Book-Excerpt: Another Joan Self-Serving Fake-Sick Self-Diagnosis
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JOAN CRAWFORD from the Novel Mommie Smearest Disses FEUD ep.7: Part 8 of a Parody Series

After all of its fake news, FEUD has finally gotten one true thing right and acknowledged the giant elephant in the room—no, not Bette Davis’s ass, but I can see why you’d jump to that huge obvious conclusion.

No, I mean that FEUD has publicly recognized the core problem between Davis and me: Her burning jealousy of my timeless beauty and sex appeal. Jack Warner knew nobody wanted to f•ck Davis, but that Hollywood-hound-dogs stood in line for decades sniffing my sweet tail.

Mommie Smearest, book review, L LeSueur

Available on Amazon

It’s still a problem for her. I’m here in Movie Star Heaven after avoiding Hell by blowing charming a friendly gate guard (F•CK the standoffish-kid FEUD “doctor” who doesn’t know a real godd•mn movie-star-sexual-opportunity when he sees one).

After Davis eagerly made the same offer at Heaven’s gate and was flatly rejected, she’s in Hollywood Hell being punished with endless-loop movies starring Julia Roberts playing the role of Julia Roberts, interspersed with the daily live tragi-cartoons from the Trump White House Press Briefing Room.

Hell is the center of the universe, which should thrill Davis since she always resented me being the center of Hollywood’s attention. But in our Solar System, the center is the Sun, which means Davis is on fire (besides her burning jealousy of me), and that is one blaze for which I would not walk across the galaxy to piss on—the scent of which would re-excite all those Hell-dwelling male stars who stood in line to sniff me—but who would still turn up their noses at Davis standing there, and hump each other instead. You’ve seen male dogs do that when no bitch is standing there. Or when the bitch standing there is a character actress instead of a movie star.

So FEUD has given you its fake-news version of events about how and why I left Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte—like Davis was the clear winner. Or something. I gave you my preferred the true narrative of that process in my unauthorized fake autobiography and parody Mommie Smearest: See Joan Crawford In Bitch Selfie Ain’t Make You No Movie Star. Since mine is the historically revised accurate transcript, I am running that chapter below IN ITS FACTUAL ENTIRETY as my rebuke review of FAKE FEUD ep.7.

While you’re reading my alternative-facts truth about Hush, I’ll be on the phone with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which has for some reason just called me with questions based on FEUD ep.7 and a related hostile-workplace complaint filed by that lying bitch Mamacita. I don’t understand why everybody leaves me: How can everybody be so wrong?

As Faye Dunaway said as me: “Let’s go.”


        Chapter 34 from Mommie Smearest formatted for Kinkster MAG

•sshole Is the New Appendix
A Famous Feud — Blather from Bette

I thought I had rid myself of Bette Davis when I stormed off the set of Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte (with her in a supporting role to me), after weeks of my being too ill to continue working in the humid Louisiana countryside. And NOT after being ASKED to leave, either. It was entirely my own decision for health reasons at the recommendation of Mayo Clinic’s respiratory-care unit, and I don’t care what Davis or Mayo’s records say.

But my publisher informed me that due to some equal-time clause in our early movie contracts, and our roles as the original Hollywood frenemies and thereby your possible expectations as a reader, I am required to give Bette some space to build dynamic literary tension.

I originally agreed to include her at the end in the Appendix, and then I discovered the clinical literary interchangeability of the word Appendix, which appears last in a book, with the word •sshole, which appears last in the digestive system, so, well, you see where I’m going. Davis was always talking out of her Appendix anyway.

At the last minute, the publisher insisted Bette’s statement be moved here, since our peak stardom ran concurrently with my Monster Mommie Dearest reign of…well, with my reign. But at that late date I was not being inconvenienced thinking up a new chapter name. F•ck those tight-•ssed know-it-all traditional publishers; they deserve exactly what they’re getting from Amazon.

So let’s get this over with. I’ll check in with you afterward.

Direct Messaging from Bette Davis in Hollywood Hell

Yeah. Bette Davis here. Crawford hasn’t changed. It’s all still her, her, her and more f•cking her!

