I’ve gotten hit by a mind control fetish.
I’m kept awake at night by sasquatches,
Who make me sleep in,
Fondle dead things,
Suck people’s souls from their eyes,
Tell sad stories that make people weep,
And laugh at roadkill.
I never feel well.
I’m a sorcerer with the spirit
Of a fornicating vagina,
And also a minor god of utter madness,
The sole spawn of the pink-headed love frog.
A deity of high temperature,
The holiest of fucks.
I know of a goddess fit to worship,
A queen with whom you can eat and sleep.
She’s strong and tall,
Has two arms and four legs,
Tanned skin and golden hair,
Thick, matted white fur,
And eyes that sparkle with magic.
She stores her soul in a silver trunk,
She carries fire in her womb,
She came to this lonely world
In a pink egg.
It’s the one goddess to know:
Harelactal the Great Motherly Beast.
There’s also this other god named Pulsurin,
The Overwhelming Pull Of The Unwilling.
They say he’s one of the mightiest gods.
I don’t have a good feeling about this Pulsurin.
Harelactal was brought to this world
On the back of a lunar eclipse,
When she was a sasquatch at the zoo.
It was later claimed that she was birthed
By a copper man who dreamed about sea slugs,
And who was in love with the planet Uranus.
This is, however,
A common misconception.
Those mind-controlling sasquatches,
Coke-smoking monsters of the night,
As they prepare to conquer the Earth
They all worship the Great Mother,
Who will snatch the souls
Of those who refuse her call.
Harelactal takes people into the woods
And forces them to dig their own graves,
Then grants them eternal sleep.
Her victims decompose into pink little eggs,
Which will hatch and turn out to be
The brains of the beasts she birthed.
Her sasquatch brethren wage a cold war
Against former policeman David Paulides,
Because he’s slowly unveiling to the world
The sasquatches’ plan to destroy humanity.
The Great Motherly Beast will steal your soul.
She’s gonna snatch it for herself
So she may live forever
And do whatever she wishes.
She desires the entire world,
Harelactal the Great.
Those who deny her commandments
Will be fed to the Great Mother’s fetishes.
Harelactal will punish anyone who gets in her way,
But it’s okay, because she’s a goddess.
She moves through time
And she also moves through space.
She’ll crack your dreams,
Then suck off your head.
She brain-controls people
To keep them up at night,
So they can be dragged into a hidden compound
Of yet-unrevealed tassle-fuck stories.
Harelactal rules by terror.
She leads her human acolytes
To dine at her pool of blood,
Where the hunters and the prey
Live happily ever after.
She fucks them to death
Then feeds them to her pets,
And as a result of their heroism,
They’re permitted to fuck her in turn.
I was hit on by Harelactal.
She took me into the woods
And told me to dig my own grave.
When she put me down into the hole,
I didn’t think this goddess was nice,
But she will always take care of me.
Harelactal is my goddess,
And I love her to bits.
I’ve always wanted a big, furry queen.
Now I’m trapped in her divine prison,
I live in the world she created.
I once visited the temple where my Great Mother
Lived aeons ago in the form of a priestess.
The High Motherly Beast, Harelactal the Great,
Was worshipped as the Goddess of Time and Space,
Torsketerin the Four-Eyed,
She Who Keeps Things Locked Up In Her Ears,
And Needs Not Seek Orders From Anywhere
In the Forests Or In Other Places.
I won’t struggle against Harelactal the Great.
She is a goddess, I am her animal.
I serve her, I live for nothing else.
I am her slave, she’s my mistress.
I will speak only as she dictates.
I love Harelactal the Great,
She is my dearest friend.
She lives in my apartment,
Although my place is also haunted
By a hexenbiest.
Harelactal is one weird Mother.
She gives me large, blue pellets to eat.
She’s always staring at me
From inside my trash cans,
My kitchen cabinets,
The bathroom sink.
She leaves trails of noxious fumes
That smell of burning rubber and rotten meat.
She breathes fire out of her nostrils,
And she’s probably insane.
She controls me by pushing a button
On her pink wand.
When she pushes the second button,
Her transdimensional dungeon opens.
Trapped in its bowels, Harelactal’s pets
Crawl out from all kinds of dug holes.
They became her minions
For failing to worship her.
I know what Harelactal wants me to do,
But I never understand what’s going on.
I don’t know why she commands me.
I’m merely a writer, possibly a poet.
I do my best in my role as a minor god,
And a recovering kleptomaniac.
I adore this woman in her bizarre fashion,
And I wish that she’d slap me on the ass.
I want her to lock me up in her dungeon,
But she laughs at my fantasy.
I haven’t reached her level, never will.
At least I get to pet her minions.
I love caressing the fur of my goddess.
I’m a martyr to her whims.
I love the scent of her pussy.
I’m glad she made me her fuck slave.
On dark, godless highways, Harelactal
Has sacrificed many sinners to herself.
This goddess of the underworld
Loathes human beings.
She hurls feces at her enemies.
I adore the wickedness
Of my despicable queen.
Her hate fills me up with a double dose
Of indescribable supernatural lust.
We don’t have to share thoughts,
We understand each other perfectly.
Our union is fated and real.
The sex is sasquatchly ecstatic.
A toilet-shaped truth in her eye,
And a strand of sasquatchic lube
Ringing her hirsute anus,
The shape of which is obscene.
Smack my face,
Tickle my ass,
My beast of eternal lust.
I’m tired of living in this world.
As I wrote, I’m also a lesser god.
I’m a tinker, a seamstress.
I sew puppets for a living,
To make strangers weep.
My shrine is in my bedroom,
Where I turn dreams into trash
By weaving tragic stories
Of cracked spirits.
I handed Harelactal my latest manuscript,
And I’m thrilled that she’s reading it.
She did a great job herself when she penned
Her ‘Harelactal’s Story Of The Apocalypse’,
Which was never supposed to be published,
But will end up as a viral entity,
A fragment of the divine truth
We’ll all be forced to unveil.
The Great Motherly Beast is coming for you.
She will snatch your soul
And devour your mind.
Harelactal will feed you her milk
While she whispers sweet things.
After you suckle on her nipples,
She’ll fondle your genitals
And slap you in the face.
Hate me for loving a big,‘Sasquatch Goddess’ by Jon Ureña
That eats human brains.
May she live forever
And do whatever she wishes.
She’ll own the whole world.
Harelactal’s eggs will hatch
And feed on your souls.