#1
UNUSUALY COOL
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what do dogs think about. probably Marxism
#2
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#3
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life is like a hurricane
here in dog thoughts
#4
[account deactivated]
#5
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toyotathon always jazzin things up in the animal threads
#6
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#7
"Jpg." - Hank Hill
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my friend's dog is the sweetest thing but she is just this muscle golem with the criminal skull shape of a pit bull, combined with the 110% determination of a fullback inside the 10 in the 4th quarter of the super bowl about any dipshit idea that pops into her head for .5 seconds, and its cool to watch people scatter when they see this juggernaut walking down the street intermittently strangling itself because RIGHT FUCKING NOW it needs to get to a patch of asphalt that a sparrow pissed on 3 weeks ago
#8
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depends on what humans have bred them to think about. beagles think almost entirely about food. herding dogs thinks almost entirely about running around chasing things. small dogs think about not getting crushed by the giants that surround them. pit bulls think about hurting anything that is trying to hurt them or members of their pack. poodles think constantly about death because of the affronts to god that we have turned them into.

but most of all they all think about how much they love the humans in their lives
#9
[account deactivated]
#10
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#11
[account deactivated]
#12
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Does anyone remember how to do that big teal weirded out smiley
#13
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yes
#14
Deus Ex Machinist
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Take the soaring dogs once more as an example; they are not haughty as one might imagine at first, but rather particularly dependent upon their fellow dogs; if one tries to put oneself in their place one will see that. For they must do what they can to obtain pardon, and not openly - that would be a violation of the obligation to keep silence - they must do what they can to obtain pardon for their way of life, or else divert attention from it so that it may be forgotten - and they do this, I have been told, by means of an almost unendurable volubility. They are perpetually talking, partly of their philosophical reflections, with which, seeing that they have completely renounced bodily exertion, they can continuously occupy themselves, partly of the observations which they have made from their exalted stations; and although, as is very understandable considering their lazy existence, they are not much distinguished for intellectual power, and their philosophy is as worthless as their observations, and science can make hardly any use of their utterances, and besides is not reduced to draw assistance from such wretched sources, nevertheless if one asks what the soaring dogs are really doing one will invariably receive the reply that they contribute a great deal to knowledge. "That is true," remarks someone, "but their contributions are worthless and wearisome." The reply to that is a shrug, or a change of the subject, or annoyance, or laughter, and in a little while, when you ask again, you learn once more that they contribute to knowledge, and finally when you are asked the question you yourself will reply - if you are not careful - to the same effect. And perhaps indeed it is well not to be too obstinate, but to yield to public sentiment, to accept the extant soaring dogs, and without recognizing their right to existence, which cannot be done, yet to tolerate them. But more than this must not be required; that would be going too far, and yet the demand is made. We are perpetually being asked to put up with new soaring dogs who are always appearing. One does not even know where they come from. Do these dogs multiply by propagation? Have they actually the strength for that? - for they are nothing much more than a beautiful coat of hair, and what is there in that to propagate? But even if that improbable contingency were possible, when could it take place? For they are invariably seen alone, self-complacently floating high up in the air, and if once in a while they descend to take a run, it lasts only for a minute or two, a few mincing struts and also always in strict solitude, absorbed in what is supposed to be profound thought, from which, even when they exert themselves to the utmost, they cannot tear themselves free, or at least so they say. But if they do not propagate their kind, is it credible that there can be dogs who voluntarily give up life on the solid ground, voluntarily become soaring dogs, and merely for the sake of the comfort and a certain technical accomplishment choose that empty life on cushions up there? It is unthinkable; neither propagation nor voluntary transition is thinkable. The facts, however, show that there are always new soaring dogs in evidence; from which one must conclude that, in spite of obstacles which appear insurmountable to our understanding, no dog species, however curious, ever dies out, once it exists, or, at least, not without a tough struggle, not without being capable of putting up a successful defense for a long time.