And that BINGO bullshit. That’s just fucking cover-up is all that is, for her own bad godd•mned behavior. Acting like she’s some godd•mned Shirley MacLaine-type celebrity psychic, channeling characters from another realm. Jesus. {EDITOR’S NOTE: Davis is referring to Crawford’s clinically self-diagnosed Hollywood talkie-trauma stress syndrome afflicting silent film stars when they transitioned to talkies. Crawford’s first talkie role was that of the violent young woman “Bingo” in the 1929 film Untamed which Crawford claimed left her with Bingo-psychosis, a post-traumatic stress disorder also known as Bp—not gambling addiction or an oil company—producing turbulent behavior when triggered by external phenomena like wire hangers or being fired from a studio. END EDITOR’S NOTE.}

And another thing, that crap about her deciding to leave the set of Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte where she was portraying a character subordinate to me. It was decided for her and she was told to leave, not asked. For the short time she was there, La Crawford sat in her godd•mned dressing trailer all day, smoking and drinking.

Refused to go into makeup, which was a long-term event for her—the artists worked on her in shifts—and she failed to come onto the set on anything like a f•cking schedule. We stand around. We wait. We drink Cokes and leave the empties by her door. Hah! No word from Her F•cking Star Actress Majesty, while a whole godd•mned set full of people sit around and wait. Her code name on the set was Bluff-and-Stall.

Sometimes the trailer door would open and we’d look up like, “Christ Jesus, f•cking finally!” And a liver-spotted hand would stretch out and dump an ashtray and bang it on the side of the trailer, and then SLAM! went the door and we don’t hear from her for another two f•cking hours. Apparently nobody told her she was NOT the sympathetic character on the high moral ground in MY movie; that was her role in the LAST movie we did, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, another title role for me.

[SOUND: EXTENDED PAUSE for coughing, spitting and nasal hawking followed by sound of cigarette lighter and loud inhalation of stabilizing heavy toxins.]

But whatever. Crawford was the hell off Hush. So I call my gal pal Olivia de Havilland for Joan’s role. Liv didn’t wanna do it, ‘cause she’d already done a minor movie back in the 1930s that was set in the Old South and it went straight to DVD. It was called Gone With the Windblown to Hell or something.

[Hi, it’s me, Joan. The movie Davis refers to was Gone With the Wind, and Olivia de Havilland was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. Bette auditioned but was not chosen for the lead role of Scarlett O’Hara because Gone With the Wind was too big a property to have fail.]

Hey! This is Bette! F•CK Miss Joan Godd•mned Academy F•cking Film Historian Crawford! This is my part of the story, and I got yanked all the godd•mned way back from a godd•mned Julia Roberts Thespian hah! film marathon, and I’ll tell this like I wanna tell it.

I don’t know what Crawford did after she left Hush. Went around opening Pepsi plants ‘til they figured out how to get rid of her. She’s not exactly the Pepsi Generation. More like the Gaslight Generation.

I guess after the Pepsi gig fizzled—Hah! Hey that’s good! Pepsi fizzled!—she kept calling producers begging for roles. Maybe that’s how she got Trog except I think that’s one instance where she actually woulda been better in the title role. Hah!….


It’s me, Joan. I am interrupting that old-broad broadcast which is nothing but reruns, with the breaking news that my boyfriend the Christian rap-thug porn-star R.E.L.E.N. †.L.E.$.$.B.B.C. has just handed me his BlackBerry (I made him drop that pretentious iPhone) which is blasting its ringtone of $aint Luke’s “Ima Keep It Real Yo”—the caller ID says someone is calling from the New York Times.

End of excerpt from Mommie Smearest reproduced with permission.


BACKSTORY on Kinkster MAG Contributor JOAN CRAWFORD’s FEUD Reviews

In keeping with Kinkster MAG’s objective of reinventing intellect and culture with thoughtful and unapologetic articles and original celebrity interviews for gay men with an edge, we asked Joan Crawford to review FEUD: Bette and Joan. Our Joan is from the searing novel lampooning reality-culture Mommie Smearest: See Joan Crawford In Bitch Selfie Ain’t Make You No Movie Star, with the outrageous-parody voice of Miss Crawford from the cult film Mommie Dearest. Read all of Joan’s FEUD parodies here. Read Kinkster MAG’s review of Mommie Smearest here.



The author of the top-selling book, 'Mommie Smearest' isn't happy Joan was not asked for approval to develop the FX Series FEUD: Bette & Joan. Mommie is back to dish about the series and give us the "alternative-facts."