Interview between Keira Kroft and Jimmy Pudge
Welcome to Keira's Corner, where it’s always
hot and panties, underwear and any clothing for that matter are optional.
Keira:
You have a story that recently came out though Amazon entitled
The Dick. What is that about? Warning: This book contains strong Adult Content.
Ex porn star Jonny Sausage wants to be more than a cook at a fast food dive, so he obtains his P.I. certificate online.
It sounds exciting enough, being a private eye, but Jonny has no idea how crazy things are going to get once this gorgeous vampire dame by the name of Cristabel Swan enters his office.
Swan needs a ruthless investigator to find out why her family members are being murdered, and Jonny feels he's the right dick for the job.
Keira: What
do you wear, to write?
Jimmy: A
smile on my face. That’s all I wear J
Keira’s reply: Oh, if only all your
answers were this sweet.
Keira: Is
writing your only talent?
Jimmy: No,
I’m also very good at making convict pizza
Keira’s reply: I hear it’s as good as
Chicago style.
Keira:
Where in the Hell did you find time to write?
Jimmy: I
get off work, grab a bite to eat, then I sit down in front of my computer and
write like a motherfucker, not because it’s my schedule or nothing, but simply
because I want to. I usually get 4 hours of sleep on a good night.
Keira’s reply: I am so jealous. Do you
know how many working, writing; mothers are forming a kill Jimmy Pudge club
right now? I have the logo worked out already. I mean they...
Keira: Why
are you a writer?
Jimmy: Because
people with criminal records have limited options.
Keira’s reply: Too true.
Keira: If
you could choose anyone, who would you pick as your mentor?
Jimmy: That’s
a tricky one. Probably someone rich, so I can hit them up for money when things
get hard.
Keira’s reply: You know to spite what
people say, Rich people...really don’t like that. Just in case you were
wondering.
Keira: How
many hours a day do you dedicate to writing?
Jimmy: I
write for as long as it feels right. Once I get bored, I stop. I don’t make
myself sit in front of the computer. That doesn’t work for me.
Keira’s reply: That’s an excellent answer,
I feel forcing someone to write, hampers their creativity.
Keira: Do
you use a particular writing method?
Jimmy: No,
I just picture something funny in my head and go with it. Thinking about a dude
steering his car with his belly, that was my motivation behind my latest novel
“The Dick.”
Keira’s reply: That is actually a writer’s
best kept secret. We absorb what is around us and use it. Thanks for giving
away our secrets...JIMMY! *Does a Mike Tyson and Bites off Jimmy’s ear.*
Keira: What
time of day, do you write best?
Jimmy: I
can write any time of the day. Over the years I’ve turned into a machine.
Anytime I want to write, BAM…I’m off. When I first started though, I only wrote
at night.
Keira’s reply: Remeber the Kill Jimmy club? Because Bill would want
us too.
Keira: Do
you use one or more pen names?
Jimmy: Yes,
I wrote a cheesy ass Romance novel once under a sexy pen name.
Keira’s reply: How do we get a hold of a
copy of that?
Jimmy's Reply: "You can't get your hands on it."
Jimmy's Reply: "You can't get your hands on it."
Keira:
What advice would you give to an unpublished writer?
Jimmy: Be cool, stay in scool!” No, just joking. I’d say, have a good time, enjoy the story, and fuck it if it doesn’t do well and you can’t get it published. Never expect to make any money unless you’re a damn Piranha. Piranhas make a killing at this game.
Keira’s reply: It’s a dog eat dog,
world...my friend.
Let’s
get personal…
Keira: What
is your favorite food?
Jimmy: BBQ
Vienna sausages.
Keira’s reply: Phallic Symbols? HeeHee
Keira: What
is your guilty Pleasure?
Jimmy: I
bought the new Justin Bieber cologne and put a splash on sometimes to pick up
the chicks.
Keira’s reply: I’m going to be very
sick, right now.
Keira: What
is your favorite Smell?
Jimmy: A
chick as she passes me by in the mall. I catch a whiff of magic.
Keira’s reply: Only at the mall? You
really need to get out more.
Keira: If
you could change one of your physical features? Would you? What would it be?
Jimmy: Yes,
I would make it smaller. It’s too big. My nose is way too big.
Keira’s reply: I will be nice this time
:)
Keira: What
is your favorite color?
Jimmy: Green
Keira’s reply: Mine too.
Keira: What
is your favorite day of the week?
Jimmy: Any
day I don’t have to work is cool with me.
Keira’s reply: Amen Brotha! I do love to
work, but having a day off is so nice.
