The World-Beating Justice of the Dominatrix

The Son of the Sheik (1926, SOS, above) 

is not of course to be confused with the 

GDF SOBs of A...s with too much power and money.

Apparently, some people in power, such as nouveaux riches bankers and some a homo politicus, desire a dominatrix to whip and humiliate them – even some people with too much power and money, but without the gentility to live with it with dignity, can get something right, sometimes, it seems. Lady Marmalade Macbeth is singing: 

Voulez-vous cravacher avec moi ce soir? 

Ou avez vous d'autres chats à vous fouetter ce soir?

Would you like to whip with me tonight

Or do you have other cats to whip you tonight?

This leads to a loud and far cry from the silence of old money.

 

Quite apart from any extreme-left-wing-Bolshevik-admiring Dominic running the extreme-right-wing Tory party or replacement dominatrix (Her Pecuniary Excellency The Archcountless Carrie Antoinette d'Haute Riche d'Autrechienne de Politic[h]ien, Madame de Maintenant-L'Autre Chatte-à-le-Fouetter, etc., commonly known as Cash and Carrie in Carrie On, the old fart and the tart, Porky and Bess...) running the country, moving from the "executive" towards the judiciary, the noble and learned Lady Justice Dominatrix, Baronessa Scarpia, Lady Philippa Hippopotamus, Lord Roderick Richrod, Lord Justice d'Ominant Gar d'Ian d'Evil, His Horror Judge Dom Filipe Dominante, Lady and Lord Dom of Finland, the Marquis(e) de Satyre, Frau von Ribboncrop, the fashionable Madame la Directrice Spankier, Donna Justina Immaculata Dragonard de Volcano von Besserwisser, Citizen Cane, Lady Kick-Ass-Girl and Lord Whip-Ass-Boy, ladies and men of the night, ladies and men of the knight (no discrimination on gender etc on this diverse bench of course - the dominatrix being the first or oldest judicial pioneer in striking a balance on diversity, starting with gender...) or a panel of three of them, a troika (тройка) or triumvirate or ménades à trois, a judicial threesome, fouettage à trois, the dames or Knight-Cavalier-justices. The Grand Chamber is chaired by Princess Anne of Cattenberg, sitting with Princess Adeline von Katzendorff and Katuzoff, Catchinskaya, Katulow and Kathmandu, LLP. 

This Court performs wonderful frontline or flogline public service of delivering justice in a Constitutional role outsourced to the private sector – where the former DCA (Department for Constitutional Affairs, with not quite as many name changes as some UK government departments since, now the Ministry of Justice - Yet the Lord Chancellor's Department was so much more elegant, original, and individual a name than a mere Ministry of Justice that every Tom, Dick, and Harry of a country has, only upstart insecurity of New Labour would fail to see it... ) has failed, leaving a vacuum of justice to be filled by the CAC or even the DAD (Call-A-C*nt and Dial-A-D*ck, as Truman Capote named these private-sector A-rated agencies) – taking the crooks in power to the vacuum cleaners to whip the bucket, cleaning with a knuckleduster, to appear before a broomstick-wielding witch doctor or the b*tch doctor, handywoman, Hooker Prize winning Dom taking her clients clubbing, cropstar, la Junta, doing them justice. These masters of the bench deliver great master strokes (Meisterst[r]ück). This really is the Fist-Tier Tribunal as opposed to the First-Tier Tribunal.

Top notch

Crop notch

Bottom notch 

For the botch  

Offering exceptionally good value for the taxpayer, as for once the rich crooks pay the expenses, and no cheap whip or chick, not a Berita Barata, smash hit smack hit, no monkey business, not paying merely peanuts to a cheeky monkey to go apewhip to "spank the monkey" or "smack the pony", not only chipping in but rather whipping out the wallet with spank notes or electric shock payments, not just tips for whips or a whip-round, more of a rip-off-whip-off, a bob or two for a flog or two, a pot to whip in (pots from Stroke-on-Trent), top whack, crop whack, paying through the nose to be hit further below (the belt), whip the hips and below and above, costing an arm and a leg for the arm to flog the leg or get it in the neck, like the Brexiteers shooting themselves in the foot, and so swiftly shifts the ill-earned money painfully from the kitty to Lady Kitty von Cattenburg, Micereine Mountcatten of Burnb[a]um (Her Pecuniary Highness The Archcountless Marie Martinette d'Autrechienne d'Haute Riche), the handmaiden with a whip in the maid's hand. "Just leave it there for a bit$h", you can pay the witch by Switch. says the cashier, cashing in on the thrashing, thrash for trash. The clients have earned their strikes from the smack down and crack down.

