Mein Kampf …, My Struggle – Volume 01
Band eins: Eine Abrechnung …, Volume One: A Reckoning
For the foreseeable future … Chicks with dicks—i.e., either Parts or a penis and testicles, on girls. Fashion “stylings” come and they go, and they do recycle. But, for now. That one has most definitely had its fifteen minutes of fame and then some, and yet it’s STILL here, just like Paris Hilton.
Bottomline. Concerning females sporting she-male, either born that way or via Parts. That combo of male and female genitalia on women, and not just female parts. Alongside. Just female parts on women. Dig it or not. Get used to it. Because. It isn’t going away, soon, if ever.
Neither sweet nor wholesome. In her Third Reich days, this porcelain-skinned beauty went by the name of Ann “Coco” Mueller. In the decades since the War, she’s gone by her stage name, Ann “Coco” Miller. That famous raven-haired, long-legged actress and dancer whose machine-gun taps won her stardom during the golden age of movie musicals.
A founding member of the Einsatzgruppen: The Nazi Death Squads.
She looks fifty-something, but the elegant Aryan Nosferatu is much older than that. She’s older than Babs or Babs’ Mildred Huff. She might even be older than Mildred’s master, The Master. No one seems to know for sure.
Coco is wearing prudz, a perl necklace, an expensive black satin Adele Simpson pantsuit [her trademark], a shimmering white snakeskin cigarette purse, and Manolo Blahnik heels [i.e. Careys]. Her board-straight, jet black hair is worn in an early-to-mid 1960’s bouffant hairdo. Bolshoi-bare makeup, of course—the heavy makeup that looks like no makeup, for the “no makeup” makeup look.
Her classy heels were first made world famous by actress Elizabeth Mitchell (born Johnnie Lucille Collier in Chireno, Texas), that Texas beauty and star of “Lost”. And. They are a favorite of the current FLOTUS, Melania Trump.
Underneath her pantsuit, she’s wearing the same bra and panty briefs favored by Babs and other likeminded spinsters. White rocket bra. Flesh-colored panty brief. And. No Parts.
Careys [pronounced: carries] by Manolo Blahnik are black kidskin with a pointed elongated closed-toe, open sides [i.e., vamp cut], and a 3-inch stiletto heel. In other words, they’re the “classic” opera pump rethought.
In style. Careys are identical to the “Telsa” d’Orsay pointy toe pump by Sam Edelman. As such. Both shoes are essential pumps crafted in a trend-right d’Orsay profile with a pointy toe and a modest wrapped stiletto.
But. The Telsa is a nude heel. A nude heel is a women’s shoe that is neutral in color—i.e., the same color as the skin of the person wearing them. As such. Wearing them instantly elongates a woman’s legs.
In sharp contrast. Careys only come in one color—black.
She’s a prude—prim and proper to a fault. Stiff-backed and strident. In other words, she has the air of an aristocratic. But. She’s a commoner.
Coco is easily mistaken for, and often mistaken for, a blue-blood. She’s gloved, because there’s a correct time and place to wear gloves, and this is definitely one of them. Emily Post would wholeheartedly approve.
Bottomline. Haughty. Aloof. And. Seemingly unattainable.
As she did back in ‘01, when Miller returned to the big screen for a role in director David Lynch’s “Mulholland Drive” as Coco Lenoix, Miller imparts an air of old Hollywood glamour into the boudoir of her posh hotel room just like she did in that film [Mulholland Drive] that was meant to expose the illusions that Hollywood can create.
The fair-skinned lass, sitting behind the desk beside Coco, is a slender, attractive, eighty-something Islandic woman, who—except for her shoes and her skirt suit—is dressed just like Coco, including Bolshoi-bare makeup. She sports a pageboy hairdo. Her name is Mrs. Carson, Mrs. Gretchen Corey Carson III, and she’s the former-wife of the screen legend, actress Hedy Lamarr. Although Mrs. Carson looks older than Coco, she is in fact much younger.
