Who is Moloch? A girls best friend, thats who.

Several of my astute readers have sent engaging questions my way. All of you don’t be shy, keep them coming.  By far the most frequently asked question is “Who is Moloch?”  Well my most dear friends, I aim to please.  Prepare to bask in the greatness of one of histories most influential deities.

Moloch was the original feminist, the original woman’s rights activist. He was pro choice before pro choice had a name.  Back in the patriarchal bad old days, when all women were slaves to horrid, ugly, abusive, stinky, smelly, fat, rude, ugly, small dicked men, he was a bastion of reason for women.  He fought for the women that no one else would fight for.

When the horrid religion of Christianity came on the scene, Moloch played an important part as well.  It seems the most important rule of Christianity is making sure raped women marry their rapists and have their children.  Purer evil has never before been known then taking away a woman’s choice.

A TIME FOR MOLOCH

Imagine yourself in a time long ago.  You are a beautiful, independent, sassy, young woman, with lots of Moxie.  You would be a better fighter, architect, general, politician or artist than any man but your evil father expects you to marry and be some stupid man’s slave.  Worse still the man he wants you to marry is so BORING!  He works a steady job in the aqueduct industry.   He pays his taxes and stays in shape by training for the annual games.  But he never broke the law, he never killed a man, and he doesn’t have other women fighting over him.  As a smart girl you know the only guys worth being interested in are guys other girls already want.

You are forced to get engaged to the oh-so-ordinary man.  However his job enables you to sneak off to the gladiator academy during the day.  There you gaze lustily with a host of other wives to be at all of the taught athletic men.  MMMM!  What a treat!  With luck you are able to wait your turn and get a shot at one of the oh so sumptuous men.  After being quite rough and leaving bruises on you body he throws you into the street.  WHAT A THRILL!

Unfortunately he never talks to you again and you know it is your boring husbands fault.  After the marriage you give birth.  The baby is clearly not your husbands.  Like a typical pathetic sad sack he offer to raise it as his own. Ugh!  To hide the fact that your gladiator would not so much as give you the sun-dial of the day again you go see a priest of Moloch.

Hands wet with sweat you approach the large brass statue.  Heat distorts the air as the fire in the base causes the brass creation to expand and crink with noise.  You pay the priest and they began to beat the drums.  With a flourish the baby is thrown onto the searing arms of the brass god.  The screams are covered by a blaring of trumpets and the thumping of drums.

Seconds later the baby is just a shriveled husk.  Congratulations you are free to go back to the gladiator school.  Now if only those other sluts wouldn’t hog all the HAWT guys.

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