The Hands That Lead

A hands on kind of leader…


Country Matters – Prologue


As promised, here is the first chapter of my Bimbo or Billionaire story. There will be a chapter per day for the next few days. Feedback is welcomed!


My bedroom door slams shut with a loud BANG! Another
day, another fight with mom and dad. The fights were always about the same
thing: I am 25 and I have no job, no college diploma, and no fucking idea of
what I wanna do with my life. Gaaaaahh, how they piss me off. Look, I know I
have a problem;  I went to two colleges,
switched major three times, and I still have nothing to show for it. I know I
need to “get my ass into gear,” as Dad says, but can’t they at least give me
one more summer to figure it out?

Nooooo. “You’ve got your three strikes, young lady,
now you need to get a job.” Fuck you Dad. Life is not fucking baseball. And
what respectable business is gonna hire a 25-year-old with only high school
diploma? Cause I’m sure as hell not flinging fries at fucking McDonald.

I guess I could get a job as a barmaid. I’m not too
bad looking. A bit on the short side at 5’2’’, but well-proportioned. I may be
“a slacker,” as Mom puts it, but I keep in shape. My boobs are tiny, but not
non-existent either, just a small B cup. My only real problem is my hair: it’s
a tangled, neck-length brown mess. I’ve tried everything, but it just doesn’t
want to behave. I guess it fits me in that way. And some guys like it wild
anyway. So yeah, I guess I could be a barmaid – free alcohol! – but I can’t
stand the thought of having to be groped by some fat, smelly drunkard. No way.
Not to mention sexual harassment by the boss.

Whatever. They’re not going to kick me out, I know
that. My dad barks a lot, but he has no bite. Though, it would be nice if I
could find a job and leave this fucking place. The problem is, nothing
interests me. Everything I try turns out to be so boring, full of tedious
technique and homework and shit. Even dance, the last thing I tried, turned to
be mechanical bullcrap – no feelings whatsoever. But that school cost a pretty
penny, so good luck getting any money to try college again.

Oh, fuck it. There’s nothing I can do about it tonight
anyway, so why am I troubling myself with that shit. Let’s see what’s on TV
instead – I’m sure I can find some brain dead crap to numb me to sleep. Let’s
see…some crappy sitcom about nerds? Boring! News? Even more boring. The
biography of the Pope…are you kidding me? What else do they have:
no…no…no…no…wait a minute, I know that intro jingle. Oh god, it’s that Bimbo
or Billionaire show. I’ve watched that once before, it was hilarious. This
stuck up bitch came in, she was an office manager or some shit, and she left as
a blonde bimbo with tits bigger than her head and an obsession with sucking
dick. It was hilarious. I remember, at the beginning of the show she said she
was playing to “improve her job prospects.” What an idiot.

Wait a minute. That’s
it! That’s the solution! I could become a contestant on Bimbo or Billionaire.
At best, I become super rich and I can leave this place and live the rest of my
life as I fucking want. At worst, well, I’ll be hot as hell and too dumb to be
anything but happy about it. Sure, I’ll likely be a slut afterwards, but who
cares? Sex is fun. So why the fuck not? Sure, Mom and Dad will be pissed, but
hey, they won’t be able to say I’m a “slacker” anymore. I know the show has an
application form on its website. All I need is to remember where I hid my

A great addition to the Bimbo or Billionaire universe!


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