For a short stint, during the 1960’s thru early 1970’s, she went by the name of Patricia Ann Priest, mainly credited as Pat Priest. An American television actress best known for portraying the second Marilyn Munster on the television show, “The Munsters” (1964–1966), after original actress Beverley Owen left after 13 episodes.
The shoes worn by Mrs. Carson are “Cicero” pumps by Franco Sarto. They are black kidskin with a pointed elongated closed-toe, the traditional closed sides, and a 6-inch stiletto heel with a hidden platform sole instead of an exposed one. In other words, they’re an extreme expression of the “classic” opera pump rethought. Not to mention, too high a heel to be age-appropriate for Mrs. Carson.
Mrs. Carson’s pageboy is the early 1960’s version with a 1950’s twist—i.e., a moesah. As such, it stops just above her shoulders, threatening to but never sweeping her shoulders. In the fifties the pageboy generally stopped above the shoulders, just like this. Her straight hair is predominately silver-grey, the color of polished silverware. And. It’s liberally streaked with white.
Her hair looks just as severe as it would if it were yanked back up into a sternka. As such, it is a favorite with blue-blood dykes.
Mrs. Carson’s skirt suit is as age-inappropriate as her stiletto heels. Her suit is a Koo Stark, a Kate with a difference—namely, a higher hemline. Just like a Kate is a Kaye with a difference—namely, a higher hemline. As such. The strident suit’s pencil skirt is mid-thigh length, a legitimate miniskirt.
She never wears a blouse with her suits. More age-inappropriateness. And, again. No Parts.
Mrs. Carson too comes off as haughty, aloof, and, seemingly unattainable. But. Unlike Coco. She is a blue-blood.
Racially, Mrs. Carson is a Crone. A pure breed—i.e., born, not made, with pristine bloodlines and an impeccable pedigree. And. Being Crone, it comes as no surprise that the divorcee is a Mercantilist, with some shadowy ties to human trafficking, the half-n-half trade, and other nefarious black market enterprises. Her legitimate business interests include the very lucrative witch-fire market.
Witch-fire is an extremely rare blend of Peruvian coffee, that’s grown in the fabled hidden valley of the Andes Mountains. It’s a velvet-smooth mocha, with the expected mega-Dutch chocolate buzz, and the unexpected surprise of a zestful aftertaste which positively screams of vanilla and hazelnut. It’s Mayan java with the much-prized nutmeg twist.
Many supernaturals, especially Crones and Dragons, are prodigious coffee drinkers.
Lucy is escorted into the room by a tall, well-dressed, forty-something gentleman named Klaus Patterson Schmidt. Klaus clicks his heels together and stays by the door which he discreetly closes. He is Coco’s butler, and has been for time immemorial.
In Klaus’ Third Reich past. He went by the name of Heinz Schumann, and dressed in the uniform of a Senior Sergeant with the SS. He was an original member of the 117-man SS-Stabswache Berlin.
Racially, Klaus is a Golem. As such, he resembles Ted Cassidy, the actor who portrayed Lurch the colossal butler of Gomez and Morticia Addams in the Addams Family television show. He too is a pure breed—i.e., born, not made, with pristine bloodlines and an impeccable pedigree.
For this Girl Friday job interview, Lucy is sporting an old-fashioned—i.e., a standard Sarah Palin circa early-to-mid 1960’s. In other words, she is a typical bouffant blonde of the early-to-mid 60s. As such. Her long hair is worn down in the same decidedly 1960’s hair style as Coco’s. Her poker straight hair is worn sleek with lift like a bit of backcombing to achieve a smooth, rounded bouffant. The outdated hairdo is called a Liz Grune, or Grune for short. It was made vogue by actress Dominique Boschero who wore it as Liz Grune in the Agent 077 euro-spy movies Secret Agent Fireball (1965) and Killers are Challenged (1966).
