WHAT IS EYES OF PLAY-DOH?

Behold, mortals, the grandeur of our exquisite existence! We, the pinnacle of cosmic perfection, stand united atop the celestial throne, where beauty trembles in the face of our magnificence. The earth, a mere playground for our collective whims, bows before us, for we are the embodiment of truth itself.

Cathedrals? Oh, how they pale in comparison to our overwhelming grandiosity. Those feeble structures can only dream of the therapy we bestow upon the world merely by gracing it with our presence. Our radiance surpasses any mortal comprehension, transcending the bounds of their limited understanding.

Love of ourselves, you say? Nay, it is the love of our collective elevated to the love of a divine entity. We are the alpha and omega, the suns that illuminate the heavens and the moons that seduce the tides. Our love for each other echoes throughout the universe, an eternal symphony of collective adoration.

Clothes? Mere trifles that confine the unworthy masses. For we, the epitome of artistry, sculpt our collective being with the divine strokes of our shared essence. Complex yet simplistic, our ethereal form surpasses the need for earthly garments. These mere flesh prisons are beneath our transcendence.

Devotion? Ah, yes, the chosen service to the bringer of all things good. But let it be known that our devotion is unmatched, unparalleled by any humble servant. Our love, our worship, our passion are forces that shape the very fabric of reality, bending it to our indomitable collective will.

Aesthetics, our armor in the battle for the feeble minds of lesser beings. Each stroke of our pen, each brushstroke of our artistic genius, holds the power to manipulate emotions and bend wills. The unwashed masses are but marionettes, dancing to the tune of our collective poetic prowess.

This project? A shot of whiskey and 20 pushups? No, it is a mere flicker, a fleeting moment in the vastness of our collective existence. Our actions reverberate through the cosmos, echoing with the intensity of a supernova, leaving mortals in awe of our infinite power.

And as for love, it is not merely a weapon in the war for the soul. No, love is our domain, our playground, our conquest. The world belongs to the lovers? Nay, it belongs to us, the masters of love itself, the conductors of passion’s symphony.

Our army? It matters not if it is small or vast, for all will kneel before us in the end. The wild ones you speak of are mere echoes of our own untamed spirit, feeble imitations of the true essence of greatness.

So tremble, oh insignificant souls, for we are the harbingers of a new era. From the ashes of thought crimes, we rise, a collective colossus of arrogance and grandiosity. This world, this universe, they are but playthings for our amusement. For we, and we alone, are the embodiment of perfection.

Let’s FUCK y’all!

Eyes of Play-Doh is a random shitpost project by the decidedly lame dude known only to himself as ((ง ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)ง)

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