Keira: What
is your favorite favorite animal?
Jimmy: I
like leopard skin furniture.
Keira’s reply: So who’s your favorite?
Keira: Can
you tell us a secret?
Jimmy: I
don’t really have luscious hair. It’s actually just a comb over.
Keira’s reply: Well it looks amazing.
Keira: Do
you have pets?
Jimmy: No
Keira’s reply: Oh you definitely should
get a lizard or snake.
Keira: What
do you consider a household staple?
Jimmy: Toilet
paper
Keira’s reply: People have actually
killed over TP. This answer, is not me trying to be funny, it’s a fact.
Keira: What
are you reading?
Jimmy: Some
places I dog-eared in 50 Shades of Grey. I like to read those parts before I go
to bed sometimes.
Keira’s reply: I can’t comment on this one.
Keira:
Can you share an excerpt with us?
Sure, here’s a little bit of The Dick:
Jonny Sausage
couldn’t believe the news.
“Jonny, I
gotta let you go, baby. The old days of the ugly dude and the hot maiden is
over. No one wants to look at the fat, hairy dude with the big dick in theys
pornos anymore. You understand me?”
Jonny leaned
against his agent’s desk. It had once been liberating to wear bling, but now
all the big ass necklaces around his neck felt restrictive. He felt as if he
were choking. He could feel his windbreaker pants cutting into his huge gut as
he leaned over further. His eyes were burning. He was going to cry. Jonny
Sausage never cried.
“Barry, we go
way back, Barry. Ain’t nothing you can do for me?” Jonny said, twirling on the
left tip of his mustache.
“I fought for
you, Big Jon Stud,” Barry said. “I think you are an asset to our talent agency.
But at the end of the day, it’s about the money, bottom line. And we haven’t
found you a single gig in over a year. We gotta let you go, Jonny. I’m sorry.”
“Fuck y’all
sonsbitches!” Jonny Sausage shouted, jumping out of his metal folding chair. He
picked the chair up and hurled it into the wall behind his agent, a leg
shattering the glass of a framed picture. The chair bounced off the wall, glass
shards landing behind Barry, who had his hands over his bald head, looking wild
eyed at Jonny.
“I’m calling security,
you fat fuck!” Barry squealed.
Jonny looked
at the picture mounted to the wall. Through the spider web of glass he saw
himself, a decade younger, standing behind the stage podium at the 5th
Annual Porno Awards, holding his Swinging Dick statue. He hadn’t won a Swinging
Dick statue in years. He’d won the one in the photo for Pussyjuice, a rip off of Bettlejuice,
only the ghost with the most was a woman in a black and white striped dress.
“Pussyjuice, Pussyjuice, Pussyjuice!” he’d shout three times real fast. She’d
appear out of nowhere, walking to him with a Billy Idol song playing in the
background. He’d won the award for the scene where he’d lifted her up, upside
down, and ate her out, standing up while she’d sucked on his dick. He’d
remembered that pussy. It was overgrown like a wild jungle and tasted like
oyster juice.
Barry was
yelling into the phone, talking about having that Suasage fellow beaten to
death out back. Jonny decided to split then. He grabbed Barry’s cigar box off
his desk and ran out of the office, down the hallway, knocking framed pictures
of famous porn stars off the walls.
“I’m calling
the police on you, motherfucker!” Barry screamed, running out into the hallway.
“You’re through in this town, Jonny! You hear me, you motherfucker? YOU ARE
FINISHED!”
Jonny ran to
the front of the office, saw two security guards coming for him and said, “Fuck
it,” then tried jumping out the window, expecting the glass to shatter as he
rammed into it. It was only a five story drop. But instead of breaking the
glass, his face slapped into it and he left a smudge, sliding down the window.
The security
guards had their tasers, and they were lighting him up. He was moving around
like a cockroach trying to get off its back.
“Kill that
sonofabitch!” Barry shouted as he hustled down the hallway, breathing heavily.
Jonny was getting tasered, but he could still hear that heavy ass breathing.
“Give me your baton, security man!” Barry
said.
The tasing
stopped, and Jonny lay there, unable to move, staring at them, every muscle in
his body aching. It was kind of interesting that he had a hard on. He wondered
what that said about him as a person.
A guard
handed Barry his baton, a little short, graphite thing, and Barry flicked that
shit with his wrist and it extended into a menacing weapon.
“Take this!”
Barry squealed, bringing the rod down as hard as he could.
Jonny could
barely feel it. “If you gonna hit somebody, don’t do it half-assed.”
