Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Bitches, Scum, Etcetera


Bored by this defective pestilence? This plague of impotence? Well, all the various books by myself & David C. McLean are available at our storefront here. This piece will be in The Philosophy of Extremism IV. The first three in this series are at the above link, or here at Amazon.  



Bitches, Scum, Etcetera

If you’re one of the cunts who reads David C. McLean’s blog all the time, you’re shit out of luck when it comes to his luscious cock being stuck up your dry rot used up cockroach hole where the cockroaches actually now have vacated, and, further, have allowed themselves (believe it or not) to have your dry haunts, once home to the renowned, yet not oft identified, middle class roaches, retaken by true squatter roaches (even knowing it’s not at all classy, and not the American way at all). His cock is mine. Maybe if you can fit inside your vacuous dry cunt or cunts, the lower class squatter roaches will let you ride their crusty backs.

My mother used to say that she is busy at everything she does. The last time that we spoke, she was studying to be a contortionist for what she called “a time that is not yore". I still don’t know what she meant. She might have been preparing herself for now, when empty homes festered with cockroach squatters and my alleged father either no longer existed, or was unable (for whatever reason) to perform sexually.

I do wish my mother and father well. When the cockroaches crawled on me while I slept, I’d complain sometimes.

“Oh, Jen, it’s just a bug,” my mother would say.

“But it’s inside of me,” I’d say.

“It’ll come… out soon,” she’d say, giggling.

Why did she laugh though?



Daddy's Little Jennifer


She says she has a proper name, but one good thing about my little girl is she knows not to cry for real, she knows it makes Daddy finish too quickly.

Today, for some reason, she really did start to yell "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" on the toilet, so i had to come in to find her so proud to show me her poopy. Naturally, I started slapping her in the face with my stiff dick and shouting abuse until she rinsed off and spread herself as wide as possible. It was almost embarrassing, watching my fat cock sliding into her between her little hips, it looked way too big for her little nickel hole. "Oh, Daddy, your cookie is hurting my cookie", she whimpered, dripping juice and sleaziness. I came so fast that i didn't have time to whip it out and give her a facial treatment. She uses her pain and tears abusively, to hurry Daddy's jizz up. I feel violated and cheated. She's such a good girl. She's my only little girl and my cock is larger than it ever was. I never enjoyed fucking until now, not really, now I lose control so bad that, sometimes, when I do the bellowing and grunting, she gets really nervous until the pumping cum starts to soothe her, running down her cheeks into her mouth and making her eyes glisten.

She really is my little girl, Daddy's little girl, and she knows how to make Daddy pump his big fat cock dry, inside her and over her, the only person I ever loved, Daddy's little Jennifer.



David C. McLean III


Last night, David let me sleep in bed with him again. He’s been so sweaty lately that last week I had to sleep alone on the floor for a night so as not to get sticky all over me. I was sort of upset this morning, because I knew we had food stamps in the account but weren’t allowed to shop like humans do, you know, in the store.

I said, “David, is this because I’m a SJW?”

“Oh, honey, you’re still confused,” he said. “Don’t you remember? Single Jewish Warriors never get in-store service. Don’t worry. Just go to the bathroom on the toilet as usual.”

“Okay, Daddy,” I said, half-hobbling to the porcelain bowl he says we use for poopy since the flush one stopped. I had to push and push and push. Wow, I was wiped out!

I said, “Daddy! Daddy!” until I heard him thudding towards me. “Daddy, look at all the poo!” I wasn’t even done wiping, but I was so excited and proud.

“What is this?!” he ejaculated, trying to shove his thick, hard, erect cock in my little pink mouth.

“No, Daddy, I’m still wiping. See?” And I showed him the toilet paper with poo on it.

He’s the best Daddy in the world. He licked me dry after the last wipe because I still had juices in my crack.

“Come here,” he said and pulled me into the bedroom. “Now, turn over,” he said.

“No, Daddy, I still have to poo from all the peas I ate yesterday. You’re giving me too much fiber.”

