A micropress solely for the collaborative works of Jennifer S. Chesler & David C. McLean.
Showing posts with label nipples. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nipples. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
The Philosophy of Extremism, volume III
Here is the description of The Philosophy of Extremism, Vol. III, by David C. McLean & Jennifer S. Chesler. It is on sale here at Lulu, and forthcoming from Amazon etc. It is their best and most extreme collaborative book, the working title was Fisting Fiesta.
This concludes the trilogy The Philosophy of Extremism by Jennifer S. Chesler and David C. McLean. It describes various scumbags, child-rearing methods, precautions against juvenile hypothermia, and more. It gives more delightful details about backsplash and the smarmy fascism of religious shrinks. Some parts of this book are fictional.
Sunday, April 29, 2018
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 Extremism II. The piece presents two cockwombles in all their egregious glory.
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.
Me: No, I’m not interested.
Observe that Jennifer is a Christ-killer, so this dialog is pretty fucking anti-Semitic. Observe that Bongo did not say “recourse”, he don’t talk too good, David inserted that to satisfy Jennifer’s predilection for “elegant variation”. The short dialog 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 low.
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.”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.”
(Seriously, we are writing to point out that M. Foucault knew his stuff. The control of unruly bodies & all that fascism, but we find the cruci-fiction of interest only as gay snuff porn - the vulnerable boy on the cross, the mother on her knees before him, gobbling away.)
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.
Me: No, I’m not interested.
Observe that Jennifer is a Christ-killer, so this dialog is pretty fucking anti-Semitic. Observe that Bongo did not say “recourse”, he don’t talk too good, David inserted that to satisfy Jennifer’s predilection for “elegant variation”. The short dialog 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 low.
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.”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.”
(Seriously, we are writing to point out that M. Foucault knew his stuff. The control of unruly bodies & all that fascism, but we find the cruci-fiction of interest only as gay snuff porn - the vulnerable boy on the cross, the mother on her knees before him, gobbling away.)
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