Monday, May 21, 2018

Nocturnal parenting


Nocturnal parenting
 

Daddy! Daddy!
 

Daddy, help me get up. I’m stuck in bed.
 

Stuck?
 

In bed, Daddy, I can’t get up.
 

Is that why you woke me up at midnight?
 

Yes, Daddy. I’m cold too. My pajamas are too thin.
 

Oh, okay.
 

(He gives her a hug.)
 

Are you going to get me up, darling?
 

What do you mean, Daddy?
 

Oh, you know what I mean, Jennifer. You know very well.
 

Not that, Dad, not a second time.  I already played with it once.
 

That’s not enough when you wake Daddy up in the middle of the night.
 

But I’m cold.
 

Here.
 

(He hands her a bathrobe hanging on the door.)
 

That was your mother’s robe, Jennifer.
 

But I don’t know where Mommy is.
 

She’s in heaven, Jennifer. Put your lips there. That’s a good girl. Lick it with your tongue under the head of it, darling. Yes.
 

I don’t want to wear Mommy’s robe.
 

No talking, Jennifer. Be quiet now.
 

Okay, Daddy.
 

(She keeps sucking. He moans in atavistic pleasure.)
 

Yes! What a good little Jennifer you are tonight.

The Philosophy of Extremism, Principle 2: Extreme Sex



The Philosophy of Extremism, Principle 2:  Extreme Sex

Jennifer complained today that I, David, fucked her very intensely, and that the power of the pressure on her clitoris therefore led to considerable cursing and protests. Basically, fucking is done by taking one's huge cock and using it with tremendous force and expertise. Jennifer tells David that she appreciates the atavistic bellows and roars, just as he feels that this is the point of the exercise, to surrender focus on utility, the exchangeable unit of measurement, the unit of pleasure or whatever, and exist the intensity of which Lyotard writes in his "evil book", the absolutely unique irreplaceable.

Part of the point of the stories earlier about the deplorably inadequate exes is to demonstrate that none of these had mastered the art of fucking, or of general humanity, but got by through exploiting mental illness. This is why they were never loved. For example, French Little Billy Blond, who assiduously reads these blogs, can go fuck himself, and sleep with dust and memories. Jennifer tells us that he uses a form of Fleshlight. But these are for lonely, pathetic, older men, so we naturally ask ourselves why does Mr. Blond have one? In fact she now tells me that he has more than one. He has three, one for each orifice that he recognizes

It should not be forgotten that, in nature, it is not necessarily an animal's right to fuck. Jennifer says that Blond once abused a frail gay man and was bottled, he phoned the police: that's just weak. Low quality males, or females, are often rejected, and this is no problem to the better animals, since, let's face facts, what the fuck are the rejected specimens going to do about it? The best should fuck, the rest can fuck off and die. Dysgenic fertility is already a huge problem.  Scumbags breed most readily.

I, Jennifer, mistook Principle #2 to mean that constant complaining during sex was not only good, but a turn on for David. I would say no, stop, you're hurting me, when inside I was gushing with vaginal fluids. The more excited I got, the more biting the complaints became, such as saying, oh, you asshole. I came to learn over time that complaints were not necessary to keep this particular male member erect and that, indeed, almost the opposite was true. The more excitement I expressed, the more passion I felt, the more I continued to complain. One time David told me to shut up and slapped me across the face. That really excited me, so much so that I instantly stopped complaining. Indeed, he was harder than ever, a true lightning rod of unbridled pleasure.

Jennifer writes as though I don't slap her around pretty much all the time, as one does, and as I just did a round dozen times while bruising myself around the os pubis, and producing a symphony of sluttishness from her frail form. She writes as though she would not be enormously pissed off if I refrained from so doing. Anyway, if men with small dicks breed, we will ultimately see an accursed race of humans who develop midget wangs. The clitoris will become insufferably arrogant, and Jennifer will be able to crush me (I, Jennifer, am related to the Incredible Hulk, which enables me to wind David quite severely when I lie flat on top of him); whereas now, with my use of the techniques of extreme sex, I am able to lift her by the goddamn snatch with one hand and hold her up in the air, which really does provoke cursing, even if my grip gets all slippery on account of the enhanced flow of secretions.

Again, with extreme sex, Jennifer is obsessed by showering before i eat her out, since the vagina is assumed to smell and taste funny, which it doesn't. There is no particular pong attributable to the snatch. I attribute that particular piece of bullshit to religions, even influencing atheists such as Jennifer, since it influences the whole of society. The Christian pedo rapists, and other practitioners of retarded voodoo, disapprove of the snatch as being a residence of devils and general naughtiness. She also seriously believes that I give a shit if she happens to be bleeding like a stuck pig. As a vegan, I appreciate the nutritional supplement, and am not obliged to chew coal for iron.

Really, it is impossible to be more extreme than I have been. But I've never met a man who would eat me out and earn what used to be called their "red wings" by lesbians, the term having been used once by Hells Angels, though the latter are more advanced than the lesbian community. Maybe this is because I was a lesbian for a while, women shying away from blood like most straight men. However, it is common practice for lesbians to perform oral sex on each while one, or both, has a yeast infection. No, the cottage cheese discharge is no breakfast treat. Some lesbians even put their yeast discharge into glass vials and display them on the mantelpieces in their homes. The scent emanates from the vials like a sweet perfume in the nicer homes of such cities as San Francisco. I have turned my nose on the whole mess, and tell David he can lick me anytime. We were going to ask some lesbians in the grocery store, but David bottled out when they stared at his trousers, licking their lips and giggling inanely. The excitable one started running round in circles.

Extreme sex, it must be noted, does not require an extreme cock or extreme pussy, but we do not really know what women with gaping vaginas and men with small cocks do to get off in an extreme fashion. Quite frankly we don't want to know. It's like whether the crack babies are laughing or screaming; who cares?

Sunday, May 20, 2018

The Philosophy of Extremism, Principle 1: Extreme Shitting

Another collaboration with Jennifer S. Chesler.  This is a very instructive piece. As the reader may recall, my previous technique for her involved a particularly brutal face fuck. Sadly, this technique, though highly enjoyable for me, did not actually work, no feces was produced, and she's such a good girl that she hardly puked. She pissed on me later but that is not germane to the issue, I'm just boasting, really.

The Philosophy of Extremism, Principle 1:  Extreme Shitting
 

The primary goal of the philosophy of extremism is to aid in the elimination of feces. Technique #1 is my personal favorite, one akin to an asana in yoga. I sit on the toilet and push as hard as I can out of my bowels. There might be considerable, but low, grunts emitted. At this point, if the shit has not at least crowned (crowning is the most important sign of a satisfactory bowel movement, though in certain circumstances the crown, due to constipation, stays in one place, fixed as it were, in the anal opening), it becomes necessary to release your breath completely, almost as though you are giving up on the shit completely. Then after you’ve caught your breath, push hard and you will feel the crown, in all its glory, turned into a large mass of feces, or, when constipated, a series of rock hard turds in succession, plopping away merrily into the toilet as you flush, stomach emptied.

