Sunday, July 1, 2018

Ken Charles' July Treat -- "The Shower"

This story is not intended for those individuals under the age of eighteen, or for those individuals who are unusually sensitive to adult or sexually oriented materials.  For the rest of you, enjoy. 

     The young bride's tears flow freely, but provide her no solace, as they are washed away by the cool spray. Certainly her actions were contrary to their prenuptial vows. Nonetheless, her new husband should not have turned away. She sobs. She could accept his remonstrating, yelling, throwing something or even breaking something, but never just turning away. He is supposed to love her!

     She is startled by the draft as the shower curtain parts. She is equally thrilled as he steps into the shower. He does not say word, but wraps his arms around her just below her breasts. She slides backwards deeper into his embrace. He holds her until her sobs subside. She starts to apologize, but is silenced by a single finger quickly placed over her lips.

     He drops his finger below her chin, and tilts her face back. He bends forward, squinting against the spray, and gives her a tender kiss. Then he gently takes her hands and places them on flat against the front wall of the stall. He pushes her head forward just past the spray, and with his foot spreads her legs to the sides of the tub.

     He taps the back of her right thigh. She inhales sharply as she recognizes the cool, hard back of the wooden bath brush with its fifteen degree bend. Before she can turn to question him, there is an explosion in the small stall. Her head snaps up. But as she opens her mouth to let out a scream of surprise, she receives a mouthful of water. As she coughs, a second blast fills the tight enclosure.

     She finds her voice, and rewards the third reverberating Smack with a loud and plaintive, "OW!" However, her hands remain flush against the wall. The cool waters amplify each successive Crack, but fail to extinguish the growing flames. Her tears flow once again, but this time provide her with comfort and security, and the firm resolve to replace the brush with a nice loofa.

KC Copyright 2007; Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing story asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)      

"The Shower" can be found in: 

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Ken Charles' US World Cup Solace-- "Feeling No Pain"


     "Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Good." She is satisfied that there will be enough bikers inside to make the stop worthwhile. She checks her well coifed hair one last time, smooths her thin paisley summer dress, decides that she looks appropriately out of place,
then saunters into the smoky road house.

     She pushes her way up to the bar, muscles her five foot two, hundred twelve pound frame between four hundred eighty pounds of pork, and orders a diet cola. She begins counting down from ten, but the first hit comes at seven. "Gosh, little lady, don’t you
think that's a bit strong?" She endures the mindless laughter that follows, and waits for the second hit, reminding herself that she did not come for the brilliant repartees. "Are you gonna need a des-ig-na-ted driver to take you home?" She is actually bored by the
obligatory pelvic thrust that accompanies, "I'll drive you, honey!"

     She takes a sip of her drink and decides that it is time to make some money. "I'm sorry, but my apartment lease does not allow me to bring home animals." She scores nicely with that retort, garnishing several hoots, a half dozen guffaws, and one swig of beer spit out down a shirt. Of course, the shirt is so filthy that one more stain does not matter. But most importantly, she has hooked a big fat fish. Now all she needs is a challenger.

     She scans the crowd and picks out three or four possibilities, while Porky tries to put enough words together to form a reply. Before his ears have finished turning red, she has selected her challenger. But it really doesn’t matter. It is time to bring the "ladies" on board.

     As Porky is about to bellow something in reply, she holds up one finger, which sufficiently befuddles him into silence. She seizes the moment to set the hook a little deeper. Using the finger which was so effective in silencing him, she pokes Porky twice
in his ample belly and informs him, "Besides, maybe those cows over by the pool table enjoy playing with marshmallows, but I like a strong partner."

     The use of the word "cows" has the desired effect, as the entire herd turns its attention her way. The leader of the herd, a large leather clad apparition, takes appropriate umbrage. Masticating a large wad of chewing tobacco cud, she treads over to encourage
the intruder to vacate the premises, or, preferably, to stomp her upon her refusal. "Why don't you get your city ass out of here before it gets whipped real good?"

