Chapter 8 - Housewife's Day
Dennis Miller’ Birthday
4 of Diamonds
Darkening of the Light
"Ambition makes them greedy, and mediocrity makes them cheat and lie."
- Anonymoses Hyperlincoln
The world sinks further into darkness. This election seals our fate. It is not pretty.
Well. It’s really over. Not saying that I am happy about the outcome, but I am glad that Bush will have to clean up his own mess, and not Kerry. And he seems to be slowly losing his mind. Might be rather humorous, actually.
I think, though, that I might sail from Politics for a while and just develop my own life. Beautify my world. Help my friends and family. Feed the kitties more.
One thing I’d really like to do this month is celebrate as many holidays as exist this month. I wonder how many there are?
This has nothing to do with you, unless you are into metacommunication, in which case it may have a glancing interest to you, but I am thinking that what I should do is to open up another file with nothing but the dates and holidays on them, and then cut and paste from this document onto that document, thus giving it a little more order than now seems apparent. That way there would be a skeleton of a timeline anyway.
People often think of November as being the beginning of the Holiday, or Holy Day, season, and yet there are so many Holidays that go unheeded, like Dunce Day or Housewives Day. This month is going to be different. If we can’t celebrate a political victory, at least we can celebrate everything else…
OK. For the month of November, it looks like we have a panoply of potential parties…
Harriet Hoover was one sexy woman. And one sexy married woman at that. The best kind. The married ones are the easiest. But by “easiest” don’t go jumping to the conclusion that I meant the easiest to lay, even though that is what I meant. OK. Jump to conclusions. Jump right into bed with her. Better wait till the hubby leaves though.
Harriet wasn’t always a Hoover. She used to be a Johnson. And she’s been trying to retrieve lost Johnson ever since she sold out to Harry Hoover, who only married her because he thought Harry and Harriet would sound nice together. He didn’t really love her. He only loved himself. And his money and things. He kept her as a sort of trophy-wife, even though he was embarrassed by her liberality. She was a looker. Looked like Clara Bow, flapper extraordinaire, the original It-girl. He looked like Marlin Fitzwater.
Together they lived in a McMansion in fanciful Piper Glen, an upscale golfing community to the south of Charlotte, not far from the Pink Elephant.
The pink elephant is what can well be described as a McManse, or maybe simply a monstrosity. Just like with skyscrapers, churches these days are really into big. And strangely so too was Harriet into big. But the kind of big Harriet desired could not be supplied by hubby Harry. She liked a big wang. And Harry was a veritable Vienna Sausage in that department. But he was rich! And had a big house!
A lot of these, what the housewives call “little men” (behind their backs of course) would also be found filling the pews of the Pink Elephant. Now that I think about it, the name Elephant is appropriate for yet another reason. It was filled with Republicans. Little men. Little men with big wallets.
“If only Harry’s big bulge were in the front and not the back!” Harriet used to complain to her Bridge chums. Harriet was a Hoover in that she was all about sucking.
President Hoover sucked too, ya know!
“Tell me abbadit!” went Chloe Bosworth, as she rose to straighten the crease in her skirt. “Max has got to be purebred. Nothing exotic about his endowment. And frankly I’m tired of pretending.”
“We should go out on the town. Go slumming. Whoring. Like we did at Spring Break back in ’73. “ Liz Dart was emphatic, serious, and Harriet and Chloe seemed coyly interested.
“You know I voted for Kerry and that cute John Edwards. But don’t ever ever ever tell Harry I did or he’d leave me.” Harriet said, as Chloe butt in:
“Would that be so bad?”
Silence filled the room. You could smell the thinking, the plotting, the hormones rising from their skirts. The pizza burning in the oven.
“Sh*t! The pizza!” Harriet jumped up and ran into the kitchen.
“Sh*t the pizza? I guess it will come out along with everything else…” Chloe was ruminative, querulent, apopemtoclinic.
IT’S BIG WORD TIME!
The big word for this hour is:
Inclined toward divorce. Zsa Zsa Gabor and Liz Taylor are two apopemtoclinic bitches, ain’t they?