“You little bitch,” he said and slapped me so hard against my right cheek.

“Not the right side, Daddy,” I said, “I’ve don’t have any primer under my foundation there.”

The next thing I knew, his big thick God-of-a-cock was expanding inside of my female part. “Ow, ow, ow, you’re so thick and big, and I’m such a tiny little girl. Daddy, I just turned five-and-a-quarter-years-old! Oh, not that. My little button. Stop! Stop!”

He pulled out of me, took a plastic thing off his cock, and white stuff squirted out of him, all over my face, covering my freshly applied makeup, even ruining the new nude shades I’d protected with primer.

I hope the primer is still there.



Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Recuperation



Without boasting, few little girls get fucked so hard on their birthdays. When asked "Is Daddy very big today?" she could only say, "Ow! Ow! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Scared the shit out of the cat, too; Rex would have really appreciated it, though.  

Jennifer says, "Best birthday ever. I never thought I would so enjoy being almost five-and-a-quarter-years-old." 



Friday, March 13, 2020

Pandemics & Population, "too much human"


We note that there may soon be a little less human &, & we therefore remind the surviving reader of too much human. It's a chapbook from Michael Mc Aloran's Black Editions Press that is on sale here, at Amazon, for only $8.48.

Here the fucker is on Lulu.

& at this link a blog post featuring three randomly selected poems.

A beautiful hand grenade of a book that would probably serve as effective population control for the hysterically reactive and weak of heart. Throw it into a crowd of SJWs and watch them die.


A.D. Hitchin, author of CONSENSUAL


From McLean's “Introduction & anti-humanist manifesto”:
 

“Humanism is very old, & it once had a point. The proper study of mankind was man, & theology was the greatest enemy. Now the earth that underlies the human world is threatened, & we need to think of her first, the earth that shelters & protects. Heidegger saw humanism as part of an essentialist metaphysics, & his later philosophy can be utilized to ground a deep ecological view of the problem we now face, where nature is being destroyed by the legions of brats that humanity insists on dropping, like mentally defective rabbits ….
 

The world is reaching a point where abortion should be actively encouraged, suicide & abortion are good & positive phenomena, and pestilence is a long-term friend.”





Thursday, March 5, 2020

Daddy and Little Donna Doo-Doo



By myself & Jennifer S. Chesler.

Daddy and Little Donna Doo-Doo

Little Donna Doo-Doo had the doo-doo runs. But she was used to various business associates of her father who would ask about BMs and enemas, before producing the harsh tube that made her cry, thrusting in and out of her tender hole, she did not know how to stop diarrhea, or even that it could be used as the internationally renowned "Welsh Lube".

The businessmen would hold her tight, and she would feel them grow hard under their coarse narcissistic trousers. She was so ashamed to get so very wet when she felt the swelling, not even her constipated flatulence could mask the sickening stench of unclean vaginal juices, brewed in the cesspool of perversity that was her incestuous gash.

"But, Daddy, I'm only almost three and a half," she shouted. It should be noted that this character "Daddy" is not my husband and Daddy, who is my father and also my husband, but her Daddy, on account of being married to her mom, but not married to her, since he, unsurprisingly, did not fancy her, a one-nipple cripple cunt. She was, as he told everybody, a huge disappointment, and grotesquely deformed (in one of the few ways that turns every normal person off). At this time she was not yet a one-nipple cripple, despite what we wrote just now, except inside her: inside her everything was ugly and deformed.

After marrying a rich and famous diarrhea salesperson and stool collector, jizz-drinking Little Donna Doo-Doo became inadvertently pregnant, shouting though thus: "Oh, you watched, Daddy, every business associate with nimble fingers, the tender hole, the cruel tube, the foaming brown home-made lube, the horny hole, oh, Daddy, my squishy, stinky quim! I hope I don't grow up to have a daughter and molest her because of this. Oh, Daddy, fuck me, preferably buggery."

Little Donna Doo-Doo knew, however, that, if she had a son, she would thumb-bugger him so good that his monstrous lesbian wives would be astonished at how he cringed when they suggested a lovely morning fist-fuck, and he would sacrifice his children on the chubby altar of her buttocks.

