Creepypasta Wiki

Shit, Piss, CreamPies, and Clown Cocks: When Lowbrow Isn't Low Enough

10,377pages on
this wiki
Add New Page
Comments38 Share
Author's note: This is an entry for Derp and Diex's Dark Humor Contest. It is very NSFW.

"Ol' Red Nose is gonna love you, Little Miss Smooth Cunt!"

Pogo wore a painted-on and literal shit-eating grin as he shoved the tiny, bound body into the trunk of what appeared to be an old Mini Cooper eunuch that had a couple of its pistons removed when it was fresh off the assembly line.

How she fit in something that looked to be the size of a shoebox (the trunk, that is), to be honest, was fucking retarded.

"Yes mam, he's gonna be right beside himself, he is," said Pogo, as he slammed shut what appeared to be a lunchbox lid.

Hog-tied and gagged, twelve-year-old Alyssa Shelby did her best to stop the tears. Her momma always told her, "Cryin' never did a bit a good," (she also told her to stay away from men because they're all rapists, which is true) and she knew if she wanted to stand a chance of getting out of this situation she'd have to keep her wits about her.

As the preemie-car raced down the dirt road, she felt around with her hands and feet to find anything with a sharp edge. After several minutes of searching and finding nothing more than girthy, rigid pins and huge balls made for juggling, followed by a deep, penetrating fear that she was truly fucked, Alyssa decided it was time for Plan B.


"Hey boss! It's me, Pogo. I got what we need!" the clown yelled through the steel door.

Honk! Honk!

The double honk of the bicycle horn signifying a "yes" to proceed (no honks meant he was rubbing one out, which was often).

"So yeah, boss, she's in the trunk of the ol' turd-mobile right now. Whatcha want me to do with her?"

Ol' Red Nose, who never spoke, pointed to a rusty dog cage that sat in the corner of the room.

"Just stick her in there and lock it up?"

A nod was all Pogo needed to send him jogging outside to retrieve the precious cargo.

"Wakey, wakey!" he said with a pathetic attempt at a feminine voice. "Time to get ready for school!"

The trunk of the limited Empy's ED Edition Mini shamefully flopped open. The girl remained calm and stared at the ugly fuck with what she hoped would be the sweetest eyes he'd ever seen.

"That ain't gonna work on me, Lil' Puss. I've seen, heard, and smelled it all before, and you ain't nothin' special!"

Alyssa knew it was a long-shot; this bastard was as dangerous as Rosie O'Donnell after a thirty-minute hunger-strike (contrived, I know). With plan B out the window, she felt Fear's icy fingers creeping from her asshole up her little spine. (Author's Note: Fear's fingers being in, on, or near Alyssa Shelby's anus are only allegations at this point.)

"Baaafffrrruuuummm! Baaafffrrruuuuuuuummm!" she screamed around the gag.

"What's that? Your poon? What about it?! Does it need a creampie? He-heeee! I bet it does, you little jizz-junkie."

He threw the child over his shoulder and headed towards the building.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you need to go to the bathroom. You might as well go ahead and get used to going in your pants 'cause you ain't gettin' no potty breaks here—no mam. We ain't takin' no risks this time. The last one'a you little dick-lickers knocked a board outta the back of the ol' shit-house, and dumb-dumb, Slow-Mo, cracked the poor girl's neck when he stepped out from behind a tree and clothes-lined her. A real waste. She tasted good though. We can't let nothin' happen to you, no-sir-ee-bob. You're goin' in the cage, and that's that. And besides, most of us just shit and piss in our pants anyway—why you think we wear such big, baggy britches?"

Alyssa whimpered as her captor's first few jarring steps let her know she wouldn't be able to hold her bladder much longer. She wanted to piss on the fucker's shoulder but didn't want to spend the rest of the day in soaked panties. She also figured this freak would enjoy it (she would have been correct). She bit down on the rubber ball in a rage as she looked around for anything recognizable.


