She Was Only A Clown Chapters 22 and 23

SHE WAS ONLY A CLOWN is a special serialized novella presented in weekly installments every Saturday. Click here to read chapter 1, click here to read chapter 2, click here to read chapter 3, click here to read chapter 4, click here to read chapter 5, click here to read chapters 6 an 7, click here to read chapters 8 and 9, click here to read chapters 10 and 11, click here to read chapters 12 thru 14, click here to read chapters 15 and 16, click here to read chapters 17 and 18 and click here to read chapters 19 thru 21.


Chapter 22

So I me this guy. Wait, I gotta back up. I met this girl. I like to go out. I like to get weird. I’m a slut, ok? There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s my body and it looks fuckin’ good. I’ll do what I want with it while I’m young and tight, ok?

Anyway, so I go out. I go to bars, clubs, whatever I’m in the mood for. Sometimes I dress classy and go into the city and let well paid businessmen or huge black athletes take me home and fuck me while they whisper how pretty I am in my ear and tell me they’re gonna buy me all kinds of fancy stuff. Most of the time I gotta block their numbers from my phone cause they won’t quit callin’ me.

And sometimes I like to dress like a skank and find the dirtiest, filthiest biker bar in the county and let a group of nasty ass, toothless, methed-out bikers take turns pounding my asshole with their hairy peckers while they spit on my back and tell me I’m a bigger whore than their sisters. I ain’t ever gotta block their numbers. Most of them crank-heads never even ask me my name before they butt-fuck me.

Look, I was raised in Hopp’s fucking Hollow, Illinois by an alcoholic single mother, after all. I ain’t better than nobody, just cause I’m pretty and have big tits. Momma might have raised a slut, but she didn’t raise no rude ass bitch.

Anyways, one night while I was out whoring around, I met this girl. Well, I’d seen her around a few times before and it always pissed me off cause she had a better ass than me and she had her face all pierced up, looking all goth and interesting and shit.

The boys at the lame sports bar we was at were paying a helluva lot more attention to her shaking that bubble butt stuffed into a pair of black tights with skeleton legs printed on them than they was to my best deep-cut cleavage shirt. The one that made my boobs look like were twin titty-planets floating in fuck-me space. 

First time she invaded my slut territory, I ended up having to go home with some pimple-faced nineteen year old jock who blew his load all over me before he even got it inside me. I mean, fuck man, I shaved my pussy for that?

Next time I went to that bar was purely out of spite. I did my hair up big, spent a whole hour on my eyeliner wings and broke out the best cocksucker red lipstick I owned. And you better believe I showed up late so I wouldn’t be stale meat when little miss pierced ass showed up.

Sure enough, when I waltzed in with my knee high hooker boots and belly shirt with my tiny leather jacket barely holding in my tits, all them faggy football players’ eyes was on me.

I got my pick of the litter that night and got my pussy and ass split in half by a pair of quarterbacks in from college. I had to ice down my crotch the next day it was so blown out from those big hard dicks.

Guess the war was on after that cause me and that skany fat-assed bitch both made that dumb little bar our permanent hangout.

Joke was on us though cause after a few weeks we’d both done fucked everybody in that bar worth fuckin’ from the owner’s coke-head son to the black line cook in the back with a tongue longer than most white boy dicks.

About the time I was ready to give up on the place and let skanky-face have it, she came up to me one night and introduced herself.

Hey, I’m Mandee.”

I thought about lying and telling her I already knew what her name was cause all the guys in the bar had told me her pussy stank and she gave shitty head, but I decided to be nice and just tell her my name was Kiana so we could get on with whatever the fuck she wanted to get on about.

So, whatever’s going on with our little slut rivalry here is getting kinda lame.”

I just nodded and sipped on my Long Island Ice Tea admiring how well she was able to fade the dark purple shade of her lipstick into a light pink on the edges giving her mouth a wet appearance that made me want to kiss her more than fight her.

We’ve both fucked every great dick and most of the lame ones that this bar,” Mandee said, playing with the straw in her margarita. “And every other bar this town and two towns over has to offer, for that matter.”

She had that right.

I say we team up,” she said, beaming a huge smile at me that had my pussy practically crying. Mandee was pretty as fuck.

Team up how? Like schedule our days at bars in advance so we can maximize the number of fresh dicks we stuff up our hungry cooters?”

