130 – OLD LEATHER PUSSY 1

 

‘Why?’ was the first question Lance asked himself when Madonna had said, “So, funny boy, tell me about Old Leather Pussy.”

He was so stunned that he didn’t bother noting Madge’s expression. All he could think was, ‘why would Kitty have spilled that?’

Although he’d never bothered to swear the girl to secrecy, he’d figured there was no need to. What the fuck was she thinking?

Not able to come up with a sensible answer immediately, Lance’s mind turned to Madonna, without a command to do so. He managed to focus enough to discern that Madonna had the slightest grin on her face. But what the fuck did that mean?

There was no way for him to deny that he had been calling her Old Leather Pussy, unless he lied, and said that Kitty had lied, and made the moniker up, herself.

Although tempted, he decided against taking a stroll down that cold, dark, dead end street.

But, why? Why had Kitty done it? And why had she done it without telling him she had done it? Had she set him up deliberately? What kind of insane cunt does shit like that? Was she insane?

As soon as he asked himself that question, he remembered a joke his mother had told him once, when she was drunk; “Why do doctors slap babies on the ass when they are born?” Lance wasn’t even aware of the fact that doctors did that, if, in fact, that was a fact.

He was never sure if it was true, or not. He had never checked into it. His mother was prone to minor bouts of insanity, herself, and when she was into her cups she was capable of saying all sorts of mad shit. Lance had never bothered attempting an answer to his mother’s question, but he had never forgotten her answer.

Taking a hit on her drink, she started laughing before she spat out the answer/punchline, “To knock the dicks off the crazy ones!” As soon as the words finished spilling out of her gaffawing mouth, Lance’s mother burst into a cascade of cackles that made her sound like an old hag who had just won a new broom on Wednesday Night Witch Bingo.

“To knock the dicks off the crazy ones,” she laughed again. “One day, my son, you will understand why it’s so funny. It’s so funny because it’s true!”

The boy was now fairly certain that he would laugh about the veracity of the joke one day, but not rigt here, and not rigt now, and that prognostication gave Lance no peace of mind, as Madonna continued to grin at him, as he squirmed and tried to find a way out of the corner he was trapped in.

For her part, Madonna was very much enjoying the moment. Kitty had kicked her rigt where it hurt most, when she gleefully blurted it out, poolside, back at Valhalla.

“He calls you Old Leather Pussy!” It was the nastiest thing anyone had ever said to her. And the smug, little bitch knew it. Think about that; the nastiest thing that anyone had ever said to Madonna.

And it was true; no one could have come up with anything nearly as brutal, even if a council had been convened, consisting of the Pope, all his Cardinals, all her exes, and Gaga. Old Leather Pussy. Holy fuck, that’s low.

‘Old Leather Pussy, huh?’ Madonna thought to herself, staring Lance, son of Stephen, not Lance, in the eyes, ‘Well, pretty, little Kitty Kaboodle, I’ll show you that Old Leather Pussy still knows how to play this game, bitch.

In truth, Madonna didn’t really care so much that Lance had been calling her Old Leather Pussy. After she’d recovered from the shock of it, with the help of the tray full of doubles Kitty had sent Daisy to deliver, just to rub it in, she even managed to laugh about it.

She’d admitted, at first grudgingly, that it was funny. Once she admitted that, she prepared herself for the moment it might make tabloid headlines, which she was still betting it would, one day.

But before that day would come, she was determined to exact some revenge upon the Hellcat who had clawed her eyes with the three words.

Just wait ‘til loverboy Lance Lear comes at you, demanding an explanation. Hell hath no fury like a women scorned? Oh, yeah? Just wait ‘til you see an impetuous boy, who has had his confidence betrayed, coming at you like the Green Manalishi with the two prong crown, bitch.

It took some effort for Madonna to not burst into laughter, wondering if Kitty had felt the kick she had just delivered to her not-yet old leather pussy, all the way across Canada, in Ottawa, but she managed.

As for Lance, the poor, confused, crushed smartass, Madge decided to leave the little fucker twisting in the wind, until he grows a pair big enough to command that he own up to it.

The boy’s tormentor was pleasantly surprised when he did so, fairly quickly, and she was thoroughly impressed with what he finally said, “I don’t always wanna think the thinks I think; but I thinks ‘em all the same.”

131 – SILLYSAURUS ON PSYCHEDELICS 2

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