     She laughs derisively, grabs Porky's belt, and taunts, "My city ass could take twice the whipping of your fat, worthless ass!"

     Leather Cow spreads her bovine legs apart, raises her fists and replies "Oh, yeah," which she finds almost unbearably mundane. But she has work to do, and if she is going to make any money, now is the time.

     "Sure, I challenge you to a duel. We take turns bent over the pool table, and alternate taking cracks with Porky's belt. Five bucks a swing says that I can take twice as many swats with Porky's belt as you can. Before each round, each one has to ante up five
bucks." She opens her purse, and takes out a small roll of crisp, new, borrowed twenty dollar bills that look like they were printed by Milton-Bradley. "Well now, tough gal. Just to make it interesting, since we need to use Porky's belt, we could put twenty bucks in to start and let Porky take half a dozen cracks as a warm up. What's it going to be?"

     LC is confused. But Porky and the rest of the gang are thoroughly enamored with the idea. While LC is deciding, the gang clears the pool table, making the decision for her. LC would prefer to just beat the prissy little bitch to a bloody pulp, but is outvoted by the gang. As expected, when LC protests that she does not have any cash, the gang opens their wallets.

     She walks through the gauntlet to the pool table and waves to LC. "Are you coming?" LC, recognizing that there is no way to back out, lumbers over to the arena. She is worried that the removal of the belt may cause Porky to lose his pants. The thought of Porky's pants down around his ankles is an image so horrifying that she is tempted to back out. But she needs the money, so decides to take the risk. She bends over the pool table. "Any time you're ready, Porky."

     Porky, practically drooling, already has drawn and doubled his thick leather belt. He plans to teach her some country manners as he draws back the belt and snaps it forward with alacrity. It connects with a loud crack. She smiles and tells him, "Any time you're ready, Porky. Oh, I'm so embarrassed. I guess that was one." The gang roars, LC is curious, and Porky is humiliated. She is quite pleased.

     Porky lays on two more vicious cracks in rapid succession. She calmly counts off two and three. After the fourth, she makes a point of covering her mouth politely while she yawns. Five and six only serve to raise the level of the gang's derision two more notches.
She rises, straightens her dress, and turns to LC. "It's your table."

     LC is not happy. The little bitch never even made a sound, and it sure looked like she was getting a good whipping. LC is tempted to concede the twenty, but she is not ready to go find herself another gang. She sets her cud in the left side of her mouth, and out of the
right, sneers, "No problem, bitch!"

     Porky, determined to make amends for his embarrassing performance in the first half, unleashes a blistering smack across LC's ample, jean clad bottom. Despite her resolve, LC grunts. After two more algesic cracks are met with hisses and clenched teeth, LC
rewards Porky's fourth attempt with a loud "Shit!" She is equally appreciative of cracks five and six. Her face red and her rear throbbing, LC seizes the belt from Porky and resolves to make the little bitch pay.

     "Not so fast. We have to ante up." She takes five dollars out of her purse and lays it on the pool table. Another five covers it. "Five bucks says that she can't get a sound out of me in either swing. Any  takers?" There are eight. Another eighty dollars forms a second pile on the pool table as she bends over and takes her mark.  LC takes a step back and takes aim. She snaps the belt forward, connecting squarely with the paisley posterior. Of course there is no reaction. Infuriated, LC lashes downward, without apparent effect.

     She smiles and pockets the side bet. "Five bucks says I can get a sound out of her. Any takers?" Twenty-five dollars hit the table. She covers it, and motions for LC to bend over the table.

     She paid close attention to Porky's handiwork, and knows that LC took the brunt of round one on her left cheek. She does not want to end the game too quickly, but she wants to take the side bet. She lays the first stripe across the center of the left cheek,
causing LC to hiss out "Fuck!" She picks up the side bet, holds out a five, and inquires politely, "Another round?"

     LC rips the belt away from her, "Get your ass over there!"

