The shoes didn't fit. It was an omen.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

A Drunk Irish Leprachaun

The Sweetman decided what I would share for my Monday post. A drunk Irish Leprechaun.

Not really. It's an excerpt from one of my WIPS, White Trash and Pill Heads. The character I'm sharing is Stu McDougle, an Irishman with a heavy drinking habit and his crack-smoking girlfriend, Chicken. These two have issues. Let me tell you...well, let me show you. If you like trashy reality T.V. this may be the novel for you. Its one of three I'm hoping to have finished by the end of this year.

Pixie knitted her brows together. “You ain’t no one’s grandmother!” The bitch has lost her mind thinking any such thing, she thought. “My baby’s already got a grandmother. And she ain’t no crack ho like you!”
Chicken stayed facing the mirror, flipping her brown shoulder length hair behind her. “You’re mother is a high caflooting bitch who left you at thirteen for a better life without you and your sister, Sara.” She fumbled for her purse sitting on a near-by chest.
“You don’t know nothing about my mom!” Pixie’s mother’s actions did confuse her at times but she knew her mother loved her.
“Yeah. I do.” A smile creeped across Chicken’s thin-skinned face, making the woman look like Skeletor. “What kind of mother would only visit her daughters once a month and not pay any child support? Huh?”
Pixie cocked a thinly painted brow. “Well, you left your kids when they was two and one so you could suck on a crack pipe and prostitute yourself out.” She brought her fisted hands to her hips, knowing what she spoke to be the truth. Maybe it’ll make the skanky ho shut-up some, she thought. “Again, my mother ain’t no crack ho like you and has a job! She even worked three to keep a roof over me and my four sisters until she got sick.” She puffed out her chest.
Chicken pulled a small purple bag from her purse, unzipped it, and spun around. “Don’t you be judging me!” She yanked a lip gloss tube from the pouch and waved it in the air like a sword at Pixie, dashing toward her.
Pixie met the stick-like woman in the middle of the living room.
They were within inches of each others’ noses.
Pixie pointed her finger at the woman, pressing it into Chicken’s bony chest.
“Don’t touch me, cunt.” Chicken shoved her.
Pixie pushed her back. “Then don’t judge my mom.” It did bother her though. Her mom leaving her and her sister with their dad, Stu McDougal. It even made her mad at times. Mom could be a bitch, she thought. Shit, she didn’t even invite Sara and me to her and Mr. Moshe’s wedding.

Stu stood in his kitchen and cracked another Bud Light open, listening to his daughter and girlfriend argue. In about forty-five minutes he would have to drive Pixie and Sara to the baby shower his ex-wife put together. The grand event would start at one. He would need some good vodka to get through it. His flask waited for him in his Dodge Ram truck, tucked under his front seat.
He took a few swigs of his beer and sauntered out into the living room where the two women stood, neck and neck, pushing each other. The living room over the years had become the perfect boxing ring. The Manatee County Sheriff’s Department knew them all by name along with the criminal court judges. He couldn’t count how many times he had to fill up holes in the walls or how many windows and doors he had to replace or broken furniture. The Irish were known for their hot tempers. He had one himself.
“Now Pixie,” he said, words slurring. “You should let her go. She’s been more of mom to you than your own mother has.”
His daughter crossed her arms in front of her chest and rested them on top of her small pregnant pooch. “No! The bitch ain’t going!”
Stu grinned and took another swig from the can before he said, “Then I’m not taking you.”

Hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Yeah. I know. They all had potty mouths. But welcome to the dark side of this novel I've been working on. The two bright spots are  Faith and Laurel, two young grandmothers in the story. One a hippy and the other a devout Baptist. They pair to save their grand baby.  That's all I'm saying for now.
Hope you all have a happy Monday and a St. Patty's Day if you celebrate. I'm at The Salon today and will be visiting as many posts as I can  today.
Hugs and chocolate,


  1. "Crack-smoking girlfriend, Chicken." Sounds like Rob Ford's fantasy woman!


    Happy reading and writing! from Laura Marcella @ Wavy Lines

  3. Happy St. Patty's Day. And instead of green beer how about a good old Irish hug!

  4. The vernacular you use sounds quite genuine to who these people are, Shelly.

    1. Well, thank you, Sir Wills. Florida is full up with peeps like these. I'm related to a few.

  5. Hi Shelly,

    Stu McDougle sounds most weirdly like my Irish neighbour. Very vividly written, my human friend.

    Pawsitive wishes,

    Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar!

  6. The photo grabbed my attention, but then I loved the snippet. Nice one.


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