Mandee laughed. It was a full bodied laugh, high and feminine, like a lioness calling the rest of the pack in for the kill.

You’re as funny as you are sexy,” she said, giving me a sly, side eyed glance as she took a sip of her drink.

Same,” I said, smirking.

I’m saying, let’s make this more fun for ourselves. Let’s fuck these bozos together!” Her eyes got wide and intense as she laid out her pitch to me.

Mandee and I became besties after that. We’d meet up every night, play dress up with each other, do each other’s makeup and go out to pick up dudes.

Sometimes we’d play games with each other. I’d dress Mandee up in the lamest mom-pants and poofy bangs combo I could manage, then sit at the bar snickering into my booze as the dudes still relentlessly tried to pick her up.

Other times she’d bet me that I couldn’t keep a Russian accent going all night, from the time we hooked up with a dude to when he was pounding my asshole raw on my living room floor several hours later.

Lemmie tell ya, trying to fake an accent in the middle of an ass-gasm from a 10 and half inch black dick while Mandee’s velvet lips sucked on my pussy like a fuckin vacuum cleaner attachment was hard fucking work.

Mandee and I became so close, she ended up moving into my apartment after a few months of slutting it up together.

She became my best friend. Our best move, the move we saved for the guys with the biggest dicks or at least the ones who knew how to use their cocks the best was a one-two punch of whoredom.

We used both of our strengths like a Frankenstein slut. I’d lay on my back and make the dude fuck my huge tits while Mandee would straddle my head, facing forward so her juicy booty was right in the guy’s line of sight. I’d eat her pussy and finger her butthole while the dude plowed my cleavage. Ain’t no dude EVER hold a load back more than five minutes after we put our super-move on him, I’ll tell ya that.

You might think I got the raw end of that stick, seeing as how I was getting Mandee off with my fingers and mouth while the dudes got to blow their load all over my titties and face, but I didn’t complain a bit. I had the best tasting, sweet little pussy grinding on my face, pulling my hair and a thick cock sliding between my tits, dude twisting my nips and squeezing my boobs.

I’d cum two, even three times some nights just playing with my own sopping wet little cooze while all that was going on.

Suffice to say, life was pretty fucking great for a while. Hell, I’d even considered proposing to the bitch a few times we was having so much fun together.

Everything in my life was fucking wonderful. And then we met him.


Chapter 23

One night Mandee and I were out at this bar a good forty five minutes outside Hopp’s Hollow. That night, we had a bet going on to see how many hand-jobs each of us could give under the tables and in the bathrooms before the end of the night. The loser had to pay the tab.

I was up six handies to four when Mandee came walking back from the bathroom with a hunk and a half.

I mean this dude was pretty. He was tall which is always a plus. What easy bitch doesn’t love a tall dude? He was lanky, too which Mandee liked more than me. I’m into huskier dudes. The kind who can lift you up and sit your pussy on their face right there standing in the middle of the room kinda shit.

But this dude wasn’t too skinny. He was just long. Long arms, long legs, long neck. He was dressed really nice. Even had on a little sports jacket. Well groomed. He had a small beard that was trimmed neat at the sides of his mouth and wavy black hair that was definitely moosed into place.

He topped all this off with a musky cologne and a firm handshake that confirmed to me that Mandee and I would be pulling our tits and ass routine on this dude back at our place before the bartender could signal last call, handjob contest be damned.

Hey, I’m Ryan. Mandee said you’re her roommate?”

I like to think of myself as her love slave,” I said, winking at him, cutting through the bullshit as fast as I could.

Ryan smiled. “Mandee said you were a wild one. We’re gonna put that to the test tonight.”

Mandee leaned in, all eyes and teeth, more excited than I’d seen her since we took a whole college basketball team back to my place and let them play beer pong with our assholes as the cups.

He’s got ecstasy and he’s into bondage,” she said, giggling. “I tried to give him a hummer in the bathroom but he said he wanted to save the fun for his place.”

We didn’t normally go home with dudes. We weren’t trying to get raped or nothing. Our lifestyle worked best when we brought guys back to our place where we could keep an eye on them and make them leave whenever we wanted.

I trusted Mandee so if she wanted to get all weird and twisted up on drugs and let a stranger tie us up and fuck the piss out of us, I was game.

The three of us dosed up, finished our drinks and walked out the door.

