Großwohnanlage in Berlin Schöneberg, Ecke Kreuzberg. Sozialer Brennpunkt. Hier hat Peter Fox vor ein paar Tagen ein Open-Air Gratiskonzert gegeben. So wie im Görlitzer Park und im Columbia Bad, zwei weitere, bundesweit bekannte Berliner Konfliktherde. Er wollte damit für deren Probleme sensibilisieren und Öffentlichkeit herstellen. Peter Fox is n guter Junge. Außerdem macht er die geilste tanzbare Musik, die ich kenne . Da es zu allen drei Orten von meiner Hood aus nur maximal 10 Minuten mit dem Klappi sind, habe ich es bedauert, ausgerechnet da nicht in Kreuzberg gewesen zu sein. Mittlerweile gehe ich lieber in Ausstellungen als auf Konzerte. Das ist wesentlich billiger und Bilder machen auch nicht so viel Krach. Aber bei Peter Fox wäre ich sicher dabei gewesen, für einen guten Zweck, für lau und wohl betütet.
Neben dem Pallasseum liegt die Palladin Kochschule, ein Gastronomie-Ausbildungsbetrieb für Menschen mit Förderbedarf.
Best Practice, Praxisorientiert, dort gibt es öffentlichen Mittagstisch, wo ich ab und zu hingehe. Beispiele aus vorletzter Woche: Montag Pilz-Stroganoff auf Basmatireis, kleiner Salat, Dienstag Kartoffelgratin an Ratatouille, Oliven, Feta & Basilikum, Mittwoch „Leipziger Allerlei“ auf hausgemachten Spätzle. Es ist noch leckerer als es sich liest und kostet 8 Euro. Mein Restauranttipp der Woche für Berlin. Es muss nicht immer Tim Raue sein.
Und nebenbei können Sie beim Verdauungsspaziergang die Großwohnanlage bewundern, die komplett um einen Bunker aus dem 2. Weltkrieg gebaut wurde, weil der nicht zu sprengen war. Das hätte den unzerbombten Rest von Berlin in Schutt und Asche gelegt.
Ein hochskurriler Anblick.
Weitere gute Jungs und Mädels und Best Practice: Auch der niedersächsische Landesvorstand der Grünen Jugend ist komplett zurückgetreten und macht jetzt ein eigenes linkes Ding . Das wird am rechten Kurs der Partei nichts ändern, wobei die Grünen n Niedersachsen für Grünenverhältnisse Linksaußen sind und es durchaus sympathische Vertreterinnen da gibt.
Aber in heutigen Zeiten ist es manchmal schon gut, wenn Zeichen gesetzt werden eines „So nicht weiter!“. Und die Protagonistinnen können später mal sagen, beim großen Kladderadatsch: Wir haben es ja gleich gesagt. Was mein Hauptantrieb für diesen Blog ist: Rechthaberei.
Blöd an der Sache nur (andere Landesverbände sind gefolgt): Nach guter deutscher Manier wird die Restlinke durch dauernde Neugründung noch mehr geschwächt. Divide et impera. Die Herrschenden lachen sich über die ganzen Spaltpilze, da wie im warmen Regen aus dem braun gedüngten Boden der Republik schießen, doch kaputt.
Und die Naivität der jungen Leute, sich darüber zu wundern, dass mit dieser Spießerpartei keine Klassenpolitik zu machen ist, habe ich schon zur Gründung der Partei nicht gehabt. Einer Partei, deren inoffizielle Hymne „Was wollen wir trinken“ von den Bots war und die inoffizielle Parteitagsuniform lila Latzhosen waren, ist auf gar keinen Fall über den falschen Weg zu trauen. Ästhetik und Ideologie stehen in einem untrennbaren dialektischen Verhältnis zueinander.
Das vertiefen wir in der nächsten Vorlesung.
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“What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad.
Exactly a week after, daddy texted me with a different tone saying, “ get your ass ready tonight cause daddy is coming to your place tonight.” He was usually really sweet and nice, I was shot when I got the message. But automatically I said, “ yes daddy!” I guess I am a slutty whore for him right at the beginning as I knew my place where is always going to be inferior.
His father’s words are what he hears when he erupts. His cum streaming like liquid threads from the pee-hole of his rigid cock.
Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol.
Garrett nods to his father.
