Dominance Games: An Essay on Power
A Novel
Installment Two
There were foreign objects; there was pain. It was the 6th of fucking June.
On came Richard fucking Kenny and his fellow fucking brave hearts. On came God’s fucking crusade in some fucking death trap of a fucking landing craft in the fucking English fucking Channel just dying to help a bunch of fucked up, fuck assed fucking Frogs get their god damned, fucking fucked up fucking country back from some god damned, fucking fucked up fucking fuck assed crazy assed fucking goose assed stepping assed, fucking, rot in hell fucking Krauts.
Dreams for Richard fucking Kenny.
A putrid soldier’s dreams.
Richard fucking Kenny found himself with the first assault waves of American heroes climbing up the fucking beaches of fucking Normandy.
The young man next to Richard fucking Kenny on the fucking landing craft on the way to the fucking beach sang the praises of Christ the fucking Lord. The one next to him puked his fucking guts out. Richard fucking Kenny had not only come three thousand fucking miles to get his fucking ass blown off but he had to do it with some fucking idiot’s fucking puke all over his fucking gear and some other fucking idiot singing the fucking praises of Christ the fucking lord in his fucking ear.
Richard fucking Kenny was very fucking agitated, disgusted about the whole fucking thing. He was fucking annoyed. He would, he thought, have, at least, died a happier goddamned fucking death if he was sliced and diced by one of his old fucking playmates and left to bleed to death in some god damned fucking stink hole puddle in some god damned fucking stink hole alley behind some god damned fucking, rotten assed, fucking greasy spoon.
His god damned, fucking father, where ever the fuck he was must be turning over in his god damned, fucking grave at the thought of his only fucking son running around with a bunch of fucking red necked fucking bloody fucking American he-men about to fucking charge good old fucking Europe, from whence his god damned, fucking father ran, to play god damned, fucking wonder soldier, god damned brave fucking wonder fucking hero.
Kraut soldiers were without bitter appreciation.
Richard fucking Kenny hit the beach on the shores very early in the fucking morning.
The fucking Kraut soldiers did not want to lose precious ground. They wanted Richard fucking Kenny and his fucking friends to be fucking dead. They appreciated fucking greatness, not Richard fucking Kenny. Little fucking Addie Kraut was their mad fucking fool. He was strong.
A wonder fucking soldier, wearing his spiffy little super duper little fucking uniform and traveling fucking on, Richard fucking Kenny was a thrill a minute. Richard fucking Kenny was getting his fucking tail shot at pretty fucking good. This day was to Richard fucking Kenny was a particular pain in the ass.
Richard fucking Kenny in the middle of a fucking, stinking, dirty, fucking, fuck assed, fucking foxhole in the middle of the fucking, stinking, dirty, fucking fuck assed screw assed fucking war.
Richard fucking Kenny became a dirty, fucking hero, another fucking smart assed, wise assed fucking wise guy, wise assed fucking savior.
Two fucking throwbacks to some fucking simian past. Two fucking, anti-Semitic, anti-human, sub-human fucking throwbacks. Richard fucking Kenny killed seven fucking Krauts. Richard Kenny knocked off a fucking Kraut machine gun nest
Richard fucking Kenny barely stopped himself from killing the two fucking southern fucking fuck assed fucking throwbacks to some fucking simian past, the two fucking, anti-Semitic, anti-human, sub-human fucking southern throwbacks. He saved his fucking outfit.
The lieutenant who was barely fucking alive only by grace of God and the captain who was half dead were both fucking very fucking happy that Richard fucking Kenny didn’t kill all of their own fucking wonder soldiers. They were both exceptionally proud that Richard fucking Kenny was a member of their, this man’s, fucking Army. They were most certainly overwhelmed. Richard fucking Kenney was their great fucking hope.
Richard fucking Kenny was put upon the god damned fucking earth to do great things, to fuck rotten fucking ladies, to be sharp as a tack, twice as mean. He loved to save the lives of the fucking wonderful who would be very happy to hang his happy little fucking New York fucking assed neck from a god damned fucking cross when he was back in the god damned fucking fuck assed States. Richard fucking Kenny just wanted to jump up and down and salute the god damned fucking good old fucking red, white and fucking blue’s best fucking examples of fucking class.