It would be desirable to encourage this form of justice. For example, the fees paid to a dominatrix could be deductible expenses in taxation (assuming the crooks pay any tax from their enormous income) as long as the disciplining is severe enough to satisfy the overriding interests of justice.

This revenue covers the monumental court venue, un hôtel très particulier, where clients are welcomed by the maître d' of the more than even five scar hotel - maître d'Hôtel de La Cravache Qui Rit on Cowcross Road, where the cow is very cross, la vache qui rit quand même, quite a bitch, with the laughing stock whip cracking until the cows come home. Leading an ugly fat bovine lump of a populist dumb bum Donald Dump into the show ring race course, Dom asks, "ready to rock and roll?"

Not just a tame trot

but a raving rock 

Facing the banter

Racing at a canter 

Canterfury speeding up 

Cunterfury

With the grand chambers of horror, the House of Shame, the Parliament of Fools, Cour d'Horreur, and the Hall of Shame, paintings by Dragonard, Art Deco sculptures by Bruno Zach, underground cinema for film screamings, electric fences, oligarch designer iron curtains, electric prod chairs (naturally the comforts of the latest technology are catered for by this bench), Whippendale furniture especially for cabinet ministers, not to mention the fridge... all the props and all the crops... any other support staff, the dominatrix and her aides-de-c*nt... (ushers, the Keeper of the Whips, abattoir-style attendants, guards, Cerberus-hounds, and in attendance also for any first aid a lady with 'dyed blonde hair and pouty lips, and a steely blue stare, like a sadistic nurse in a mental hospital' summing up the orator prat's concept for the NHS). Alternatively a condominio is available for the con men and women to be welcomed by the con dominatrix.

There is "whipped body butter" skin cream if ever needed which is highly likely. Especially bosses of the oil industry can have their body skin oiled before being enlightened by the sparks, sparkle and spanking of the cracking whip. During breaks one can play dominos. Facilities also include a menu with inter alia devils on horseback and a tough cookie.

The torture garden, Jardin d'Horreur, where in the dripping down rain one can enjoy whipping down pain, where those in power do not enjoy the fountain of honour but the fountain of horror, no fountain pen but fountain pain, there is a cestrum nocturnum, the lady of the night, dama da noite,  night-blooming or night-scented jasmine or jessamine or poisonberry... parfum de la Marquise de Sade... Also for fitness and strength, the garden also has an outdoor gym - Whipsteed Playscapes with no escapes!

Sir Winston Churchill's sticks in Chartwell

The equipment includes the machinery of justice, judges' gavel for order, punctuation, hammering justice to the respondents to the music of The Forging of the Sampo by Jean Sibelius, performed at Whipmore Hall, a variety of whips reflecting the variety of choices on offer for voters of candidates at elections, for example an evil and a lesser evil..., plenty of rope to whip with at the Pickwhip Club or the Whip and Pain Club (as opposed to the former Whig and Pen Club), getting a grip of the whip, tools to deal with the fools, big wigs welcomed by big whips, collar the criminals, rather than the olive branch more like Olivia's branch. The clientèle may also find their new boss playing bossa nova... Drinks on offer include Rib Shack red wine for the red swines of clients whacked red (again no offense meant to real pigs). Health and safety warnings include 'mind the crop.'

There is the obviously substantial judicial salary or fee as these judges tend be fee-paying rather than salaried as in some other specialist tribunals nowadays, even if not matching politicians’ own substantial unjust enrichment through corruption any more than other judicial pay would match politicians’ and bankers' income,  fatso catso!

Executing injustice pays more than enforcing justice. Crime pays handsomely if the offender is rich and powerful enough to get away with it like a politician and industrialist but those who are not rich and powerful are punished severely for their crimes. Lady Justice Dominatrix however strikes a balance here by whipping, tipping the scales of justice, from the top of the tree to respondents being tied to a tree, back-spanking for the back-stabbing by politicians and big business 'leaders' - a good backlash.