David recalls an experience that profoundly traumatized him. He had eaten Swedish bread that is basically unleavened, and served in round cakes. He had eaten a whole two pounds of this garbage together with a hard mature cheese, only one pound of this. The shit-baby took two days of labor. He was obliged to hold the ring and raise his whole body with his hands while screaming curses and praying to Baphomet to at least abort and torture the foul fetuses of Xian scam as some consolation. When the shit came he swore to never suffer constipation again unless heroin was involved. 


The person we elsewhere refer to as Backsplash admonished David for his profane language during the whole proceedings. Since the feces, so David assures me, was monochromatic, the bitch should have kept her mouth, as well as her anal gob, firmly closed. 



Tight pussy slut, Part II

#vanillamakesmeSICK

Tight pussy slut, Part II
 

Little whore thinks she's a big girl, she's not a big girl at all but when i come into her Daddy's a big boy and she's gasping and grunting and groaning so I tell her, you like that don't you, you can scream for help, nobody gonna hear you, nobody gonna care. I'm running it in and outta her so she's pushed around, legs flapping like branches in a hurricane. Look in daddy's eyes i tell her as she lies there whimpering, so i pull the ass all the way up and bang her, moving her round like a rag doll and driving the jackhammer in hard. Where's mommy, I want my mommy, she whines so I tell her she has no mommy now and she can sleep in daddy's bed all the time. She gets real excited and the juice is squirting out of her covering my dick and stomach area she gets so goddamn wet. I love that little tight pussy slut.
 

Ginger Ale is the best, Canada Dry Ginger Ale is my favorite, diet of course. When Daddy fucks me in my sleep he wakes me up to rinse off, a big grin on his face between my legs, and a soda in his hand. Daddy's hands are so big. He can hold a can in one hand. O, Daddy, what's the white stuff between my legs? Why aren't you doing this to mommy instead? Then he gets angry – I told you mommy's dead.

I shoot my load deep in her, she says I'm pushing her womb up into her stomach so i yell what the fuck you know about wombs, you little whore, what they been telling you in school?. Jennifer lies there later, waiting for her rape soda. It makes her so happy. 



Saturday, May 19, 2018

David McLean, Part II


David McLean, Part II

David rams his thick, long porcelain cock into my nickel hole of a cunt. He goes in so far. Oh god, I think, he’s hitting my womb. I can’t take it, I say to him. He thrusts himself into me as hard as he can and tells me I’m a big girl. No, Daddy, I say, you’re such a big man, and I’m just a little girl. This excites him so much that he thrusts deeper than I’ve been penetrated ever before, grunting like an animal on top of me. His breath quickens. Grab my ass, he says. He takes my ass in his hands, as I take his in mine. You’re a big girl now, he says. Where’s mommy? Where’s mommy? Why don’t you do this to her? Mommy is dead, David says, you can sleep in mommy’s bed every night now; you’re making Daddy very happy. He thrusts in even further. No, I can’t take it any deeper. I’m out of breath. He pulls out and sticks his cock halfway into me. Praise the lord, I whisper to myself, he has listened. David’s breath quickens. You’re such a good girl, he says to me. I squeeze his ass harder. The next thing I know he’s heaving himself in and out of me. I don’t mind anymore. It feels so good. His breathing is so heavy and fast as he ejaculates a large amount of semen into my nickel hole. It’s dripping out of me until he stops the flow of come coming out of me with his underwear. I’ve got to piss, I say. I’ll come with you, he says.

Friday, May 18, 2018

Jennifer Chesler's Fragments in corrected version

Fragments came today, the third written but first published of all Jennifer S. Chesler's novels, This has the form of an anthology but functions as an aleatory novel, in that she randomly ordered the texts originally, while I, who edited the book, was obliged to reorder and add new pieces. The interconnection of the pieces is both thematic & linguistic, & unifies the novel regardless of the exigencies of ordering.

This reordering was particularly necessary since she wasted 18 years with a literary agent who was most definitely not a writer, & seems to have been very poorly suited to his job.

The book is a splendid piece of work & deserves recognition for its innovative nature. Topics covered are dog sex in the Phoenix area, the stupidity of the average American, piss fucks, & the author's mental illness & poverty (caused by a dodgy upbringing in a hostile family environment &, later, a life among worthless scumbags).

Here it is at Amazon.

Here it is at Barnes & Noble.

& here it is at Google Books.


Thursday, May 17, 2018

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Spotlight on Nickel Hole Press

Here is a spotlight we just created for Nickel Hole Press at Lulu, the POD site we use. Books by Jennifer Chesler & myself are available there & at Amazon etc.

The books deal with various taboo subjects, poverty, mental illness, prostitution, child abuse, & so forth. This makes them both a little sad & hugely comical. The books also direct criticism at the patriarchal nature of modern society & the policing of thought by the fascist psychiatric establishment, the psychologizing of the subject created to tame the unruly bodies of desire, as one sees in the writings of Foucault, Lyotard and Deleuze, with or without Guattari.

Buy these books at your own peril. Maybe the smack babies are laughing, maybe they're crying. What difference does it make? They are an assemblage, they do what they do.

Forthcoming work at Nickel Hole Press

In 2019 we shall publish the forthcoming collaborative work between David McLean and Jennifer Chesler that will constitute the third part of The Philosophy of Extremism, which is naturally to do with the arduous task of creating & manufacturing the unconscious, as Deleuze defines it in "Four Propositions on Pscyhoanalysis" - the assemblage that desire constructs is what Extremism supports. "The shred of placenta that we smuggled out of the womb" only creates well when it creates extremely.

Jennifer Chesler has written four novels, one of which we have already published, Fragments, here at Amazon. She plans to release the remaining three through Nickel Hole Press in the future.

There will be forthcoming collaborative works as well.

Nickel Hole Press: Forthcoming Work

Nickel Hole Press: Forthcoming Work: Apart from the forthcoming collaborative work which will constitute the third part of The Philosophy of Extremism , which is naturally to do...

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Steve Tweet

This particular asshole is the most disgusting of them all & the one she hates most, Jennifer informs me. He thought he was schizophrenic when he was actually bipolar. How retarded can you be?

Steve Tweet

I had a fiancĂ© once who was born with the name Steve Tweet. He changed his last name because people made fun of him. He was worthy of the mocking though. I had just gone on psychiatric medication for bipolar disorder. We got into a fight one night after going to his parents’ house because I praised James Joyce, a man his moronic parents found too high-brow a writer for me to mention.

“Do you know how you sounded?” he screams at me. “James Joyce wouldn’t write a book called An Honest Day of Blowjobs.

An Honest Day of Blowjobs was the second novel I’d written, a book that Tweet had not even read.

“Fuck you,” I say to him, enraged partially by mismedication.

“I’m calling your parents unless you take Zyprexa,” he says.

“Fine, call them,” I retort.

My parents had fallen in love with his athletic body and ordinary good looks. Not to mention that he was a lawyer and accountant, though only working for his father as an accountant at the time. Little did my parents know that his cock was broken by using a penis pump to lengthen his large penis but was unable to finish a fuck and had to stop before he came. Though my parents would have had no problem with my marrying a freak or moron like this, they only cared about appearances and money.

I was desperate to get out of prostitution and only got engaged to this man, who was stupid and boring and whom I actually despised, since my parents treated me better when I was in a relationship. I would have dumped him as soon as I was in law school. He had actually been a john when I worked as a whore, so I knew what a piece of shit he was. I was just using him until he was no longer necessary to propitiate my parents.

