- Joined
- Mar 24, 2016
Gosh I sure hope he doesn't accidentally sit on a knife, that'd be terrible
Zinnia Jones / Satana Kennedy / Zachary Antolak / Zack Sklar / Lauren McNamara/Soersdal / @zjemptv - Queen of the Horse Dildos and Defender of Rapists; Transtrender Posing as a Transmedicalist; Dropped out of College after Falling in a Shallow River; Balls-free since 2024
- Thread starter chimpburgers
- Start date
- Joined
- Aug 25, 2017
Remember this tranny likes to shove nalgene bottles up his ass, which disgusts all but the most coom brained troons.
Stinkyboy
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 22, 2021
Zach should get a job at an abbatoir. He loves knives, chaos, and violent ideation. He can get his rocks off there.
He would probably end up fucking the meat though
He would probably end up fucking the meat though
Not Dr. Evil
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Dec 31, 2022
Its probabbly the same reason he was finding knives under he couch cushions. Forgot to remove them from his ass during an onlyfans shoot.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
He used Chaturbate. If he had an OnlyFans, we'd know about it by now.
Autistic Nonetheless
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 26, 2024
Zach seen milling around the apartment mumbling 'who will rid me of this meddlesome Wu '
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2014
Zach wishes to kill off the whole planet for not accommodating to his fetish.
Zach might want to note that the "threat" to Zohran Mamdani was a voice mail. If Zach intends to immunize himself from threats, staying at Heather's home is not enough.
"I may not feel safe or want to go outside anymore"
Zach thinks he is in danger of ICE.
There is no path to transition, legal or illegal. Still it is better for troons to destroy their own bodies on their own dime.
Moby Dickgirl
The ropes are on us. Fair enough.
Passport for troons.
Kate of ACLU has told Tony to spread some hopeful news.
Stephen Fry, boylove advocate who had just said Rowling has been "radicalized".
More on Malcolm Clark
The "material reality" of Zach is that he is a retarded male.
Rowling: " “Which rights have been taken away from trans people?”"
Boy George: “The right to be left alone by a rich bored bully!”
Rowling: " You see how a man in dress is different from a woman: you have been jailed for violent assault bro. I haven't. "
Archive of NYT article.
Navratilova
SCIENCE!
To the surprise of nobody, Zach thinks the Democrats cannot focus less on transpeople, because they did nothing for transpeople in the first place.
High-IQ Savant discovers a universal law: the more familiar people with troonery, the more they hate troons.
A narcissist cannot understand patriotism, or the need to defend one's own country.
Lest you forget the River.
"...trapped in the wrong species and the wrong universe on a planet where nothing about me belongs here"
If Zach were a zooid in a siphonophore colony, chances are he isn't the gonophore.
No, Zach sounds like ChatGPT because, like an AI language model, he doesn't know what the words he spews out mean, and he hallucinate -- or "depersonalize" -- all the time.
People are just jealous.
Rambo knife next?
Christ gives us a way to unfuck ourselves though.
Still, Zach is set on Judgement Snake and Lativan pagan goddess.
Not Dr. Evil
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Dec 31, 2022
Down in the depths of the Florida sun,
Lives Zach in a trailer where weird things are done.
He struts in stilettos, his beard dyed blue,
In a tutu that reads, “I’m watching you.”
Zach's got obsessions both freaky and bold—
Like ironing cheese or collecting old mold.
He whispers sweet nothings to mannequins’ toes,
And tapes up his windows to "block cosmic crows."
He hides little trinkets where moonlight don’t shine,
(Yes, there—that region where the sun don’t align).
A slingshot, a whistle, a petrified fig—
He once lost a toothbrush and called it “too big.”
He’s never had work, not a job, not a gig,
He claims “Employment’s a tool of the alien rig!”
He’s glued to the screen for nineteen hours straight,
Debating with bots about “quantum-state fate.”
He shouts at the fridge, yells at thin air,
"YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD!"—at an empty chair.
He lectures on science he can’t even spell,
Like “astro-economics” and “theories of smell.”
But Zach has a soulmate—enter dear Heather,
A woman confused by the concept of weather.
She thinks clouds are drones and bread is alive,
She once tried to legally marry a hive.
Together they worship a church with no brakes—
A wiggly weird cult they call “The Temple of Snakes.”
They chant in a circle and hiss at the sky,
"THE LIZARD OF WISDOM WILL NEVER DIE!"
They wear robes of denim with glittering trim,
Drink vinegar wine while singing a hymn.