     She smiles, "Five bucks says she can't get a sound out of me. Any takers?" There are none. "What's the matter boys? How about two to one?" Twenty dollars hit the table. She covers it with forty and bends over. "You may fire when ready, gruesome." 

     LC is already beyond livid, so the taunt is wasted. She rears back and mercilessly slashes the little bitch's behind. Like the prior taunt, the effort is wasted, as the bitch remains silent. A second furious assault also fails to elicit any response.

     She pockets the side bet and gestures to LC. LC stands fast, but is finally goaded into position. She does not even bother to call for side bets. Without ceremony, she delivers a fiery submarine swat that catches the tops of LC's thighs, causing LC to let out a screech
as her hands fly back to rub her blistered backside. LC concedes, albeit less than graciously.

     She scoops up the pot and is about to take her leave, when Porky offers her double or nothing that he can get a sound with the next swat. She puts the pot back on the table, but Porky tells her that he means all of the money, including the side wagers. She smiles and
places the night's receipts on the table. She licks her lips as the gang matches it. With the confidence of a sure winner, she bends to her mark.

     Porky smoothes her dress, taking great pains to cop several feels. She is tempted to kick him in the groin, but she wants the money. Eventually, he takes his mark. He smiles and nods to the gang. He takes the belt by the end and lets the heavy Confederate belt buckle hang down. With a feral grin, Porky whips the belt forward, slashing the buckle across her ass, and gouges a two inch rip in the dress. Porky nearly chokes as she merely nods, rises and pockets all of the wagers.

     As she walks across the parking lot, she feels the dress sticking to the back of her leg. She knows the son of a bitch cut her, but she cannot feel it. She sighs, and thinks that normally, her analgesia is a real pain in the ass, but not when the rent is due.

KC Copyright  2007; Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing story asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)      

"Feeling No Pain" can be found in: 

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

May Treat from Ken Charles--"The Pediatrician And The Birth Of The Nereid"

The Pediatrician And The Birth Of The Nereid

Seventeen deliveries in the two days before, fourteen hours of flight delays, and two missed connections, and here he was sunning himself on a secluded beach in the Greek Isles. Total seclusion - not a beeper, fax or cellular phone within thirty nautical miles. The pediatrician could not believe it himself.
He closes his eyes and listens to the siren's call of the wind and the surf. He luxuriates in the warmth of the crystal clear morning Mediterranean sun. He laughs out loud, reflecting on his seventeen deliveries in two days. Obviously, he was the only one in the whole county who had no time for sex.
After a brief nap, he rises and strips out of his shorts to go for a swim. As he approaches the shore, he notices a peculiar green froth begin to rise in the water. The closer he gets to the water, the sharper grow his senses. He is filled with a deep sense of life.
The waters begin to churn. The pediatrician stares in wonder at the miracle of the water parting to allow the diminutive vision slowly to rise from the depths. The sunlight sparkles in her long, waving, sea-green hair. She stretches as her perfect mother-of-pearl breasts clear the foam. Already he can tell that Botticelli is turning over in his grave with envy.
She continues to rise, as does his appreciation and a certain part of his anatomy. She stands atop the waves, and shakes the water from her hair. He hardly notices that the drops turn to pearls as they fall. She smiles, and lightly skips across the surf towards him. He feels the blood coursing through his veins. He calls out to her, but she does not say a word. It has only been seconds since her appearance, but his instincts are raging! She is almost ashore. He calls to her again, and she smiles and lifts her arms toward him. But still she remains silent! As she steps ashore, the pediatrician reaches out to her. He grabs her petite ankles in one hand, flips her upside down, turns her, and gives her a firm smack on her pearly bottom. Her eyes widen in surprise. She lets out a howl, wriggles out of his grasp, and disappears back into the depths.