 

The oldest profession entertaining the lowest profession, in this tribunal of fact and law, the will of Parliament is extracted with dentist comfort straight from the horse’s mouth, looking the gift horse in the mouth, cracking on until cracking it, by a lion’s share, or liar's share, or bull's dose, of the whip to the b*tches and poodles of the executive, unable to deploy their usual arsenal or arsenil, gobsmacked, their rhetoric cut short with the crop, not a mere slap down, as for once they will not be allowed to talk through their ar*es, anus horribilis, as that organ will be very much engaged otherwise, out of their wits but into their whips, hitting the spot, striking and hitting a cord (a whipcord), hitting the tail or tale on the head or, crop verse for the con verse... whipping the sh*t out of their a*ses, being a real pain in the ar... if one is excused some eloquent Patois, not the usual pile of pants of der Hosenkavalier but very much "making a head or tail", certainly in terms of the volume coming out of from the former caused by volume going to the latter - whip-poor-will, a nocturnal nightjar (Caprimulgus vociferus) or thrash nightingale, no killing a mocking bird, the whipping bird. As this clientèle mostly speaks through their a*ses, they need a particularly rigorous treatment in that part of their body - the rattus politicus being entertained by the cattus politicus! Don Dom shouts angrily, "What a load of crap!" His stupid client screams in pain and in vain, "What a load of crop!"

If the nationalists bark up the wrong tree, they are tied to a tree for a whipping, to see the wood from the trees, a tree line whip, a populist's backlash with the crop of the pops, most deservedly recompensated for playing whack-a-mole and rewarded for their lip service by whip service and stiff upper whip hand during a night of long whips, crop for the crap, as the Dom does not take any crap but gives plenty of crop, bollocking for all the bollocks, hit for purpose, being a well-deserved real pain in the a*se, the real natural justice, organic handmade whip craft from a b*tch or a witch or a son of a witch, a Witches' Sabbath or a B*tches' Sabbath, for the slapstick governance of the dipsticks of politics and industry, whipstick from the dominatrix wearing matching lipstick, little red riding whip at the Moulin Rouge, from the night mare, to the bloodsuckers of politics and big business, giving the biggest hitmen a little of their own medicine from the witch doctor or b*tch doctor, corporate and capitalist punishment, for all their capital vices of systematic theft, the bums getting their bums smacked, not a mere slap on the wrist from the slappers, for all their backstabbing a good whipping on their back, Breakback Mountain for the cowboys of politics and business, 'no rest for the wicked' at Pantacruelle d'Evil, Lady Flogmore, la belle dame sans merci, no holding the horses and the whip from the crop cops, the crooks coming a cropper.

Apart from rather envying the Dominatrix, one can only thank them for slashing asset-stripper banker w*nkers' most generous high-figure bonuses with lashes, hyde perks, on the Barclay Horse in the spank vault, grand spanking, hanky-spanky, stripping them of their bad habits, whiptease, having their personal assets most rigorously managed at the stock whip market through the investment pot to whip in, firmly feathering the vultures 'administering' bankruptcies (no offense meant to real vultures), no chance of non-dom status here, oligarchs getting a good hiding from the aristocrats, from trousering and banking to swanky spanking in the Spank Bank Fort, from 'all mouth and no trousers' to still no trousers and all mouth screaming in pain, the cymbal of power – "[t]hough I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal" (1 Corinthians 13:1, KJV), the Dominatrix not batting an eyelid but just giving an evil smile or commanding, laughing stock whipping. You can bank on the dominatrix to spank. No Mr Whippy ice cream here (invented by one Italian Dominic Facchino) but "Mrs Whip, I scream!" (invented by one Dominatrix Fasces). 

Here the opportunists who from fashionably extreme-left-wing radicals of the 1960s turned their coats to fill their pockets as extreme-right-wing capitalists can turn their coats again to empty their pockets and then throw the coat away before a most handsome whipping, a 1933-line whip for those lining their own pockets, a 21 bum salute to the traitor populists (the total number of Cabinet ministers who are entitled to a salary is capped at 21...). The rich upstarts who hang other people's ancestors on their walls can get a taste from the collateral branches of little pecunia but much pain...

