Honor and Dominance
The pansy black lingerie clad dominatrix of dreams.
“The dominance games of the Fat boy are continual and ever charging. On an eternal wheel of sin he charges, rides, bulldozes, sickens, pummels, frightens, mocks sanity. The creature is an eternal dominance grifter with no other mode of thought. His submissive suckers beg to be rolled and find with him the perfect marriage of tinder and match. There is no other world other than the vile one of dominance…and dominance by ignorance and venality flourishes here.”
Death spoke. Amy spoke. The fat boy was an ugly eternal dominatrix getting his onanistic jollies out of being a slime covered danger to life… the never stopping parade of ugly.
Flying Fat boy perpetuating irrevocable harm to the stability of common aims constantly digs in further from and further into the vulnerabilities of that that is left of the souls of the decrepit moldy cast images of sentient beings within his reach ..the welcoming submissive punks and punkettes of our time. Useless idiots. Useful idiots. Devil’s playthings. … the good fascist friendly folk of the sunken city on the hill. The whirlpool of dominance catches them, shapes them, creates them ruins them. They are the coming sins of history. The flock of Fat boy.
There is no thrill, no demand, no continual need for the perpetration of evil like the need to spin on the eternal hamster wheel of playing for dominance. Dominance by an ugly Fat boy. Dominance by an ugly fat fat boy. Dominance by an ugly man child who would be disowned by mother Earth if she could stand his presence. It is the ugly gift offered his ugly supplicants … the right to be diminished forever going forward in this life if the giver of fascism is stripped away. Poor little wasted souls filled with willful ignorance and eternal insecurity. Criers.
Fascism is an engine that feeds upon itself, that seeks it’s seekers, that gets stirred by the ever evolving vile demon spawn. Demon spawn fat boy was made for the ravages of goodness, the ravages of honor, the ravages of time. Demon spawn fat boy loved the engine, became one with the engine is a dying hulk of larva without the engine. His being is such.
The arch of history towards enlightenment, sanity, civility and honor breaks when the weak minded pay the price to breathe to the wretched and those seeking orgasm for their daily bread. The sexual predators that are those who would be dominatrix fashion their onanism as the lust to be vile. The empty submissive deny their impotence and seek the thrills of toxic waste…. Fat boy ..the pansy black lingerie clad dominatrix of dreams.
That diminished breed shines as a violent fire … a molding fire
Poor little stale babies from hell ….those wonders in fat boy land ..pray for the renewal of sin by wanting to be able to lay prostrate at the gnarled toes of ugly.
Muses commune with their little spirits of time and the red winds of destruction/ The winds blow forever in their storms of repressive lust blowing from eternity shaping the souls of the wasted sentience., A dynamic force of will by their gods of diminishing pleasure and pain …their gods of red blood vengeance.
Death and his muse existed in a universe oh honor. They were what they were. They did what they did. Honor, power, revenge …these were of the cauldron of their time. Power …revenge ..the stuff of muse Amy’s secrets … the stuff which played the players …the stuff by which the players were played ..the putrid stink of Fat boy. Honor was a talisman, an immovable object bouncing against the grain of fools, reprobates, generally demanded, devalued souls…. the place where they could not go.
Worlds shrivel and die. Banality flourishes. Spirits empty. Death loses his intimidation as the will to live recedes in gentle folk. Fat boy and the deplorables create the eternal sink hole. The game may be to the adventurous who have the stomach to be in the arena with the maggots and the larva who keep coming and coming and wishing wil and domination. The swords and the lances of the remaining honorable must be drawn and sharpened with purpose and wit. It is a dangerous weapon though one that demands strength… honor.
The humorless, those sobs of mean and vile, dim witted attacks of loved ignorance bury their lack of honor in the waste pits of excrement, their discourse, their shriveled little image.. Boring Death to distraction they have the skin of Amy’s beauty crawl and churn.
Enter the visage of the fascist punk, the fascist pumkette…enter it in cowards’ clothes, villain’s payroll, cheap tenterhooks of capture. Softly come the fascist drool. Softly, deadly, locked, loaded.