He picked up the phone and started telling my parents that I was out of control, even lying about me hallucinating, and said that I would never pass the mental fitness part of the California Bar Exam, which he had not even taken himself. Oh, did I mention that he was schizophrenic? He showed me the Hollywood potboiler A Beautiful Mind to break it to me that he had this mental illness.

My parents took his advice and did not give me the money they’d pledged for living expenses at law school.

The next day he broke up with me, ending our engagement. My parents said I could go to a lesser university in a state where I did not want to live, much less work as an attorney. I shouldn’t have even applied there.

I quit the straight job that Tweet had obtained for me at an architecture firm and went back to the sex industry. I couldn’t whore myself to an architectural firm for minimum wage any longer. I’d only had what’s considered a respectable job for the sake of the engagement.

My anger towards my parents grew exponentially. I blamed them for every trick I turned. I am obviously glad not to be a lawyer now. At the time I felt that it was my only option if I wanted to make a decent living at something I felt would be easy for me.

I got an email from Tweet a few years ago:  “I’m writing a book of quotes. Could you talk to your agent for me?” I have since ditched my agent, but, if I had sent him Tweet’s work, they would have been closer than bedbugs in a bed. I hope that each one has all of his fabric ruined by the pernicious beasts. There is nothing worse to curse someone with than bedbugs. You might as well set fire to everything you own.

In this text, Jennifer describes how superior people should not try to get along with, much less marry, inferior people. Until she met a superior person, like herself, she was constrained by the exigencies of the patriarchy in the USA and an upbringing that did not allow her to fully express her own essential identity. This happens to a lot of women, so the story illustrates a choice of whoring retail instead of whoring wholesale.  I agree with her diagnosis that the problem depends upon her never receiving any support whatsoever from anybody. Basically, this loser is no more than funny, but his behavior forced her back into prostitution, thereby qualifying him as a scumbag, and in fact the one she says that she hates most of all her actual exes.

Monday, May 14, 2018

The worm-cock boy

As we see, Jennifer received a comment from an idiot that she used to know. We wrote this as a result.

The terrible tale of the worm-cock boy
 

Even Baudelaire couldn’t write Seasons in Hell as cruelly as our periods of mockery of you, Mr. William French. My husband is hugely fond of my narratives about your suicidal plans – the slaughter of your pets, followed by your own death in the conflagration that destroys your house. Sadly, you were always too much of a pussy to go through with it. It sickens me that I ever knew a pseudo-intellectual nobody like you, so slow to grasp everything to do with the academic, things that clever people think & do. He belongs to the category that my husband calls “ordinary people”.
 

I had forgotten you, then receive bizarre & retarded emails talking about your mental health. I am married to a real man, hung like a fucking horse, I bet you’d like his cock in you, though he would be sadly obliged to kick your fucking teeth down your throat. I remember your dream of being an artist, collage and photography. One day, they will have dictionaries illustrating failure, and there you’ll be. Sorry that I can’t remember more to abuse you about; it just wasn’t that memorable or important to me.
 

I am better than you, shithead. You thought I wanted your money, but that is obviously all you had to offer, you mean nothing to me. By all means go on reading my pieces, other people do & we like to think of all the smaller gentlemen who are mortified by the fact that I finally came with a man. You don’t like women, except when you dress up like one. Now there’s nothing wrong with trannies, but there’s something sad about secretive trannies who dress up and wear their dead mother’s lipstick.
 

Maybe next time you shove an object down your urethra you will think of me being banged shitless in another country and laughing at your sad plight. I don’t think of you when I fuck though, it’s the huge cock that fills me up in every sense.
 

Dear me, in how many places will I be obliged to block you. I suppose little Billy is still in love with me, or so desperately lonely that he needs someone to talk to at all costs. I’ve been there, but I’m feeling great now, so i honestly couldn’t care less.
 

As we see, Jennifer dislikes all the exes who treated her shabbily. She and I change voices as we see fit, we are one authorial voice except insofar as we aren’t, if and when we see fit.
 

This one was scarcely an ex, just an engagement with a mentally ill French person, entered into when I myself was mentally ill; maybe I wanted to save the entailment on the cottage, buy coke or whatever, who cares. Otherwise i would never have had anything to do with this subhuman cocksucker. We never even fucked.

So Jennifer is cross. it will go over. She saw his attempt to comment on her blog as I showered after a tremendous fuck. Soon we shall fuck again - poor French “William”, forgotten again – where is last year’s snow?

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Transnan

This is the first piece from The Philosophy of Extremism III. See below for the other books we have done.

Transnan


Tammy’s mother had been weird. She had started as Tammy’s father, until she decided to change gender. She did absolutely nothing in the way of operations and so forth. She didn’t even stop shaving and was almost always to be seen masturbating on her porch, wearing only a tunic that covered very little, topped with a cute lace ruffle. I found it embarrassing to be her grandchild. At the age of fourteen, however, I found myself constantly wet whenever I witnessed her antics. She was convinced that i was a boy.

I guess by now you know that I appear in three volumes of The Philosophy of Extremism. Sometimes I think that it not my large body (I weigh between 520 and 840 lbs., or so they say) but my mother that got me into this horrible trilogy. The authors contacted me after reading about the dead firemen who had tried to carry me to the potty in my trailer. But I really think that they were only interested in Dan, my simultaneously disgusting yet beautiful Nan/dad. S/he did have beautiful long legs, it’s true, but her breath was dreadful. I couldn’t even speak to her without averting my head. She started to sit on the front porch of my trailer in her tunic, masturbating like it was Vegas, roulette never smelled so bad.

My Nan was Tammy’s dad. It was sort of exciting. She would call her huge penis her strap-on and tell me that I was a good girl. One time I rode it. But I’m a boy, Nan, I (equally confused) screamed. The report from CPS stigmatized our entire family as “retarded fuckwads” and they told Judge Adams that they “really didn’t care” what happened. So transfixed was the judge by Tammy that he said that she was just Jennifer’s mom anyway, and he would have both authors imprisoned for being naughty, but Harriet was reconciled with him now, took it like a really big girl, and was always wet. He declared them innocent, complimented David on his cock, and discussed spanking with him and Jennifer for six hours while the stenographer wept.

Jennifer was incredibly turned on as she had a fetish for spanking (Duh) that dates back to early childhood, when she did things to her brother that bode ill for her nieces. David was pretty much general purpose, and would get off on anything that did not involve backsplash, a strange phenomenon involving anal sex, poo-poo, and ending in not bothering to clean the sink, after all it wasn’t his fucking apartment and he didn’t make the sac shitty in the first place.

By this point we have no idea where this is going. Nan, and even Judge Adams, had experienced it too. Backsplash was everywhere. It seems like every book we read had taken our experience and sullied it even further. Without further ado, we encourage the reader to buy the previous books, where this story ends in Hermaphrodite Squares. (Daddy wants to fuck now.)

Jennifer gets all personal

This is a post about me: http://jenniferchesler.blogspot.com/2018/05/david-mclean.html. I cannot deny said prowess, nor do I wish to.