Liz Dart was still thinking about the boys. Once her hindbrain was activated, only rough sex could quinch the thirst, and to that end she more often than not submitted her own services. And what devices she had! She had nipple ornaments, clitpens, booby oils, edible panties, an embarrassment of dildage, whips, chains, great danes… You name it, she had it. And soon she was about to let Chloe and Harriet in on her treasures.
For the moment, her services were being commissioned over by the flaming oven.
“What do expect me to do?” Liz yowled. “Call the fire department!”
“Fire Department? For a freaking pizza?” Harriet was fanning the flames with her apron, which she bought at Restoration Hardware for 49.95 at their recent sale. “A bargain”, she thought to herself before, although not after, she bought it.
“I just called 911. Here.” Chloe was trying to be helpful. From an old Connecticut yankee family as old as the Mayflower, Chloe was not one to process frenzy, but genetically defaulted toward the nurturance role, allowing her true self to retreat behind the fantasy. She handed Harriet the phone.
Meantime her daughter, Xandra, had calmly masked her face, fetched the oven mitts, removed the flaming pan, and extinguished the fire with Arm & Hammer baking soda.
“Maawm. Nos fearay est caputo. I need the phone now.” Xandra was exasperated. The lower floor of the house was milky with smoke. Can this explain her exasperation? Or is she just another demanding teenage bitch just itching for a spanking?
“Who said that?” Xandra yanked around trying to find to voice who said something about spanking. Has the narrator hit a nerve? Should we plow into this thing more deeply? And if I do, will she hold up her end?
“I hear you are turning 18 on Thursday.” Liz yelled at Xandra through the smoke and chaos. “Ya gonna go git preggies?”
“Elizabeth!” Harriet was maternal, deprecatory, condescending.
“I know, I know! Jesus this and Jesus that. Jesus wants you to just abstain. Just say no. Stick a freakin’ cork in yer love tunnel and wait for Gary Bauer to pull it out with his teeth. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Liz was animated, fired up, and still sorta horny.
“Goddam! Alls I said was Elizabeth, and you go off like, like…” Harriet searched for the right word. She began to pine over having not bought Word Power when she first heard about it on the radio.
“Alls I said?” Liz was primed. “Alls? What kind of tawk is dat? Oh dat’s right! You a damn yankee. A yankee from the Midwest. Well that ain’t no yankee tawl!”
When Liz Dart got riled up, her Southern heritage would creep in and eventually take over her language. She often fashioned herself to be a sort of Eliza Doolittle, poor girl made good, dumb girl made erudite, and yet she had never completely made it over the hurdle, and yet her friends were true friends, and didn’t give a rat’s ass how she spoke. They thought it was all rather entertaining. Just not at the moment.
“Look. Yer damn girl is a woman now and she better start acting like it.” Liz kept dishing it out, and then turned and looked at Xandra who was slackjawed in disbelief.
“And if ya want to go ahead and jump to the advanced class, you better come home with me!”
“Elizabeth!” This time it was Chloe Bosworth, who could not seem to keep her moral upbringing from climbing up and animating the sinews of her tongue.
“I just meant I could show her some dikpix and pornage. I don’t wanna fuck her or nuttin. Mine’s gotta one-way sign on it, shugah.”
“What the Hell are you talking about?” Harriet was confused. Obviously. She stood there with the phone screaming at her that the operator had long since got the message and hung up on her.
“Hang up the phone, Mama.” Xandra still exasperated, took charge, and molded cosmos out of chaos.
“You’re gonna amount to something, someday.” Liz put her arm around Xandra and walked her onto the back porch. She whispered, “Come by after your party and I’ll tell you the secrets.”
“Secrets?” Xandra whispered.
“Shh. This is between you and me, right?”
“Yeah yeah yeah! Of course!”
“Alright. And one more thing.”
“What’s that, Liz?”
“Bring a boy. We’re gonna need help.”
“I think you already do.” Xandra snickered.
Laughing out loud, “Xandy. Candy. You gonna come in handy!”
“What are y’all doing out there?” Harriet inquired. “She ain’t hurting you, is she?” Harriet said, jocoseriously.
“That hurts!” Xandra blurted out in mock pain.
“The police are at the front door!” Chloe hollered from the great hall.
“Well tell him to come in!” Harriet instructed, then turned on the fan to clear the smoke from the kitchen,
“Bla bla bla bla bla”, Chloe hollered back.