KC Copyright 2012; Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing story asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)  

"The Pediatrician and the Birth of the Nereid" can be found in: 

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

April Fool's Treat from Ken Charles--"The Naughty Maid"

This story is not intended for those individuals under the age of eighteen, or for those individuals who are unusually sensitive to adult or sexually oriented materials.  For the rest of you, enjoy. 

by Ken Charles
     She is ringing the bell furiously as the maid runs in, curtsies awkwardly, and inquires timidly, "You rang, Madam?"
     "No, dear, the house is haunted and the bell rang all by its l'il ol' self. Of course, I rang you little cretin! Where have you been?"
     "I was in the..."
     "Shut up!" She walks over and takes the terrified maid by the ear. She marches the maid over to the end table. She runs her finger over the highly polished surface, leaving an eight inch line in the faintest hint of accumulated dust. "Look at this mess! You know there will be guests here at 8:00?"
     "Yes, Madam, I know, but..." quakes the poor maid.
     "I've had all I can take of your incompetence! I'm calling the agency, right now!"
     "Please, Madam," the maid pleads, "I know I've disappointed you, but I'll do much better! Please give me another chance!"
     That is exactly what she wanted to hear. She smiles wickedly at the maid, then delivers an unexpected slap. "I'll probably hate myself, but I'll give you one last chance. But this work is inexcusable. If you want your position, then go fetch my hairbrush from my dresser. And be back here in two minutes if you know what's good for you!"
     "Thank you, Madam, thank you!" The maid curtsies awkwardly before running off for the brush. They will have to work on that curtsy, but there simply is not enough time this morning. She smiles as the maid departs. There is no way that the maid can make it to her bedroom and back in two minutes. That will be sufficient cause to take down the panties! She is waiting by the picture window when the maid returns with the old fashioned wooden hair brush. She almost laughs aloud at the curtsy, but manages to maintain her poker face. "I said, not more than two minutes! Where have you been?"
     The poor maid stammers, "I-I was just...."
     "Silence!" She takes a seat on the piano bench. "Get your worthless little ass over here!"
     The maid meekly approaches, and submissively turns over the hair brush. She points to her lap. Without a word, the maid bends across her knee. She flips up the maid's skirt and delivers two quick, hard smacks with her hand. "I had planned on just giving you a brief reminder of your duties. However, since you dawdled in fetching the brush, I'm afraid you've earned a full bare bottom lesson with the brush!" She yanks down the maid's panties, then gives the maid several more smacks with her hand. She then picks up the brush, and rubs the bristles over the maid's reddening orbs. "You will count the strokes, and thank me after each one. If you don't thank me, I won't know how much you appreciate this lesson, and I'll have to start over. Do you understand?"
     "Yes, thank you, Madam!"
     "Very well, then, you may beg for the first."
     “Please, Madam, I've done a very poor job of cleaning for the guests. Please help instruct me to do a better job."
     She flips the brush over, and rubs the cool hard wood on the maid's waiting backside. "Very well." She lifts the brush, and gives the maid a sharp smack across both cheeks.
     "Oh, thank you Madam."
     "You did well to thank me, but you forgot to count. So we will start again." She pauses. After several seconds, she delivers three quick smacks in succession. While the maid gasps, she reminds the maid, "We will start again. You may ask for the first."
     "Th-Thank you, Madam. May I-I have the first?"
     "Yes, you may." She lifts the brush, and applies a crisp smack to the left cheek.
     "One, thank you, Madam," the maid adds hastily.
     "Very well done." She promptly smacks the right cheek.
     "Two, thank you, Madam," the maid intones.
     A third whack catches the bottom of both cheeks and the tops of the maid's thighs and causes the maid to cry out before counting. But a steady rhythm of alternating left and right cracks allow the maid to respond in a more timely manner until the twentieth smack when the tears begin to flow. She is having a wonderful time, but time is short. At three dozen smacks, she puts down the brush and massages the maid's blazing buns. She relishes the heat. The maid starts to sigh and lift up against her hand. So she quickly gives the maid six more smacks with her open palm.
     She takes and places the maid in the corner. Warning the maid to hold on to the raised skirt, she goes to the master bathroom and runs a hot bath. She strips and sits on the side of the tub, placing one leg on the faucet. She plays with herself as the tub fills, and climaxes just in time to keep it from over filling. Even though time is so short, she decides to treat herself to a bonus.
     Without bothering to dress, she returns to the maid who dutifully remains sobbing in the corner with a well punished bottom on full display. She silently kneels behind the maid and runs her tongue across the red mounds. The maid moans as she runs her nails down the inside of the maid's thighs. She knows this will not take long. Her hands slide between the maid's legs, and in a few deft strokes, brings the maid to full ecstasy.
     She rises and licks the maid's ear. "Your board meeting is at 11:00, sir. I've drawn you a bath. I'm going to lay out your suit, then I'll come in and give you a nice shave. Mrs. Edward's plane is due in at 2:40, and the guests are due at 7:30. I don't understand why she has to have company on her first day back in town. I'll have to spend hours cleaning up after you!"
     She nips his ear, and runs off to pick out his suit. Her job is so much nicer when Madam is out of town.
KC copyright 2007; Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing story asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988) 

