Post by Deleted on Nov 17, 2013 22:59:13 GMT -5
Throughout the ultra chic Buckhead District in Atlanta, Georgia, sounds of a sprightly, ageless platinum guitar riff resonates with partygoers, drawing outsiders toward the exotic escape of Havana Club. Marijuana and booze stinks the block, suggesting overindulgence and fried minds about. Such a high-profile place is exactly where paparazzi linger in hopes of photographing celebrities off their mugs and behave unusual. Moreover, a TMZ tool finds not a mindless fish hooked on his rod but a gator.
Alongside a belly-laughing Farah Khan, who’s dressed in a tracksuit and platform sneakers, topped with a backward cap covering her ponytailed hairdo, is another woman laughing just as hard: Director Callahan’s pet project, Alisha Vause. While Khan can barely stay balanced without one arm wrapped around her companion’s waist, Alisha leans on her hand against a brick wall outside of the club’s entrance to not tip over either. Nearby desirers gaze upon the juicy-lipped wearer of dark wash jeans and a cropped t-shirt, and jealous passersby murmur over Alisha’s silky straight hair that enhances her superstar look.
“I’m pretty sure I saw her on a commercial earlier.” One gal said to another, but only a TMZ weirdo would memorize such details, and thus he knew who Alisha and Khan both were. Eager to lasso dumb comments from the likely inebriated duo, mister TMZ dashes forward with his camcorder in hand and a goofy grin.
TMZ: “Hey! Alisha! Can I – would you –“
In addition to Vause and Khan’s eyelids being shut tight, the loudness of their laughter prevents the reporter from being seen or heard. With no other apparent option, TMZ taps on Alisha’s hand, the one used to support her stance. As a result, Alisha opens her eyes to see the chunky, mutton-chop reporter and abruptly stops laughing.
Alisha Vause: “Hm?”
Taken aback by Alisha’s instant change of demeanor, TMZ loses his train of thought.
Farah Khan: “Who’s this?”
Alisha Vause: “No clue.”
Khan rolls her eyes and grabs Alisha by the hand.
Farah Khan: “Let’s go pick up Norton.”
TMZ: “I can like to would you?”
Unsure if the man is retarded, Alisha slightly furrows her brow and smiles.
Alisha Vause: “Yes, I would can like to, too. Got to go, though. Bye!”
Hand in hand, the two girls begin strolling away from the nightclub, and TMZ dude realizes how idiotic he sounded.
TMZ: “Wait, wait. I’m sorry. I meant to ask if you two were excited for North Atlantic’s debut.”
Farah Khan: “Debut? It’s been around for more than a year. In fact, I’m champion there.”
Alisha Vause: “He probably meant PURE.”
Rushing a hand through his fuzzy hair, TMZ dude feels tongue-tied.
TMZ: “Yes! Sorry, that’s exactly what I meant to say.”
Alisha Vause: “Also, the debut was last week. Episode two is four days from now.”
Farah Khan: “Ugh, is today really the fourteenth? I have to face some Snap loser soon. Fuck work.”
Alisha Vause: “Sarah Snap doesn’t sound worse than a fruitcake called Diamond Legend.”
Farah Khan: “That’s horrendous. But my jabroni looks like this guy. She’s got that celeb-stalker vibe.”
There’s nothing worse than being shat on while you’re there to hear but they act like you’re not. Except AIDS, Syria’s missile stockpile, health insurance cancellations, your mayor being a crack addict, and being known as Diamond Legend.
Alisha Vause: “Okay, so you get to punch Perez Hilton and I’m dealing with Robin Thicke.”
Farah Khan: “It could be worse, yup.”
After wiping sweat off his fatso forehead, TMZ guy clears his throat.
TMZ: “How about we talk about Diamond Legend?”
A firm nod is given by Alisha, the man in question’s opponent.
Alisha Vause: “Sure, let’s talk about the nigga who has the audacity to go out on the first night of PURE and talk shit, and then go backstage and talk more shit, and basically spend the whole damn show babbling about how he’s the bomb, how he’s the future, and anybody who doesn’t recognize him as a diamond instead of a lump of coal should be shot. Be sure to get this down, ‘cause I’m about to go on a rant here.”
As requested, TMZ dude holds the camcorder and takes a backseat.
Alisha Vause: “First and foremost, Rebel and Callahan, you guys took a risk by allowing that fool to eat up so much airtime just to insult fans and prop himself up for a royal whopping this week. Maybe fans will tune in just to see his punk ass get clobbered to death by a strong black woman, or whatever the hell it is Callahan markets me as. But if I were sitting at home last week as a consumer, and that’s who was on my screen – and that’s who you offer up as must-see television: I’d have turned the channel. I’d have told my niggas PURE ain’t no different than all the other bubbly promotions acting tough but got marshmallow busters prancing around like hotshots. Why? Because this story is too fake, man.
It reminds me of 2 Chainz, that rapper who bragged about money, power, class, and all sorts of crap common niggas don’t have. 2 Chainz acted hard, and wanted to be photographed smoking blunts and riding Lamborghinis. Then what happened? An actual gunner caught a whiff of that power puff girl on the street, body checked him and his whole entourage, and robbed that nigga of not just his possessions but his pride. That 2 chain bitch pleaded with cops to not leak the story – to not let anyone know the truth because his whole fantasy world would crumble.