A fragmentary reminder

Just a reminder that Fragments, my wife Jennifer S. Chesler's first solo book, though the third of four that she has ready, is now on sale at Amazon at this link. I edited this piece & restored it. It had been ruined by being shortened, "massacred" As Jennifer says, by a very sub-par agent, poorly educated & stupid, who was a spectacularly inadequate writer himself.  She abuses him in both our first & second  collaborative volumes. But I digress.

If, like me, you prefer Barnes & Noble, it's there too at this link.

It is also on Google books at this link. 

Fragments is a collection of pieces that explore such topics as dog sex in the Phoenix area,the stupidity of the average American, & the author's mental illness & poverty, both by circumstance & psychogenesis at the hostile hands of her family.



Saturday, May 12, 2018

Cockwombles reach Google

Here is the Google Books result for The Natural History of the Cockwomble, Philosophy of Extremism II by Jennifer S. Chesler, my wife, & myself. This is a great book which describes the Natural History of the Cockwomble by describing  a few cockwombles & their antics. Thus it becomes an indictment of sexism & patriarchy in modern society. 

Chesler also writes lovingly of my huge & delicious cock, something these previous cockwombles sadly lacked.


Nickel Hole Press: fragments of Fragments

Nickel Hole Press: fragments of Fragments: Here is the Google books result for Fragments by Jennifer S. Chesler , an anthology that she recently released through this press, edited by...

Thursday, May 10, 2018

Recent work & books available

Here is a summary of recent work available from Jennifer S. Chesler & myself from Nickel Hole Press

Jennifer decided to do her first anthology, Fragments, via our press, & it is on sale here from NHP, & at this Amazon link. This book is the first of four books by her that are ready to publish.

We have a second volume of The Philosophy of Extremism out, called The Natural History of the Cockwomble. Click this link to purchase. This book is outrageous, of course, but also reveals a lot about mental illness, sexism, degradation, & abuse, the workings of the patriarchy in the USA.

There is a spotlight here at this link where my & Jennifer's books are available. I have other books & chapbooks available, but don't buy them.

Post-degradation, Jennifer S. Chesler

This is by my wife, Jennifer S. Chesler. The book involved is in the post below & also linked in the text.

post-degradation

When David suggested that we write about the scumbags who degraded me I felt degraded once again because now people knew or would know through our new book, The Natural History of the Cockwomble, about the reality of my prior existence. David intended that these pieces be therapeutic, and would close a chapter on this section of my life, which i had largely repressed.

A lot of memories surfaced and I realized the role I played in my own degradation. So, yes, now I am aware of how horrible the treatment of me was at the hands of the men and women who used me sexually. Writing about the former FBI agent, "Lego", was particularly difficult because of the connection to my family and my fear of them finding out that i had been abused by a family friend. I expect that if they read it I will be treated like the whore they saw me as even before I became one.

I am starting to feel better now. My emotions cycle rapidly because of Saphris withdrawal, so I never know what to expect from myself or my body. I was worried about telling David how truly awful my past was, perhaps out of self-hatred. But David has seemed to take pleasure in working with this material since he sees it as emptying a trash can, something I needed to do. Also, he has a penchant for small cock humiliation, and indeed they were small men. None of them went deep enough to know me in any sense, I was disembodied through depersonalization, and somehow shielded myself in this way.

I have been in therapy for over half my life, and have seen little results in improving my self-esteem. Now I am happily married to David and the trashcan was certainly full, but we have emptied it.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

The Natural History of the Cockwomble

Jennifer Chesler & David McLean are very pleased with recent work, being sick fucks, & have published The Natural History of the Cockwomble: Or, The Philosophy of Extremism Volume II via Nickle Hole Press, it is forthcoming from Amazon & other capitalist literary brothels soon, but is already on sale at this link. Here is the back cover blurb:

A book of "faction" & fiction that describes bad parenting styles leading to rape at the age of fifteen, prostitution & later revictimization. It also contains BDSM-themed fictional pieces & snippets from the authors' real lives, along with some analysis of the real elements in terms of psychologically-oriented feminism & philosophy. 


A brace of scumbags

Here's a final degrading story about a complete scumbag "writer", & his scumbag "writer" friend. He basically got off on raping a mentally ill daughter of an alleged friend. It has to be possible to give consent. Little did these retarded monkeys know that a real writer will be honest. David McLean helped me to reassemble these traumatic memories. David & i are so delighted by our recent work that all the below pieces of faction are appearing in a book, like today. Links forthcoming shortly.


Not an ex, but a complete scumbag that I encountered, a guy who coerced me into sex, was an alleged writer who had worked with my father, was a friend of the family, known me since I was a baby, & been an FBI agent. Pseudonymously appearing here as John Lego, nameless asshole, he wrote worthless thrillers & was friends with another FBI agent called Joe Pisser, AKA Pisstone in Fragments.

Joe Pisser wrote a thriller & the story of his career had given rise to a crappy & very popular Hollywood gangster film. As a female writer I was insecure, & felt that I needed an agent. Pisstone asked me if I had ever been in a penthouse. He asked first if I liked giving blowjobs, expecting me to pay for a ticket to New York to blow him. I basically told Pisstone to piss off, though my degraded state let me talk to his grotesque friend on the phone prior to this, while these worthless pieces of shit lived in New York City, constantly betraying their wives.

Degradation, however, is a strange thing. I felt compelled to give blowjobs & fuck, it was like a disease, & basically I did so with the worst human garbage imaginable, after being forced to give a stupid kid a blowjob when i was in high school, at the age of fifteen. I thought I was bleeding, I didn’t know what come was. I told him early on that I didn’t want to give blowjobs anymore but he threatened to beat me up. I even tried to get out of this by letting my parents see what was happening, though they didn’t care what happened to me, & this kid went on to victimize me for four years. Naturally, I became a lesbian.

The other piece of shit writer was the family friend, John Lego. As a child, when I lived on a boat with my parents & had unclear memories that my psychologist at Tufts thought were a result of child sex abuse, Lego had been left to look after me by my parents when they went to collect psychedelic mushrooms at sunrise. This makes me very suspicious. Anyway, he started writing to me & calling & asked to meet me at my apartment to fuck me. I was very mentally ill then, very degraded, working as a whore, & consented, though I bitterly regret this. His body odor was the worst i have ever smelled - pungent, disgusting, & foul. The sleazebag basically demanded to get his greasy little cock sucked. I have partly repressed the incident as it was basically a rape, but what I remember best is the dreadful stench. This scumbag, devoid of talent, with a mediocre cock & no skills, had a peculiar & loathsome stench reminiscent of a desert pig, a javelina. He treated me worse than any other john ever, & was abusive & gross in every way. He had visited my parents when I was a baby, so his behavior is basically unforgivable. He left directly after, he also broke with my parents after this, maybe from shame though a subhuman like that probably feels no shame (I did get an agent through this scumbag, who was also another kind of worthless scumbag, but this agent just wasted eighteen years by not doing anything, even being unable to write grammatical cover letters.)

Lego worked in a gross strip club in Phoenix too, & had previously got me a job as a whore there, so felt entitled to a blowjob. I only worked one day, even degraded as I was, with no self-respect & feeling violated by this greasy shithead, I couldn’t bring myself to work there as a stripper, or whore as they are technically known, more than that one day. Strippers are basically worse than whores, in that the whore who fucks & sucks is basically more traumatized & is revictimizing herself, as I did. Strippers, who only strip, are often basically scumbags; they lack the whore’s etiology, though they look down on whores as if they were better.