“I can’t hear you over the fan”. Harriet walked into the great hall and saw the tall, dark and handsome John Dark standing there, with his big black stick dangling from his waist, and said, “Come in. Come inside!”. Then flashed him a coquettish look which didn’t go unnoticed by John Dark, who was always swollen with anticipation of his next conquest, which he recognized as having just walked into the room.
He held out his hand. “John Dark. But you can call me Jack.”
Harriet thought “how strange it is for a cop to be so formal. I thought they were supposed to act like Sergeant Friday, and say “Just the facts, ma’am”, and things like that. Not some Nubian prince with courteous manners and soft hands, thick fingers. Thick long fingers. Thick long black fingers…
“So he does say ma’am. I knew it.” Harriet was getting lost in reverie. And to think, she never really cared for Debussy before today. “What if he can hear my thoughts?”
“I can hear your thoughts, Mrs. Hoover.” Sergeant Dark was beginning to wonder if he had not, once again, stumbled into a suburban funny farm.
“I beg your pardon?” Harriet was trying to compose herself. She had had a strange few minutes, and strangeness was not something she was too familiar with, even though it was something she craved.
“Could you come with me a minute?” Harriet grabbed John Dark by the arm and escorted him into the dining room, and shut the French doors behind her.
“I think I have a lump in my breast”. Harriet half-whispered. She then began to unbutton her blouse and slip her hand down into her forest green cotton bra and produce a firm juicy breast, the tip of which was crimson ripe. John Dark, in the front portal of his pantaloons, betrayed the proportions of his gratitude. And she was pleased.
“Uh, I, uh do have a little experience, uh, in this field.” John Dark said in low orotund tones which sent chills up the spine of Harriet, who was already showing signs of wetness at the nexus of her two clean-shaven and milky white legs.
“I just love clean-shaven and milky white legs”, John Dark whispered hotly into the ears of the eager and willing Mrs. Hoover.
“Well, why don’t you do some looking around?” Harriet was feeling suddenly ballsy. Maybe it was because she had his balls and rock hard jungle snake pressing up against her now, such that she should tell, within an inch or two, just how close to a foot John Dark was packing. And it wasn’t that far off.
“I think I am gonna like this beat”. John Dark interrupted. “Today is my first day on this beat. I normally work the West side.”
“The west side? Where on earth is that?” Harriet was being honest. Many of these tucked away gems have never seen the dark side, the sexy side of Charlotte, which all seemed to come to a head, so to speak, on Charlotte’s oversexed west side.
“Girl! Have you always been this naïve?” John Dark slipped his hand down the front of her skirt and panties and began to massage her moist and hot nexus.
Feeling weak at the knees, Harriet buckled, and raised her ass high into the air, and began to gyrate against the bulge in the front of John Dark’s trousers.
“I want you inside of me.” Harriet Hoover was serious. It would not be good to deny Mrs. Hoover at this juncture, John Dark. This is your worst angel speaking, Mister Dark. Do you read me?
“I read you Narrator.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Fuck me you asshole.”
Suddenly, as if by a miracle, Harry Hoover crashed through the front window of his beautiful house screaming something about straight drive. One thing is for certain. John Dark is straight. And he certainly has drive.
“Are you okay, honey?” Harriet hyperventilated as she ran and pulled her idiotic worse half from the driver’s seat of the Hummer he had just purchased to enhance his manliness.
“My leg.” He reached down and grabbed his left knee, which has somehow found its way through the hoop in the steering wheel.
“I’ll call for assistance.” John Dark sounded suddenly serious, clinical, aloof.
“Huneeeee!” Harry Hoover was starting to sound whiny, infantile, small.
The French door crash open.
“What in the hell is going on in here?” Xandra wrestled her way through the door and looked at her mom then John Dark then her mom then her dad then John Dark then her mom, and called out: “Liz! I’ll take you up on that offer!”
My First Gangbang
This may strike some of you as strange, but Harriet Hoover has never been gangbanged. This is not to say that she never fantasized about it. In fact she fantasized about it all the time. It was her most recurrent fantasy. But she never actually thought she would be involved in a real gangbang. I mean that was a little rich for her blood. She was a good girl from the Midwest. Well, maybe not a girl, a good middle-aged woman from the Midwest. Well, maybe not good…
“I’m not a good girl. I’m a bad girl. And I like being a bad girl. And the worse I can be, the better.”