But if that is valid for such an out-of-the-way, externally odd, inefficient species as the soaring dog, must I not also accept it as valid for mine? Besides, I am not in the least queer outwardly; an ordinary middle-class dog such as is very prevalent... the only strange thing about me is my nature, yet even that, as I am always careful to remember, has its foundation in universal dog nature. Now if not even the soaring dogs live in isolation, but invariably manage to encounter their fellows somewhere or other in the great dog world, and even to conjure new generations of themselves out of nothingness, then I too can live in the confidence that I am not quite forlorn. Certainly the fate of types like mine must be a strange one, and the existence of my colleagues can never be of visible help to me, if for no other reason than that I should scarcely ever be able to recognize them. We are the dogs who are crushed by the silence... What help, then, do my colleagues find? What kind of attempts do they make to manage to go on living in spite of everything? These attempts may be of various kinds. My own bout of questioning while I was young was one. So I thought that perhaps if I associated with those who asked many questions I might find my real comrades. Well, I did so for some time, with great self-control, a self-control made necessary by the annoyance I felt when I was interrupted by perpetual questions that I mostly could not answer myself: for the only thing that concerns me is to obtain answers. Moreover, who but is eager to ask questions when he is young, and how, when so many questions are going about, are you to pick out the right questions? One question sounds like another; it is the intention that counts, but that is often hidden even from the questioner. And besides, it is a peculiarity of dogs to be always asking questions, they ask them confusedly all together; it is as if in doing that they were trying to obliterate every trace of the genuine questions. No, my real colleagues are not to be found among the youthful questioners, and just as little among the old and silent, to whom I now belong. But what good are all these questions, for they have failed me completely; apparently my colleagues are cleverer dogs than I, and have recourse to other excellent methods that enable them to bear this life, methods which, nevertheless, as I can tell from my own experience, though they may perhaps help at a pinch, though they may calm, lull to rest, distract, are yet on the whole as impotent as my own, for, no matter where I look, I can see no sign of their success. I am afraid that the last thing by which I can hope to recognize my real colleagues is their success. But where, then, are my real colleagues? Yes, that is the burden of my complaint; that is the kernel of it. Where are they? Everywhere and nowhere. Perhaps my next-door neighbor, only three jumps away, is one of them; we often bark across to each other, he calls on me sometimes too, though I do not call on him. Is he my real colleague? I do not know, I certainly see no sign of it in him, but it is possible. It is possible, but all the same nothing is more improbable. When he is away I can amuse myself, drawing on my fancy, by discovering in him many things that have a suspicious resemblance to myself; but once he stands before me all my fancies become ridiculous. An old dog, a little smaller even than myself - and I am hardly medium size - brown, short-haired, with a tired hang of the head and a shuffling gait; on top of all this he trails his left hind leg behind him a little because of some disease. For a long time now I have been more intimate with him than with anybody else; I am glad to say that I can still get on tolerably well with him, and when he goes away I shout the most friendly greetings after him, though not out of affection, but in anger at myself; for if I follow him I find him just as disgusting again, slinking along there with his trailing leg and his much too low hindquarters. Sometimes it seems to me as if I were trying to humiliate myself by thinking of him as my colleague. Nor in our talks does he betray any trace of similarity of thought; true, he is clever and cultured enough as these things go here, and I could learn much from him; but is it for cleverness and culture that I am looking? We converse usually about local questions, and I am astonished - my isolation has made me more clear-sighted in such matters - how much intelligence is needed even by an ordinary dog even in average and not unfavorable circumstances, if he is to live out his life and defend himself against the greater of life's customary dangers. True, knowledge provides the rules one must follow, but even to grasp them imperfectly and in rough outline is by no means easy, and when one has actually grasped them the real difficulty still remains, namely to apply them to local conditions - here almost nobody can help, almost every hour brings new tasks, and every new patch of earth its specific problems; no one can maintain that he has settled everything for good and that henceforth his life will go on, so to speak, of itself, not even I myself, though my needs shrink literally from day to day. And all this ceaseless labor - to what end? Merely to entomb oneself deeper and deeper in silence, it seems, so deep that one can never be dragged out of it again by anybody.
#15
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Just lol at nonreligious carnivores who think bestiality is wrong.
#16
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I want to advocate the right to dog-fucking on all my social media but it's sort of a pick-your-battles thing. You gotta keep the bestiality insights quiet so they take your Marxism seriously.

I say "right" to dog-fucking as I haven't actually had sex with dogs or anyone else.
#17
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Sex with animals isn't ok but killing and eating them is ok for social reasons which I think are valid enough for this distinction to also be valid.
#18
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#19
Online
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#20
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#21
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The world doesn't have any needs. Humans do.
#22
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the world needs fewer posts about horse semen
#23
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beecock
#24
[account deactivated]
#25
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my roomate's dog is a rescue bulldog abandoned by some rich pricks because purebred genetics are totally fucked. her Everything is broken. she has awful hip dysplasia and often struggles to walk. she's so weak in spite of her huge frame that we had to put grippy tape on the 3 short steps of our split level so she could climb them without falling down. her gums grow over her teeth causing her lots of pain and bleeding whenever she chews on anything, they have to be surgically trimmed by a vet every once in a while which is expensive as hell. she's allergic to practically everything, if she doesn't eat extremely specific hypoallergenic food her ears and feet swell up and she can't do anything but itch them raw and bloody. people at dog parks keep throwing her treats without asking, causing this reaction for the next couple days. another side effect of her screwed up allergies/digestion is that she leaks out extremely rancid farts constantly. she's going blind.


i love dogs so much you guys let me tell you about my favorite designer breeds!!!!!
#26
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Here is a rare pic of toyotathon's offspring in 2050 AD after successfully breeding with a horse for mutually assured preservation of the genetics of both species, straddled by a "daddy" in the nazi nether regions of north Boston, banished from assimilating into the Communist horde due to his unresolved interest in beastiality

Edited by parabolart ()

#27
mt.real
Post rating: +

parabolart posted:

beecock


i would like to add a new feature because of this post, i don't want to upvote it, but i want to upvote the upvotes because i enjoy that this was upvoted

#28
UNUSUALY COOL
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please gas this thread, because the kids can't handle it. you should probably also ifap platzapS.
#29
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In honor of the guy in wddp who wanted to fuck dogs platzap is under my protection & may never be ifappered.
#30
UNUSUALY COOL
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the Institute officially registers its analysis: people who endorse fucking dogs should be in ifap yesterday.
#31
Dont Mess With Sucess
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platzapS posted:

Just lol at nonreligious carnivores who think bestiality is wrong.

No coincidence that tHE r H i z z o n E is, canonically, vegan and Catholic. Anyway, we have all read moving accounts from passionate horsefuckers about the deep emotional communion that precedes masturbating all over the horse leg, to me that sounds like the deep emotional connection tht a plantation owner had with his favorite kitchen slave that he raped the most.

#32
[account deactivated]
#33
Deus Ex Machinist
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wow, this thread went from what are dogs thinking to why are they so hot quite fast. heed the wisdom of soaring dogs people