The Neo-Fascist Dic*tator Bumito Pantaloni can experience his pant-whipping Mein Kampf from the horseplay and womanhandling, as gentle as the Golborne Road street trader handling glass and china that they have not flogged by the end of the trading day (maybe they think it is more profitable to sell the six-piece tea set transformed into a sixty-piece set which is very much the modus operandi of bigger business). Not to mention the bullwhip or cat o'nine tails, a fairy tail, or the Canterfury Tails or Dom Cat or Chairman Meow with his Vietnamese assistant Hung The Dung, Behemoth, or the Catwoman - the Goddess of Hunting Diana, Princess of Tails, who is to be submissively addressed as meine Katze or Milady de Whipper by the whipping boy hobby horses who are given no Kitty kip but a Kitty whip, bulldozing away late in the night, playing the Flagellation Whipcord Concerto Grosso in A Cat Major for nine strings, and riding lessons and instruction, not just the romantic rides of Madame Bovary, Emma giving her lover Rodolphe une fort belle cravache (a very beautiful riding whip) as a gift and symbol of phallic power... not riding out but rather taken for a ride by Rebecca, Mrs Maximilian de Whipper, the Vice-Countless, riding "a big brute of an animal... said [to be] too hot for her to ride... with her hair flying out behind her, slashing at him, drawing blood, digging the spurs into his side, and when she got off his back he was trembling all over, full of froth and blood. ‘That will teach him...’ she said, and walked off to wash her hands as cool as you please..." (Rebecca (1938) by Daphne du Maurier in whose books murderers get away more lightly...). 

If too much money or power goes into the head then tail treatment is required - tailwind of the right kind and the most rigorous hindsight. If not taming the lion, it is tailing the liar.

Here we have voting for the populists with a whip from the real chief whip or chick whip, the winner, the top bum, being the first past the whipping post, three thousand strikes and you are in, the flog officer drawing the flog at the finishing line to mark the winner on the skin, the first prize being one lash, the second prize two lashes... 

They are taken for a ride in a Bovarysme trap for the unsophisticated bourgeois upstarts to taste the jock's strap, or the Cavaliere di Palio's nerbo, a whip made apparently from cured distended bull’s penises, top crop, crop jock, crop star, top of the crops, crop superstar, crop solid, riders digest, la dolce vita, not to mention the Zaporozhian Cossack's нага́йка-whip and wit for the Brexiteers to discover how cuddly a Russian bear is, iron curtains to fantasies of 'taking back control' from Russia with love from the dominatritsa Severina Knutowna or the autocratic Domina Romanova - rather than flag waving or flag sh*gging, flogging to the nationalists.

The Ipswich witch or b*tch whips the "bigot's itch", "rum, sodomy, and the lash", as Sir Winston Churchill put the traditions of the Royal Navy, to the modern or contemporary "rulers of the Queen's Navee" on HMS The New Pinafore, the flogship, from the flog officers of the flog squad, tied to the flogpole on the flog deck or hang-draw-and-quarter-deck, the Vice Admiral and the Rear Admiral commanding the Midshi#men - 'I see no whips', he says if the performance is not good enough. The nationalists can be rewarded and backed for their care for British fishing through predictable Brexit consequences in lieu of a cruise in Norway by a undomesticated criss-crossing of the Danish Little Belt and Great Belt, much new use for the otherwise redundant fishing rods, steering towards the crops in gratitude for steering the nation towards the rocks, for leaving their country blank in the bank, bankrupt, the plonk politicians can walk the plank!

The hate speech tabloid press barons, the lesser press 'barons' minor, parody of barony, scum bums, profiteur money scumbags, common as gutter dirt, do tense press-ups to the rhythm of the whip and the dominatrix shouting repeatedly "upstart, upstart...." Here the customer is always wrong (consistent with the content of tabloids). The editors of the daily tales get a delicious taste of the cat o'nine tails from the Prince or Princess of Tails.

