The Evil-Giantess Thing

What to do when you stop liking that little man….

I don’t know, but I’ll be working on a list to share here later.

March 10, 2011

Evil 1 a: morally reprehensible, sinful, wicked; 3 a: causing harm: pernicious.

Two years ago I was in a certain mindset that allowed these thoughts to flow more freely. Now I have to sit here and ponder about the aspects of a relationship between a man and a much taller woman, that would color her evil. Not the sort of evil woman that grows and goes on a rampage, or shrinks the people she kills, but a more daily sort of evil, one that utilizes the vectors of time and place to deliver itself. In my mind, a woman that grows tired of a shrunken man and begins to engineer his deliverance from her side by whatever method necessary no matter what harm it causes, is dipping her toes in the evil pool.

We all get tired of the people we love, even if temporarily. If we have any maturity we know that too shall pass, and we face each day in a committed relationship with the strength we derive from doing what’s right for the family. It’s the same for women in my world that have decided to spend the rest of their lives with one special, much loved shrunken man… but sometimes we get tired of the little fucker. Maybe he’s not as sweet as he seemed in the beginning; perhaps we’ve caught him in another lie, one too many; or we’ve met / bought / rented someone that looks, tastes, feel better.

What to do with this little man that moves about our home as though he belongs there still? Love dies everyday. Sure, it’s born everyday too, but right now she only perceives the smell of its decay as she watches him go about his daily chores, which he now does without being told, as he feels Something Is Wrong. We always know when something is different about the one we love, don’t we? He sure does, and his life depends on it, so he is docile, obedient, and extra energetic when it comes to pleasing his increasingly detached lover.

Too late; she’s already made up her mind. She can simply send him back; get a refund with the proof of purchase she saved just in case, and she knows what awaits little men that get sent back, if his broken heart doesn’t kill him first. Oh yes, he can die of a broken heart the same way we normal people can, just much faster.

Or she can deactivate his GPS implant and release him into the wild. A tiny man of any size is easy prey for birds, the same way kittens are for owls, and worms are for a hungry bluejay. At least a man that ends up a carpet stain goes quickly, but when she packs his tiny suitcase and kicks him out without so much as an explanation, his death can be slow as he drowns in the kind of grief that severs his desire to escape from predators. I give him five minutes. Less if the cat’s outside.

She can give him away to her best friend, who is typically a psychotic bitch with the sort of boyfriend that tosses puppies off a cliff, and kicks toddlers when they make “too much noise”. His screams would be heard blocks away had she not chemically muted him beforehand.

Back home she relaxes with a cup of coffee as she peruses the latest iPet catalog, looking for her next toy. She’s already forgotten about him.


4 thoughts on “The Evil-Giantess Thing

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  1. Am I the only person checking back here at least three times a day waiting for the update on this with baited breath? :-)


    1. That makes two of us, hahah! What I mean is that I’m looking forward to having time to write what I wanted to put together for this entry this past Sunday night.

      I’m under the hopeful belief that I should have something within the next few days, but I’ve told myself similar lies before.

      Have a nice rest of your week, Pedro :)


  2. j just come across undersquid and read the evil giantess thing…perhaps while relaxing with a cup of coffee as you peruses the latest ipet catalog you will see and choose me for your next toy…free to a good home pathetic and ridiculous looking, teensy-tiny. pudgy=wudgy widdle wee-wee one inch man…not handsome, nor even good lookihg. need that certain little foil and fool to take your fustrations and anger out. you’ve found him!


  3. And sometimes it’s time for a Tiny to flee the giantess, when she cuts/dyes her hair and doesn’t yell out that she’s home, when she comes home. If a little guy lives long enough to detect the changing winds, he knows there’s no room for discussion, no pleading, no convincing. The disengaged woman shuts off the section of her brain that regards him as human and lashes out with impunity.

    It’s harsh, depressing to think about, but even the happiest, most content Tiny has to have a Plan B in place. Or else cultivate a Stoic anticipation of suicide.


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