Clown Niggas
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Clown Niggas
The End. How To Write A Bestselling Novel in 30 Days
WWW.THECARTELPUBLICATIONS.COM
CLOWN NIGGAS
BY
T. STYLES
Copyright © 2016 by The Cartel Publications. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission
from the author, except by reviewer who may quote passages
to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
Organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the
Author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance of
Actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016942703
ISBN 10: 099620993X
ISBN 13: 978-0996209939
Cover Design: Davida Baldwin www.oddballdsgn.com
www.thecartelpublications.com
First Edition
Printed in the United States of America
What’s Up Fam,
I’m not gonna keep you long with my traditional letter so that you have plenty of time to jump into this here novel with both feet! Just wanted to say thank you for the love T and myself feel on a consistent basis. Life can get pretty busy and change with the blink of an eye, but it is a great feeling to know you guys are there and continue to support all that we do.
Make sure you check out our first Web Series, “The Worst of Us”, which is currently available on YouTube and Amazon Instant Video for download. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did making it!
So without further delay we bring you, “Clown Niggas”! This latest baby T. Styles birthed is nothing short of the greatness you’ve come to know her for. It’s twisted, hilarious and surprising! I know you gonna love it and I’m pretty sure you won’t see it coming ;)
With that being said, keeping in line with tradition, we want to give respect to a vet or trailblazer paving the way. In this novel, we would like to recognize:
Stephen Curry
Wardell Stephen Curry II is an American professional NBA player for the Golden State Warriors. Steph Curry is also the league’s former and current Most Valuable Player, having winner the title in back to back seasons. Some are hailing Steph as one of the greatest shooters in NBA history who just led his Warriors to a record-breaking season of 73 wins. But what I love most about Steph is his drive and willingness to work harder than anyone else to achieve his goals. He was an underdog, playing for a team that hadn’t won a championship since 1975 and he proved them all wrong. His work ethic and belief in God make him one of the greatest I’ve ever seen to play the game. As he and his Warriors prepare to play for his second NBA championship in a rematch against LeBron James and the Cavilers, I wish Steph all the luck in the world and am so appreciative to him for bringing my love and attention back to the game.
Aight, get to it. I’ll catch you in the next novel.
Be Easy!
Charisse “C. Wash” Washington
Vice President
The Cartel Publications
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T. STYLES
Presents
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CARTEL URBAN CINEMA’S 1st MOVIE
PITBULLS IN A SKIRT – THE MOVIE
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#ClownNiggas
BASED ON A TRUE STORY
“If you clown niggas wanna play pussy have at it. Somebody gotta entertain the king.”
- Wyld Heart
PROLOGUE
When I was a little girl I wanted to marry my father. In my eyes there was no more perfect man. He humored me of course, telling me if there wasn’t a nigga who could measure up then he’d never give my hand away in marriage.
Well I lost my father at 18 years old.
He pressed the barrel of a .45 against his right nostril frying the same side of his brain. Every night since then I wet my bed because he was holding my hand when he exited the world, forcing me to experience death earlier than a child should.
He lost at the game of life but it didn’t stop my hunt. It didn’t stop the craving I had to meet a man with honor, strength and money. But after switching from a heroin addiction before sidelining
into crack I gave up my hopes at love.
I was lost, roaming the streets of Baltimore, my pussy full with the liquid of men I’d given myself to for drugs or worse, a little time.
I was ready to walk over the Key Bridge, crawl over the rusted railing and offer my body to the Patapsco River if she would have me. Until I met Wyld Heart.
He was everything I looked for in a man but a little more. I remember staring up into his green moss colored eyes, as he handed me my recently purchased yellow tinted crack rock. The smell of oil, gas and musty arms covering my body because I had become a fixture of the streets, like an unloved stray dog.
And yet he was different, not my original dealer, he was kind and considerate as he serviced me.
So when I became his fiancé, a year and a half later, it was no surprise that he didn’t recognize me clean when he met me again. He had given me life and even asked me, a crack whore, to be his wife.
The thing is Wyld is straight up, doesn’t even drink. And if he even knew about my drug addicted past he would banish me from his life, removing the 4 Carat diamond ring that weighed down my hand, making it difficult for me to run my fingers through my silky black hair.
So naturally when his cousin Ryan sat behind me in the living room as I glanced down at Wyld’s face I knew my fairytale had met a horror story ending. It was Ryan who remembered the many dick sucks I’d given him for a break on the dope. One word from him about my crack habit and my world would be ruined…forever.
I guess Ryan will get what he wanted after all. And I’ll have to go along with his plan.
I guess I was foolish.
Who would really want a crack head as a wife?
CHAPTER ONE
2 YEARS EARLIER – BALTIMORE
Amelia Rios
“I’ma Bust Quick, I Promise.”
The violent sun beamed overhead as Amelia stood behind the private elementary school, peering into the gated window as she watched a group of 6 year olds reluctantly prepare for a nap, a requirement for the advanced prep school. She resembled a pedophilic creep as she hunted. The heat from above so high that her naked toes, pressed against the black concrete, felt as if they were singeing.
One hundred percent Latina, her skin was so dirty her mother wouldn’t recognize her. Her choppy bangs covered the top of her face, while keeping in view her cat like eyes.
When the children where on their cots, preparing for their thirty minute sleep, Amelia stooped down just as a female First Grade teacher trudged out for her daily smoke, leaving the door ajar so she could reenter after receiving her nicotine high.
The moment she sparked her cigarette, the tip a flaming orange, Amelia snaked her frail body through the door unnoticed. As the children wriggled around in their cots she slid on a new pair of white and red boys Jordan’s', just her size, before stuffing another pair down her jeans, near her rank smelling pussy. Next she dug into the teacher’s purse, removing a wallet full of twenty-dollar bills and a few credit cards.