I hate these men. I was unable to come with a man until I was forty-six, only very recently.



Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Michael, bullshit artist

A last taking out of the trash:

Michael, bullshit artist

Most embarrassing of the ludicrous exes Jennifer acquired because of low self-esteem consequent on mental illness & a shitty psychiatrist & therapist, is a guy who apparently used a pseudonym & lied extravagantly, most entertainingly about his huge cock. Allegedly the “third largest in porn according to Ron Jeremy” – David literally fell about laughing upon seeing this erect shrimp as jpeg. To give him the benefit of the doubt five inches, to be more realistic four. Jennifer notes that although he was allegedly wealthy, he would need money for gas when he visited.
 

He claimed to be a good lay but when David arrived, after a whiny phone call from Michael where I told him i was marrying a dominant with a good brain & education, I was taken aback. After two days David bought a new mattress, he fucks so hard that i slammed right into the floor, little Michael couldn’t do anything like that. He couldn’t fuck very often either,
 

He knew nothing of BDSM, apart from the mini-dick, but I don’t even want to mention the extravagant series of lies. It is frankly embarrassing. No wonder that he was bullied in school. It is not conducive, as David insists on writing, since David spent hours laughing at the retarded use of English in Michael’s asinine texts. He seemed unaware that of how words are used in sentences, he couldn’t grasp simple algebra.
 

He couldn’t get laid either, the reason for his calling me. I never believed that David has to basically fight them off, but have witnessed it at first hand. He makes me talk in stores if the staff are female, even today i saw a woman at a store get all flustered.
 

When I first saw Daddy’s dick, I said, oh my god, what is that. We were on video because he was in Sweden and I was stuck in Indiana. I thought his perfect ivory cock was a ploy on his part to make him look perfect, believing he had positioned a perfect dildo before his webcam so it looked like it was his.
 

David read an alleged screenplay by this asshole, that I had never bothered to read. Bitch, please, was David’s only response.
 

The same question raises its ugly head. Do men like Michael the fabulist & the asshole Tom really not know? Do they know that the garbage between their legs does not measure up? David does not bang the bladder; he forces the womb straight up into the stomach.
 

This story, we promise, will be the last about these godforsaken rejects. We shall keep the hatred about psychiatry fresh though, at least until Dr. Bungles joins the garbage of history soon enough. Daddy says that trashing scumbags is the best way to put the trauma in the trashcan. 

The problem again was low self-esteem. I really had reached such a degraded state through isolation & loneliness with nobody to talk to that I didn't see what garbage these people were. David has got me to exercise & eat well, I am quitting the dreadful medication Saphris, I feel human again, these pieces of shit can be flushed away.

Michael Mc Aloran - all null having


all null having
by
Michael Mc Aloran
Void Front Press

all null having is of language, words, extending meaningless where they are absurdity & beyond to where meaning is flesh & sexless. i do not know what the intent is since Mc Aloran would agree that intent is irrelevant especially to where it matters, the self.

every human without exception lives homeless a foreign land it does not matter, he observes, not verbatim but in passing obvious.

perhaps seeds to bleed unto having bled escapade eye of
blood fragment all traced from nucleus given to shadowing/ it yet it
is bitter yet a whipped canine’s tears satiate breathing no more than
phlegm spat in the face of desire’s shadowing occluded simulacrum/
terse between one shadow/ not a trace nor given unto/

nothing is relevant beyond one’s localization & the landscape is not the earth upon which we live but culture the jawbone of a prophet some smoke over a battlefield lake an apparent skull. we do not have but the null the dead they are better than we was.

waxen all/ psychotic tread
given to birth from ever-flowing none/ speeches trinkets things for
some other absence/ cold weight of null and void seeping in where
fallen tread redeems no light broken upon emptied soil/ fingers to
dredge in fleshed obscurity/ walls as if there/ walls warp in (the)/
in-suffocate of no clear distance calling from what black till nowhere
left to be/ blood beneath butcher’s fingernails seclusion not a trace/

here Mc Aloran is not being obscure, & if the reader thinks he is then i do not know how much they should fuck off but it’s quite a lot. the words are used in a poetic sense, they do not tell stories but give a very detailed description of that what is not, the reality there is, the literal object A once we have forgotten the bad baby & looking for object a who is never there.

“Ave Ave” - which he explicitly actually says - gives one a world to turn into Mc Aloran explicitly & quite correctly rejects. (Once again we have not mentioned Beckett.) I obviously recommend that you buy this book.

Here it is:
https://voidfrontpress.org/portfolio/all-null-having-by-m/

another moron exposed

Generally I call people scumbags, Jennifer prefers "morons". We have similar arrogance, though she is slightly more polite, at least on the surface. This particular moron/scumbag is a "factional" character that appears in Fragments & will appear soon in The natural history of the cockwomble: The philosophy of extremism II.

Tiny Tom, client of Eva Mahler
 

Perhaps Jennifer’s grossest ex was a john called Tom Hertz, a crappy attorney with a tiny cock in Arizona. She was trying to quit whoring at this time, when he contacted her through a work-related “contact ad” & nagged her into working as a whore again for a little more than two years. He had a micropenis of about three inches, & a volume maybe a twentieth of David’s. He couldn’t fuck; he was dreadfully bad in bed. A cock that small is basically a physical handicap, a disability. In addition to his sleazy junkie traits, it rendered him a cripple. He would come after a few feeble thrusts, skinny & weak as he was. Fortunately I felt nothing. It is very comforting to reflect that I now have a real man who can fuck from behind & lift me up on his cock, or with one hand round my cunt.

Jennifer actually wanted to fuck his daughter, a stupid & rather boring girl called Tasha. Having been a junkie, he actually allowed this little moron to do smack between the ages of fourteen & sixteen, so he was scumbag father of the year. He told me that he was never physically abusive to his children, but she told me that he used to spank her in their garden, though she never noticed him getting erect, but nobody ever noticed his cock. Judge A. would drag his little slut into the garage & call her a retard before kicking her. David assures me that Judge A. has at least normal sized genitalia. He behaves like a good Texan.
 

Oddly, Tom never said anything that showed him to be aware of how laughably small his little cock was. Don’t men with basically no dick ever admit this to themselves?
 

He showed signs of considerable attraction to men, hanging out at the Y & jacking it in the corner of the changing room. He had in fact fucked men, perhaps men who were worried that actual cocks of normal human dimensions might hurt their asses. He had been a junkie, but failed at that. The person was a sub-literate scumbag, his favorite piece of mine is called “The Narcissist”, but I doubt if he will like it now since the penis penetrated the piece, & the size of his paltry member is incorporated.
 

He twice got me to quit the medications I actually needed, on both occasions resulting in a suicidal depression. He didn’t care about this, since narcissists are selfish little pussies. He abandoned me in the middle of this depression, which he & he alone had caused, stealing the proceeds of our opium poppy harvest. To be honest, quitting whoring made me very poor, & I liked the access to cash & rent money that this nonsense involved. He was so stupid, that he took me to a Gilbert & Sullivan musical because i was tired of only going out to eat. The audience, obviously, was a solid sea of gray heads, with some blue dye visible. When I mentioned this choice to David, he laughed & told me not to fuck around, nobody is really that retarded. I referred to Peter Griffin – “They still show Battleship in theaters”.
 

