How much you long to be away from this god-awful place, if ever someone would ask you to join them in coming to Pleasure Island again, you would smack them in the kisser!
Kneeling, eyes to sheath that is swelling, unfolding, and giving you a worm's eye view of what a Jackass donkey stud has to make his life worthwhile, you know that its time to make your final move.
The thought of what the donkey man would enjoy comes but you discount that as if something so vile it would near kill you to do it.
Indeed, it just might kill you, or at the least after causing your agonized dehumanization, the infectious properties would annihilate your mind, fading away memories, and leaving you no better than to live by instincts.
Action time, and with a deep breath you inhale, the musky oily stench of the sweating member hung there before your face, it attacks your senses! Yet, you what more out of life than to stand and graze, to bray your ignorant hopes, and when aroused by nearly anything that in a donkey mindset which would invoke a sense of pleasure; it is a poor thrill to have such a massive erection, and get it bitten by a swarm of Mosquitoes.
The need is now, the time seems right, and with that mighty inhaled breath, you let loose a scream, and a fist, slamming the donkey man in his big balls.
You scramble ahead, as the donkey man goes wild with his sensation of pain, hooves fly out, smashing mirrors, and sending even those who were following behind you to run forward toward safety and a somewhat more sane world.
Pain and agony do the final changes, as an enraged donkey jack kicks up his mighty heels, smashing many of the maze mirrors, and sending in a flood of security men to quell the beastly storm.
Time enough, and you scramble on hands and knees, followed by a near dozen fearful followers, as you all fly outside through the door than nary most ever find. You stand up, safe from some beastly form change and the damnation you know your god would place over your fool head.
Indeed, like an animal held at bay with a yoke and harness to keep it in its place and working for the ambitions of men; your God above would so curse and damn those who were fool enough to come to Pleasure Island and become caught, captured, and sent off to some bestial existence.
Sunday school lessons fly up in your face as memories of explained texts remind you that no animals ever enter the gates of heaven. As those who by their own ambition to try the patience of higher powers, usually fall flat, face down, and then like the donkeys, they grovel in the dirt for their very existence.
A dozen thankful people come to shake you hand and give thanks and congratulations for being so of mind and forceful to lead them from the likely bestial damned life those who became donkeys must then lead.
When the congratulations peter out you stand alone, wondering if there be any possible way to save those who were cursed. Pondering lends to looking like someone out of place with his surroundings, and its long after that you come face to face with two security men that seem to have a slightly overly pronounced appearance to being both manly and bovine.