It is late in the short history of the world. There's a sexy pandemic, the crowned and conquering virus. After much thought, they said it wasn't an STD, though they were only Americans, and just guessing. Still, yay for anything that kills a Donna-Doo-Doo-Dead.

Sunday, November 24, 2019

A List is Born


At the blog of Jennifer S. Chesler there is another piece up from her memoirs that relates to Once-Mother's Money-Driven Moves, and the Gargantuan activation of this monstrous familial tradition.

“What, JC, what?” said once-mother, excitement piping its way up her body: first, her crippled feet, clapping like seals, then the metal screws in her hip jangling, the mutilated breasts flopping wildly in the wind, the clothes that seemed to be indicative of generalized mental retardation in the town where she and my alleged father lived.

Here is the previous list by me of similar pieces.

EDIT: & here The Emotional Bankruptcy of the Cheslers shows how repeated attempts on a young life, with varying degrees of sincerity, can result in both PTSD & a justifiable proclivity for vituperation. I assume that I will be rubbing the shit or piss. Indeed, it will not be the first time.

EDIT: & here, again, we see a new piece, Dear Hangers-on and Miscellaneous So-Called Humans, where fascinating details about the 98 VW Golf GL that died relatively recently, possibly by suicide, can be seen, and the family, corrupt as a democrat caucus, flourish in their infamy.

EDIT: & yet again, my wife misses the damp car, in The Former VW of my...  We have spoken with Baphomet, & he says that corona virus will do great in AZ, even in J., due to the crowned & conquering child thriving in stupid & pretentious environments. We want a 1950 Chrysler Town & Country. I am enormously proud of my crazy wife. She has a fictional gig, joking to the rich & retarded in war-torn regions.

EDIT: & You Are the Ghost Who Molested Me shows us that sheer unmotivated hatred is always purer & better, so the pedo gimp trash will always win the scumbag sweepstakes, at least in the best regulated households.

EDIT: & filial piety moves into overdrive in My Mother the Thief, where my wife wonders where her goddam Jew-gold went, & why the Modelovirus is being so tardy in laying vengeance on some grotesquely inflated egos & asses.

EDIT: & we read about how egregious BS is not the sole preserve of politicians, but popular with every variety of scumbag in The Singing South Floridian Supermarket Cyclist, or, So My Parents Said.




Friday, November 15, 2019

of Books & Stuff

The weblog of my wonderful wife, Jennifer S. Chesler, is currently unavailable since she is working on her memoirs, and these will be partly constructed from pieces previously available on that blog.

At present, however, the diligent reader may order copies of her first published book, Fragments, from Amazon at this link or, preferably, from Lulu at this link.

Pieces that I have written about this book may be found in older posts in this blog.

Our deviant collaborations, the various tomes in the Philosophy of Extremism series, are always on sale here at Amazon, oozing wisdom & jizz.

All the above books, & some solo books of pottery by me, are also available at our Nickel Hole Press storefront at this link.





Thursday, September 5, 2019

Mommy's Special Sheet

By myself & Jennifer S. Chesler, from the forthcoming The Philosophy of Extremism IV. The previous three volumes in this delightful series are here on Amazon.


Daddy is so happy and I'm so happy too. Before she went away and died, Mommy bought me a special pee-pee sheet so the bed stays dry whatever Daddy and I do in here. So now Daddy can hit me as hard as he wants when he gives me the hard punishment with his big hard long willy then there's no pussy juice from my naughty pie, my little nickel hole, in the bed. Thank you, Mommy. Daddy says that, when he was with Tammy, the cockroaches loved to munch on the mattress when it got sticky. Sticky cockroaches taste the best though, so I don't know what he means. Now when he really hurts me, we just have to change the sheets.

