Goddess thoughts on men

Its a misconception that I hate men, you know. What, just because I massacre you by the millions you think I don't like you? On the contrary! Its just all you're good for. (Giggle) I don't mean that in a bad way. You die * splendidly *.

My darling little boys. I love you all, for the blood you shed, your screams of pain and your absolute disbelief that I, a single, beautiful woman, can butcher vast armies effortlessly and without a shred of remorse. You're absolutely helpless against me. You want to put and end to me, but you're powerless, insignificant.

Its shameful for you, isn't it? You're all so much taller than me, looking down at me until my blade bites in to your flesh, bringing you to your knees. Then you're completely at my mercy, bleeding profusely and whimpering, pleading for your life, pleading for forgiveness.

Your muscles don't help out much, either. You spend so much of your lives trying to sculpt yourselves in to physical perfection, supremely confident in the belief that your strength will be enough to stop me. After all, men are stronger than women, right? You're almost indignant when your muscles fail and you have a fleeting moment of clarity before you die that you've only been molding yourselves in to perfect little pieces of meat for me.

And you train! Your whole lives are now spent training to be soldiers. You drill for hours and hours every day, thinking it will keep you alive. It doesn't. However, it does make your deaths even more delicious for me. Big, tall, well muscled men are fun to kill, but when they've dedicated their entire lives to preparing to fight me its simply amazing. Your entire lives have lead up to that one moment, the moment when you face the Goddess who tyrannizes your world. You've dreamed about it for as long as you can remember...but in the end, you're just another body. You don't even last a second. Each swing of my blade cuts down countless men, like wheat before a scythe. Once a man falls at my feet, hes forgotten. I never knew his name, I won't remember his face. He existed for one reason and one reason only: to give his life to me.

But even still, you fight on. Generation after generation, driven by revenge and pride. You cling to the hope that you can still defeat me. Is it delusional? Or does your male arrogance simply make you incapable of accepting my dominance? It doesn't matter much either way. The end result is the same. Just like I said, you end up on your knees, mortally wounded and looking up at me, the fire of defiance sputtering out in your eyes as you plead for your life, praying to me for mercy as your life ebbs. I do give you boys mercy, though. Imagine living on and not having the honor, the privilege of dying by my hand, your blood anointing my body, the body you lust after in the hour of your death. I spare you all that misery.