* * * * * * * * * *
Richard fucking Kenny demeaned dangled leaden calves, gave up on dangled fucking leaden losers. He jack assed backward through the straights of hell. Sanguine, straight, Richard fucking Kenny jack assed backward through low dealers, low weasels, low wants, low fucking kills.
The All fucking American fucking boy was not something Richard fucking Kenny could put up with too much longer. Richard fucking Kenny reveled in his own fucking wonder. He was fucking proud that he had saved the lives of all of the fucking red necked fucking fuck assed fucking hicks. Richard fucking Kenny was tired, very, very tired, and he didn’t want the All fucking American fucking boy to wake up one fucking morning and turn on Richard fucking Kenny when Richard fucking Kenny wasn’t fucking looking
Many forms, many shapes the All fucking American fucking hero. He said many different fucking things. He was sure to turn into a no good fucking asshole sooner or later. Poor Richard fucking Kenny.
Richard fucking Kenny survived the fucking war.
He survived it. The first day, the first day off the fucking beach.
Richard fucking Kenny survived the second day, the second day off the fucking beach.
Richard fucking Kenny survived the third day.
Richard Kenny survived the fourth day.
Richard fucking Kenny survived the first fucking month off the fucking beach.
Richard fucking Kenny survived the first fucking year off the fucking beach.
Richard fucking Kenny survived the fucking war.
* * * * * * * * * *
Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy. Amy Lucille to the young men and women of pride and honor. Amy Lucille to those who sought the glint in her radiant brown eyes shining brightly as she allowed company with the sons and daughters of manners and property. She, Amy Lucille, able to touch their hearts vigorously, in worship and adoration.
Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy was that which could make life worth living, a shining beacon apart from all others of a peculiar conflagration of will, of a peculiar conflagration of mood, a treasure, Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy. She wished to be the ideal to which all fine young dreamers might aspire, who did not let the pedestal upon which she found herself not allow her to not do what she must.
The giver of sunshine and shadow, the purveyor of pleasure and pain. The killer of mothers, the lovers of fathers, the seductress of aunts and uncles. The touch, the brush, the sweet, sweet kiss, the dear, sweet caress. Amy, sweet, sweet Amy. The nectars, the juices of sweet, sweet existence. How sweet, sweet Amy craved. How she craved. Sweet, sweet Amy.
Sweet, smart Amy. Amy, sweet, sweet Amy could only think of thighs and such and water her lips with the tip of her tongue. Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy could only think of sighs and such and water her lips with the tip of her tongue. The sweet, sweet lovers of sweet, sweet Amy, sweetly, sweetly maimed, murdered, before sweet, sweet Amy could ever again enjoy their sweet, sweet pleasures.
The lures of those who fondled, the lures of those who craved, Amy, sweet, sweet Amy would live to crave a thousand lives. The sweet, sweet lovers of sweet, sweet Amy, sweetly, sweetly maimed, murdered, before sweet, sweet Amy could ever again enjoy their sweet, sweet pleasures.
She was the last best hope of daunting sin, Amy.
Some men died for love, Sweet Amy figured. Some men died for money, Sweet Amy figured. Some just wanted freedom from ghosts, dead spirits, evil, she figured. Some took the path of least resistance. Some, the last alternative to life.
Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy.
She baited, she cooed, Amy. She laughed, she darted. She promised lusts with her lips, said goodbye with her hips, Amy. She was a gift given, Amy. Her lips inspired trust, her voice aching want, Amy. She drew hearts out as a magnet, Amy. She drew spirits with ferocious fire. The sweetness. The contempt.
