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Is Your Name Kurt Logan? Then Sit the Fuck Down.
(Warning: content below not suitable for work. Please quit your job, go home now, get the wife and kids around the computer, and continue reading.)
Conventional wisdom would have us believe it’s impossible to achieve
parallel acts of genius in unrelated fields. Einstein cracked the
relativity riddle, but was only a so-so violinist. Hawking may be
equally brilliant in physics, but he will never win any triathlons. Well
let me tell you, I have found a man who defies this wisdom. His name is
Kurt Logan, and while we mortals toil in the thick, choking atmosphere
of Earth, he has rocketed past the stars in two distinct arenas of human
achievement: both as a fine artist, and as a unique fetishist. Really,
this guy makes me feel so under-whelmed with myself, I want to hang
myself from the pubic hair of Old Man Disgrace.
Now you’ll excuse me if I’m Kurt with you (ha, I wish!), but we have some masterpieces to behold.
This one says it all about Kurt Logan. This is a no-bullshit kind of guy. He likes his men built. He likes his men to be nude and giant. He likes his men to be women with preposterous breasts. He likes his women to have cocks that could be load-bearing pillars in a stadium. He likes his women to be horses. Or maybe some other animal. And he likes his… creatures,
to be murdering several humans at once with their monolithic private
parts. This is Kurt Logan, this is what he stands for, and this is why
God got off his fat ass and finally put some fucking talent into someone
who can use it.
Rule #1: Don’t piss off Korg.
Rule #2: As tempting as it might be, don’t stand in front of his javelin-dick.
As I peruse through his archives in trance-like wonder (I log in about
4-6 hours per day of this), I speculate about why these beasts must
abuse these poor men. There are two camps; some do it out of lust and
use the flailing torsos only to service themselves, invariably with
fatal results. Others do it out of rage, with varying degrees of sly
enjoyment. Korg seems to take a mischievous delight in his work, while
Fanny is amidst a full-on bitch-stampede. What did they do wrong? Maybe
they were having an affair, and getting pulverized by some other huge
beast’s genitals. Or maybe they were making fun of her for not having a
penis.
The beasts, though overwhelmingly humanoid, are not strictly limited to
this form. Check out this buff horse, Clyde. He’s so ripped, his
individual muscles are having an all-out brawl for dominance over his
body. He’s got brand new muscles, yet unknown to the anatomy books.
Gigaceps and beefceps are just a couple for which he has patents
pending. His attitude is a Logan classic, as he revels in his handiwork.
Look at his sneer as he gingerly uses his copious testicles to pin a
guy’s head to a 3D-rendered wall. And his infectious nonchalance after
having hammered his 200 pound wang into a hapless man, compacting him
into the ground. Finally I’ve found something iconic that perfectly
befits my own attitude towards life and everything in general. I don’t
take any shit, just like Clyde. I’ll be peeling off the “Peeing Calvin”
sticker from the rear window of my truck, and replacing it with
“Ejaculating Clyde”.
This one is a little strange even by Logan’s standards. Is that an alien
that the she-male panther-thing is straddling? His copy leaves
something to be desired. The flow stumbles a bit, and it’s very curious
that he will not fully spell out the word “fucked”, yet he will draw a
massive, pink phallus projecting from a woman’s groin, quivering in the
face of a nervous alien. I give this one an A++ instead of my usual A+++
mark.
This is his latest drawing. Notice the advancements in his abilities,
both to delicately understate the concept, and to tell a story. Yes, he could have
had Whitee assaulting an entire crew of naval officers, lacerating them
with her fins and nipples, and crushing one in her vagina. But this is a
more tender story of love. Whitee finds romance from a lone nude
sailor, while he finds it gasping in the oppressive cleavage of a
horrifying giant shark-woman.
Another one of Logan’s superlative pet fantasies – yes, the list keeps
growing – is having his monsters damage buildings and other large
structures with their genitals. I guess this is technically “building
rape”, and certainly appears to be the case above. Though the impression
I get is usually the fantasy requires the destruction to be somewhat
incidental, and always a bit playful. The mythology of it follows
roughly that, the genitals of these beings are just so large, that some collateral damage to structure here and there is just par for the course.
Ok, so we’ve seen Logan is a master craftsman. That much is beyond
evident. But have we really captured his full glory as a fetishist? Can
our flawed minds even begin to contain its aggregate? Let’s try to get a
handle on this. He enjoys anthro-beings, so his appetites clearly
reside in the Furry phyla. But tightening this lariat, we see he also
enjoys hermaphrodites. They must have massive genitals, beyond any hope
of feasibility. He digs extraordinarily muscle-bound creatures, so he is
teetering into the homoerotic camp more than others. The creatures must
be giant, and they must be slaughtering people (always men, by the way)
with their genitals. And if not that, perpetrating some other kind of
destruction with private parts. Yes, we have a winner. It would be a
boon for the sciences if Mr. Freud could have evaluated this man. If
only Freud had not been tragically killed in the anus of a huge humanoid
moose while being used as a dildo.
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