It was one thing to draw androgynous figures, to put them in ambiguous attire, and to give them feminine personality traits and behaviors. The occasional joke at their expense and those they surround themselves with could be funny from time to time. It was another thing entirely to put them into sexually provocative attire, to give them persistently homosexual desires, to drown out the meek and modest, ontologically superior Reverse-Trap by solidifying such degenerate and self-masturbatory tropes in Otaku culture...
It could be tolerated, no, ignored at our own leisure, even when they deigned to take a step further in their folly by giving them unreasonably wide hips as if to parody woman-kind, because the once noble flat chest doubles now as a caution sign for the possibility that the character before you is in actuality a sodomite idol obscuring it's own latent faggotry. Some drunk on their own hubris, in a sort of inadvertent kindness, give advance warning by showing equally unreasonable tent-pitching that would give a shit-eating Spade fanatic a feeling of emasculation...
But these bastards are not so easily satisfied, they blur the line between their own accursed traditions and the controversial nature of Futanaris. In thumbnail art or when viewed from afar, their works conspire against your eyes, they draw characters with the intention to insinuate a modest bosom where there is none - OR WORSE, INSIST ON DRAWING A FUTANARI WITH A NERFED CLEAVAGE AND STILL INSISTING THAT THEIR MANWHORE OF BABYLON IS INDEED THUS, A MAN! THEY ARE EVIL! THEY DO NOT CREATE! THEY HAVE CRYSTALIZED THEIR WARPED DESIRES AND PROJECTED IT ONTO PARCHMENT SEEKING TO BLIND AND BLINDSIDE.
I am a prudent man, I read the description of manga before diving into page one. Wiser men than still check tags when scouring darker sites. I speak not out of concern for myself or my betters, but for the poor fools that judge books only by their covers. An unfortunate siren song was discovered. A promise of Japanese-flavored Orientalism called the names of many, the pull even stronger with the promise of Childhood Friend Romance... but alas, it is between men. A THOUSAND CURSES UPON THOSE THAT CHERISH YAOI, MAY THE NAMES OF THEIR AUTHORS AND ARTISTS BE FORGOTTEN. NOT FOR MY SAKE, BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THE NAIVE, THE PURE, THE TRUSTING, THE BEAUTIFUL FOOLS WHO SHARE A DREAM NOW DENIED TO THEM, WHO LIVE ONLY TO KNOW UNENDING NIGHTMARES AS I DO, ONLY NOW WITH AN UNFORTUNATE INTIMACY.