Get to a strong man, a weak man, a smart man, Amy figured. Make a magic wand, Amy figured. A turn of the screw, she figured. A way in, a way out. Will to will, strength to strength. Strength to weakness, guile, subtlety. Amy knew the equations well. Worked them well.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dominance Games / Politics…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/
books… http://bschiff.com/
http://twitter.com/BSchiff2
refer
http://www.etalkinghead.com/
http://thewashingtonfancy.com/
http://www.thejeffersontree.com/
To donate for post or site as you may wish….. sin is sin
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Lust Games / Void Games / Politics 
Freedom Suite
Posted in analysis, Commentary, current events, dominance, News, opinion, Politics, satire, writing with tags Authoritarianism, Authority, Critical thinking, Democracy, Government, political analysis, political commentary, political satire, power on January 5, 2013 by B SchiffFREEDOM SUITE
Stand tall and secede
With no skin in the game there is no skin in the game.
With no fame in the game there is no fame in the game.
With no game in the game the blame in the game is for the lame in the game who have to play the sane in the game.
The sane in the game are the lame in the game who have to answer to the tame in the game who wish not to put a flame to the game.
The flame to the game is no shame to the game as the flame to the game is the flame of freedom.
Stand tall and secede.
Tired of godless socialists
Tired of godless socialists. Tired of mushy moderates and weak kneed bleeding hearts. Tired of know it all elites who at least believe in learning, discussion, rationality and discourse. Tired of all of the knee jerk devils that seem to get automatic currency in this the age of dumb and dumber, adolescence as a high water mark.
Tired of the scopes of the human mind and the human heart walled off from examination by poor put upon haters who know bad secular brazen degenerates when they see them. Tired of pots calling kettles without pots being labeled worse.
How about fascistic theocratic enforcers and intimidaters for laws of liking. Deniers and resisters of laws rejected. Night riders free to take on an enemy government. My way or the highway when my strength is up and my aim is true. Enemies … I know who and where you are. Freedom for me to be free to do with you as I wish.
Lets all play house together.
In the general culture it is quite hard to aspire to those top rungs of achievement in which ones dreams are met and ones follies are taken off of the table and forgotten due to the mastery of skills acquired.
Years of labor and self denial are required in order to shape oneself in the image of fate and rocket towards immortality by way of the presentation of the perfect marriage of the divine and the sordid, the visceral and the ephemeral, the notable and the mundane.
Public personas come and go and the shining lights of force, awe, manipulation, drive, sensitivity, pain all emanate well from the class of achievers who define the public conversions, conversations.
The templates are hard to come by. The rages of purity hard to achieve. Respect is hard fought for and auras of respect drive the chase for excellence.
It is the grand respect for, embrace of, mythification of the dumb and the lewd, the loud and the diffident, the passionate drones and the deniers, debunkers of rational thought or critical examination that champions the aspirations of those who seek to be worthy.
Tis the new age of yellowing gold. The perfect vessels of standing and hierarchy are those who worm their ways into the forms of the dead adrift upon the sea of void.
The intoxicating sea of void.
The cover to kill
It is assumed that everyone loves and admires the doctors’ oath of “do no harm” and the attendant philosophies of life involved.
It is assumed that everyone loves and admires the sound epoch of grandeur that is brought to fore by public and private actors who know harm when they see it and who know responsibility to behave well when it is thrust upon them.
It is assumed that everyone loves and admires good works and cultural magnificence, a society with standards of positive achievement, a world of straw spun to gold. Our public stars offer us this service. They present fairy tale and definition … the philosophies, the philosophers, the death of reason, the rise of faith, the mountains of distinguished thought and soul searching excess.
It is assumed that everyone loves and admires the heathens who reform, the devils who sprout wings, the dragon slayers who win.
“To live and do well” is a pretense for weak thinkers or selfless floggers who are socialistic, fascistic, vain, self righteous. They are the enemy. It is only through the competing interests of me that the system can function and that one can get the cover to kill.
Listen to them talk and reason, sing fling and and warble their arias of divine intervention. Squeeze the freedom of movement out of the equations of action.Be the devil wrangler.
Be iconic and do no harm.
The political plan.
Dominance Games / Politics…..politics, news, commentary, analysis…. The dumb …… the honored creed. The rancid bastards …… the true…. the thrill…http://dominancegamespolitics.com/
books… http://bschiff.com/
http://twitter.com/BSchiff2
refer
http://www.etalkinghead.com/
http://thepoliticalforums.com/
http://www.thejeffersontree.com/
To donate for post or site as you may wish….. sin
is sin
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=
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