Being that she’s sporting a retro Sarah Palin with an emphasis on frumpy and staid—i.e., in this case, your look should be extremely severe to complement the severity of your boss’ overly strident look, you don’t upstage her. The rest of Lucy’s get-up consists of sternns-miles, prudz, a perl necklace, a Koo, switchblade stilettos, Bolshoi-bare, white satin corselet, plain flesh-colored thong, and a white snakeskin cigarette purse. And. It goes without saying that a Sarah Palin, any Sarah Palin, means no blouse and therefore a jacket buttoned for modesty, and no Parts.
A corselet, or corselette, is a type of foundation garment, sharing elements of both bras and girdles. It may incorporate lace in front or in back. The term originated by the addition of the diminutive suffix “-ette” to the word corset.
Hers is a white satin Maidenform corselette, with a pretty brocade pattern, ribbon detailing, and French lace over elastic side panels. Its underwire bust uplift cups enforce projectile breasts à la a torpedo bra.
Bullet-bra styled cups that compress her large chest in the covetous manner of a French-cut, long line overbust corset.
Around 1960, tights and trousers began to replace corselets. However, Maidenform and other mainstream lingerie and undergarment manufacturers have sold corselets as “control slips” since around 1975.
It’s a long line corselet. As such. It extends over the hips. Therefore. In the manner of her smooth 1950’s era panty briefs, it provides firm control to smooth the tummy, slim the hips, and shape and flatten the rear. Tummy and fanny control.
Cinching and slimming. It is spiral steel boned to provide waist cincher support and keep the wearer in best posture. Strong thick steel boned. Not thin, flexible steel boned which is akin to the softness of plastic bones. High density steel bones for tight-lacing and strict waist training, à la an Aecibzo steel boned overbust long torso waist training corset. Lovely. Severe. Restraining.
And. This beautiful undergarment is fashioned in the style of a vintage 1952 corselette girdle sold at Saks Fifth Avenue. As such. Unlike a Camellias long line overbust corset, this corselette has garters and shoulder straps.
To reiterate. A great powerful control underwear item that is modern manufacture, but, a 1950’s underwear style. The top is a French lace bra section with adjustable shoulder straps.
And. As aforementioned. This open-bottom girdle corset controls and flattens the tummy, and lifts the bottom for a smooth outline.
Additionally. This fancy lingerie has a stiff back à al a steel boned waist-training corset. And, running the length of the undergarment in the back, is strong corset cord lacing—i.e., a waist-training corset’s crisscross rear lacing. Ribbon lacing such as this is unusual on a corselette.
This unusual crisscross ribbon lacing to the back creates a bodice effect.
Front busk closure. Lace-up back. Steel boned. Reduces the waist by several inches. Draws in waist and flattens tummy. Suitable for waist training, tight-lacing, and body shaping.
A busk (also spelled busque) is the rigid element of a corset [or corselette] placed at the center front.
For stays, the corsets worn between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries had busks that were intended to keep the front of the corset straight and upright. They were made of wood, ivory, or bone slipped into a pocket and tied in place with a lace called the busk point. These busks were often carved and decorated, or inscribed with messages, and were popular gifts from men to their sweethearts.
In the middle of the nineteenth century, a new form of busk appeared. It was made of two long pieces of steel, one with loops and the other with posts, and it functioned in the same way as hook and eye fastenings on a garment. This made corsets considerably easier to put on and take off, as the laces did not have to be loosened as much as when the corset had to go over the wearer’s head and shoulders. The second half of the nineteenth century also saw the invention of the spoon busk.
The waist-cinching open-bottom corselette reduces the wearer’s waist to a Vampira-inspired 17-inches. Resulting in the extreme hourglass figure favored by women of the Victorian era.
Welcome to my private collection. Open corselette 4 suspenders. Size D-cup. This item is new but with no packaging. Laced bust area with dainty center bow. Wonderful body control holds nice and firm spanky tight. Wide adjustable straps. Sexy white. Thank you for looking. Cathy X.
Bottomline. This elaborate corselette underlines the obvious. In other words. Figuratively and literally speaking. Lucy is a Ghost in the Shell.
