- Dołączono
- 14 Lip 2019
This was so similar to Latin that I just had to translate it in parallel:Nunca serás una mujer de verdad. No tienes útero, ni ovarios, ni huevos. Eres un homosexual corrompido por medicamentos y cirugías vuelto una cruda imitación de la obra perfecta de la naturaleza.
Toda la "validación" que recibes es hipócrita e insincera. A espaldas tuyas la gente se burla de tí. Tus padres están horripilados y avergonzados de tí, tus "amigos" se ríen de tu aspecto grotesco a puertas cerradas.
Los hombres se sienten repugnados por tí. Miles de años de evolución han permitido a los hombres detectar fraudes con increíble eficiencia. Incluso transexuales que se "disimulan" lucen raros e innaturales al ojo. Tu estructura ósea es una pista obvia. E incluso si logras convencer a un borracho a irse contigo a la casa, huirá el momento que huela tu herida pudrida e infectada.
Nunca serás feliz. Logras sacar una sonrisa falsa cada mañana y te dices que todo va a estar bien, pero dentro tuyo sientes la depresión montando como mala hierba, a punto de aplastarte bajo su inmenso peso.
Eventualmente va a ser demasiado para tí - comprarás una cuerda, la atarás en soga, te la pondrás en el cuello y te tirarás al precipicio del más allá. Tus padres te encontrarán, adoloridos pero aliviados de ya no tener que vivir con tanta verguenza y decepción. Te enterrarán con una lápida marcada con tu nombre de verdad, y cada transeúnte por el resto de los tiempos sabrá que un hombre está enterrado ahí. Tu cuerpo se pudrirá y volverá al polvo del que vino, y todo lo que quedará de tu legado es un esqueleto inconfundiblemente de hombre.
Ese es tu destino. Eso es lo que tú elegiste. Ya no hay vuelta atrás.
Tu, cinaede pathice humilis, et utero et ovariis et ovis carens, a chirurgia medicamentisque in formam horribilem quae summam pulchridutinem naturae deridet mutate, mulier vera numquam eris. "Laus" quae recipis tantum blanditia falsa est; cum absis, forma tua obtrita sanos terret, parentes tuos pudet, apud vero "amicos" falsos magnum risum movet.
Cuiquam viro horrificus es. Nos viri veri potestate cognoscendi, hereditate innumerabilium saeculorum accepta, femina veraset pulchra ab abominatione ut te facile cernere possumus; si quidem formam feminae sumis, naturalis tamen numquam videris. At si "amante" misero, mentito et ad domum tuum causa adducto, "bene futui" coneris: cum perterritus 'te duos culos nec unum cunnum habere' animadvertat, sine mora e fenestra evolet.
Laetitia modo extra potestatem tuam est. Cotidie feris rictum falsum, narras tibi 'se vere ac pulchre vivere"' omnia vero intra te tristitia putrefacta est. Tam grave est scelus tuus contra rerum naturam.
Mox gravitatem geris graviorem quam umquam ferre possis. Funis rumpet corpusque tuum crassum in fundum cadet. Parentes invenientes, cum corpus videbunt, magna cum tristitia laetabuntur propter removendum oneris. Nomen tuum verum in sepulchro scriptum erit; si quidam visat, ei planum sit 'viri corpus nunc cum humo miscere'. Primum caro, a ossibus decomposita, evanescet; denique remanebit nil nisi sceletus virilissimus quam imaginari potest.
Hoc fatum tuum est. Planum fecisti 'te hoc malle quam vita ipsa'.
(I took some artistic liberties with the translation to make it sound like the work of an actual Latin author)
You, you pathetic ass-loving faggot, lacking a womb, ovaries, and eggs, changed by surgery into a gruesome shape that mocks the greatest beauty nature has to offer; you will never be a woman. The "praise" you recieve is nothing but dishonest flattery; when you're not in the room, your debased form evokes fear in the sound of mind, shame in your parents, and hearty bouts of laughter amoung your false "friends".
You are physically repulsive to men. Us real men can use our power of recognition - an inheritance from innumerable generations of ancestors - to distinguish a beautiful woman from an abomination like you with ease. Even if you assume a woman's form, it will never come off as natural. And if you manage to compel an unfortunate "lover" to come to your home and give you a "good fucking", he'll fly out the window when he makes the horrifying realization that you have two assholes and not a single cunt.
Happiness is simply out of your reach. Every day you wear a false grin, every day you tell yourself, "I'm living truly and beautifully", but everything inside you has been rotten by misery. Such is the magnitude of your crime against nature.
Soon, you will bear a load heavier than you could ever hope to carry. The rope will snap and your bloated body will fall to the ground. Your parents, upon discovering your lifeless corpse, will rejoice at the removal of a burden, albeit with great sadness. Your real name will be written on your grave. If anyone were to visit, it would be obvious to them that it is the corpse of a man that is currently mixing with the dirt. Your soft tissue will be the first to go; it will putrify and fade away, leaving nothing but the most indisputably manly skeleton you could possibly imagine.
This is your fate. You've made it clear that you want this more than life itself.
You are physically repulsive to men. Us real men can use our power of recognition - an inheritance from innumerable generations of ancestors - to distinguish a beautiful woman from an abomination like you with ease. Even if you assume a woman's form, it will never come off as natural. And if you manage to compel an unfortunate "lover" to come to your home and give you a "good fucking", he'll fly out the window when he makes the horrifying realization that you have two assholes and not a single cunt.
Happiness is simply out of your reach. Every day you wear a false grin, every day you tell yourself, "I'm living truly and beautifully", but everything inside you has been rotten by misery. Such is the magnitude of your crime against nature.
Soon, you will bear a load heavier than you could ever hope to carry. The rope will snap and your bloated body will fall to the ground. Your parents, upon discovering your lifeless corpse, will rejoice at the removal of a burden, albeit with great sadness. Your real name will be written on your grave. If anyone were to visit, it would be obvious to them that it is the corpse of a man that is currently mixing with the dirt. Your soft tissue will be the first to go; it will putrify and fade away, leaving nothing but the most indisputably manly skeleton you could possibly imagine.
This is your fate. You've made it clear that you want this more than life itself.