Have you ever seen a cute dog or baby and felt your body permeate with a violent urge to squeeze them…perhaps, to death? The good news is you’re not a terrible person. That is of course if you don’t act on those feelings. It's simply an overload of serotonin in your brain, induced by ridiculously adorable creatures, which manifests as an aggressive response. Science calls this Cute Aggression. And for those of us that really can't handle our cute aggression, especially when it comes to dogs, this is a place for you to come and indulge in some of your awful fantasies.
He looks like royalty; adorable, fluffy royalty. With bubbly cheeks and big dark eyes that protrude from his head like glass domes. His nose wiggles when he looks up at you, trying to smell for treat potential. His crooked underbite comes out in between every pant. He snores, loudly, in his little leather sofa bed, to remind you he's there. His entire existence is designed to bring you overwhelming pain.
If only it could stop.
If only I could take his collar and start to pull. Soft at first, pressing against his trachea like a massage, and then tighter and tighter, watching his struggle pronounce until the breathe escapes his toy lungs and his underbite presses into his hanging tongue - piercing through. And then... quiet. No more pain. No more Charlie.
I've never met you. You're famous. In fact, you might even be dead already. Your fans are worried. But that doesn't stop your cuteness from being paraded around the internet... for all to see; for all to feel.
Your eyes and nose and mouth are crammed into the bottom of your tiny face, frozen in a permanent frown. Your grumpiness is so winsome, it hurts. It hurts so much that I want to grab you by your two pointy ears and throw you at a wall, as your forgiving heart stops before you feel the pain of the smash. Then comes the good part...
Your even further smushed face glides down the wall, leaving behind a trail of blood and slobber as your eyes bulge out from your sockets like a cartoon character that never dies. But you died. You had to die.
Have you ever met a not-cute golden retriever? There's a reason they are America's favorite dogs.
They cause me pain. Especially Finn. His jolly clumsiness that manifests in him flopping into my lap - ears first; then resting his head on my hand as I try and type on my laptop...arresting me from obligations and begging me to pet him from head to tail.
I imagine opening his mouth, staring into his trusting eyes, and starting to pluck each individual perfect canine tooth from his gums. I imagine his innocence start to pierce my ears as he shrieks in pain, but doesn't pull away - because he trusts that I'm doing this for his own good.
She’s a living, breathing stuffed animal.
Her lashes are strawberry blonde - like silk curtains for her big brown eyes that plunge into your soul. Her stare rips into your heart and leaves you paralyzed. That stare must go.
Eyes like hers belong in a torture chamber. They exist to coerce information.
It would be a patriotic duty. To carve each iris out of her skull. To leave crates of black - commemorating a the excruciating cuteness.