An old farmhouse with an oblong sign above the porch that read "Calvin's College" (some very original and clever bastard had drawn a pair of balls under one end of the sign). The "school" was named after our thirtieth president, Calvin Coolidge, a known clown fetishist, even founding the secret society known as the "Kinky Klown Klan" (there was also a small splinter group known as the "Kuhlman Klown Kockcravers" that supposedly still survives today). There were several reasons it never really caught on, but there were a few diehard clown supremacists that had managed to keep the flame and crosses burning all these years. He was also the first openly clown-gendered person to hold the office, and the tradition has persisted ever since.

Damn it, I'm getting lost. What perspective was I in? Shit.

The smell of fake flowers, worn-out gags, and whipped cream filled the air. Fifty feet (maybe forty—I really don't give a shit. Do you?) to the right of the old farm house was a metal garage and nothing but tall, thick pines everywhere else. They entered the garage and as the door slammed shut, she knew her chances of getting away were dwindling with each step she was carried.

"It's me again, boss. I got her with me this time. Think she's about to piss herself."

Honk! Honk!

"If you wanna lie down here I'll squeeze it right outta her. I know you ain't had a nice golden shower in a few days. You're smellin' a bit clean, if you don't mind my sayin' so. No offense, sir."

No honks necessary. A simple nod sufficed.

"This is boss, darlin'. His name's Ol' Red Nose, and you better show him the respect he deserves. After all, he didn't get his name from the nose he's wearin'. It's not nearly that simple. What I mean to say is, if you don't do as you're told, you'll bleed for it. If he wants piss, you piss. If he wants shit, you shit. Understand?"

The girl nodded.

Ol' Red Nose stood and grabbed a wooden chair with a hole in it from the corner. He sat it in the middle of the floor and slid his head underneath it.

Watching this, a sinister chill washed over Alyssa's body. When she leaned over and looked through the hole, her bladder started to let loose.

"What the...! Are you kidding me?!" screamed Pogo, noticing the hot urine trickling down her legs.

"Boss, she done started pissin'! You done scared the piss right outta her! Hurry up and sit down ya filthy little whore. Don't waste that sweet nectar!"

He was right. The sight of the monster in front of her was more than she could bear. Her bladder wasn't the only thing that could no longer restrain itself—her tears flowed freely as well. The "man", if you could call him that, lying beneath the chair, was at least six and a half feet tall and couldn't have weighed less than three hundred pounds. More noticeably, his lips were missing.

Pogo slammed her scrawny ass down on the bottomless seat.

"What's wrong there, little one? Did the boss man scare ya? You never seen a man that ate off his own lips before? They weren't the first ones he ate, and they surely won't be the last. As a matter of fact, he liked them so much, he went ahead and washed them down with his own tongue! If you waste any more of that holy water, he's liable to chew off yours. Both sets!"

At this revelatory news, the girl began to thrash wildly, and Ol' Red Nose cackled. With a few slaps from Pogo, the girl released the hot piss all over the old clown's face. When she heard him gargling it, her terror nearly robbed her of her consciousness.

As the flow stopped the red-nosed leader nodded in the direction of the dog cage, letting his soldier know it was time to put her away and get back to work. Pogo leaned to the left and let the girl slip off, slamming Alyssa's shoulder into the concrete floor like a meat-hammer. All three heard her shoulder pop, as well as a very loud and muddy fart (or shart, if you prefer) followed by a scream her gag couldn't silence. Neither man batted an eye at the grand gesture of pain, but they both had a good laugh at the humiliation of the poor girl shitting herself. Pogo leaned over and grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair and began dragging her to her new home—a steamy, brown, green pepper-speckled trail following (taco night).

"It ain't the Greenbrier, but you'll get used to it," explained Pogo, as he slid her into the tiny cell. He then reached in and untied the rope he had so meticulously knotted. Eight years in the navy and a lifetime of BDSM had made him an expert in that area.