Sternns-miles—i.e., sternns with a Miles Kimball beaded eyeglass chain attached at their temples. And. Lucy is wearing those unbecoming eyeglasses instead of them hanging around her neck by their chain and resting upon her ample bosom.
The ubiquitous cigarette purse. A hardshell clutch, usually snakeskin. A staple of every women’s wardrobe during the Camelot Era of the early 1960’s. Thanks to a simple implementation of spatial displacement mechanics, its interior is many times larger than its exterior would indicate possible.
In her case. Per Coco’s dictate. Her cigarette purse, purchased at Neiman Marcus, is a Judith Leiber Couture “Slim Slide” crystal evening clutch bag, and it’s identical to Coco’s.
Judith Leiber Couture “Slim Slide” clutch bag. Removable chain shoulder strap may be tucked inside, when the situation dictates, and is tucked inside in this situation. Hard-shell case encrusted in Austrian crystals. Bejeweled hinge clasp. Leather lining. In other words, the usual amenities for a purse that costs in the neighborhood of two thousand dollars.
About Judith Leiber Couture. Begun in 1963, Judith Leiber is an American luxury brand that is synonymous with elegance, style, and sophistication. Each product is executed with meticulous attention to detail and flawless handcraftsmanship. Miniaudierés from the collection are part of the permanent design collections at The Victoria and Albert Museum in London, The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, The Smithsonian Institute in Washington, The Houston Museum of Fine Arts, and the Los Angeles Museum of Art. Adding to Hollywood’s nearly 50-year love affair with the brand, nearly every First Lady dating back to 1953 has carried custom-made Judith Leiber bags to the U.S. Presidential Inauguration ceremonies. Judith Leiber is truly an iconic American brand.
That particular haute couture brand is currently owned by Ann Coulter. Question: What the fuck is an Ann Coulter?! Answer: The other GOP Goddess and her namesake hairdo! In other words, Ann Coulter, A Close-up of Conservative Perfection and an archetype ultra-Right Wing firebrand.
The “Camelot Era”. The term “Camelot” has come to be used retrospectively as iconic of the Kennedy administration, and the charisma of President Jacqueline Kennedy and her family.
Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief, shining moment that was known as Camelot. There’ll be great presidents again … but there will never be another Camelot.
Coco waves the girl over to the desk. As Lucy starts to walk slowly toward the desk, Mrs. Carson starts to make faces—expressions of extreme annoyance. By the time Lucy is halfway over, Mrs. Carson finally can take no more, and she verbally expresses her annoyance at Lucy.
“For goodness sake, stop it! Stop walking! You’re clomping down your feet like a horse in those high heels! I do not want to see you clomping or wobbling in heels! There should be grace and ease to your gait, as if you were gliding effortlessly across the floor!” Mrs. Carson shrieks.
Lucy has stopped dead in her tracks. She’s sure that she’s blown the job interview. Per Coco’s dictate, she purchased and is wearing a pair of Careys—i.e., black Manolo Blahnik heels identical to Coco’s. Also purchased at Neiman Marcus, this morning, along with her clutch.
Although Lucy is married to a woman of great means, she is required to have a vocation, nonetheless. Supernatural society is closed and caste-based. Being hierarchical, it is very strict and very conservative—in a word, rigorous. Everything and everybody has a function and a place, and they’re expected to conform to expectations—i.e., know your place and assume it. The needs of the many always supersede the needs of the few or the one.
When Lucy and Babs married, and with Babs the headmistress and owner of St. George’s, it was inappropriate for Lucy to stay on as faculty. So she resigned her post, and began looking for a suitable job. This is why today, she’s answering a help-wanted advertisement in the newspaper for a Girl Friday [i.e., private executive secretary].
The job requires, shorthand, dictation, typing, and a limited knowledge of accounting. And. Unbeknownst to the girl, it also requires that the girl is equal parts spycraft, sensuality, and savagery, and is willing to deploy any those aforementioned Secret Intelligence Service skills of hers without hesitation at the behest of her principal [i.e., employer] to navigate her way through the deadliest game of spies assigned to her. In other words, a Girl Friday is also expected to be an Atomic Blonde.