An international conference of tinpot dictators, despots, and other corrupt world leaders, together with assemblies and committees of faux parliamentarians, robotic penny-pinching petty bureaucrats who follow their Penny-pinching politician superiors orders like Hitler's henchmen, boards of directors, fatcatchers, and even some judges, lawyers, journalists, etc. with training needs, at a management throw away day at the Château Fouquienberg, can all be harnessed like the team of rams in the chariot of Fricka driving it with a golden whip (so much better than a golden toilet brush) at high speed to the music of Die Walküre by Richard Wagner. They can all be arsed to come for a rigorous and intense whiplash treatment in turd degree at least as safe as any medication produced by a big medical business. They can also be driven like bloodhounds in a hunt for justice by the whipper-in on his high horse in an English or European style or an appropriate variation of the Victorian Bengali hunt with 'the squealing of boars as they broke cover and ran, or were pierced by a spear thrown by a man galloping on horseback' (The Last Prince of Bengal, pp. 38-39). Meanwhile in Victorian England 'pig sticking consisted of mounted bayonet or sword practice. At full gallop the rider had to spear a sack of potatoes or some other suitable object lying on the ground. It had nothing to do with pigs - a fact that grievously disappointed Walter's eight-year-old nephew...' (Walter Rothschild by Miriam Rothschild, p. 80). In any event, this is the super-supranational Real International Criminal Court with universal jurisdiction without limits of territory and offender.

The bosses of intense industrial farming, dairy and meat production are granted a special honour, to be hung on a glass wall of shame for as long as the longest live transport lasts with all its comforts, to experience the American nightmare they have created and maintained, getting a taste of the most intensely produced an(nu)al crop. They cannot complain as according to themselves there is nothing cruel in it (maybe the one exception to the customer being always wrong).

The Dominatrix keeps their clientèle at whip’s length and only touches them with the longest possible whip – the long arm of the law, a lightning rod – for health and safety reasons and social distancing, not to be contaminated by their corruption virus (HORRID-19), and to maintain the separation of powers, the Fifth Estate or the fifth power disciplining and balancing the filth power or the filth estate.

 

This is the Real Supreme Court, as nowhere else is justice delivered as efficiently, striking a Constitutional balance of power – with the whip – the best Realpolitik kicking in, record-breaking political correctness, or political correction, simply unbeatable, world-beating – the Real Courts of Justice ('real' being royal in Spanish, as in the Spanish Inquisition - where the big gobs of the gobierno are silenced other than the unusually honest screams of pain), in short, the Lash Courts, a worthy correctional institution. 

Once upon a time it was social entertainment for those in power to watch prisoners of both sexes being whipped with a bull's pizzle. Now such entertainment can be privatised for those in power to be at the receiving end.

Unlike in other courts, here the judges are not afraid of opening the floodgates or flog gates of justice, not fearing that too many people might benefit from justice at the expense of those in power. No bootlicking sycophant judges in this jurisdiction showing any deference to the executive but rather the dominatrix, Lady Bossy Boots, stylish with her lash extensions, or the Machiavellian Prince Whip wearing the boots (Sir Robert de Shurland's 'kicking' boots, justice to boot, a domino masque, all matching the Zorro whip) and executing and enforcing justice with a jolly good kicking, top of boot pain from top boots, only trying to strike a balance between breaking sound barriers from both lash and the lashees, whip and whippee, and maybe skin rather than more conventional law on assault, approved by real assent. 

Like Sir Dirk Bogarde said of one of the film characters he is thought to have needed to play to live out parts of his life through or hide his nameless screaming terror inside him, "in my fine black and silver uniform and high-peak cap with its death's head insignia, tapping my boots with a thin silver-top whip, I had no illusions at all that I was not the man I was supposed to be playing, I felt exactly right, I felt frightening, powerful, commanding."

The politicians should be somewhat used to this, having a Chief Whip like Francis Urquhart who described his job as 'I put a bit of stick about, I make them jump' – whip hop – singing in the rain, drip, drop, whip, hop... with lyrics to beat the Rapper's Delight, the Whipper's Delight (sung by "my man Hank" the Spank to "move the feet" of the client as fast as a race horse):

 

I said-a whip, hop, the whippee, yippee

To the whip whip hop-a you don't stop the crop 

...

Y'say I'm gonna get some spankin'...

...