"There ya are, sweety. Feels much better, dudn't it? You sure do smell nice. He-heeee!"

The girl could only grab her separated shoulder and kick at the door as it was closed on her. Pogo then used a padlock to secure the little jail. He turned to Ol' Red Nose and nodded before exiting the room. The painted-faced behemoth crept towards her little corner of hell, a guttural laugh increasing in volume with each step. He kneeled in front of the cage.

"Ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhh!" he screamed, mocking her, then laughed as the poor child let out another cartoonishly wet fart, worsening her already swamp-like case of mud-butt.

"Guuuuuuuhh awwaaaaah!" was all she could muster. She knew that even if the gag wasn't in her mouth he wouldn't listen. The man was clearly insane, taking pleasure in her cries of terror.

The smell of her own shit was gagging her, so she decided to shuck off her now heavy panties and throw them as hard as she could at the head of the monster. His lipless grin widened, further exposing his now shit-flecked teeth.

Ol' Red Nose reached in and pulled the panties out of the cage before holding them up to the light for inspection. He sniffed them before pulling them down over his head so far he could see through the leg holes. Alyssa looked on in shock as he laughed and made funny faces with her last night's supper dripping from his chin. She also noticed the bulge in his pants and began to fear the worst.

The great clown shucked down his ten-sizes-too-big pants and revealed himself to the poor girl. His dick sat there, staring at her, about a ninety-percenter. It was massive, the size of a fake fire extinguisher, and above it was a very bright and curly rainbow wig. The head was painted white with a winking smiley face, the piss-hole left red for the nose, and from his balls hung a small clown doll on a tiny trapeze. He cackled as he swung his sack back and forth, making the little clown spin around and around. He then walked over to his desk and laid the huge piece of meat on top of it, pulled an inflated hammer from his pants, and began smashing the hell out of it. The recently rigid WMD now made a whoopee cushion sound as it deflated, ending the show.

The great clown lifted his pants, walked over and sat back down at his desk, opening a monstrous black book as he did so.


Travis Wilson sat staring out of the window of the truckstop diner. As he sipped his cup of bitter coffee, he wondered if there could be a connection. He had been hired by Ruth Shelby, mother of the missing child, Alyssa Shelby, to look into the disappearance. Ruth, being desperate, had tearfully suggested the clowns could have something to do with it. She insisted they were part of a cult or something. He knew this was preposterous, but it was her daughter and her money.

"Will that be all, sir?" asked the tiny, middle-aged waitress that was clearly wearing a red wig.

"Yes, mam. Just the check, please."

Travis paid and exited through the dust-covered glass door, bell ringing behind him, and quickly froze mid-stride as his eyes locked on a note slipped under his windshield wiper. He quickly ran up to his car, looking around for any suspicious characters. He yanked the note out and opened it only to be greeted by a falling cloud of red glitter.

"Dear Travis,

I have heard you are interested in information regarding the disappearance of the girl known as Alyssa Shelby. I have also been notified that you are looking into a possible connection between the missing child and the clown sightings in the area. I am happy to inform you that I can shed a bit of light on both. All I ask is that you call the number on the back of the card at midnight tonight and follow the instructions given to you. Do not deviate from the instructions. Talk to you soon."

Travis quickly pulled out his phone and stored the number before dialing Ruth Shelby.

"I got a lead, Mrs Shelby."

"Really?! Please... what is it?!"

"Not much to tell yet. I got a note left on my windshield telling me to call a number tonight and that I would be meeting someone that knows something about the case. That's all I know right now."

"Please come over. I want to see the note. I'm begging you, please come now," she said as her voice began to break.

"Ok, ok. Please calm down. Hey! Listen to me. We're gonna get her back. I need you to stay calm and keep your head clear. I'll be over within the hour."


Travis dialed the number at 12 AM on the dot.

"Walk out into the parking lot. Beside your car is parked a black Mini Cooper with a red grille. Open the passenger door. On the seat will be a mask. Put it on and get in. Don't speak to the driver. If you're armed, the meeting will be cancelled."

