He stares at his computer, aghast. For the very words that have been uttered upon it threaten to send him into a furry the internet knows all to well. A furry known since before the internet, before the computer, a rage so primal and basic that it speaks to the very core of what is human. His rage builds, how can one suggest such a thing? A ideal so obtuse that it has no place amongst the enlightened folk that surround him. A ideal that poisons him to his core. So terrible this thought, this mere suggestion that he turns away from it. Face aflush with red hue, he resigns. Nay he will not give them the satisfaction of retort this day. And yet, he cannot leave such a statement in the field of thought that he lives upon. He cannot allow such dissidence to cloud his beautiful realm. And so the man replies. Blindly. With rage. He gives in to that most basic wish of his aggressor. He saw them as a cancer. How dare they call them selves human! How dare they say they belong to the same species! Those vitriolic scum, those manifest hoards of attackers. How dare they invade his solidarity and comfort, and dare to suggest such a thing! But he must defend his own. That idea that drives him. The idea that has no physical form.No warmth to offer comfort in the darkest of winters, no grace to deliver upon him on those most beautiful of summer days. And yet....he is committed to this idea. Wholly committed. Committed akin to that of a patient or drug addled mind. He knows nothing more than this. This is his entire reality. As the aggressor responds, the insults break upon the man like waves upon a shore. Waves of ever increasing size and strength. He tries his best to levy against the attacks. To protect this ideal that he holds so strongly to he gives his vitality to it, his wealth. His youth. He responds to the aggressor with a furry of a cornered mother. Protecting the only thing that yet gives it purpose. The aggressor leaves, having gotten what he desired. A reaction. An invocation of emotion. He has found the [racism 3] in the mans armor, the way to distablize his small, dark world, surrounded by void.

"Rarity a shit"