For two years I could not feel sex. He nagged about being allowed to eat me out. It’s ironic that David is ten times smarter, three times longer between the legs, & eats cunt like a god. I don’t like being eaten out. I let David do it because he likes it. Crappy relationships have made me afraid of orgasm & David, a modest man, admits that he can make a corpse cum, so I only let him make me come with his hands. But no way would I let a john eat me out. I never faked orgasms. David can make a woman feel good when she’s withdrawing from medication. He introduced this thing, unknown in Arizona, called an “orgasm” to my sex-life.

Basically, I have never accepted intimacy until I met an equal. Men I had relationships with knew that I was smarter than them & that I was talented. I only fucked relatively stupid people, like this asshole attorney, & they got off on degrading me because they knew that i was better than they were. This was a pattern that started in my childhood, where I was taught low self-esteem. Nobody even told me that I had a clitoris. Men would not put up with me, so i was told, so I had to please them & be submissive. It was interesting to notice that refusing to give David blowjobs to make him happy, actually made him really happy, since he loved me. This is because he has a brain, & now gets unlimited of whatever.
 

Tom, you are a worthless piece of garbage. You make me sick. I felt like a whore the whole time, though I wasn’t technically working as one. & this is what the moron wanted.


Monday, May 7, 2018

Nickel Hole Press Spotlight

Here is a spotlight we just created for Nickel Hole Press at Lulu, the POD site we use. Books by myself & Jennifer Chesler are there.

If you are into BDSM, sex, experimental fiction, innovative literature, anarchy, Deleuze & Guattari, Lyotard, feminism, postmodernism, liberatory literature, & literature that criticizes hegemony & the policing of thought by the psychiatric establishment, then this is something for you

Buy these motherfuckers, knock yourselves out.

Jennifer's choice

This is another extract from our next book, The Natural History of the Cockwomble. This will be coming soon, since we are constantly troubled by perverse & disgusting thoughts that are foul enough to be in a book.

Jennifer’s choice
 

David fingered Jennifer through two whole episodes of Family Guy. Without Francine it took longer for her to come, though David totally prefers Lois, & would even do Meg, if he were single & a cartoon character.
 

He gave her an ultimatum, that if she fell asleep she could either get raped good & hard to wake her up, or he would suck the Jew nose a few seconds to see if he could dexterously extract a booger or two.
 

It makes me sick to have my nose in David’s mouth. I don’t realize it right away, but then I come to & feel my nose in his mouth & a sucking sensation. I’d rather do anything than have my nose sucked, maybe because the Woo-Woo boy, my alleged brother, has had a nose fetish since childhood, & I was always finding his snot on something like a keyboard, even at an adult age, & on one occasion even my bed.
 

Fortunately, though “anything” is very broad, David does not care for anything to do with the shitter. The whole nose thing is bullshit too. David has repeatedly sucked the nose, consensually, experiencing the taste of some glorious salty boogers, even adding them surreptitiously to the okra & black-eyed peas, giving him a frisson of delicious guilty pleasure as she rapturously guzzles at the bowls of food.
 

She eats well now, her health is much better during the titration down of the Saphris, & we walk for hours every day. This is entirely through the healing power of the booger balls. Orgasms still make her sleep – Daddy’s little fingers are tired & some punishment is called for. David likes to pull her down by the legs, spread them & pin her down & hammer it in. She claimed tonight that the sex, a hard but relatively brief fuck, only our second today, was her favorite ever. She has a very nice nose, very nutritious non-GMO boogers too, farts relatively seldom, no more than three or four a minute, so David consoles himself with the sleep sex. She really does light up like a little sun when presented with the rape soda afterwards.
 

I must say that the rape soda is a highlight of sex. i am always grateful for a cold beverage after a good pounding. Sometimes I get hungry too & eat David’s dinner, not even thinking about his booger fetish. Yes, I know about it. It’s no secret any longer. Please consider this story as a warning about snot in unlikely places.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Nickel Hole Press: Fragments @ Barnes & Noble

Nickel Hole Press: Fragments @ Barnes & Noble: Here is Fragments by Jennifer S. Chesler again. Now it's at Barnes & Noble at this link . It's a great book about a variety o...

Killing a shrink

Here is another teaser from me & Jennifer S. Chesler. It is from our forthcoming book The Natural History of the Cockwomble. This is about scumbag exes & shitty psychiatrists & so forth, & is a work of great beauty & truth.

Killing a shrink

I, Jennifer S. Chesler, fucking want to kill my psychiatrist. I want to torture him first, though. I think castration would be good to start with.


He prescribed a medication called Saphris, an atypical antipsychotic, allowed off-label for bipolar I, though not sufficiently researched for this use. Now I am going off it & am going through the worst withdrawal in my life, without the doctor ever warning me what i would be in for when I went off the drug.
 

This morning it looked like I pissed the bed since it was so wet from sweat. My husband cleaned the mattress & had to carry me to the bathroom. My mood swings are rapid & severe, so much so that i woke up this morning laughing as I rolled around on the floor. This drug should be illegal.
 

Jennifer noted the malice of the psychiatrist & David was able to point out that her Jew nose was partly responsible. She resented the way David would suck the nose, using the tip of his tongue to deftly extricate boogers that lurked in its depths. She had witnessed the woo-woo boy harassing his giant wife for snot, * been deeply traumatized, though her own husband proved to be ten times worse. 

David remained enormously happy that the shrink, Dr Cunticles, actually boasted that his IQ was 130. He couldn’t get over this; the Catholic ass bandit actually thought that either David or Jennifer would think that this redeemed his tiny mind, full as it was of the chewed nipples of the blessed anal virgin & cum-soaked choir boys. (This is how Catholics jack off.)
 

Jennifer was titrating down everything deftly, since David knew drugs, & liked seeing her squirming hornily, her legs flapping around as he drove his cock in like a sledgehammer. She seemed to like this too, but it’s like the smack babies – are they crying or are they laughing? Does it really matter?
 

Jennifer blamed the psychiatrist for a lot of things. If a bitch is anorexic then one should consider fat weight when medicating, & the lithium toxicity in 2015 was pretty obviously implicated in the polyneuropathy. Dr. Bongo was not very good at being a shrink, Jennifer thought. David pointed out that his job was to be an obnoxious retarded Nazi cockwomble, & he was doing a great job at that. The point of psychiatry is eloquently explained by the notorious poofter & junkie Foucault. We think that he was into BDSM, or at least we hope that he was. The point of psychiatry is discipline & torture of the unruly & divergent, to force everything into a noxious & stupid conformity. They hate it when somebody has a theoretical understanding of the exigencies of Dasein & jacking it in Vegas as required. (Poor Jennifer has to use two hands, & it is her dream to bugger David with a huge strap-on as revenge. He showers without adjusting the temperature correctly; he doesn’t like to bend over the bathtub too long).

