>>28979747 (OP)It was at this point that Thomas' father knew his son was gone forever, chemical castration completed, and the painted up body that is naught more than a discarded empty husk formerly inhabited by the soul and spirit of his issue was only a fraction as distorted as the psychotropic mishmash that is the mind of a chemically castrated soldier in a war that would never come to pass. The bloodline ends here, he thought to himself. Why did my ancestors survive untold instances of the most deathly scenarios for twenty thousand years? So that they may paint themselves up like a cartoon and pretend to be pretty girls, but the old man understood that they were just satanic dead ends that had no place in the eternal oneness of the world to come. He thought of Moses, he thought of Adam. He thought of the women who had raised him. Maybe they were to blame, maybe not. Maybe it was his fault, or the doctors. But at the end of the day, what fucking difference did any of it make? Maybe it was just the spirit of the ancestors, the same spirit that inhabits him, that had failed. All the old man knew, was that the humans had outgrown their use. It was time to transcend biological life and enter the ether. To exist and not to exist in the eternal halls of silent stillness. He pressed the bottle to his lips and swallowed the remainders of the edible cannabis. 8:20pm he said. Time for heroes. There are no innocent bystanders. This time, the old man would finally take the advice he'd been carrying in the back of his mind. He would hit them with his car, and enter the Temple os. To Terry he said, as the 2004 Buick roared across the parking lot, his former son and his fag polycule of diddys and diddlers didn't even see it coming...