"The Naughty Maid" can be found at Amazon in 

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Ken Charles' March Treat --"Lucia's Affair"

This story is not intended for those individuals under the age of eighteen, or for those individuals who are unusually sensitive to adult or sexually oriented materials.  For the rest of you, enjoy. 

Lucia’s Affair

     “Damn, where is that damn school bus,” Lucia muttered to herself. “Do they want all the babies to catch a cold?” Despite her complaints, the bus was just coming into view, and right on time. But it was Thursday, and she was unusually impatient.

     Lucia grabbed her daughter’s tiny backpack. “C’mon, Maria! The bus is coming! Give Mommy a hug and kiss.” Maria, like a little duckling in her yellow boots, rain slicker and cap, splashed over to her mother, and tried without success to lift her face for a kiss without getting it wet.

     “If it’s still raining tomorrow, Mommy, can I wear your big raincoat?”

     Lucia smiled, and gave her daughter a kiss on the nose. “We’ll see, baby. Now get on the bus before you have to swim to school.” They both laughed, and Maria blew her a final kiss as she jumped on the bus. Lucia waved goodbye, and thought that even if it is not raining tomorrow, I will not need this big coat to keep you from asking me why I keep squeezing my legs together!
     He looks furtively both ways as he exits the delivery van, as if any of the neighbors have nothing better to do in this deluge than to watch him slink up the walk. Of course, even if they do not actually see him, it would be difficult not to notice the bright green Morales’s Florist and Gifts van parked in Lucia’s driveway for the third Thursday in a row.

     Lucia is waiting shyly by the door. She cannot believe that it has only been three weeks. It seems like forever. She shivers slightly at the cool wet breeze coming in through the cracked door.
She is not wearing much in the way of protective apparel. But she is warmed at the thought of that first Thursday. Lucia smiles as she remembers how he arrived with the large colorful centerpiece for her dinner party. He complemented her on her dress. They made small talk. Then he told her she had such pretty ankles. She had giggled like a schoolgirl, then on a devilish whim, had slowly lifted her hem to reveal her lovely calves. He nodded with greater interest. She lifted her dress above her knees. Without a word, he came to her, seized her with his huge powerful arms and kissed her deeply. He lifted her dress up to the small of her back. His strong hands squeezed her firm ass, and lifted her to meet his fiery kisses. She has no recollection of how he freed himself from his slacks, but she vividly recalls being bent over the counter, having her panties ripped away, and the crashing waves of pleasure that assaulted her with each pulsing thrust as he took her fiercely from behind.

     Lucia finds herself flushing, and short of breath as he enters the hallway. Without a word, he crushes her to him. His jacket is wet and cold against her diaphanous nighty, causing the brown nipples on her small firm breasts to harden like marbles against his chest. She breaks away to catch her breath, but grabs his hands and puts them on her chest. “You’re so cold! Here, warm your hands. Do you want some hot coffee?”