“You guys jerk off together, these days?” His dad asks, “Back when I was in high school me and several of my friends would jerk-off in our trucks in the parking lot. We were so horny we could barely sit in our seats. You ever do that Garrett?”
Garrett picks up the pee-stained and cum-leaked jock from the tile floor.
“And you did it with that. Your boner?” His dad asks. “I guess.”
I was surprised He wasn’t angry. He said,” boy you wait here, I am going to the bathroom.” He closed the door. He must sit on the toilet with pants down because I heard him losing the belt but didn’t hear him peeing. After a while, he called my name,” get in here ass sniffing slut.” I opened the door and crawled to the side of daddy. Daddy was still sitting on the toilet. . Just when I was confused why he sat that and did nothing. He stood up and pulled his pants up. I did take a peep of daddy’s huge uncut Middle Eastern dick. Half hard like 7inches already. While he was doing that, he grabbed my hair pushed right into the toilet, and closed the lid. “ smell my ass from there boy when it is still fresh.” He paused and continued, “ Don’t move.”
“What ya lifting now?” His dad asks as he fidgets on the commode seat. He can feel his hard-on growing in his pants.
The one shower after his workout and practice had been a good start. But the walk home had tired him. But the massaging jets of water caressing across his muscular frame takes the weariness from his bones from this stressful day.
Garrett sits on the commode, where his father had sat. His son bucks on the lid as he turns beet red from his carnal machinations.
“Back in the day, back before we turned into a modern society, a man would grab another man’s balls and swear an oath on them in his hand and state his words to be true. To be a friend” His father says. “Do you know what I mean, son?” Garrett sits on the commode, where his father had sat.
“You guys jerk off together, these days?” His dad asks, “Back when I was in high school me and several of my friends would jerk-off in our trucks in the parking lot. We were so horny we could barely sit in our seats. You ever do that Garrett?” “My hard-on. Somewhat. But I have them all the time. You know that. You’ve made enough comments about me sportin’ boners in the morning when you see them at breakfast.”
“FUCK! FUCK!” He says, as he loosens the tightened grip on his fleshy-red-tool, while it throbs with its life-giving blood coursing through its many vein-filled region. “I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.”
“You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says. He runs the towel through his curl-filled hair, and down over his chest, where the early signs of his manhood sprout like an uneven crop of hairs across his chest that run down to his furry-pillowed crotch. Where the throbbing from his hard-on springs back as the damp towel whips his erection back and forth with each swipe of the now dampened towel.
Daddy gave me a look implying his shoes are needed to be removed. “Can I take off your loafers, daddy ?” I asked so quietly. He looked at me and nodded. I took off both his loafers and put them away neatly in front of me. Daddy then raised his right leg and stepped on my forehead, pushing me down into his loafers. It is a mixed smell with sweat, testosterone, and leather. I couldn’t help but take a big whiff every time I breathed. “Hands-on the floor” he commanded. He moved his feet from my head to my hands. “Kiss them and make the stink goes away using only your fag tongue.” “Yes sir.” The sound of the shower echoes throughout the empty house. The bathroom door is open. He knows he has privacy. He is alone. No older brother. No father. Or mother. It is just him.
“I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom. “Then, what is this, father.” He says as he wrestles his cock in a fierce grip and squeezes it like he is fighting against a serpent unleashed from its coil.
Daddy smiled and said, “ that is my good boy. Don’t even want to leave your daddy’s Ripe socks on the floor. That’s the respect I love boy.” I then was told to clean his left foot. “Scrub these whitish paste out in my toenails. I want you to smell and place them in your mouth and let me see.” Daddy commented. It smelled and tasted like Brie cheese. Then I moved my tongue in between daddy’s toes. I cleaned up so well. Just thought I was finished. Daddy said,” the sole is clammy. It has nature feet oil after a whole day in the shoes, you think you finished fag. Keep working on that.” “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.
The pre-cum leaks, like a babbling brook, from the boy’s erect and pulsing cock, depositing its tiny droplets of juice onto the arm-hairs of his proud father. His father squeezes the nuts of his son, tighter and tighter, releasing more of the youthful essence. He reaches and lets his hand glide over his swelled cock. Tickling the head of his bulbous cock with his rough fingertips which sends electric sparks through him and down to his toes.
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