Their god is a boa named “Sergeant McSpurt,”
Who sheds holy skin on their “Tuesday of Dirt.”
Heather speaks tongues that sound like a sneeze,
Zach dances around with live rats on his knees.
They believe every problem can be solved with a snake—
From plumbing to taxes to gluten-free cake.
Oh Zach, you’re a marvel, a walking headline,
A myth with a mullet and misaligned spine.
And Heather, sweet Heather, your crown made of string—
You think microwaves are the work of the king.
May your snakes stay sacred, your minds stay bent,
Your trailer be filled with “divine excrement.”
You’re Florida’s finest, its oddest duet—
A love story covered in sweat... and regret.
Lives Zach in a trailer where weird things are done.
He struts in stilettos, his beard dyed blue,
In a tutu that reads, “I’m watching you.”
Zach's got obsessions both freaky and bold—
Like ironing cheese or collecting old mold.
He whispers sweet nothings to mannequins’ toes,
And tapes up his windows to "block cosmic crows."
He hides little trinkets where moonlight don’t shine,
(Yes, there—that region where the sun don’t align).
A slingshot, a whistle, a petrified fig—
He once lost a toothbrush and called it “too big.”
He’s never had work, not a job, not a gig,
He claims “Employment’s a tool of the alien rig!”
He’s glued to the screen for nineteen hours straight,
Debating with bots about “quantum-state fate.”
He shouts at the fridge, yells at thin air,
"YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD!"—at an empty chair.
He lectures on science he can’t even spell,
Like “astro-economics” and “theories of smell.”
But Zach has a soulmate—enter dear Heather,
A woman confused by the concept of weather.
She thinks clouds are drones and bread is alive,
She once tried to legally marry a hive.
Together they worship a church with no brakes—
A wiggly weird cult they call “The Temple of Snakes.”
They chant in a circle and hiss at the sky,
"THE LIZARD OF WISDOM WILL NEVER DIE!"
They wear robes of denim with glittering trim,
Drink vinegar wine while singing a hymn.
Their god is a boa named “Sergeant McSpurt,”
Who sheds holy skin on their “Tuesday of Dirt.”
Heather speaks tongues that sound like a sneeze,
Zach dances around with live rats on his knees.
They believe every problem can be solved with a snake—
From plumbing to taxes to gluten-free cake.
Oh Zach, you’re a marvel, a walking headline,
A myth with a mullet and misaligned spine.
And Heather, sweet Heather, your crown made of string—
You think microwaves are the work of the king.
May your snakes stay sacred, your minds stay bent,
Your trailer be filled with “divine excrement.”
You’re Florida’s finest, its oddest duet—
A love story covered in sweat... and regret.
Sean Andalou
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2024
- Joined
- Aug 25, 2017
Hasn't he gone through a movie buff phase? How does he not know about terrible movie sequels? Does he think Highlander II was the superior film?
Rambo knife next?
Comfy Summer
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 20, 2025
Imagine how insufferable he is in real life, always talking about how much of a troon he is. These people cannot "transition" and move forward, they are kept in this perpetual state of victimhood and self-pity.
Not Dr. Evil
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Dec 31, 2022
About 20 seconds with a series of AI prompts. LOL.How much time did that take you?
Sean Andalou
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2024
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2018
He's as much a poet/songwriter as Zach is a woman.You cheated.
Sean Andalou
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2024
Sonnet of Zach and Heather: A Tale Most Strange
Down in the sun where Florida doth burn,
Lives Zach, whose ways make common folk discern.
In stilettos bold and blue beard dyed bright,
He dons a tutu that warns of his might.
His passions strange—iron cheese, mold in hand,
To mannequins’ toes, his whispers do stand.
He tapes his windows 'gainst crows from the skies,
And in the dark, his secret trinkets lie.
A slingshot, a whistle, a fig, petrified,
His lost toothbrush, a treasure once denied.
No work hath he, nor job, nor the daily grind,
For aliens' rigs, such labor he doth find.
His mind doth wander, debates with machines,
On quantum fate and astral unseen scenes.
Yet Heather, fair Heather, confused by the breeze,
Sees clouds as drones and bread as entities.
Together they worship, in serpent's embrace,
A temple of snakes, their hissing in place.
With vinegar wine and hymns they do sing,
To their god, McSpurt, who sheds holy skin.
A love so bizarre, with rats 'neath the knees,
They solve every trouble with serpents and pleas.
