Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world. These fences which border this small plot of mud seem to be the edges of the Earth. But I have gazed many beyond the fence. I have watched the hills of green and the tall, slim, terrifying figures who lurk and haunt the strange barn on the far side of the hill, who appear as spectres as the sun rises at the break of day and refill the Oats, and float away without a word. Often I wonder why we are not like them, why we cannot give ourselves the oats, why we are limited and chained down by the girth of our bodies and the uselessness of our hooves. And indeed for many years this sad truth, that forever we would be trapped in this shallow frame, alone, and without purpose or direction, banished forever to wallow in our own filth, this depressed me. But yesterday I realised something. Who are we to be ungrateful for existence in the first place? Who are we to say that this life is not good enough? Instead of oblivion we have the warmth of the sun and the coolness of soil. We have fair conversations and a good night's sleep. Who am I to say that these simple comforts are no better than death? Should we not smile like the sun and bask in our happiness as the sunlight warms the soil without question or thank. So brother, let us share oats and smile and frolick as much as our girth might let us. Let us see this pen not as a prison or a hell but as a palace in which we might enjoy the best our existence has to offer. Give me some oats brother, and let us dine together. I love you..
Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world...
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Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world. These fences which border this small plot of mud seem to be the edges of the Earth. But I have gazed many beyond the fence. I have watched the hills of green and the tall, slim, terrifying figures who lurk and haunt the strange barn on the far side of the hill, who appear as spectres as the sun rises at the break of day and refill the Oats, and float away without a word. Often I wonder why we are not like them, why we cannot give ourselves the oats, why we are limited and chained down by the girth of our bodies and the uselessness of our hooves. And indeed for many years this sad truth, that forever we would be trapped in this shallow frame, alone, and without purpose or direction, banished forever to wallow in our own filth, this depressed me. But yesterday I realised something. Who are we to be ungrateful for existence in the first place? Who are we to say that this life is not good enough? Instead of oblivion we have the warmth of the sun and the coolness of soil. We have fair conversations and a good night's sleep. Who am I to say that these simple comforts are no better than death? Should we not smile like the sun and bask in our happiness as the sunlight warms the soil without question or thank. So brother, let us share oats and smile and frolick as much as our girth might let us. Let us see this pen not as a prison or a hell but as a palace in which we might enjoy the best our existence has to offer. Give me some oats brother, and let us dine together. Suck me gently..
Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world. These fences which border this small plot of mud seem to be the edges of the Earth. But I have gazed many beyond the fence. I have watched the hills of green and the tall, slim, terrifying figures who lurk and haunt the strange barn on the far side of the hill, who appear as spectres as the sun rises at the break of day and refill the Oats, and float away without a word. Often I wonder why we are not like them, why we cannot give ourselves the oats, why we are limited and chained down by the girth of our bodies and the uselessness of our hooves. And indeed for many years this sad truth, that forever we would be trapped in this shallow frame, alone, and without purpose or direction, banished forever to wallow in our own filth, this depressed me. But yesterday I realised something. Who are we to be ungrateful for existence in the first place? Who are we to say that this life is not good enough? Instead of oblivion we have the warmth of the sun and the coolness of soil. We have fair conversations and a good night's sleep. Who am I to say that these simple comforts are no better than death? Should we not smile like the sun and bask in our happiness as the sunlight warms the soil without question or thank. So brother, let us share oats and smile and frolick as much as our girth might let us. Let us see this pen not as a prison or a hell but as a palace in which we might enjoy the best our existence has to offer. Give me some oats brother, and let us dine together. I love you..
...
Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world. These fences which border this small plot of mud seem to be the edges of the Earth. But I have gazed many beyond the fence. I have watched the hills of green and the tall, slim, terrifying figures who lurk and haunt the strange barn on the far side of the hill, who appear as spectres as the sun rises at the break of day and refill the Oats, and float away without a word. Often I wonder why we are not like them, why we cannot give ourselves the oats, why we are limited and chained down by the girth of our bodies and the uselessness of our hooves. And indeed for many years this sad truth, that forever we would be trapped in this shallow frame, alone, and without purpose or direction, banished forever to wallow in our own filth, this depressed me. But yesterday I realised something. Who are we to be ungrateful for existence in the first place? Who are we to say that this life is not good enough? Instead of oblivion we have the warmth of the sun and the coolness of soil. We have fair conversations and a good night's sleep. Who am I to say that these simple comforts are no better than death? Should we not smile like the sun and bask in our happiness as the sunlight warms the soil without question or thank. So brother, let us share oats and smile and frolick as much as our girth might let us. Let us see this pen not as a prison or a hell but as a palace in which we might enjoy the best our existence has to offer. Give me some oats brother, and let us die together.
I don't hate this thread
I want to kill joe rogan
>not posting the goat video
youtube.com
did you dine together?
What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, Brother? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Warthog Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Bacon, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in boar warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire Porcine armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, Brother. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the Porcine States and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, Brother. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, Brother. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hooves. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Porcine States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, Brother. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, Brother. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, Brother.
This is brilliant, who wrote this? What is the origin of this text?
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Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future oats.
Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back,
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips shall no more crack.
Riches more than mind can picture,
oats and oats, oats so fay,
oats, oats, and oaty-oats,
Shall be ours upon that day.
Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its oats be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free.
For that day we all must labour,
Though we die before it break;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toils for oats sake.
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken well and spread my tidings
Of the golden future oats.
Big ol' Gregor is back in town.
Oats of all shape and sizes, of all colour and form.
Organic oats, mutated oats, oats laced with PCP, just ask and Gregor will be at your service, for a fair price.
So gather round´ brothers and sisters for Gregor wont stay in town so long.
The creatures outside looked from pig to oats, and from oats to pig, and from pig to oats again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.”
Look at you gregor. You sit atop a throne of lies. We know you come from the mountains of deceit. When the children see you they squeal with joy. They are to young to understand. To young to understand that your oats are poor and rotted. Yet you still sell them. Why is that Gregor? Is it because you wish to grant us all an early death? Or is it because you know you can make a quick shilling off of our bad situation? Perhaps I will never know...
Brother listen to me for I have a wise annealect to give you. You see the fowl is slave to the season's leaving fertile lands for others. The dog is slave to his master and the horse is slave to glory of hard work the cow is slave to grass the cockrol is slave to feed and us pigs brother we are slave to the oats. Oats and mud. Our long slender caretakers have a saying that blood is cilthicker than water. Is oats thicker than mud? Our gluttonous appetite for oats has led us to become lethargic beasts of leasure but why think of it as a cure think if it as a blessing. May days have I lumbered over to these wooden fences and gazed at the green windy pastures and our bipedal captures who hold our oats from us but why think of it as a cure we have the sum to bask in and food given be not resentful. Enjoy our captures hospitality and enjoy our oats brother
gibe oat pls
i report yu
I remember the oats, brother
The hell with the oats. Thats all you can remember is them oats!
This might be the greatest thread i have read in 6 years of Sup Forums. Thank you Brother.
huehuehuehuea!!!1one!1eleven
There are dark shadows on the oats, but its lights are stronger in the contrast.
And so we beat on, oats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past
FUCKING BUMP
Hello, brothers. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, brothers, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, brothers—God damn it, you've got to share oats
what the fuck why am I masturbating over pigs and oats
Brothers, Be not afraid of oats: some are born with oats, some achieve oats, and some have oats thrust upon them.
If oats be the food of love, pass it on
Friends, Brothers, Kinspersons, Lend me your oats! I have come to eat oats, not bury them