Travis held the phone up to his ear until he heard it click. His heart immediately began to race, and he wasn't sure if he could go through with it.

This is right out of a horror movie.

Against his better judgment, he removed the snub-nosed .38 from his pocket and the four-inch switch-blade from his boot. He didn't take out the small multi-tool hidden in the sole of his boot under the insert. Knowing it was there was a small comfort that allowed his breathing to return to a normal state before walking out the front door of the Days Hotel. As he neared his car he could hear the light hum of the tiny Mini's engine. He opened the door and saw the mask:

A freakin' clown mask! Of course it is.

He put it on and sat down before noticing it smelled funny. Before he could protest to the painted face in the driver's seat, his world went dark.

Travis woke up with his wrists and ankles strapped to an old metal office chair. The room was dimly lit and smelled of axle grease, shit, and some funny smell. He looked around for a window and sadly discovered there was only one, and it was barred. After scanning the room he noticed a soft whimper coming from the corner to his left. He strained his neck to get a glimpse, but all he could make out was something square sitting in the corner.

Just as he started contemplating how to get out of his restraints, a large metal door screeched open directly behind him.

"He's up, boss," said a high-pitched male voice. "Guess there's no need in slappin' him awake, 'less you just want me to."


As Ol' Red Nose's face came into Travis's view, he let out a yelp of shock. It was a human monster, straight out of a Stephen King wetmare. The clown's missing lips were the most terrifying of all, and Travis quickly decided staring at the floor was his best option.

"You scared, boy? Don't look at the floor, look up here," said Pogo, as a madman's grin stretched across his face.

"I'm Pogo, and this is Red Nose, or boss, as most of us call him. So I hear you wanna know about the clowns that've been spotted around the area, and yer curious if there's any connection to the missing girl."

Travis took a moment to clear his thoughts. He had a feeling one wrong word could be his last.

"Yes," he said, struggling to control the anxiety bloating in his chest, "I am curious, but that's all. I'm not a cop. I just wanna know what happened to the girl. Now, please take these straps off me."

Pogo guffawed and playfully jabbed his elbow into his boss's ribs, quickly earning him a smack to the back of the head as well as a titty-twister (or purple-nurple depending on your region).

"Sorry boss! I'll be damned if you don't give the best titty-twisters this side of the Mississippi. What ya think we should do with him?"

Ol' Red Nose simply nodded at the cage in the corner.

"Put him in with the girl?" asked Pogo.


"Ok, so get another cage and put him in it?"

Honk! Honk!

Within moments Travis found himself in a similar cage to the girl's (minus all the shit) but on the other side of the room. Again he started plotting an escape so he could save himself and the girl, but urgency became an overwhelming issue when Pogo walked back in with another clown behind him.

"Well, darlin', it's yer lucky night. No more waitin' around. Yer about to become a real important lady," said Pogo, as he slipped a key into the rusty lock on her cage door.

"Wait! What are you doing?!" screamed Travis, struggling to contain the fear for his own life. "You don't need her! I'm sure whatever you're doing can be done another way!"

Pogo laughed. "Of course it can be done another way, dumb-dumb, but why would we? This is the easiest way and the most fun, so keep your self-righteous bullshit to yerself."

Pogo dragged the girl out of the cage by her hair as she tried to scream through her gag. Once her feet cleared the door of the cage the other clown grabbed her tiny legs, but they were slick with liquid shit and she landed a solid kick to his mouth.

"Ahhh! She done busted me lip! And with her poopy little foot!" he screamed. Pogo nearly dropped the girl in his laughter.

"You done got yerself a new nickname: Shit-foot Face."

They finally gained full control of the girl and carried her out the door as Travis angrily called them "no longer relevant" and "not funny". The second one seemed to get under Pogo's skin, causing him to pause and glare at Travis before continuing on his way. He knew it was pointless but didn't know what else to do. As the room went quiet he remembered the tool tucked away in the sole of his boot. He decided to give it a few minutes before retrieving it and attempting his escape.