“You talking to me, honey?” Harry Hoover wrapped the necktie around his neck, as if it were a noose that would eventually take his very life.
“Just daydreaming honey!” Harriet said from the bathroom where she was holed up, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
“That John Dark was quite a guy!” Harry said, fishing out of curiosity.
“John Dark. The man in blue. That brave cop who saved you from pizza.”
“The man who saved me from you, you mean.”
Harry fell silent. He always had an inferiority complex about men he assumed to be better endowed. And he suspected that to women, size really did matter. And that one day his charm and his wealth were going to amount to jellybeans in the great competition for pussage, he, for so many years, knew himself to be wholly unprepared.
A week later, we find Harriet and John Dark evolving their conversation skills. How fortunate both are on the Internet!
harihoover: yo yo yo
darkjohn: nao ben o'er
harihoover: pu id in me
darkjohn: yo wet pusay
darkjohn: thinkin bout dat big ol ernie slidin in yo
darkjohn: fuck cock hell
darkjohn: 3 bad words you used
darkjohn: and spouting
harihoover: cock cock cock idid use it didn't i?
darkjohn: fuck spouting cock
darkjohn: cock on yo mind, baby?
harihoover: mmmmmmmmmmm you dirty boy, you
darkjohn: turn yo over my knee
darkjohn: slide dis big ol thang up tween yo laigs
harihoover: where you goes apollo where you CUM apollo
darkjohn: i cum in and on yo
darkjohn: make you all slippy slidy
harihoover: i am getting wet sitting here
darkjohn: i wanna see it drippin down yo legs
darkjohn: sloshin yo ass side to side when ya walkin
harihoover: sloshin great word sloshin
harihoover: i wanna bee sloshin
darkjohn: rub up gainst dis big ol cockn yo bee sloshin
harihoover: get in mah cunt-roll room baby
darkjohn: show me dat ya wan it
harihoover: speddin sheddin reddy fer weddin
darkjohn: take yo panties down
harihoover: mmmmmm dowwwwn
darkjohn: put yo fingers in that hot hole
harihoover: in in in in i n ooooo
darkjohn: makin my snake swell up
harihoover: snake leopard which are you?
darkjohn: i got both
harihoover: mmm mm mm ummmm mmmm ooooooooooooo
darkjohn: you coming out, baby? i'll make it hard for you to walk.
harihoover: in the park baby
harihoover: find me by teh picnic table sprawled spread eagle
harihoover: in teh dark
darkjohn: like last time?
darkjohn: i like dat
darkjohn: you bad
darkjohn: i'll have my snake hanging out o my pants
harihoover: yeah baby
harihoover: better than last time
darkjohn: yo think yo can take all dis dick, baby?
harihoover: all of it and maybe a few extra fingers
darkjohn: i'm bustin outta my shotes
harihoover: and maybe a foot- yo feel r sooo sexy
harihoover: better be strokin dat baby
darkjohn: o i am
harihoover: get in here baby move me deep--deeper
harihoover: wanna feel a hot stream of cum
darkjohn: in you or on you
harihoover: while you glide in and out in and out pump me pump me
harihoover: feel the twitching and writhing of my hips and cunt
darkjohn: gonna rape dat pussy baby
harihoover: tits flopping up and down while i riude you liek a wild leopard
darkjohn: god im so hard
darkjohn: wachu wearin baby?
harihoover: you won't be for long fuck me on this table
harihoover: nothing on bottom--shirt hiked up over my tits
darkjohn: show me day pussy and i will
harihoover: hot pants are down around my ankles
harihoover: mm mm mm mm mm
harihoover: feel the motion?
darkjohn: can yo feel dat big ol snaeke bangin dat pussay?
harihoover: ooo yuh--yuh
darkjohn: you alone?
harihoover: no wish i was
harihoover: i may cum just sitting here!
darkjohn: you luv dis dick don't ya?
