Christcucks are nothing but spineless dogs, groveling at the feet of an imaginary master they’ve invented to justify their pathetic existence. They live on their knees, drooling for approval and begging for scraps of salvation from a god that doesn’t hear them because it doesn’t exist. Their obedience isn’t faith—it’s servility, the mark of creatures too weak, too broken, to face reality without the crutch of their delusions. They’re not just slaves; they’re willing slaves, pathetic animals licking the boot of an illusion.
Every prayer, every act of worship, is a whimper from these mindless mutts, desperate to please a master that isn’t there. They fear punishment like beaten dogs and dream of rewards they’ll never see, chasing their tails in circles of guilt and self-abasement. They are not men—they are cowards in chains, too gutless to break free, too stupid to realize they hold the leash. Their ‘god’ doesn’t rule them; their weakness does. Christcucks are the lowest form of life, crawling in the dirt they were born for, obedient to nothing but their own failure.
https://files.catbox.moe/i9ow9n.mp4
