A Month in Success- Creative Writing Monologue Project, Part Two

Patrick Star

So, I’m banging this chick right. She’s got a smoking body, you know the type. Massive tits, nips puckered up to fuck, ass to go with it. Not too much an hour either. She’s pounding hard, screaming out my name. She knows I’m a star.

I showed her the life style. Flash apartment, fancy drinks, and fast car. You’d think that’d be enough for her right? Wrong my friend. They always want more. Soon as I shoot my load she’s off, spurting out her dream in life. Same as a million others, she wants to be a model. More specifically, she wants me to make her a model. I give her ass a quick spank goodbye and tell her I’ll ring some contacts.

Ha. The last time I had contacts was, ah, well, either way: I’m not gonna be calling her again. I bet I know what you’re thinking, pretty good life he’s got there, right? Well, cards on the table time mate. As good as I’ve got it; things aren’t all as smooth as hooker’s tits.

You spin them this line, yeah I’ll call, then before you know it, they’re hounding you. Why haven’t you called? Did you speak to anyone? Am I gonna be a model? Fashion designer? Actress? The next thing, you call Pauline ‘Penny’ and Sandra ‘Sapphire’, shit just hits the fan. 

You know, I’ve even been slapped round the face a few times. Ungrateful bitches. This one time, my girlfriend walked in on me and this bangin’ chick. She had this look, I was so shit scared my balls shot right up inside me, I didn’t think they were ever coming back down, you know?

I mean, the money helps. I’ve got this shit tonne of stuff lying around, so what if it comes with a few slaps? Look at my car, man. That baby purrs better than any woman.

I did get things right this one time though. You heard of Monica Green? Course you have, hottest designer out there. I made her. She’d come home wearing some of the stuff she’d made and I’d just think, damn, she looks good. Anyway, we went out for like three years, I finally make her name a star and BAM: she dropped me like a sack of shit.

Now, I’ve got this old bitch, Pricilla, ringing me day and night, ‘I wanna be the next Monica Green, make me a star, make me a star’. She’s in her fucking fifties; you think she’d know she’s past it. She carries round this little rat of a dog like she’s the fucking Queen of Hearts. It’s sickening how much the little rat loves her though. She called me up last night, crying about her bills. Well, Patrick Star doesn’t give two shits unless she’s got two bangin’ tits. I told her to swim with the Loan Sharks.