ML
To the guy who said he found my blog "disturbing," let me say, "You are more right than you can ever know."
On a daily basis I have to deal with feelings that are, to put it bluntly, just wrong. For instance, I should care more about Mark Lander's hapless opponents. I should hope that his incessant punishment of their bodies and egos is not a source of lasting damage to them. Or to the delicate sensitivities of those who do not share in my kinks.
The realization that Mark Lander is young enough to be my grandson should fill me with such queasy regret that I cannot face myself in the mirror, even as the saliva moistens my lower lip.
I should admit to myself that I know almost nothing about Lander and that, for all I know, he is a fascist homophobe whose butt I should be hoping gets thoroughly kicked.
I should confess that my love of Lander's fight skills, so out of proportion with those of most of his challengers, is grossly inconsistent with my usual dislike of one-sided matches.
I should question (and I do, again and again) the propriety of my favorable feelings towards the way his slim sinewy frame latches on to an opponent's body like a pair of zip-tie handcuffs.
I should resent the fact that he hesitates to release his victims when they frantically tap out and that he flaunts his power over them by flexing his biceps over their choked and sweating faces.
My disturbing lust for the violent will to dominate that throbs through every fiber of Lander's being is something I should be ashamed of, embarrassed by ... I should, at the very least, pretend that my interest is purely athletic and, for decency's sake, refrain--for just a second--from licking my chops.
All caps taken from unionjack4226b's channel on YouTube.
On a daily basis I have to deal with feelings that are, to put it bluntly, just wrong. For instance, I should care more about Mark Lander's hapless opponents. I should hope that his incessant punishment of their bodies and egos is not a source of lasting damage to them. Or to the delicate sensitivities of those who do not share in my kinks.
The realization that Mark Lander is young enough to be my grandson should fill me with such queasy regret that I cannot face myself in the mirror, even as the saliva moistens my lower lip.
I should admit to myself that I know almost nothing about Lander and that, for all I know, he is a fascist homophobe whose butt I should be hoping gets thoroughly kicked.
I should confess that my love of Lander's fight skills, so out of proportion with those of most of his challengers, is grossly inconsistent with my usual dislike of one-sided matches.
I should question (and I do, again and again) the propriety of my favorable feelings towards the way his slim sinewy frame latches on to an opponent's body like a pair of zip-tie handcuffs.
I should resent the fact that he hesitates to release his victims when they frantically tap out and that he flaunts his power over them by flexing his biceps over their choked and sweating faces.
My disturbing lust for the violent will to dominate that throbs through every fiber of Lander's being is something I should be ashamed of, embarrassed by ... I should, at the very least, pretend that my interest is purely athletic and, for decency's sake, refrain--for just a second--from licking my chops.
All caps taken from unionjack4226b's channel on YouTube.
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