     He smiles and squeezes her breasts, causing her to moan. “You know what I want!” She knows, and wants the same. He does not bother to hang his jacket, but tosses it on the hallway settee. He picks her up, causing her to squeal in delight, and carries her to the bedroom. She nips his ear, and undoes the buttons on his shirt as they move down the hall. She is surprised as they enter the bedroom when he stops and sets her down at the door. She does not understand the scowl on his face.

     “What’s wrong, darling?”

     “You aren’t excited to see me,” he replies quietly.

     Lucia is confused. She met him at the door dressed in next to nothing, kissed and fondled him passionately, and practically undressed him with her teeth. What more does he expect?

     “Wh-what do you mean?”

     He does not say a word, but merely points to the unmade queen size bed in the middle of the bedroom.

     “Oh, I’m sorry. The little one couldn’t find her boot, and we had to run for the bus. Then I just forgot when I got home, you know ...”

     He puts a finger over her lips. “We must work on your memory.” He takes her by the hand, and leads her over to the unmade bed. He sits on the end of the bed, and pulls her over his knee.

     “Wh-What are you doing?”

     Without answering verbally, he gives her firm round bottom a sharp smack. Satisfied with her surprised yelp, he promptly gives her another smack. Her surprise starts giving way to anger as he smacks her again.

     “Okay, next time I’ll remember!”

     “Oh, I’m quite certain of that,” he assures her giving her another loud smack.

     “Ow,” she complains, covering her stinging rear with her hand. “That’s enough! You’ll leave marks!”

     He laughs, and removes her hand. His powerful grip prevents any thought of her pulling away. Although it offers virtually no protection, he turns up her nighty, and gives her another smack. He likes the feel of her hot round cheeks under his calloused square palms. Rhythmically, he smacks her again and again, causing her to cry out and kick her legs. Although the pain is extraordinary, she finds herself lifting her thighs to raise her bottom up to meet his punishing hand. She derives a perverse pleasure upon her descent, grinding her pelvis against the ever-hardening rod beneath her. When her bottom is red and blazing, he lifts her and effortlessly impales her. She throws her arms backwards around his neck and locks her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to kiss away her tears. She grinds her fiery tail into him until they both explode.

     Lucia watches the van pull away. She rubs her stinging bottom, and wonders whether to skip tennis this afternoon. Of course, it was her girlfriends who suggested that she have an affair. Mrs. Morales smiles wickedly, and wonders, what would happen to her naughty bottom if she ever had an affair with someone other than her husband?

KC copyright 2007. Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing article asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)

"Lucia's Affair" appears in: 

Sunday, August 21, 2016

A Tale of Two Prepositions

AUGUST 2, 2016
By Bruce C. Cohen
            This is the tale of two tiny prepositions, “to” and “by”. Between them, they have the power to decide all statewide elections this November. As it stands today, “to” is winning which means that if nothing changes between now and the November elections, Republicans will sweep all statewide contests.

            There are 115 counties (including St. Louis City) in Missouri. The election authorities for these counties is established in Missouri Revised Statutes Section 115.015 which provides, “The county clerk shall be the election authority, except that in a city or county having a board of election commissioners, the board of election commissioners shall be the election authority.”  Section 115.017 establishes the counties where a board of election commissioners can operate. Six counties qualify, including St. Louis County, St. Louis City, Kansas City, Clay County, Jackson County and Platte County. According to the Official Manual State of Missouri 2015-2016, as of 2014, these six counties had a total of 1,647,478 voters out of a statewide total of 4,081,259, comprising approximately forty percent of the electorate.

            In 109 of 115 counties, the county clerk serves as the election authority. In the other six counties listed above, however, a board of election commissioners serves as the election authority. The problem is, these six boards of election commissioners have no constitutional authority to act. Missouri Constitution Art. IV, Section 12 provides in relevant part, “Unless discontinued all present or future boards… of the state exercising administrative or executive authority shall be assigned by law or by the governor as provided by law to the office of administration or to one of the fifteen administrative departments to which their respective powers and duties are germane.” (Emphasis added) On its face, this section applies to “all” executive branch boards without exception, including boards of election commissioners. This is where the preposition “by” comes into play. Boards may be assigned “by” law or “by” the governor as provided “by” law.