Daddy put his big willy in my mouth then started sucking and licking on my pussy and my teeny willy. He says that I said "Ooh, Ooh, Aah, Ooooh!" but that was just because his willy tasted like poopy. It was in my bottom too. But I'm a good little girl. I don't like Daddy sucking my little willy. A good girl sucks her Daddy's willy, the other way round makes Baby Jesus cry and the angels kill all the kittens. Daddy told me so himself, the first time I sucked his willy. I love my Daddy so much; he's such a good Daddy. He even says my poopy hole tastes good. Today he got poopy on his finger and sucked it dry. It made him even bigger too. He says that a tight little pie needs an extra big willy. He's the best Daddy ever.

Yesterday, he stuck his thumb and all his fingers up my pussy hole, but he stopped at the knuckles. He says it was because his fist was so big it would take too long to get the pussy tight enough for the white stuff, but I know it's really because he loves me. He's such a big Daddy, and I'm such a little girl. That's all I have to say to make him give me my special shampoo quicker. Only the best Daddy ever does that.

I'm happy that Mommy is dead and stopped farting all the time, and peeing on me too. I'm worried though that all the flowers in the graveyard are dying. Pizza gas is poisonous, especially when it comes from Tammy's great wobbly fat weeble ass. Tammy was my mom, and she was Daddy's mommy too, also his wife, just like me except I'm his only daughter. These other girls who say that Daddy is their Daddy are stinking lying whores.

I'm happy that he killed Tammy, especially because I did it. He says I thought she was a little ginger slut called Sally, but I'm sure that Sally was a real girl. I groomed the shit out of Daddy real good. Anyway, he doesn't want me in jail, since he's worried I'll be a stinky lesbian, but I know that if he rapes men in jail, he doesn't love them. It's OK as long as he kills them once he's done with them. So if the police get their act together, he'll take the rap, whatever that is. It's a sort of music, but I don't think it keeps people out of prison, but you know.

I often wonder where we live. Daddy says that that's because I'm very special. He spoils it a bit when he clarifies by saying, "You're my special little angel, you retarded spastic whore." But if he didn't want his daughter to be special and have twisted little fingers to jerk him off with, then he shouldn't have fucked his own mommy, should he?


Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Fragments

Fragments, by Jennifer S. Chesler from Nickel Hole Press, edited by me,  is still on sale at Amazon at this link. We naturally prefer purchase from Lulu at this link, however. It's also at various other online sellers.

There are several stories from the book further back on Jennifer's blog. The more recent posts in her blog are related to a separate book, her memoirs, that will not be in fragmentary form, and these do not appear in Fragments. Some of the pieces in Fragments are linked here below, but most of the book is not available online.

Drug Machine Mothers

Careful, My Cadaver

Little Jack

Bourgeois Dreams

Down and Out in Muncie, Indiana

Birth of a Portrait.

I have written several reviews and pieces about this book, one of which I link here, How much world? This book is enormously significant. Buy it.






Friday, August 2, 2019

Dead Sally

Collaborative piece with Jennifer S. Chesler from The Philosophy of Extremism IV, coming soon. 

Dead Sally

Daddy noticed how his little girl grew smaller, but, at the same time, into a grown woman, all grown up, and her supple flesh the very essence of sexual sensibility as he slammed his bone into her like a hammer.
 

"Well, Jen-Jen", he said, "You did turn out a big girl. It took so little loving to let you do your growing; now you are such a good girl we can move down south, and get married, and live together as father and daughter."
 

“Daddy, do you think what I did in your shiny red Silverado helped me grow up at all?” I asked.
 

“Sweetie, bashing Sally’s head into the dashboard is probably what speeded things up the most,” Daddy said. “And down south, well, we’ll be away from her messy death, and the unnecessary funeral that followed.”
 

I said, “You dug her up again at least three times to stick your big willy in her stupid smelly body:  as soon as you got hard again after digging a little, and making me open my mouth for the white stuff.”
 

“Well, you shouldn’t have made her cry so much. She cried and screamed so much that anybody would have been hard thinking about that dirty little ginger whore screaming, and all the bruises on her frail, vulnerable little body when she was dead. She was so fuckable. I noticed that you were dripping wet yourself,” Daddy said.
 