Coco also expects her Girl to be an expert practitioner of the vujcic. Klaus will teach the girl that skill. Mrs. Carson, in addition to being responsible for the girl’s au pair instruction, will also teach the girl the needed spycraft. In a past life, Mrs. Carson, under a different name, was an intelligence operative with MI5 and MI6, one of their very best double-o agents.
Lucy was a double major—i.e., Military History and [her first love] Secretarial Science. Her minor was in Accounting. Teaching military history at a prestigious college paid better than being a secretary, and she wasn’t a CPA, so … there you go … That’s how she chose her vocation.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” Lucy apologies as she begins to turn around and head back out of the room. That’s when she hears Mrs. Carson shriek again.
“You were not told you could speak and you were not dismissed! Now, get your flat fanny over here at once!”
Lucy does as she is told. She sits down sheepishly in the chair in front of the desk. Maintaining eye contact with the two woman while still deferring to them. She has all the body queues down pat. Including sitting in the chair with her legs double crossed tightly. It’s the only way she sits in a chair since she got married—it is how a respectable wife is supposed to sit.
The girl and the Crone go back and forth for the next hour without pause. The Crone asks and the girl answers. During the entire Q&A, the girl remains poised—i.e., cold and emotionally detached as if she’s a girl robot incapable of feelings. A two-legged sexpot calculator with projectile breasts. A cool, professional demeanor masks the sexually charged storm within? It’s called “channeling your inner Seven-of-Nine”, and it’s how a Girl Friday is supposed to be on-duty. So. As part of the sell [to get this job], she channels her inner Seven-of-Nine, and acts like robot girl and Borg drone Seven-of-Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One.
A hard, pretty face. A ravishing beauty. Beauty that ravishes, literally and figuratively. Beauty that will stop traffic dead in its tracks, if you’re into beauty of the explicitly cruel, uber dominatrix, “Worship Me, Now!!!” flavor, that is. Dead-strait hair. Long, flaxen hair—i.e., bleached to within an inch of its life and board straight. Lush, silky tresses bleached a bright, fake-looking, golden platinum blonde color, the color of raw wheat—i.e., a Danish blonde. Golden platinum blonde locks draping shoulders and breasts, when they are let down. A large rack kept at strict, unwavering attention by her corselette’s substantial, yet revealing, brassiere—i.e., big, “perky” bosom—in other words, projectile breasts. Thin lips. Sharp features. Deep blue eyes. Nordic perfection. Adolf Hitler would have figuratively and literally eaten her up like an ice cream sundae, if he had ever laid eyes on her.
Bolshoi-bare makeup befitting her harsh, haughty looks and hard, pretty face—i.e., bolshoi-bare and hard-faced. Cold, haughty, and aloof—seemingly unattainable—yet, you must be used by her at any cost, even at risk of your very soul. Cold, blue eyes. An Aryan ice princess gone decidedly Danish. A large, ugly, vulgar mouth that espouses loathing and disdain even when that’s not the wearer’s explicit intent. A generous mouth that would put a Largemouth Bass’ mouth or Julia Roberts’ mouth to shame. A “Bass eating bait” mouth which always personifies the oral perversion.
VDR (1/2) or WDR, notwithstanding. The Blonde—i.e., der Blonde, in German. But. Where or where is her Pyewacket?
Although the position is with Coco. Mrs. Carson is doing all of the talking. Coco is doodling on a pad of paper in front of her, seemingly uninterested in the goings on.
At the end of the hour, precisely. Coco stops doodling and interjects herself.