Barry struck
him again, this time on the face. “You’re one to talk you fucking prick. If you
couldn’t do things half-assed, you wouldn’t do anything at all.”
That comment
hurt Jonny more than the next blow that landed across his stomach. “You mean
you really never believed I was a good actor?”
“You’re the
worst, Jonny,” Barry said, kicking him in the face.
Barry walked
over to the window and slapped it with the baton, breaking the glass. “You was
about to go out this window, weren’t you Jonny? We don’t want to keep you from
missing your flight. Boys, help Mr. Sausage out the window.”
The guards
picked Jonny up, and he tried to struggle but found he had little control over
his muscles. They sent him head first out the fifth floor, and he could feel
the cold breeze and see the azalea bushes getting bigger and bigger.
He hit the bushes
hard, flattened four of them like pancakes, belly flopping to the hard, cold
ground. He realized he was still screaming. He sat up, saw his shirt was bloody
from where sticks had cut into him.
Barry watched
him sit up from the window. “You guys get the hell down there and drag him
behind the building. I’m going to kill him myself.”
Jonny was
trying to run across the parking lot as fast as he could, limping, his leg
dragging. He reached the road before the guards jumped on him.
“Get the fuck
off, me, man. I’m a FUCKING ICON. I’m MOTHERFUCKING JONNY SUASAGE! I BUILT THIS
FUCKING TALENT AGENCY. MY DICK PUTS FOOD IN YOUR MOUTHS!”
They each held an arm behind his back as they
lifted him off the road. “We going around the building, Mr. Sausage,” a guard
said.
“Why?” Jonny
asked, his eyes wide. Why we going
around the building for?”
“Mr. Barry
wants a word,” the other guard said.
They rounded
the corner, blood streaming down Jonny’s face from the cuts on his forehead.
“Just hold
him right there,” Barry said, looking through the sites of his pistol.
“Barry, this
isn’t you, Barry,” Jonny said. “Come on man, it’s me, Jon Boy.”
Barry
squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. “What the fuck?” Barry said. “What’ the
fuck’s wrong with this gun, Mike?”
The security
guard on Jonny’s right side dropped his arm and ran up to Barry. Jonny tried to
fight free, but the other guard was too tough.
“You didn’t
take the safety off,” the guard pointed out. “You ever shot a gun before, Mr.
Barry?”
“Nope,” Barry
said, taking off the safety and resuming his firing stance. He pulled the
trigger. There was a loud BANG that echoed across the parking lot and down the
street, across the Los Angeles waste of crack houses and dollar motels.
Jonny could
feel the wind of the bullet as it passed by his face and went through the
security guard’s head. The splash of warm liquid on his face, the smell of
blood. The guard dropped and Jonny ran as fast as his short legs would carry
him, breathing heavily.
He heard
gunfire, saw dust rising from the parking lot in front of him where the bullets
hit, and kept going, his heart threatening to explode out his chest.
He was on the
highway, running across it, and he slipped and fell down an incline, rolling
into the ditch, out of breath, yellow dots dancing in his vision. “Jesus,” he
thought aloud. “I’m a dead man.” He lay there, amongst the crushed beer cans
and plastic bags, giving up on life, waiting for the guard named Mike and Mr.
Barry to appear above him, the cold barrel of the pistol pressed against his
forehead. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not like this! He wanted to win
an Academy Award. He wanted to be on the cover of GQ and press his hands into some wet cement in front of a Chinese
restaurant and sign his fans’ titties with a permanent marker.
His life
flashed before his eyes. The money, the women, the cocaine. It had gone wrong
with the cocaine. Somewhere, on another planet, was the sound of traffic
zooming down the highway. The sound of people getting on with their lives.
Maybe all of them had seen at least one of his movies. Maybe everyone in the
world had. He wouldn’t be surprised about that. He was Jonny Sausage. A tear rolled down his dirty, scratched, fat
cheek. Jonny Sausage didn’t deserve to die like a goddamn dog! NO!
Jonny stood up,
held his chin up high. He’d die with pride. He looked across the street at the
Golden Star Talent Agency and saw the parking lot was empty except for his blue
Chevrolet Malibu. Barry’s Cadillac was gone.
“Fuck this
California shit,” Jonny said. “I’m heading back home to Georgia.”
Keira’s reply: You are an awesome
writer, thank you so much for stopping by Keira’s Corner.
One lucky commenter will win a free e-copy of The Dick.
You can find The Dick at: http://www.amazon.com/The-Dick-ebook/dp/B008XLF9SQ/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1346895503&sr=8-7&keywords=jimmy+pudge
Keira Kroft
