Of course he can spread her cheeks any time he likes with those great heavy paws of his! Those buttocks are his property, just as God is ours. Her sphincter squeaks like an old shoe. In less than five minutes he'll have shot his bolt again. Keep clear at all times! For this Man can't stand life alone, and others have to stand him every day. The woman's body is at his service most of the time.
every now and then it seems as if the sun is going to shine. Get these people out of the way, the farmer's left the furrow ever so slightly ajar! I left them sated and sated I find them, and no lamp lights the way in this terrain. So they plough and rape their wives, and bow and scrape to the works committees, not that the committees have any real power left. Sometimes before you can say Jack Robinson a new skilled worker has been given a dressing down and is waiting in the workshop to be dressed and salted. His field is limited to the very end. There are few women seated at breakfast, which is served by the housekeeper. Opposite the man. With sunglasses shading their drawn worn forlorn eyes. One place exactly is occupied by them. At night they were ridden and rocked like the heavenly horses children learn to ride on. But the children sit more securely in the saddle! This Man takes as many liberties as our president, he is almost as great a burden for us wanderers to bear upon our shoulders. He says that Mozart was a wonderful composer. He too enjoys playing. But on a smaller scale, if you compare the frame. With a little space left over for hobbies. At the Salzburg Festival he has an opportunity to test his stamina. Father agrees with himself. Giving a merry wink, he penetrates his wife's sphincter. She restrains the cry that's straining at the leash, after all, she's a married woman now. Nobody learns to read without paying for it.
The Direktor dips a toe in her cool waters and then emerges from the gloom into the sunshine. In every respect he is at ease in the mansion of himself. He may as well be silent. You can live in a house like snow on the grass of course, but you can keep your chained-up member so busy that the clinking and jingling never stops. There are many women but only one Man. He bends over the woman's hind legs and whispers of the erotic kicks he could get in the brothel any time, instead of which he puts up with her kicks. Erotic! The word was coined for the Erikas of this world, not the Gertis. It is what gives this solemn ceremony its meaning. The Man has to bear the animal within in mind, and what does the animal do when it's been bared? Guess. A conversation with the world and its well-oiled machine parts. In an ante-room where they wait till the women come to their assistance with the musty holes knocked open by the hail. The life's work of some of them will be completely forgotten by the earth. Reliably, though, the Man discovers his ejaculated semen below him, and wallows in the certainty that his child will live on after him, to torment others in his stead. Let's turn a blind eye to it all. Who lays everything waste and nonetheless is always wanting to start afresh? Right. He buys new clothing for the child, and Mother, since Nature has its limits, has to wash it. They show mothers doing so on TV. This mother plays piano, as far as the pedals will take her.
The Direktor has fucked his wife's tube enough, now he gapes at an empty screen. Takes a look at himself. And, an amiable stranger inclined over the engine now that it's idle, he fiddles with his pet. As you might stroke a dog. He dribbles saliva on her, 'scuse me. Your home territory isn't where some other man has been before you. For the Man, the woman is a constant factor/ factotum because she keeps her feet on the ground while he aims straight at the heart and writes computer programmes by way of a hobby. That'll leave them speechless. Light shines upon the field. Tomorrow Gerti is sure to be still there. He doesn't want any other man hanging round when she's hanging loose, boring into her when she's bored. Now the Direktor appears from out of his blind corner, works his way into place like the stream pouring into the valley. That's how he'd like it. Formula One impatiently pawing at the starting line. And all around the selfsame night can never cleanse the poor of themselves. Quite the contrary: they're cold, and they have to warm up at their wives' pussies. They don't want to be too late tomorrow, at the factory, our greatest good, where they are not so much wanted as expected. If they are in flight, they are fetched down. Many of them have to saw frost-damaged branches off their fruit trees. The Direktor gobs terrible wads of filth in his wife's ear. She might simply be forgotten, like a rucksackful of rancid sandwiches, it's up to her. Any time at all! She can have the good life, just as long as she doesn't go overcrowding her knickers, just as long as the way inside is kept clear and gritted, so that the Man knows where to go if he's disaffected. Got to slam the ball home, goal! And what of her? He yanks her hair as if he were still steering. Nearing the end, his trembling member crashes into her undergrowth. The Man punches the nape of her neck and the voice in which he addresses her is awesome. Could it be that this woman is thinking of another, better-loved poker? Could it be possible? So it happens that the Direktor's brimful cup passes her by and its contents are deposited on her skin, a heap of refused refuse. This woman is unworthy that the Direktor should incline towards her at an angle of 45 degrees. Let us now drink two quarters, no, three quarters of our fill! At one time the jolly conquerors didn't have so many interruptions to contend with in their conquests. But now there blows a sharper wind.
The people of the country will soon have to rise and shine, harried from one place to another, even before they know where they're at. But wait a moment. Even they enjoy an advantage: springtime will be theirs as well, with its puffing and blowing and zephyrs and fresh air. But in the mean time we shall have achieved far more. Because we shall have forged ahead. We are confident, we go to the theatre or a concert or exhibition where we recognize our own image, cast by nothing but the light of their wretched eyes. Yes, we are on the list! If you take a look down there, you'll see a wild heap of unemployed believers at the mercy of the banks, you wouldn't credit it. The light in those eyes, ah, at the end of the federal highway, has gilded nothing but factory dividends. But they forgot to indicate, and, misjudging the bend, dazzled by the glare of a job at long last, plunged into the river. One really shouldn't go falling asleep at the wheel early in the morning. And what is becoming of the taxes we pay in the mean time? The money is squandered like people, wasted like lives, an expensive sports car in a slim and talented country, see, where industry takes a sharp bend downhill. Of course people are run over elsewhere too. Now let us continue on our restless way, leaving barely detectible tracks on the federal tarmac and to our children a colour TV set and a video recorder per head.