The two clowns carried the girl out of the building, and her poop-painted skin glistened in the pale light of the moon. Her shoulder was on fire from her earlier fall, but her blinding fear was helping to block the pain. They carried her no more than a hundred yards into the woods before dropping her in a small clearing. A porta-potty sat off to the left, and she felt certain it was to be her final destination.

As bad as the thought was, there were worse ways to go, just ask Davide Carradine (I still maintain his death is debatable as either the worst or the best way to go).

She became more terrified as her eyes further adjusted and she noticed there were dozens of clowns standing amongst the trees just outside the rim of the circular, grassless clearing.

A starkiss had been carved into the muddy earth, and in the center a tall stilt had been buried halfway into the rect... ground. From it hung a dozen brightly colored handkerchiefs knotted together. Pogo motioned for the other clown to hold her ankles up, and he began tying the makeshift rope around them. After this was done, the girl was hoisted into the air by a small pulley at the top of the stilt. As she was brought to rest, about two feet off the ground, the other clowns slowly began moving closer.

"Tonight is the night, my friends," said Pogo, in a voice much different than his usual southern style. "Halloween, our favorite night of the year, is here, and our time has finally come. This year is of course different than any other, for this year we were able to decipher the last page of the great black book handed down to us from our great founder, Cool Cal. Now, if you will all please turn on your headlamps and look at the paper you were given upon your arrival."

The lights came on one by one, quickly illuminating the whole clearing. Alyssa took this opportunity to look at what she couldn't see clearly until now, but she quickly regretted her decision. They were monsters, every last one of them. Some with missing ears, noses, even eyes. Purple, green, and orange wigs of all different lengths sat on their heads, many matted with shit and whipped cream. They all had painted smiles, but on closer inspection, had genuine smiles as well.

"As you all know, our leader, Ol' Red Nose, no longer speaks, but he has instructed my words thus far and will continue to do so," said Pogo, continuing with his dry, unaccented tone. "He will give the standard double honk when it is time to read the incantation. It is critical that you use the speed we have practiced. When it is finished, come forward and retrieve a nose from the bucket. Do not put the nose on until you are commanded by another double honk. Once everyone has attached their new nose, Ol' Red Nose himself will finish the ritual and the circus will begin!"


A hundred yards away, inside the old garage, Travis was frantically picking his nose but also picking at the lock with the tiny nail file from his multi-tool. The lock was so old he wasn't familiar with the mechanism, but he wasn't willing to give up. He could think of little else aside from the image of the girl's horrified face as the two freaks carried her out of the room covered in her own crap. She was screaming with her eyes for him to help her, to plug her nose, and he knew he would never be able to sleep again if he didn't. As he tried to clear his thoughts for another attempt at opening the lock, he heard two honks off in the distance, followed by chanting.


As they began reciting the incantation, Pogo knelt down face to face with the girl, "You are more important to us than you will ever know. You are changing the world. Very few can claim this. It will be brief, my dear." As he said this, he slid a plastic flower from his coat pocket, a clown's squirting flower, but this one had a sharpened metal tube sticking out of the back. In one swift movement he jammed the device into the center of the girl's chest, quickly sliding the metal bucket filled with white noses underneath her. The blood flowed quickly and the girl could do nothing but cry (she pissed and shit some more, but it feels a bit redundant at this point). She pictured her mother, sitting at home convincing herself that the girl would come back some day. She wondered if her mother would ever recover from this.

The blood slowed and the girl could feel the pressure in her head dissipate as her vision began to blur. The last thing she saw in her short life was Ol' Red Nose's giant schlong flopping back and forth as another clown pulled what seemed to be an endless chain of rainbow handkerchiefs, just like the ones she was hanging from, out of his ass.