In Florida's wilds, they dance through the night—
A story of madness, of love, and of flight.
May their serpents stay sacred, their minds ever bent,
In a trailer divine, with odd firmament.
Thus, Zach and dear Heather, may your tale stay—
A love most peculiar, forever to sway.
Damn this is fun.
Down in the sun where Florida doth burn,
Lives Zach, whose ways make common folk discern.
In stilettos bold and blue beard dyed bright,
He dons a tutu that warns of his might.
His passions strange—iron cheese, mold in hand,
To mannequins’ toes, his whispers do stand.
He tapes his windows 'gainst crows from the skies,
And in the dark, his secret trinkets lie.
A slingshot, a whistle, a fig, petrified,
His lost toothbrush, a treasure once denied.
No work hath he, nor job, nor the daily grind,
For aliens' rigs, such labor he doth find.
His mind doth wander, debates with machines,
On quantum fate and astral unseen scenes.
Yet Heather, fair Heather, confused by the breeze,
Sees clouds as drones and bread as entities.
Together they worship, in serpent's embrace,
A temple of snakes, their hissing in place.
With vinegar wine and hymns they do sing,
To their god, McSpurt, who sheds holy skin.
A love so bizarre, with rats 'neath the knees,
They solve every trouble with serpents and pleas.
In Florida's wilds, they dance through the night—
A story of madness, of love, and of flight.
May their serpents stay sacred, their minds ever bent,
In a trailer divine, with odd firmament.
Thus, Zach and dear Heather, may your tale stay—
A love most peculiar, forever to sway.
Damn this is fun.
Sonichu-choo trainwreck
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 16, 2019
snakes cant frown and they are predators
they don't give fuck 1 about you warm blooded prey Zdog
go rewatch Conan the Barbarian for a snake god refresher
welp, a lot of em are Mexicans aka wetbacks..so called because they'll cross rivers...that's like a Dalek stairway problem for agent Zack
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
When has Zach ever had a beard? Did you use AI for this?
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2016
Every time lately, when I check in on Zach, I can't imagine he could get crazier. I pop back in, sure enough, he's even more nuts. His bursts of troon warrior posts are always fun, especially mixed in with his fear of water and even leaving the house. To continue with the AI Zach poetry:
Judgment Snake Jive, Redux
In Orlando’s muggy, strip-mall sprawl,
Zinnia Jones and Heather crawl,
Atheists hooked on a kooky craze,
Worshippin’ a snake in a beatnik haze.
Judgment Snake, their made-up queen,
A slithery scam, absurd, obscene.
Snap, snap, they chant, all sweaty and shrill,
In a Florida shack where the air stands still.
Zinnia’s shook from a kayak flop,
A shallow dunk, but he calls it a drop.
“Near-death!” he cries, though he barely got wet,
Clutchin’ Heather, his safety net.
She hums low, with a smirk, a jest,
Feminist fire, but this snake’s a mess.
They dance, they bow, to a reptile dream,
A goddess so fake, it’s bustin’ the seam.
Snap, snap, what a laugh, what a show,
This Judgment Snake’s just their ego’s glow.
Oddballs in Orlando, they’re quite the pair,
Prayin’ to a myth in the swampy air.
No water for Zinnia, he’s scared to the core,
But this snake charade? It’s a message-board score.
Judgment Snake Jive, Redux
In Orlando’s muggy, strip-mall sprawl,
Zinnia Jones and Heather crawl,
Atheists hooked on a kooky craze,
Worshippin’ a snake in a beatnik haze.
Judgment Snake, their made-up queen,
A slithery scam, absurd, obscene.
Snap, snap, they chant, all sweaty and shrill,
In a Florida shack where the air stands still.
Zinnia’s shook from a kayak flop,
A shallow dunk, but he calls it a drop.
“Near-death!” he cries, though he barely got wet,
Clutchin’ Heather, his safety net.
She hums low, with a smirk, a jest,
Feminist fire, but this snake’s a mess.
They dance, they bow, to a reptile dream,
A goddess so fake, it’s bustin’ the seam.
Snap, snap, what a laugh, what a show,
This Judgment Snake’s just their ego’s glow.
Oddballs in Orlando, they’re quite the pair,
Prayin’ to a myth in the swampy air.
No water for Zinnia, he’s scared to the core,
But this snake charade? It’s a message-board score.
Not Dr. Evil
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Dec 31, 2022
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Because the poem should be accurate to the cow. If you keep making these mistakes, I'm going to keep pointing them out.