“You’re hired. You begin work on Monday. Every Wednesday you will stop by the PLC (private ladies club) where Mrs. Carson lives, and you will receive lessons from her. You will learn to walk in heels correctly, how to apply your makeup correctly, how to carry yourself correctly, etc. While on-duty, you’ll dress just like you are now, except for the sternns—lose the glasses, I’m tight, but I’m not that tight. Capish?” Lucy nods her head. “And you will answer to Martha, the English version of your Norwegian given name of Marta. I will not call you Lucy … that is not your real name. You will always address me as Coco. You will address Mrs. Carson as Mrs. Carson. You will only speak when spoken to, and, when you do have to speak, you will keep your words to the bare minimum. Younger beings are meant to be seen, not heard, and they are meant to be used by their betters as their betters see fit. The rest you will figure out as you go. Understand?”
Lucy can also read between the lines. Coco is that tight. She’ll remember to ALWAYS wear her sternns-miles, while on duty. The fact that she’s wearing a perl necklace, instead of a pearl necklace, reinforces that read of hers. Coco and Mrs. Carson are both wearing perls, and she’s wearing perls per the dictate of the ad. So, Lucy does not remove her glasses, and, in the Nazi fashion, when she stands up, she’ll remember to click her heels together and give her female elders the “Heil Hitler!” salute. The heel clicking is frowned up, in public. The salute is illegal, in public, but there’s no record of anyone ever being arrested for it. She extensively practiced the heel clicking and salute with Helga and her Babs, beforehand.
“You lack the other half of the necessary skillsets for this job, but, your training with Mrs. Carson and Klaus will take care of those deficiencies in short order.”
Lucy knows better than to ask what that means.
“Excellent.” Coco, then, turns her attention to Klaus. “Tell the other girls they are dismissed. And be sure to give them a small allowance for their trouble, enough for cab fare.”
“Yes, Frau Mueller.”
Klaus is the only one in Coco’s inner circle who calls her, “Frau Mueller”, and he only does it in private situations like this one or when the situation is Nazi [i.e., Nazi, neo Nazi, Skinhead, etc].
The current incarnation of The Party has no human members. And. As such. This Reich, The Fourth Reich, has a good chance of existing for thousands of years. It is very secretive. Little is known about it except for the exclusivity of its membership and the fact that its Führer, The Führer, is an Aryan woman of indeterminate age.
At no time does anyone ask Lucy about either her knobb or the way her hands klaw when idle. It’s assumed that they are the result of an ongoing collaboration with her master, The Master. It’s considered impolite to ask questions about the obvious. Therefore, in this bastion of fascism and racial purity, no one will ever question her about the affections which result from being used by her master, The Master.
Based upon the gender of the body of the vile, hellish creatures in question … There’s this common misconception … She is The Master. He is The Master. The Master is an “it”.
The Borg do not have names. They have designations. And. Only The Queen has a personality, and it is unique unto her. As such. The various drones are null and void.
So, like The Borg. The Master is not a name. It is a designation. A designation that they all share. They are the one, who is the many. They are legion, who is one. They are one and the same, and yet they are not. The singular usage also refers to the plural, and the singular also refers to the singular.
On this world, The Master is territorial. And, The Master’s territories never overlap. Hence, one Master per territory.
On other worlds, in Creation, The Master travels in hordes. Herds that make The Master the dominant species. Ipso facto, those are Dead Worlds.
The Master is not sentient. In spite of whatever elaborate, involved conversation that The Master may be able to carry on at length about with the most learned of humans. The Master is not a person at all. The Master is an animate corpse. The Master is the purest expression of what it means to be “undead”.
Therefore, it is correct and proper to refer to one of their kind as “it”. Although even the most learned humans, knowing full well what they are in the presence of, can from time to time slip up and misspeak, and refer to one of their ilk as he or she.
The Master is cruel, unyielding, and relentless. The Master is a pitiless fiend. Hard. Loathsome. Merciless. Vile. An abomination. Corruption incarnate. There’s nothing remotely romantic about them.
The Master has no collective consciousness. They have no consciousness at all. They are not people. They cannot think. Yet. They have something. Something analogous to … intelligence, for want of a better word. Something expressed as “voices” in their heads that only they, and their collaborators, can hear. And, they have personalities, too. They have personalities unique to the individual, just like a “real” person does.