Twenty or thirty minutes later, me and Mandee were butt naked, making out in the back seat of Ryan’s SUV while he drove us up a dirt road in the middle of nowhere.

Should we have known better? Fuck yeah. But something about the dude, how much Mandee was into him and for sure the massive amount of drugs we were on clouded our judgment. The fact that Mandee’s plump ass was pouncing up and down on my face like she was teaching a pilates class on it as Ryan drove us up to a creepy deserted farmhouse didn’t help matters any.

Holy Texas Chainsaw Massacre much!” Mandee squealed as we piled out of the car, stumbling into the massive front yard. Only a single light in a room on the second floor illuminated the house from the inside.

Ryan laughed. “It was my grandpa’s place. My parents are too old to take care of it so they let me have it. I stay here when I’m in town on business.”

Mandee pulled out her cell phone while I steadied myself by holding on to her shoulder, struggling to put my shoes on in the full throes of my ecstasy trip.

Mandee tried to take a video of the giant house. “Damnit, no reception out here in the fuckin’ boondocks!”

Guess you girls are at my mercy,” Ryan said, making his eyes big and wiggling his fingers at us in mock fear.

Guess so,” Mandee said, smirking. “Hope you don’t tie us up or nothing.”

Oh I’ve got much more than that in mind for you ladies.”

With that, we walked into Ryan’s house. Mandee dramatically slammed the door behind us screaming, “We’ll never get out alive!”

The awful thing is, she was right.

***

Be back here next Saturday, December 9th, for chapter 24! 

Quiet Place Live Stream Sunday 12/3/17


Jeremy Maddux, ever vigilant host of The Quiet Place, is planning to host a livestream this Sunday afternoon at 5:30 pm Eastern Standard Time.

Is legalizing marijuana the answer to pain treatment? Should the Federal Government relax regulations on prescription drugs? Should we repeal the Controlled Substances Act altogether? If you’d like to be a part of this discussion, email Maddux at sickfixx@gmail.com.

Kevin Strange’s Passengers (2016) Movie Review


Critics hated Mortem Tyldum’s 2016 science fiction romance film PASSENGERS. The movie currently sits at 30% on Rotten Tomatoes and is generally regarded as an abysmal failure of cinema.

Choice criticisms like “Disappointing at best, problematic at worst.” and “Passengers is an incredibly creepy movie in which a woman succumbs to Stockholm Syndrome and falls for her stalker and stays with him even though the stupid ending wants to be ambiguous but it’s not, this movie never met the concept of subtlety.” show just how disgusted critics were with the story of PASSENGERS.

But what if the problem isn’t the movie. What if the problem is with our culture?

Just on its surface, PASSENGERS is fundamentally “problematic” to post-modernists. It is the story of an intelligent and capable white male with useful skills and an independent, career-minded yet vulnerable white female who fall in love with one another despite being handed the awful fate of living isolated and presumably dying alone on a space ship full of other people in cryogenic sleep.

Feminist alarms are going off just from this simple explanation of the plot.

But oh, it gets worse! Pratt’s Jim is accidentally woken from his sleep after a catastrophic asteroid collision knocks his cryo-tube open. After a year of slowly going insane, Jim decides to manually pry open the pod of the most beautiful woman on the ship.

What. A. Fucking. Creep. Am I right, feminists?

You see, in post-modernist/feminist doctrine, feminine personality traits in females are considered patriarchal cultural oppression at best, and at worst internalized misogyny on the part of the feminine woman in question. And ALL male behavior that doesn’t expressly capitulate toward STRONG FEMALE values, i.e. masculine/dominant personality traits in women is considered toxic masculinity.

So it doesn’t matter that Pratt’s Jim is at the weakest, most vulnerable point in his life when he makes the selfish decision to wake another person and end his loneliness. His loneliness doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that he spends the rest of the film trying to make it up to Lawrence’s Aurora.

Nothing matters except that women be exalted above men at all costs in the current year because in the 1950s, some women felt like they weren’t being allowed to achieve their career goals with the same fairness as their male counterparts. In the 1950s. The 1950s.

Feminism has done its level best for the better part of the last century to continue to make women feel like they’re second class citizens that need to be coddled and protected by the government in order to achieve some kind of abstract cultural parity with the males of our species.

Ironically, they’ve just replaced the protection and guidance of their fathers, brothers and husbands with taxpayer funded programs that have changed little if anything in the process (mostly because women are 100% equal to men in the rights department and have been for a long, long time. There ain’t nothing left to change.)