Nothing in Missouri Revised Statutes Chapter 115 assigns the boards of election commissioners by law to the office of administration or to an executive branch department as required by Missouri Constitution Art. IV, Section 12. Accordingly, the responsibility for assigning these boards falls on the governor. The law providing for assignment of a board by the governor is the Omnibus State Reorganization Act of 1974, Missouri Revised Statutes Appendix B (hereinafter “OSRA”). Under the OSRA, if a board is not assigned by law to the office of administration or a state executive branch department, then the governor may assign the board. All it takes is a one page letter. It is so simple, even John Ashcroft could do it (see e.g. EXECUTIVE ORDER 86-03).

This is where the preposition “to” comes into play. Unfortunately, no governor has ever assigned the six boards of election commissioners “to” the office of administration or an executive branch department. The Official Manual State of Missouri 2015-2016, at page 871 lists the six boards of election commissioners as “Boards Assigned to the Governor”. Under Missouri Constitution Art. IV, Sec. 12, there is no such thing as a “Board Assigned to the Governor”. Boards may be assigned “by” the governor, not “to” the governor. Until such time as the boards of election commissioners are assigned “to” the office of administration or an executive branch department, those boards have no more authority to conduct election activities than a Wednesday night coed volleyball league.

In the governor’s election in 2012, Democrat Jeremiah W. (Jay) Nixon defeated Republican David (Dave) Spence 1,494,056 to 1,160,265. Governor Nixon outpolled Spence 725,825 to 366,058 in the six board of election commissioner counties: St. Louis 324,748 to 185,704; St. Louis City 117,979 to 19,478, Kansas City 107,474 to 23,806; Jackson 94,008 to 73,518; Clay 57,962 to 43,398; Platte 23,654 to 20,154. Without these six counties, Spence won 794,207 to 768,231. Similarly, in the Secretary of State election, Democrat Jason Kander defeated Republican Shane Schoeller 1,298,022 to 1,258,937. But if you subtract the votes from the six board of election commissioner counties (Kander 675,103 to Schoeller 382,293), Kander lost 876,644 to 622,919.

In short, democrats cannot win a statewide election without the votes from the six board of election commissioner counties. But without a constitutional election authority, the forty percent of the Missouri electorate residing in those six counties are disenfranchised. Their votes cannot be counted.

There are two ways to return the franchise to the voters in the six affected counties. First, Governor Nixon could assign the boards of election commissioners to the office of administration or an executive branch department in accordance with Missouri Constitution Art. IV, Section 12 and the OSRA. Second, the legislature could assign the boards by a new law. Unless one of these two things happen, Republicans have already swept the statewide elections in November. All that is left is the final paperwork.

Copyright 8/2/16 by Bruce C. Cohen
Permission granted for reproduction with proper attribution.

Bruce C. Cohen and Doni R. Miller are currently challenging the 2014 elections for St. Louis County Executive and Prosecutor at the Missouri Supreme Court, CAUSE NO. SC95793. Electronic copies of Appellants’ Brief are available upon request at

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Trump Campaign Shake Up Press Release

AUGUST 17, 2016


The Trump campaign announced a major shake up for the second time this political season. The executive chairman of Breitbart News LLC, Stephen Bannon, replaced Paul Manafort as the campaign's chief executive following Manafort's recent Ukrainian difficulties manufactured by the DNC and the Clinton campaign.

Mr. Trump explained, "We are absolutely thrilled, absolutely thrilled to bring Stephen Bannon on board. Breitbart is the world-wide leading publisher of right wing fantasy and fanfic. The world-wide leader. With Stephen here, we can finally start ignoring facts altogether."