And when the s*cker MPs try to prove a point

I put the whip, whip, whip in their behind...

 

Dapper rapper batter smack bang, smack bum, canter banter - whip, whip, hurrah! That should make the b*ggers jump! Warming up with a dance of crop trot, all that leads the 'donkeys' to a grand finale to the finishing line of this race, a run for their money, a jackass jackpot to piss in – also known as overriding justice –  Fiat justitia – the nightmare ride with the jocks urging on their mounts powerfully, like tough Messala driving his chariot of horses in Ben Hur (as maybe best shown in the classic 1959 film), Miss Carriage of Justice driving fast with the whip cracking loud and forcefully, driving them around the bend... or to use Lord Byron's words describing his rides on the Venice Lido 'a spanking gallop' – Citius, Altius, Fortius! Hurdling over electric fences is another variant of this sport, or Gove trotting and show jumping over electrified fences and obstacles, the crop-pole, hogsback for the Pig Minister, a slap at the fence, with a slapper at the fence or saddle or bare back riding... 

A Slap at a Park Fence by H. Alken

If her Ladyship or Lordship is dishonoured by the presence of a certain so-called 'crown prince' of the not thoroughbred cowardly murderous psychopath disposition, it is possible to reach the speed of thoroughbred Arabian race horses with a golden whip.  

Developers are stripped of their original features,  pulled down and slapped with cement, hung on walls of shame and then raced at furious speed with a bulldozing bull's dose of the whip in a demolition derby.

The 'donkeys' in this race should not be confused with the charming real donkey or ass (Equus africanus asinus) who has much more of a spine, character, and virtue than people with too much power and money. The mounts in the present race are of the species thoroughbred for this kind of racing, the Equus nationis assassinus or Equus universalis assassinus, who are misrepresented in the expression 'led by donkeys' because that grossly overestimates the abilities of the donkey Con 'leaders' and underestimates real donkeys. In any event, these closing submissions reach their climax in a galop infernal, a Moulin Rouge style can-can (more like a donkey race than one might think prima facie), with accompanying music from Orpheus in the Underworld by Jacques Offenbach or the Gates of Hell from Orfeo ed Euridice, the opera composed by Christoph Willibald Gluck – the way to suffer the fools in power gladly and to give them a little prélude of what awaits then ultimately - ditch the rich. A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back (Proverbs 26:3, KJV).

For any female populists and profiteers:

Take the bride

For a ride  

Ride for a bribe 

 

Put the mare

On a horse of a nightmare

  

Whip to ride quick

Speed up the steed   

 

Whip the witch

Ditch the bitch 

The dominatrix punishes most severely those who have misused most power for longest. From an energy and environmental point of view mother earth is already acting as a dominatrix to the whole of humanity.

Indeed Daphne du Maurier saw nature as evil, ignoring seemingly greater evils of the 1930s, not helped by her antisemitism. "Blood-red" rhododendrons dominated Manderley as planted by Rebecca, Mrs de Winter, who drowned in the sea if not entirely of natural causes...

The dominatrix (or male etc colleague) is a contemporary goddess of justice, the Lady Justice, the Mistress of the Bench, the Lady Advocate-General, Donna Justina, maîtresse-avocate, exercising and executing her domestic jurisdiction in a renaissance of the Levée de la Reine, whipping justice into shape, the executor of the whip, the main striker, the it girl - hit girl - whip girl, hit and Miss, hip whip, hipster-whipster, the sovereign headmistress or headwhipst(e)ress, the maîtresse-en-titre, the sweeping beauty, la mère fouettarde, la dame fouettarde, the Lady of the Manor, Lady Bullymore, the mysterious Lady Whippingdown of Whipperton, heir to ancient mythological gods, the oldest Justice, the b*tch nobody can ditch, passing on the baton, carrying on the tradition of the tale of Phyllis and Aristotle even if the clientèle has become far inferior to Aristotle. She is also a lictor. Fasces, a bundle of rods tied around an axe, was an ancient Roman symbol of the authority of the civic magistrate carried by his lictors and it could be used for corporal and capital punishment at his command. Fools are made to be broken.

Dominus reget me - Psalm 23 (King James Version - emphasis added):

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Whips it, dominus!

Yours in pain,

Dom