What’s so compelling about this film is that Jim withholds the fact that he woke Aurora up on purpose for as long as he can. It’s only when android bartender Arthur accidentally reveals Jim’s secret that Aurora is clued in the reality of her situation.

Personally? I think she freaks out a little TOO much about her circumstances. At one point after another system failure wakes up Laurence Fishburne’s Gus, Aurora confides in him that she believes what Jim has done is tantamount to murder.

Um, hello? Ungrateful much? Out of more than 5,000 passengers, Jim chose YOU to spend his life with. And Jim is absolutely the archetypical romantic lead. He’s perfect in every way.

She’s lucky some dumpy schlub who was set to be a janitor on the new planet didn’t wake her up. These people gave up their lives to be put to sleep for 120 years. Aurora’s plan was to hang out on Homestead II for a YEAR, then sleep for 120 more years and go back to Earth to publish a book about it.

So it ain’t like he woke up somebody who had a family with her or anything. Everyone she’s ever known is already dead when Jim wakes her up. Her reasons for staying asleep were purely career-based.

So Aurora’s overreaction aside, the film plays out in a way I personally never expected. With the way Hollywood writes films to fit its far-left post-modernist agenda, I fully expected Jim to sacrifice himself to save the ship and for Gus to find a way to put himself and Aurora back to sleep, after which Aurora would write a book about the brave man who saved the Avalon and the 5,000 souls aboard.

Instead, Gus kicks the bucket pretty quick after offering up the magic keys to the important parts of the ship (his ID bracelet) and telling Aurora she’s being a hysterical bitch. “A drowning man will pull you down with him. It ain’t right, but he’s drowning.” Or some such.

It would be easy to gloss over the “save the ship!” action third act as typical Hollywood drivel, but essentially, Aurora is faced with another moral quandary: Work with Jim to save the ship and live, or die along with him.

It’s in these moments, when Jim’s skills as a man and as an engineer come into sharp focus for Aurora. He’s planted her a tree. He’s expressed his love for her. He’s done everything he can emotionally for his woman and he’s still rejected. It’s not until his fundamental masculinity is Aurora’s final life-line that she accepts Jim’s decision to wake her up and forgives him.

At one point while he’s outside the ship, facing death to save the woman he loves, Aurora tells him she can’t live without him and that she’d rather die with him than be alone.

This is powerful stuff, folks. This is the masculine and the feminine in their purest forms. Aurora has given up her career ambitions to help her man face down the dragons outside the cave which may very well kill him. This is primal. this is the meaning of life.

Again I was surprised when Jim didn’t die outside the ship, bravely sacrificing himself. Aurora is able to use all of her feminine cunning and guile to get him inside a medical pod and bring him back to life.

Here’s the key part of the film, for me. After a while, Jim is able to rig the medical pod to mimic cryo-stasis. He wants to put Aurora back to sleep and give her back her life and career. And Aurora refuses.

At this point Jim has paid dearly for his sin of waking up his girl and ruining the life she’d planned without him. The bond they’ve created by living, fighting, making love and nearly dying together has changed the course of their lives and now Aurora wants no part of living without Jim, even if it means willfully leaving her dream life behind.

Isn’t this fundamentally what all relationships and marriages are about? Living, loving and being willing to die for one another? Constantly re-focusing our life’s ambitions to include those we love and cherish?

No wonder the post-modernists and feminists hate this movie! Traditional family values, marriage and white relationships are the weakness of post-modernism. If happiness, love, wealth and prosperity are possible without government intervention and the destruction of masculinity, then the feminist has nothing to bitch about. She’s powerless in the face of traditional love.

My final complaint about the film, and the reason why ultimately I had to give it 3 Strangeheads out of 5 is that at no point, even though these people are faced with 80+ years of living in isolation on a space ship, does the talk of children ever enter into the equation.

Oh how the feminists would have howled at that! A WHITE FAMILY thriving against all odds. An entire new generation to explore the brand new planet. That is just about the only way the film could have been more romantic. To end with that panning shot of Jim’s fully grown tree and the amazing life and world that Jim and Aurora had created together on the Avalon with a dozen or so grown children tending to the farm raised up by the love and ambition of their hero parents.

That would have made PASSENGERS a 5 out of 5 for me.