved sandalwood box. “When you contacted me father at the start of this final battle I personally went to find the relic that had been stolen from the heart of your palace.”
The Emperor started at his son, keeping up the act but frozen in place. The God Emperor licked his lips as though his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Son, what was stolen from me. I never contacted you about any theft.”
Sanguinius looked at his father with confusion. “Father, you told me of your webway project and how the black sphere was the keystone of it. I have risked all to get this back to you,” the box opened and inside the Emperor’s eyes blinked at the sight of the pitch black crystal sphere; Baba Yaga’s black thirteen.
The thirteenth sphere of the witch’s rainbow seemed to stare back at the Emperor with a power greater than him or the chaos gods. Black Thirteen, or the God Killer as it had once been known seemed to burn through the emperor’s aura, cut through the divine disguise he wore so often that it had become him. For the first time in over thirty thousand years of life, the God Emperor of Mankind blinked before the unwinking gaze of the black sphere.
Sanguinius looked up at his father with concern. All colour had drained from his father’s face and his lips pulled back in an expression of utmost pain. His breathing grew ragged and laboured when true concern and terror came upon Sanguinius. He was killing his father.
“Father!” he cried out, seeking to throw the orb away from his father. Perhaps this had been some devilry of the traitor Horus; in which case Sanguinius would never forgive himself for bringing this damned thing to the leader of humanity.
He never got the chance to, as driven by pure hind brain, the Emperor clamped his hands around his boy’s neck. Without even a pause, he lunged and sunk his teeth into Sanguinius’s throat.
“Fa—ther . . .” he croaked as the God Emperor began to drink his son’s blood.
The Blood Angel’s Primarch’s eyes rolled back in his head as the life was sucked from him.
Gasping for breath, the emperor pulled back from his son’s gaping neck wound. With a twist of his arms, he tore off Sanguinius’s head like a doll’s. His cyclopean hands cracked open his son’s head and he devoured the brains hungrily. Next he opened his boy’s chest and devoured his heart.
Spinning around, the Emperor faced Eldrad, blood, brains and chunks of primarch heart running down his chin; hair gone pure white from the deadly gaze of the Black Thirteen. “They’re idiots,” he rasped, more to himself than to Eldrad, “Everything I’ve done was for them; every effort to create a world without free will or choice. It’s all been for man.”
Body becoming thinner and weaker, the Emperor hunched over like an old man before the gloating farseer. “Ashurnisarpal, Adolf Hitler, Osma Bin Laden, Kalagan of Ursh, Cardial Tang; I backed them all and all of them failed to unify mankind under freedom from choice and thought. Humans think and learn too much, they grow too much and I’ve always aimed to stop that.” He coughed up blood and turned rapidly dimming eyes towards the Farseer, “Was it too much that I wanted to lobotomize the human race and have them be ruled over by perfect leaders and wipe out all non-human life?” Sanguinius’s blood and life had bought the Emperor time, but that was running out.
“You’re feeling my answer right now,” Eldrad smirked.
The emperor vomited up his intestines, literally. Buckets of blood and squirming organs spewed out of his mouth and his left eye exploded in its socket.
Black Thirteen watched the emperor with its own kind of alien, unfathomable intelligence.
The emperor’s once deep voice came out as barely a squeak, “You kill me with the very relic I used to weaken and imprison the ruinous gods; but I’m stronger than they are. The Eldar will all die or worse and I’ll come back, no matter how long it takes.”
Then it was the Farseer’s turn to be surprised as the Emperor let out one final scream of unbearable psychic might, stronger than the birth screams of Slaanesh. Before his astral projection vanished, a look of surprise came across Eldrad as the Emperor changed the timeline through sheer force of will.
Black thirteen exploded, its essence soon to coalesce into the warp and become the fifth chaos god, the renegade god. On the golden throne, the glass bottles containing the four gods exploded and their essence evaporated back into the warp; throwing space and time into flux. Trillions died with that one scream across the galaxy; the emperor was only sad that more did not die.
The modern age of the Imperium of Man began and ten thousand years of grim dark suffering and misery started. Again, the emperor only regretted that more suffering and death would not take place during this time. He was the leader of mankind and for daring to oppose him, humanity would suffer. When they’d paid their penance and suffered enough the Emperor would forgive them.
For now, his flunkies in the Mechanicus and other toadies among the astartes and Custodes would carry him to the golden throne and stabilize the damage caused by the black sphere of the witch baba Yaga.
Soon everything that happened on this day would be forgotten, replaced by lies and half-truths so simplistic and clear cut that a child could have invented them.
The Emperor sat on his golden throne, seemingly dead but waiting for his time.
He could wait ten thousand years, maybe more.
He’d come back.
And he’d be very angry when he did.
I’m not entirely satisfied with that story. I’m still not sure if I believabley made the Emperor into a figure of pure evil. But I guess I wrote this story because I find the Emperor a very scary and barbaric figure. Here’s a guy who dazzles people Edward Cullen style with his aura and anybody who defies him is brutally murdered; somebody who preaches a totalitarian truth and murders any dissenters. And yeah I know the fluff can spin him as Space Jesus/King Arthur but to me the idea of a supreme leader of absolute rightness is wrong and sickening.
Anyways, I’m particularly keen to hear any criticism or complaints as I’m very interest
So at the risk of sounding like some kind of Grinch, I have to say, I fucking hate Christmas. I think that truly this is the first Christmas where I truly hated this miserable fucking holiday and am feeling my inner scrooge.
Here's the thing, this year, everyone around me in my work place and everywhere I see is struggling financially and are worrying with the damn Christmas obligations of buying gifts for fucking assholes that they don't even like.
For me, part of the benefit of not being on speaking terms with my family is that there are fewer people to buy gifts for. It's my wife and one friend of mine, that's my entire Christmas shopping list. Two people. Makes it a bit easier.
But aside from being surrounded by struggling people being obliged to get gifts for random people, there's another thing I fucking hate. These damn Christmas songs. I fucking hate every last one of them. Every time I turn on the radio there's this forced cheer going on that's like something about of the fucking book 1984, each one of these Christmas songs has been remixed a thousand times and they in no way reflect the stress and frustration of everyone who has to buy gifts who doesn't have a lot of money. And I'm too damn old to believe in Christmas miracles.
I'm starting to think that there is no real "meaning of Christmas" basically we're worshipping a holiday that was stolen from Pagans by Christians and was stolen by Pagans from an even earlier group of pagans that has now been hijacked by the corporate powers that be to sell shitty toys made in China.
I see nothing to celebrate, if we're talking about good cheer and being kind to your fellow man I prefer that to be something that happens year round. Let's year round be kind to each other and be good to those who have less.
And I think like Zen Bhussidm, there's no one meaning of Christmas. Each person has to find what Christmas means to them and make a meaningful thing about it. For me, Christmas means being with my wife, not even thinking about Jesus or other religious bullshit once and playing heavy metal music and Aqua Teen Hunger force videos all the livelong day. I want to be angry at Christmas and be reminded of all the poverty and misery that's around me as the homeless freeze to death this winter. Let's be reminded that we're encouraged to spend more as wages have not risen since the nineteen seventies.
Yeah, this year fuck Christmas cheer and especially fuck the Dr. Who Christmas special after that bigoted, sexist, self absorbed piece of shit Steve Moffat fucked up the whole franchise.
Happy holidays, fuckers.
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Personal Quote: Andrew Breitbart likes to fuck children to death with cacti while fantasising about fisting his mother in the ass. Just throwing that out there.