“Oh, Daddy, I hated watching you have sex with dead Sally. I want it to be just us after we’re south of Indiana. Am I bad for what I did to her? I don't deserve to live in Kentucky, do I? And you have to do contraception on every baby I have, just split open the shitty little whores, up the pooper if they're boys, opened up wide by your huge willy on the same day they're born, so they go quiet and leave us in peace.”
 

“No, darling. You're not a bad girl; you still got a tight little pussy. Now, pack your bag with all your pretty dresses. Bring some training bras too. It’s time for them.”
 

“Can I bring your hammer, Daddy? Oh, please… I don’t want any more slutty Sallies in our shiny red Chevrolet.”
 

“Oh, alright then, but, when a Daddy marries his little girl, he forgets little pieces of trash like slutty Sally in the Silverado.”
 

I was so happy when Daddy said this that I hadn’t given myself the enema. I’d let him stick himself in me with poop later. I didn’t say I wanted to kill myself instead of getting married. When I licked dead Sally’s slutty germs off Daddy’s big cock, they tasted like dirt, rot, pie, and something else foul that I couldn’t identify, maybe the scent cadaver dogs sniff and use to identify corpses. I told my friend, Linda, about Sally, and how I killed her.
 

“Daddy, I have something to tell you,” I said.
 

“What, darling?” Daddy said.
 

“Linda, I told Linda,” I said, “about Sally.”
 

“Goddammit!” Daddy said. “I told you to keep your mouth shut. Now you have to kill another little slut, and tire yourself out, shouting and slamming her head into my dashboard, blood and hair all over the place, and I suppose I'll have to bury her, the little whore, dig her up, bury her again, over and over, sweating and shitting and jizzing all night. Dead girls are so sexy, especially when they do the death poop. Then we have to clean out the Silverado properly again, goddam it.”
 

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wanted to kill myself sooner now, before we even got south of Bloomington.
 

Daddy took my underwear off and stuffed the stained panties into my mouth. I gagged. Then I relaxed, and it wasn’t so bad.
 

“Those are the poopy ones,” Daddy said. “Are you ready for me up you?”
 

I shook my head yes.
 

Daddy twisted the shitty panties around in my mouth, pulled them out, and, wet with saliva and waste, dried them off on my naked body so that brown streaks marked my budding breasts. He hurt me so I got all wet, good and ready for a nice hard fuck, with plenty of farting. (Boy, Jen-Jen sure does love to fart.)
 

His pants were already off. He was hard. I saw the pre-cum on the head of his huge veiny willy, running around the pee-hole in a small pool.
 

“Mix it with the poopy streaks and lick it up, sweetie,” Daddy said.
 

I did as he said. He turned me around. I bent over as he liked me to do.
 

“Oh, Daddy, just stick it in.” I said.
 

“No, lube?” Daddy said.
 

“Mm-mm,” I said, shaking my head no. “Daddy?”
 

“Jen-Jen?”
 

“You’re the best daddy in the world.”
 

"You don't need to tell your little school friends about Sally. We could just fuck and kill the dirty little whores anyway, it's more exciting that way - they're more innocent then, and that makes my willy harder too."
 

At this time I didn't know Daddy had planned the best present ever. At first, I was sad and cried a lot when he got engaged to his cousin Jolene down south in the country. I got so angry, but when that fat bitch was waiting for him to court her a little with his courting finger in the drawing room, farting her Velveeta farts all the time, he came in to me where I was about to kill myself again. I decided to tell him I was sad.
 

I said, "I sure wish I was dead too, lying all smelly with Sally in her stinky grave in the IKEA coffin box." 
 

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Only stupid little whores kill themselves," he said. He threw the big old hammer down on the bed in front of me. It looked rusty, but it wasn't rust. "OK, Jen-Jen, you're a big girl now. You can take on a grown woman, even a four hundred pounder. You go kill dirty Cousin Jolene" he said.
 

