May 5, 2018
The most arousing thing for a White woman.
Remember Shape of Water and the fish-fucking White woman?
Remember when fake fish dicks went into extremely high demand after that movie?
Time for the easiest game of “if you loved this movie, read this book” ever: If you loved “The Shape of Water,” a movie about fish sex, you should definitely read The Pisces by Melissa Broder, a book about fish sex. The cover literally shows a woman in an amorous clinch with a fish; the novel actually tells the story of a woman who has a torrid love affair with a merman.
Now, one fish-fucking opus in the space of a year might be a blip. Two seems very much like a trend. (We might even call it three, considering last summer’s Made for Love by Alissa Nutting, in which a male romance scammer, after a fantastical sea-bathing accident, becomes exclusively attracted to dolphins. Though, to be clear, dolphins are not fish.)
Plus, the past five years have seen the release of not one, but two documentaries about humans who had sexual relationships with dolphins back in the ’60s and ’70s, perhaps reintroducing the idea of aquatic sex with nonhumans into artists’ minds.
Okay, that’s pretty disgusting. But I want you to read these next emboldened paragraphs carefully. Reread them a few times.
But The Pisces and Guillermo del Toro’s Oscar-winning “The Shape of Water” also seem to have arrived during an inflection point for heterosexual relations, as some straight women have thrown their hands up in despair at the prospect of dealing with straight men. These men, who grope us and talk down to us and consistently fail to clean the bathroom ― we’re supposed to make lives with them? Let them touch us?
Women woke up one day to find that their husbands voted for Donald Trump and their sons have been shitposting on incel boards. Even before we heard the claims about Harvey Weinstein’s history of sexual harassment and assault and the ensuing avalanche of other horrifying Me Too allegations, we heard about our president grabbing women “by the pussy,” Bill Cosby feeding women roofies, and R. Kelly allegedly sexually exploiting young girls. So many straight men, we have been forced to accept, are bad to and for us. Why would we take the enormous risk of loving one of them?
And yet, straight women do have desires. Cutting men out of our lives isn’t a simple proposition. As satisfying as the concept of going “Lysistrata” until men get their house in order might be, that strategy also requires straight women to deny their sexual urges. The handsome prince (or film star, or cowboy, or doctor) of our imagination has been exposed as a dangerous fraud, but we still need some form of romantic hope and sexual release. One seductive yet impossible fantasy might be the romantic attention of a man who lacks the exhausting baggage of male entitlement.
This is the mindset of every White woman. All of them. They would rather fuck fish or other animals (including Blacks) while leeching off of any White man they can to get money (commonly through their cucked fathers, cucked boyfriends, or cucked afirmative action/government benefits).
The transhumanist cyborg ethnostate using artificial wombs is sounding a lot better by the day, isn’t it?
Lucy, the protagonist of The Pisces, is newly single, running out of time to finish her dissertation, and spiraling out of control. (That Lucy’s dissertation focuses on Sappho, whose poetry explores eroticism of a non-heteronormative, female-centered bent, is in itself telling.) Not long after breaking up with her longtime boyfriend, she becomes obsessed with getting him back; unfortunately, he’s quickly gotten another girlfriend. Her ensuing freakout features Ambien, doughnuts and an unprovoked physical assault on her ex.
So she takes two steps to address the situation: She heads to Venice Beach for the summer to dog-sit for her sister and brother-in-law, and she starts attending group therapy for love and sex addiction. (The latter step is court-mandated, due to the aforementioned violence.)
Despite the therapy sessions, Lucy can’t stop searching for male attention to restore her sense of desirability and worth. Before each encounter with a prospect, she feels buoyant and eager, but again and again, she’s left sexually and emotionally unfulfilled, in part because the men don’t much care whether she’s enjoying herself.
Alright I cut out the rest of that article because it’s all just details about the actual smut in the book while the girl fucks the fish and I don’t want you guys stuck with that mental image.
I didn’t want to be stuck with that image.
I mean, I can understand women wanting to fuck anything in sight including subhuman browns. On some level I can understand various other degenerate shit they do for sick sexual reasons. I cannot understand this fixation on fish.
But you know what?
I’m actually okay with this. Anglin has told us that there is at least some chance that we could deal with an apocalypse after megafauna crawl out of the Hollow Earth.
Maybe a trend of women fucking fish will summon Cthulhu and have him bring an end to mankind’s suffering by just driving us all into a murderous insanity.
Frankly, it can’t be that much worse than what we’re already dealing with.
Also we could ride giant space-bat-things through the stars, so there’s that.
There are absolutely no downsides to summoning elder gods.