Here are two new pieces from our forthcoming The Philosophy of Extremism III – co-written with Jennifer S. Chesler.
Oh, little Jennifer
In the differend, something asks to be put into phrases, and suffers from the wrong of not being put into phrases right away.
Daddy, my pussy burns from the cheap medicine.
It’s called “inexpensive”, and you need to get Daddy off faster to deserve the good stuff.
(What makes demands upon us is not the child as such, it is the words expressing themselves into a sense; she is the referent, the burning pussy is the referent, but there exists as given a disparity in power, an imbalance, where some are used. It is this that is the essence of which every haecceity can be seen to be a fraction. That about which the child remains silent is her desire, is the slow passage of time and her becoming. Daddy is never silent about nothing.)
Oh Daddy, where are the answers to my test?
Which text, little Jennifer? Look around my balls, ruffle the sac with your little tongue.
My pussy burns, I just peed again in the bed.
Oh, little Jennifer, I love it when you are special and hold your wrists all twisted and palsied.
I know, Daddy, it’s sexy. I’m a big girl and I am sexy and I know joined-up writing too.
Ice cream comes after come
When I went to school today, I told Sally how I drank Daddy’s pee from his big willy. She said that the last family that owned her would loan her out to their friends. One time they rubbed sick in her hair.
Daddy! Here was Daddy, in his brand new shiny red Silverado. He looked so handsome.
Is that your Daddy? Sally asked me.
He sure is, i said.
I went running up to the truck. He opened the door, slid over on the seat, and put me in the truck with him. I felt proud. I have the best Daddy in the world.
Jennifer, you know when we get home we can’t eat dinner without some white stuff first.
From your hard thing? I asked.
Yes, my rod. You can swallow as much as you like, if you’re very good.
As a reward, Daddy?
Yes, little Jennifer.
I can’t wait to get home.
Can I get an ice cream before we go home, Daddy?
You drink the white stuff first, and then we’ll see. It’s a waste if you get sick from gobbling my big rod and lose all the ice cream, isn’t it?
We got home very quickly, and sat on the couch. I was on Daddy’s lap. He put his arms around me and squeezed me around the waist.
No, Daddy, I said, and giggled.
He picked me up and put me on the wood floor facing his willy in his big pants. I knew what to do and started sucking like it was a popsicle. I was really in the mood for ice cream. He made some noises like he was dying and a poopy smell with a big fart too.
I had puked in my mouth, and swallowed it when his white stuff came out. I wanted to sit next to him but didn’t want him to smell it because he had warned me about it before, and I really wanted that ice cream.
Well, little Jennifer, wanna go to Dairy Queen?
I sure was happy. What a great daddy I have.