darkjohn: fills dat cunt da right way
harihoover: i can't get enough and u know it
harihoover: mmmmm deeeep and wet jungle down here
darkjohn: feel my pulse inside you
darkjohn: throbbing thick hot jungle cock
harihoover: mmmmmmmm uh uh uh
darkjohn: bangin dat pink pussy deeeeeeep
harihoover: writing sideways and back and forth--rocking with teh cockin
darkjohn: rubbin dat head against dat clit
harihoover: god--feeeels sooooo gooood
darkjohn: writhe ondat hot cock baby
darkjohn: gonna cum all over youbaby
harihoover: mmmmmmmmm slosh slurp sweeeeeeeeeeeee.... mmm mm
darkjohn: splash warm water on those milky legs
darkjohn: on yer ass and puss
harihoover: come with me cum with me
darkjohn: feel that hot liquid all over you
harihoover: mmmmmmmmm aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
darkjohn: drink milk dis cock
harihoover: i'm your slut bend me over
darkjohn: bring dat ass up here
darkjohn: slide that steak up yo puss
harihoover: mm hmmmm call me! I can’t stand it any more…
This type of conversation is what may best be categorized under the term, “cybersex”. Having sex via the Internet. It is like “phone sex” in some ways, but entirely different in other ways. For example, there is often a time delay while using IMs. You can see a few in the passage above. This would never happen over the telephone, and God forbid it should happen in corporealis. I’m not really sure if that really means “in the body”, but if it doesn’t it should. Maybe I can call Cal Watkins, who last I heard was head of the Classics department, and get him to pull some strings…
Getting back to Hari and John…
Oftentimes, when possible, Hari, and/or John, would get so worked up in these sessions, that they would finish, so to say, over the phone. Tonight was no different.
“Oooo hiiii…” Hari’s voice sounded breathy, primal, wanting.
“Wachu wearin’ baby?”
“I ripped a hole in some pink and blue cotton panties, and I got ‘em tucked, splashing warm water back and front. You want suma dis?”
“Tawk to me baby?” John’s voice got dark and low. He breathed fire into the marital aid commonly known as a telephone.
“I love to hear you breathe. I want you to come over here and do me.”
Suddenly there was a click, and then a dial tone.
“Shit!” Pulling on her pants. “Did he think I was serious? He can’t come over here right now. Harry’s hosting that damn Marlin Fitzwater lookalike contest! Goddamit!”
“Honey? Are you okay in there?” Harry hollereth from beyond the inch thick slab of wood that separated them.
“I’ll be out in a minute! My friend came today!” She knew that he would want to have nothing to do with her if she was with menstruum. She began to think how ironic it was that she said “her friend”. But then she remembered the real problem was not as yet solved.
“Ding. Dong.” At the dong, she realized that it was John. John Dark. John Dong. John Darkdong. And he announces his arrival with the very call of the chime.
“Honey the ding didn’t work this time. What gives?”
“Let me get that, Harry! It’s, it’s a surprise. For you, your birthday.”
“My birthday was two months ago.”
“Yes but they say plan 10 months in advance.”
“Dong dong dong dong dong dong dong!”
“Shut up already!” Harry was getting pissed, as Harriet grew more frantic with each dong.
“Is this foreshadowing something?” Harriet suddenly thought to herself, and held back a slight buckling at the knees.
“Go tend to the teapot, I’ll get the door.”
She flung open the door and with an ample whisper breath-shouted, “You broke my ding!”
John dark looked down at her pusspackage. “Looks fine to me. Mighty fine.”
Her eyes gazed down his body and noticed that he was wearing nothing but a sock…which sheathed his grateful and expecting manhood, yet betrayed to lowhung ripe fruit of whose nectars she was, only minutes earlier, craving.
“Come with me!” he said and grabbing her hand, dragged her to his van, buckled her in, and drove off into the night, laughing.
“I thought you were a cop.”
“What makes you think I ain’t?”
“Well those people in the back sucking on a bong, for one.”
“Those are my brothas, Horsehuge and Buck.”
She craned around and looked them up and down. “I guess it’s all right.”
“Wachu worried ‘bout baby? We gonna take cara you, yu know dat…Wachu got under dat skirt?” He touched her thigh and slowly ran it upward, exposing more and more of her milky whiteness. She turned around and looked at Horsehuge again, and let her legs come apart ever so slightly.