Oh boy! I love my Daddy, the best Daddy in the whole world, like I said. Nothing like sucking Daddy's willy dry when it tastes like a suffering grown lady pussy. Daddy says each of her tits weighs as much as the whole of me, and I say she weighs five hundred twenty, but he says that retarded girls don't count well.
 

I sure do love my Daddy, and all the fun we have together. I can't wait for the Daddy-Daughter prom. I'm going to get a boyfriend one day so Daddy can do him some killing to get me good and wet. I bet I'll get as wet as he gets hard when i kill the little girls.
 

I don't want to kill myself now. Going to listen to some ICP, and think about all the fun we had already, and all the wet fun that's coming. There's more ways to die than you think. I've been grooming Daddy so long he'll do anything and anyone I want, and fuck and bury anything and anyone I kill.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

New Sperm Repellent Discovered by David McLean and Jennifer Chesler: Grizzly Wide Cut

Written by me & Jennifer S. Chesler. Due in The Philosophy of Extremism Vol IV. The first three volumes are here on Amazon.

New Sperm Repellent Discovered by David McLean and Jennifer Chesler: Grizzly Wide Cut 

When I was pregnant with little Dorito, who really came out as a potato chip, David was horribly disappointed by the type of chip we’d unknowingly produced.
 

“Never again,” he said, walking towards the bassinet.
 

“No, David, no!” I screamed. I knew Dorito was such a little girl, and he is such a big, big man.
 

“Jennifer, you’re in the mental hospital,” he said. “Keep yourself together or you’ll be given a third antipsychotic. You know they make you look ugly, fat, and with no hair.”
 

“No!” I yelled.
 

“Shh. Go to sleep,” he said.
 

I promptly fell asleep, only to wake up with poor Dorito in shreds, and David saying vengefully, “That damn potato product. We don’t have potato in our sperm and eggs.”
 

I looked in the bassinet, but Dorito was gone.
 

“What did you do to her?” I asked David.
 

“I cracked her apart with my nine-incher, that’s what.”
 

“Oh, Oh, Dorito!” I was heartbroken.
 

“We will have no more babies, Jennifer,” David said. “We are too old. Our sperm and eggs morph into foods beyond our control.”
 

“We can’t afford birth control,” I said.
 

“I know,” he said. “I will have to kill them as they suckle or something. Let me eat your pussy now.”
 

He had Grizzly Wide Cut in his mouth. I just want to let all women whose partners use Grizzly Wide Cut know that it does not produce urinary tract infections, as has been the propaganda we hope to eradicate. Yes, I could feel the wad of tobacco on my left vaginal wall, but, as it had been in David’s mouth, I felt a newfound love for father of my dead babies. 

I never got pregnant again, as long as he has the Wide Cut in his mouth. I could feel his semen struggling to get past the wad of tobacco, but it didn’t get far. I ejected all of it back into David’s mouth, of course filled with Grizzly Wide Cut. So, if you don’t have a lot of money, spend four bucks on Grizzly Wide Cut so you don’t have to kill your unwanted babies.
 

Grizzly Wide Cut is good for everything, and, though Jennifer does not mention this, the snatch can easily absorb nicotine, just like the more conventional cocaine, and it lessens the number of occasions that we are obliged to go out into the utility room, mid-fuck, to smoke a cigarette. It also renders cunnilingus more enjoyable. Without dip in the jaw, oral sex performed on a woman, whether menstruating or otherwise, is vastly inferior. 

The delicious wintergreen taste matches vaginal secretions, and the aftertaste of all the better lubes. Indeed, the semen itself, as it rushes out of the snatch after sex has to be caught quickly, to save the sheets a dousing, and the invigorating taste of Grizzly lets me munch with gusto. Jennifer advocates a shared Honeycrisp apple afterwards to avoid Mosaic and/or biblical problems about original sin.
 

The above did not take place in the mental hospital, by the way. I do, however, use this scenario to avoid having to explain certain features of the practices that gratify me sexually. Enemas are often involved.

By the way, we do not advocate fucking babies to death, even chip babies. Not in a duplex anyway, the noise is dreadful.