Finally, we must mention cocks. We are speculating here, but Jennifer constantly references David’s schlong in texts like “big cock bastard”, though David is humble about the glory of his genitalia, & we both feel that Dr. Gobbles does not have anything particularly scary swinging between his legs. (He wears a pedometer, can you believe that, gentle reader? We assume that this means that he swallows too).
 

The anti-psychotic Saphris meant that Jennifer discovered, when tapering off, that even her sense of taste was damaged, the food tasted better. Not to mention the grabbing David’s cock in her sleep & finally getting to come while they fucked on account of the special properties of the dong in question, David generally invokes Baphomet while fucking, but didn’t even need to this time. Is it surprising that a Christian shrink should give a Jewish woman, who is smarter than he is & a pervert to boot, a medication that totally messes up her senses? 

We may joke most of the time, but seriously, fuck these Nazi scumbags.

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Nickel Hole Press: love hate murder sex

Nickel Hole Press: love hate murder sex: https://zorosko.blogspot.com/2018/05/david-mclean-jennifer-chesler-love-hate.html Thank you, Zoran Rosko.#15076565903458405919

A good hard fuck


A good hard fuck

She asked for food after midnight, so I prepared fire-roasted tomatoes & black-eyed peas with fresh garlic, brown rice & mushrooms & so on. At 5.30 i wake to find her asleep on my pillow grabbing my cock as she pushes me into the ashtray beside the bed. Our cat Gus was sitting on her stomach so she needed to piss, probably, but she didn’t insist on a visit to the toilet & rinsing off, she didn’t even really need lube so i slapped a little on the head of the dick & banged her really hard & fast while slapping her face & torturing the titties like she likes it. I didn’t even bother to pin her down, her legs were just flopping around. She was wet as a motherfucker & her clit was big like a California grape. It is refreshing & unusual to see her grinning like an idiot & squirming under me without caring whether she farted or not or how wet she made the bed.

I can’t remember molesting David at first because I was asleep, though he had the presence of mind to take photos. Well, there are two. I would write more but I’m really too needy & fucked up to write now. I feel manic & high as hell. I want him to fuck me again. He seems to need coffee & cigarettes first. I’m not really sure but I think I came. He certainly did.

I am free. I feel free with the pillow off my emotions. I feel manic but it’s the withdrawal, I’m just happy. I didn’t really know what happy feels like, I’m not used to a man who can make my pussy & clit feel like I just masturbated with my fingers, I used to think that orgasms were only from masturbating myself. I want to fuck all day but David wants to take pictures of turtles at Shadyside Park & eat the glorious wraps at Bobbers, literally the best cafĂ© in the world. He has been eyeing the paddle for later use, but I like it better when he lashes me with the strap.

I was in two real relationships before, both with women, & I can’t believe that these stupid bitches didn’t know enough to make me cum. David knows more about how my cunt feels than those alleged lesbians did. He denies this, he says that European dykes know the pussy & this masturbatory retardation is just an American thing. I think that this is because many of them are fat & ugly like Angie. David loves to read their poetry. It makes him feel so good about himself to read complete worthless cretinous garbage. It’s like seeing pictures of Michael’s cock.

It’s like Crocodile Dundee. “That’s not a cock, mate, this is a cock”. When men send dick pics, these are apparently all really small. So are the personalities. When David whipped out his first on webcam i thought he was messing around with a huge strap-on. My late cat Rex saw it first though, he was deeply moved. He used to send David hearts on Skype. When he first saw it in real life he ran at it as fast as he could. Rex was fooling himself – he would never have been able to handle it. I’m happy that i can though. Daddy says that I’m a good girl, I can take mommy’s place now, & I can always sleep in his bed.

When David first said this while we were fucking, i got really excited. I asked him why he wasn’t doing this to mommy. He was too big & he was hurting me. This would make him ejaculate immediately & yell “Dammit”. Now we don’t do so many scenarios while we fuck, but he makes a lot of noise, as do I. He used to do the responses for me in a high-pitched voice. What made him cum fastest was when I used a scumbag voice to pretend to be an old drunk woman pretending to be a child. He enjoys meta-level BDSM.

Nothing beats a hard fast morning fuck before you even piss. It gets the stomach working & improves the taste of your morning coffee.

Entertaining subhumans

"This is such fun", my wife assures me. We're kind to each other though.

Entertaining subhumans

Jennifer had many pitiful exes, as did David. For some reason Jennifer’s were more pretentious & stupid, like the guy Guillaume who had a fantasy that he was an artist, & put things in the pisshole of his tiny cock. He insulted her, affronted by her evident superiority, he affected constantly to be suicidal, but wasn’t man enough to do anything about it. He was very rude to Jennifer, he tried to be violent & manly in general, but would talk of how he would kill all his pets, then himself,  & Jennifer finds this so lame, so incredibly lame. He was never man enough to actually off himself. The problem is basically that he wasn’t very clever. Nothing wrong with low IQs, but lesser intellects are underserving of either of us. As suicide goes, a so-called friend John was funniest. Electrocution with a hairdryer in a bathtub was the chosen route.. The cord was too short. 

Funniest of Jennifer’s exes was Tom, with a three inch cock & a penchant for being a john, his three inch cock was, to cap it all, a genuine needle dick. He could thrust the tiny dick once for every inch before shooting his tiny wad. He was a lawyer who made fake IDs & passports, this being sort of illegal, even under a federal form of government.
 

David left several women desperate & horny in Sweden, they would follow Jennifer with sockpuppet accounts, devastated that he knew a real woman who could satisfy him both physically & intellectually. 

The writers among David’s exes were funniest, they were sad. One of his past lovers did have the sense to give up as soon as she saw Jennifer’s writing.
 

The backsplash is a known problem. David no longer likes the bum. He contents himself with taking care of Jennifer’s laxative use. He can slide those suppositories in like a real pro.
 

Of the two women who stabbed David, their level of insanity is so high that they can safely be dismissed. They are both fat.
 

Terri, the dreadful poet & lesbian rapist (like Angie, an even worse poet & lesbian serial rapist, much fatter than Terri though) wanted me, Jennifer, to work, preferably at Taco Bell, which never happened, & blabbed shit to my mother about manic promiscuity, which we can ascribe to crappy doctors though it was condemned by both these mommies as my moral fault.

David could never really love anybody, & all Jennifer’s exes basically treated her like an unpaid whore, especially the dykes. One of them, Michael, not strictly speaking a dyke, claimed to have the third largest cock in porn. He was unable to point out one single porn film though. David never felt better than when he saw a pic of this cock. It was half his size. Jennifer denies this & says that it was a third of David’s size, David pushing the womb into the stomach felt way better than a little guy who made it to the bladder area.


These people fall away like sunset dust. They were passing flatulence. We are both happy now.


Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Fragments on Amazon

Jennifer S. Chesler's Fragments is now at Amazon etc. Here is the link. It is well worth reading.
  
Fragments is a collection of pieces that explore such topics as dog sex in the Phoenix area,the stupidity of the average American, & the author's mental illness & poverty, both by circumstance & psychogenesis at the hostile hands of her family. Jennifer S. Chesler is an author who is influenced by deconstruction, dadaism, nihilism, & situationism.