She began to understand why John’s brother was called Horsehuge. It was more than apparent, and suddenly she got off on just staring right at it. “Gimme that!” she said.
Horsey passed her the pipe, which she drew slowly to her mouth, while keeping her eyes glued to Horsey’s largess. John Dark had been able to slip a finger underneath her panties, which was indeed warm and wet…
I pop an email to Bourbon:
Mecklenburg went for Kerry.
That's why I'm moving to Montana.
Gonna be a dental flass tycoon, I hear.
How 'bout Dem Johns!
Gotta luv'm, doncha?
(I jest. I am probably as pist as ye. Getting it out by writing. Onanizing. Performing autophrenology. Dolichocephalic.)
We reap the whirlwind. We inherit the wind.
It is believed that there will again be another ice age...
Blue State Blues
Here is an email I got back from Ra Bourbon:
Don't take this the wrong way but the stupidest goddam thing I heard last night was about all the people in North Carolina and Florida and Ohio and fucking Kansas talking about how they voted for Bush because they were worried about terrorism. It's asinine for the following reasons:
1) they elected Osama bin Laden's candidate! Bush and OBL are longlost brothers and OBL is playing Bush (and it turns out the American electorate) like a fiddle. Can't they see he's free? He looked quite healthy actually, four years after he murdered
4,000 Americans, and three and a half since Bush vowed to get him ``dead or alive.''
2) They - you - were never at risk. If there is a terrorist act in Charlotte or Toledo or whatever, the culprit will be some American-born fundamentalist gun-nut Christian, not Al-Qaeda. In fact it will be a veteran of the war in Iraq with post-traumatic stress syndrome, so Bush will still be behind it.
3) Here in New York, we are at greater risk than before, because you people out in America who don't know your asses from your right hands returned OBL's best friend to the White House. While OBL and GWB are busy dividing the world in half between the Muslim east and the Christian West, people in the city where I live are living together, side by side, Buddhists and Muslims and Christians and Atheists and every race, religion or ethnic group in the world squeezed into a couple square miles, and getting along just fine. We New Yorkers at least had the sense to vote for the guy who would actually go catch him. I mean think about it. I was standing in a line to vote on the Upper East Side, where the richest people in America are concentrated in really high numbers, and they were all voting for the guy who was going to take away the big tax breaks given to them by Bush. Why did we do that? Because a tax break doesn't help much when your president is determined to start the next world war, and shred the constitution in the process.
I need to tell you more about blogging. Here, let me take you with me…
I have surfed over to Matt Gross’s blog. He’s a great guy. More on him later.
I see a post to which I’d like to respond. The post is this:
Today begins the true battle for the soul of the Democratic Party.
Kos is calling for Dean to be the new chair of the DNC. One thing is for sure-- McCauliffe has had his shot. I don't hate him like many do, but when you lose, you should go. And when you lose three in a row, get the hell out of here.
Here begins, too, Hillary's run in 2008. It will be a disaster, and it should be noted that Kerry began to stall in the polls on the day they trotted Bill Clinton out.
Remember, we lost because voters turned out on morality. Nominating a person that 50% of America thinks is quite literally the devil-- whether a fair characterization or not-- won't help us in 2008.
Mathew Gross at 11:39 AM on November 03, 2004
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To which I respond:
Fact. Democrats are better people than Republicans. Fact. Republicans eat boogers.
Fact. Republicans are fat and stupid. Fact.
Jesus was not a Republican. Fact. The joke is on Bush, who will have to deal with all the mess he has made, not to mention, karma. Fact. Democrats demand truth, Republicans do not.
Here's what I think Democrats should do. Beat them at their own game. And beat them by being better. Create better energy companies, better, cheaper drugs, better beer, better cigarettes, better pollution, better guns, better missiles, better tanks, better ponzi schemes, better churches, better televangelists, better country western singers, better wayne newtons...
Or maybe... we can all self-evolve, each and every one of us. Become spiritual masters. Leave THEM behind. RIGHT behind.
Free university education for Democrats, at universities and academies created for the evolution of its throbbing members. Nature only evolves us to a point, after which it is up to us to consciously autoevolve.
To create a masterpiece, become a masterpiece, then create. Or as is said: The best way to predict the future is to create it.
Here's to an evolving Democratic revolution.