It was her best hit yet.
She was about to head out when the First Grade Teacher stepped up to her, the smell of her smoking habit in the air. “What the fuck you doing in here?”
“Aw,” One of the boys said pointing a short finger her way. “You said a bad word, Mrs. Keith.”
The teacher knew her slip up would lead to problems later but now she had a thief in her mist whom she had to annihilate. “I asked what are you doing here?” Slowly she observed the new shoes on her feet and the bulge in Amelia’s pants that she was certain was not a dick.
She was stealing and the teacher was furious.
“I’m…I’m…sorry but I gotta go.” She lowered her head in an effort to conceal her face. “I’m in the wrong building.” Amelia made a failed attempt to push past her that ended in defeat. Realizing she was dealing with a natural born combatant she had to rethink her approach if she wanted to make it out on her own recognizance.
“If you think I’m gonna let you out of here with our shit, bitch you crazy.” The First Grade Teacher advised, cracking her knuckles so hard they sounded as if they would break off and fall at her feet. “I’m sick of you crack whores fucking up the city and I’m about to make you personally pay for it all.”
When the woman stepped in front of Amelia again, Amelia grew scared. Just one look in the First Grade Teacher’s eyes told her of all the females she’d beaten when she was coming up in the projects.
For lesser offenses at that.
Amelia made a healthy mistake of judging her prey when she picked the classroom. Just because a person had a job didn’t mean they wouldn’t resort to their old ways if given a chance, and this teacher seemed all to eager to relive the bloody fist fights of yesteryear.
Mind racing, and mouth watering, Amelia gazed around for a weapon and when she saw nothing outside of a few glue bottles and crayon boxes she had to think like a desperate crack fiend in the streets. Basically revert to her natural habitat.
Collecting as much liquid as she could muster in her mouth, she whipped up just as much air and spit in the woman’s face. Her saliva, mixed with spoiled food and semen hung off the woman’s nose and stank horribly.
With her victim incapacitated she ran out the door, the teacher’s cries mixed with obscenities behind her.
Perched on a worn out brown sofa, stuffed with newspaper and held together barely with duct tape, Amelia sat naked from the waist down on top of it getting high. It hadn’t been two hours since she robbed the school and already her money was gone along with both pair of Jordan’s' and her self-respect. At the moment she couldn’t even recall where her pants or panties were, nor did she care.
Her last caper ended like they all did, with her in a seated position in a crack house, using a chair as a resting place and a toilet respectably.
She was just about to hunt for more money when she glanced up and saw a young girl giving oral sex to a local dealer across the way. Her eyes widened when her high lifted a little, enough for her to recognize the servicer’s side profile. Blinking a few times she swallowed the lump in her throat when she saw her cousin, Tawny, who was five years younger.
She hadn’t even known she was an addict until that moment.
On an ill-equipped mission to stop the horrid act and send the child on her way, Amelia attempted to rise to her bare feet but learned quickly that her equilibrium was not prepared for such a feat, sending her crashing to the floor.
And there she lay. Face pressed against the pissy carpet as she watched the sides of Tawny’s head be handled like a basketball, with the dealer’s penis tucked firmly in her throat.
When she awoke she struggled to breathe as she felt someone on top of her from behind. She tried to wiggle from up under the culprit but he was strong and his dick was embedded inside her body as he used it as a weapon. This type of thing happened many times to the other girls but never to Amelia. She gave her box away willingly for the right price, just not to him.
“Just stay down, girl, this ain’t gonna take but a second,” Kante’, the resident crack head who owned the house said. “As good as this pussy is I’ma bust quick, I promise.”
Hearing his voice, mixed with lustful panting reminded her of his gruesome legend. He asked many times to pay her for sex and she always refused after learning that he may be responsible for half the Baltimore crack head women floating in the city with HIV. But he was raping her and there was nothing she could do but plead with him to cease his actions immediately.
“Kante’, I’m begging you, please don’t do this. I’m pregnant. You…you gonna hurt the baby,” She lied, her salty tears creeping in her mouth. “Please stop! I don’t—”
Her words were halted when he came down on her face hard with his hand, a sweaty ten-dollar bill stuck to his white palm. “Now I paid! And you gonna give me what I bought or I will break your fucking neck when I’m done.”
Money stuck to her cheek, her body jerked back and forth as he continued to pound into her,
not stopping until he gained relief, splashing semen inside.
A dingy men’s black jacket wrapped around her waist to conceal her nakedness, vagina throbbing, Amelia clutched the ten-dollar bill in her palm as she walked toward the block to buy a rock. After the rape and seeing Tawny being assaulted she decided she wanted out of the crack life. And as she replayed her vow to get clean once and for all in her mind, she knew it was all a fucking lie.
Besides where would she start?
Her mother was nowhere to be found after her father committed suicide and she burned so many bridges with family members that she wasn’t even allowed on folks’ front porches. The pretty Latina lost all of her important relationships and was dangerously close to losing her looks.
At the end of the day she was alone.
Wobbling down the block, Amelia noticed it was bare. This put her on edge because the cravings were coming down so hard she wasn’t sure if she could make it anywhere else. But when she glanced further upward she saw a tall light skin man, about twenty something in age, reprimanding her normal dealer. She couldn’t make out what was being said but when the conversation was over her dealer, Ryan, stomped away angrily.
Moving close to the tall man she was startled when she looked into his green eyes. They were hypnotic. “What you need?” he asked, his voice deep like a foghorn but nicer.