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

not readily admitted

Here is another piece about a couple of officious self-righteous assholes from Jennifer's history of shit-for-brains psychiatrists. All these pieces are coming in The Natural History of the Cockwomble later this year.

not readily admitted

The psychiatrist, Dr. Cunt Buggles, was responsible for the rape in question by medicating Jennifer all the way to mania, grotesquely incompetent. Indiana sees women as fundamentally cum-buckets & cunt, though there is obscurity - let's face facts we are seeing as though through a retarded ass darkly, & the moronic therapist told my wife further to meet people by going to a book club, of all fucking things, the nameless Christian asshole was literally wallowing in the cum of JC, the coming suffering of seedy sememes.

Dr. Bugger buckled his shoe, & if you’re lucky he’ll buckle yours too. He says he has twelve pairs of buckling buckled shoes. I said to him fuck you buck you are out of luck & shit too all of it in your intestines wrapping like a necklace around your organs; doctor dear, another whispered in my ear earlier, I am another shrink & I think you’re attractive too. Sex & religion abound in my fields of vaginal blossoms. Georgia O’Keefe painted well. But she was no psychiatrist Biggles or Toff, the shrink that was attracted to me. I bet he had a diptych dick bifurcated into spouts shooting like two nippled breasts lactating down his chest & legs. But he was a flug master at heart. Buggles too. Similar. (Flug is where belly button elves feed, related obviously to the Swedish lint swap ceremony).

Hyar hyar hyar, said the shrink Buggles, Mebbe you should not take them there lithiums, but pray to Babby Jesus to heal yer sole. It’s a sure fire done deal, like, be done cured of the Jew disease, the killin’ of purty Babby Jesus. Sometimes the doctors in Indiana stagger under the sheer weight of their brains.

(a psychiatrist is naturally a medium of social control, disciplining the unruly bodies of the allegedly insane, especially women, though Buggles lacked the intellectual acumen to take a broad view of the big picture, his IQ being a mere 130, of which he boasted. Them there Christians like to kneel before the cross, taking it from Babby Jebus, the sweet seed, the semantics, the seminar, the semen.)

Monday, April 30, 2018

Proselytizing in Indiana

Here is a piece from the forthcoming Natural History of the Cockwomble by myself & Jennifer S. Chesler. Hysterically funny argument with Jennifer's insecure psychiatrist,who boasted of his highly unimpressive intellect. Now we have to find her a doctor who is a "discursive animal". 

Proselytizing in Indiana

Dr. C.E. Bongo, Jennifer’s psychiatrist, took the “psyche” part seriously. When she was depressed, he attacked by suggesting Xianity as a viable remedy. He presented a stupid version of Pascal’s Wager, admittedly incorrectly formulated, though the original argument is not valid.
 

Because of American sexism, Jennifer has always concealed her IQ. Bongo seriously thought that his own paltry 130 was impressive, though Jennifer & David found it somewhat “short bus”.
 

Yes, sad, but no to Jesus as my savior.
 

Dr.:  Have you ever thought of Christianity and accepting Christ as your therapeutic recourse?
 

Me:  No, I am an atheist.
 

Dr.:  Think about it. You tell Jesus everything and you are allowed in heaven. If I’m right, I have an afterlife. If I’m wrong, nothing is lost. It’s win-win either way.
 

Me:  No, I’m not interested.
 

Observe that Jennifer is a Christ-killer, so this dialog is pretty fucking anti-Semitic. This is obviously wonderful. How mediocre is one as a doctor allowed to be? This person knew nothing whatsoever about his patient. Both David & Jennifer guessed his low IQ when abusing him previously for enabling rape. It seems that he has a small dick. this means that he rates worldly pleasures though.
 

Apart from a stupid psychiatrist, she had a moron for a psychologist. Xians & other cults do love to pick on the mentally ill, since they are susceptible. It seems extraordinary that the US of A allows doctors to do this, but the land is pretty fucked in many ways.
 

Me:  I am lonely in Anderson. No idea how to make intelligent friends.
 

Therapist:  Have you ever thought of a book club?
 

Me:  Yes, but it would annoy me more than help.
 

Therapist:  I don’t know, but I am part of a book club, and it’s a nice way to spend time having intelligent conversation.
 

Me:  Oh.
 

Therapist:  We pray before we sit down to talk about the book we read. I recommend it highly.
 

The shrink Dr. Fuckles did not see why the above dialog with the therapist was insulting to Jennifer, though if these assholes were to actually read this text, we recommend that they start praying now, the little daughters & sons of whores.” For Hail to Thee Lord Satan, Prince of Darkness, for we bring you the meat of babies, both baptized & unbaptized, along with the flesh of morons.”



fragments of Fragments

Here is the Google Books result for Fragments, an anthology of my wife's shorter pieces that I rescued from oblivion. 

I do believe that her writing is brilliant & innovative & that she deserves the brutal pounding I have in store for her after our walk today. She's such a good girl. Daddy is so proud of her.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Strange Synchronicity

David McLean is 12 years my senior, and obviously my husband from what you see in the blog. While discussing the Crowley tarot deck, we realized that the odd events that occurred while I lived in the Caribbean, and he in Oxford, were basically simultaneous, though I was but 8-years-old, when he was a Satanic junkie.

We're vegan and wonder if anyone knows of vegan sacrificial foods, assuming that no one responds to our modest proposal.



A modest proposal ....

Jennifer Chesler & I would like to explain why we fell in love & got married & produced so much literary evil. Basically, neither of us has ever been in love with a person of the opposite gender, though I have never been in love with anybody at all & she has imagined herself in love with a nasty-ass skanky wizened Aztec mummy style scumbag.

We note, atheists both, that she casts fucking hexagrams & nonsense, while I, more rationally, used to freak people out with the Crowley deck, never wanting to know the question but answering correctly. Jennifer also used the Crowley deck, most truthful & most unpleasant of all Tarot decks. So this connection was forced upon us through the workings of the occult. I used to be told that I look a little like Lavey, which is cool since he was enormously cool.

Accordingly, we have decided to renew our vows before Satan, though we shall spend a lot of money on cool robes & ritual stuff first. Jennifer wants vegan sacrifices. Now I don't eat meat, but I really dislike hens. We shall, however, announce the time at a later date. Anybody wanting to off themselves should feel free to do so at the announced time & date, remembering to dedicate the suicide to us & Satan, that would be pretty sweet.



Nickel Hole Press: Proselytizing in Indiana

Nickel Hole Press: Proselytizing in Indiana: For your delectation we present a piece from one of our works in progress, The Natural History of the Cockwomble: The Philosophy of Extremis...

Saturday, April 28, 2018

fragments

I neglected to mention that all of the literary posts in my wife Jennifer S. Chesler's blog were included in her book Fragments, available via Nickel Hole Press.

I would also draw the perverse reader's attention to the publication by us both, The Philosophy of Extremism. This is available, among other works by us, at e.g. Amazon at this link. I think few things are more authentically literary than reading how a tight pussy slut gets pulverized by a big cock bastard. 

Some of the pieces are here at Horror Sleaze Trash. Take it, bitches.


Monday, April 16, 2018

The Best

Thank you, David, for restoring my work to its original condition, editing it, and basically doing all of the Lulu part of publication for me. I love you so much, David McLean. You've also restored my self-confidence so that I could take my writing career into my own hands.