The chanting ended and one by one the clowns walked up and picked out a blood-soaked rubber nose, each one smiling at the girl as they did so. As the last one returned to their position around the great starkiss, Ol' Red Nose gave the final signal,

Honk! Honk!

They all quickly put their noses on, as did Pogo, but Ol' Red Nose chose to pick up the bucket and pour the nearly dead girl's blood all over his face. At that moment, Pogo leaned down and whispered, "Goodnight," to the young girl before pulling a small dagger from his boot and handing it to his leader. Ol' Red Nose bent over and viciously slashed the dagger across the girl's throat.


With the nail file broken, Travis was forced to swallow his pride and use his last option. He'd been called needle dick his whole life, but maybe now was the time it would finally pay off. He pulled out his shame and found it at full mast in about half a second before jamming it into the rusty old cunt (thinking of it this way made him feel better). The lock clicked and Travis threw open the door, sprinting outside into the darkness. Naked from the waist down he made it only a few yards before realizing that his tiny dick head was still wedged in the lock.

"This fucking day."

He saw the lights in the woods to his left and immediately began sprinting towards them not having a clue what his plan was, chunk of rusty metal dangling, flopping. Once he entered the circle he could see it was too late. He ran up to the girl and swiftly cut her down, cradling her head in his lap.

"Why?! You sick fucks! Why would you do this?!"

"Why not, Travis? Why not?! Why anything, my friend? She would've died eventually, Travis. We all do. Why not now, Travis? Why live? Why create life?" said Pogo, in a voice Travis found strange.

"Because she was just a kid, that's why! What is wrong with you fuckers?! Are you all fucking insane?!" he screamed, as tears fell from his eyes.

"Yes, Travis, we are. And, now, so shall they all be. The curse released by the incantation is like an airborne virus, Travis, and these noses are the only thing keeping us from suffering the same fate as the rest of the world. It will spread like a plague across this godforsaken earth.

"They will no longer laugh at us, but with us, until their last breath. They'll laugh themselves to death."

At this point Travis was completely confused by this madness, and could think of nothing else to say. A midget clown ran up behind him and tried to shove a rubber chicken up his ass. Travis spun around wildly, swinging the rusty lock like a dick-mace, smashing it into the little man's tiny head sending the pint-sized prankster to the ground.

He picked up the girl again and stroked her hair, now covered in what he hoped was only whipped cream, hating himself for being too late but feeling a very strange urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Just before a chuckle escaped his lips, a sledgehammer came smashing down into his skull. This one wasn't plastic.

All was dark.

The clowns danced.


Ruth Shelby sat at home on her daughter's bed, looking through a photo album while clutching a tiny pink bear. As she looked at the pictures of her beautiful daughter, she wondered what she could have done differently. When she reached this point, she knew she needed to break her train of thought because it never led anywhere worth traveling.

She sat the book down and headed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. As she was pouring the water in the pot, she heard the news woman mention once again that Alyssa Shelby was still missing. Images started flashing through her head, and her knees started to wobble. She wasn't sure if she could make it another day without knowing if her daughter was alive or not. She was going mad and felt the strangest urge she had ever felt. She was no longer in control of her own body.

She pulled the can of Reddi-Wip from the fridge, shook it, and sat it on the floor. She then removed her shorts and panties and slowly descended towards the can. As the nozzle first touched her labia, an orgasmic surge flowed through her body, the likes of which she had never felt before. She eased down over the can, screaming in ecstasy as she gave herself a new, improved version of a CreamPie.

She was a squirting flower and she had never felt so alive!

As she sat there with the nozzle pressed against her cervix, she again saw the pictures of her daughter on the screen. A wave of emotions and bodily functions overcame her: she pressed down on the can's tip as the shit, cum, and sweet cream flowed—piss sprayed freely as tears began welling up...

but rather than sobbing...

rather than weeping, or longing to hold her baby girl just one more time...

she started...


Written by Jay Ten
Content is available under CC BY-SA

Ad blocker interference detected!

Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers

Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.