The diminished breed shines as a violent fire …. a molding fire…one that covets, destroys
Dominance Games 
Honor and Dominance
Posted in dominance, Fascism,, Politics, power with tags Authoritarianism, political commentary, political satire, politics, power on February 25, 2024 by B SchiffHonor and Dominance
The pansy black lingerie clad dominatrix of dreams.
“The dominance games of the Fat boy are continual and ever charging. On an eternal wheel of sin he charges, rides, bulldozes, sickens, pummels, frightens, mocks sanity. The creature is an eternal dominance grifter with no other mode of thought. His submissive suckers beg to be rolled and find with him the perfect marriage of tinder and match. There is no other world other than the vile one of dominance…and dominance by ignorance and venality flourishes here.”
Death spoke. Amy spoke. The fat boy was an ugly eternal dominatrix getting his onanistic jollies out of being a slime covered danger to life… the never stopping parade of ugly.
Flying Fat boy perpetuating irrevocable harm to the stability of common aims constantly digs in further from and further into the vulnerabilities of that that is left of the souls of the decrepit moldy cast images of sentient beings within his reach ..the welcoming submissive punks and punkettes of our time. Useless idiots. Useful idiots. Devil’s playthings. … the good fascist friendly folk of the sunken city on the hill. The whirlpool of dominance catches them, shapes them, creates them ruins them. They are the coming sins of history. The flock of Fat boy.
There is no thrill, no demand, no continual need for the perpetration of evil like the need to spin on the eternal hamster wheel of playing for dominance. Dominance by an ugly Fat boy. Dominance by an ugly fat fat boy. Dominance by an ugly man child who would be disowned by mother Earth if she could stand his presence. It is the ugly gift offered his ugly supplicants … the right to be diminished forever going forward in this life if the giver of fascism is stripped away. Poor little wasted souls filled with willful ignorance and eternal insecurity. Criers.
Fascism is an engine that feeds upon itself, that seeks it’s seekers, that gets stirred by the ever evolving vile demon spawn. Demon spawn fat boy was made for the ravages of goodness, the ravages of honor, the ravages of time. Demon spawn fat boy loved the engine, became one with the engine is a dying hulk of larva without the engine. His being is such.
The arch of history towards enlightenment, sanity, civility and honor breaks when the weak minded pay the price to breathe to the wretched and those seeking orgasm for their daily bread. The sexual predators that are those who would be dominatrix fashion their onanism as the lust to be vile. The empty submissive deny their impotence and seek the thrills of toxic waste…. Fat boy ..the pansy black lingerie clad dominatrix of dreams.
That diminished breed shines as a violent fire … a molding fire
Poor little stale babies from hell ….those wonders in fat boy land ..pray for the renewal of sin by wanting to be able to lay prostrate at the gnarled toes of ugly.
Muses commune with their little spirits of time and the red winds of destruction/ The winds blow forever in their storms of repressive lust blowing from eternity shaping the souls of the wasted sentience., A dynamic force of will by their gods of diminishing pleasure and pain …their gods of red blood vengeance.
Death and his muse existed in a universe oh honor. They were what they were. They did what they did. Honor, power, revenge …these were of the cauldron of their time. Power …revenge ..the stuff of muse Amy’s secrets … the stuff which played the players …the stuff by which the players were played ..the putrid stink of Fat boy. Honor was a talisman, an immovable object bouncing against the grain of fools, reprobates, generally demanded, devalued souls…. the place where they could not go.
Worlds shrivel and die. Banality flourishes. Spirits empty. Death loses his intimidation as the will to live recedes in gentle folk. Fat boy and the deplorables create the eternal sink hole. The game may be to the adventurous who have the stomach to be in the arena with the maggots and the larva who keep coming and coming and wishing wil and domination. The swords and the lances of the remaining honorable must be drawn and sharpened with purpose and wit. It is a dangerous weapon though one that demands strength… honor.
The humorless, those sobs of mean and vile, dim witted attacks of loved ignorance bury their lack of honor in the waste pits of excrement, their discourse, their shriveled little image.. Boring Death to distraction they have the skin of Amy’s beauty crawl and churn.
Enter the visage of the fascist punk, the fascist pumkette…enter it in cowards’ clothes, villain’s payroll, cheap tenterhooks of capture. Softly come the fascist drool. Softly, deadly, locked, loaded.
The diminished breed shines as a violent fire …. a molding fire…one that covets, destroys
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