But the cops didn’t have to do shit. That’s public record. Anybody can find that out via Google search.
So when Callahan texted me saying who this trick was and my goal: exterminate all roaches, I felt bored. PURE is supposed to be the best of the best and all that jazz. Every upstart promotion labeled as ‘wrestling at its finest’ practically never delivers on that promise, except for a few. And me? I’m one of those few. I’ve been chosen not just because I’m great at what I do, but because I offer diversity, rawness, a colorful personality and ... I forget what else Callahan said.
Point being, though, I can’t focus too much on burying this Breakfast at Tiffany’s enthusiast. Even though it’d be absolutely hilarious to hear everyone next week, especially whoever loses this week, defend themselves by merely stating: “At least I’m not the dumb nigga who calls himself Diamond Legend. Hurhur derp.”
For real. Say his name aloud, and if you don’t instantly bust a gut, you probably spend all night convincing yourself you a ‘real wizard’ like that Harry Potter bitch too.
But for real this time, I digress. Let’s talk about this win. By default, I’ll join the ranks of these other qualified guys who’re aiming for World gold, and I bet I’m mostly dealing with a bunch of insecure nutjobs who NEED the belt to validate themselves as more than old-timers or rookies or socially awkward dweebs lusting for popularity.
Let me tell you right now, that’s not the case with me. For everyone who watches my matches and follows my ascension to the oval office, I’m doing this strictly for you guys who’re sick of cheaters, bland fighters and fake ass niggas, like Diamond Legend.
When I threaten to bomb a nigga, expect Hiroshima levels of devastation. Look no further than how different a song Diamond Legend sings next week compared to now. What’ll he say after I cleanly rock him? After I decisively lay him to sleep with a one-two combo?”
Like earlier, Alisha abruptly stops and looks at the TMZ fellow as if waiting for a response. Before he can think of one, however, Alisha answers.
Alisha Vause: “Nothing... Well, there may be noise coming from him, but that’ll just be him gasping for air.”
Farah Khan: “Boom.”
Once again tugging on Alisha’s hand, Farah tries to begin the long walk home.
Farah Khan: “Excuse us, dude, we got better stuff to do.”
End.
Alongside a belly-laughing Farah Khan, who’s dressed in a tracksuit and platform sneakers, topped with a backward cap covering her ponytailed hairdo, is another woman laughing just as hard: Director Callahan’s pet project, Alisha Vause. While Khan can barely stay balanced without one arm wrapped around her companion’s waist, Alisha leans on her hand against a brick wall outside of the club’s entrance to not tip over either. Nearby desirers gaze upon the juicy-lipped wearer of dark wash jeans and a cropped t-shirt, and jealous passersby murmur over Alisha’s silky straight hair that enhances her superstar look.
“I’m pretty sure I saw her on a commercial earlier.” One gal said to another, but only a TMZ weirdo would memorize such details, and thus he knew who Alisha and Khan both were. Eager to lasso dumb comments from the likely inebriated duo, mister TMZ dashes forward with his camcorder in hand and a goofy grin.
TMZ: “Hey! Alisha! Can I – would you –“
In addition to Vause and Khan’s eyelids being shut tight, the loudness of their laughter prevents the reporter from being seen or heard. With no other apparent option, TMZ taps on Alisha’s hand, the one used to support her stance. As a result, Alisha opens her eyes to see the chunky, mutton-chop reporter and abruptly stops laughing.
Alisha Vause: “Hm?”
Taken aback by Alisha’s instant change of demeanor, TMZ loses his train of thought.
Farah Khan: “Who’s this?”
Alisha Vause: “No clue.”
Khan rolls her eyes and grabs Alisha by the hand.
Farah Khan: “Let’s go pick up Norton.”
TMZ: “I can like to would you?”
Unsure if the man is retarded, Alisha slightly furrows her brow and smiles.
Alisha Vause: “Yes, I would can like to, too. Got to go, though. Bye!”
Hand in hand, the two girls begin strolling away from the nightclub, and TMZ dude realizes how idiotic he sounded.
TMZ: “Wait, wait. I’m sorry. I meant to ask if you two were excited for North Atlantic’s debut.”
Farah Khan: “Debut? It’s been around for more than a year. In fact, I’m champion there.”
Alisha Vause: “He probably meant PURE.”
Rushing a hand through his fuzzy hair, TMZ dude feels tongue-tied.
TMZ: “Yes! Sorry, that’s exactly what I meant to say.”
Alisha Vause: “Also, the debut was last week. Episode two is four days from now.”
Farah Khan: “Ugh, is today really the fourteenth? I have to face some Snap loser soon. Fuck work.”
Alisha Vause: “Sarah Snap doesn’t sound worse than a fruitcake called Diamond Legend.”
Farah Khan: “That’s horrendous. But my jabroni looks like this guy. She’s got that celeb-stalker vibe.”
There’s nothing worse than being shat on while you’re there to hear but they act like you’re not. Except AIDS, Syria’s missile stockpile, health insurance cancellations, your mayor being a crack addict, and being known as Diamond Legend.
Alisha Vause: “Okay, so you get to punch Perez Hilton and I’m dealing with Robin Thicke.”
Farah Khan: “It could be worse, yup.”
After wiping sweat off his fatso forehead, TMZ guy clears his throat.
TMZ: “How about we talk about Diamond Legend?”
A firm nod is given by Alisha, the man in question’s opponent.
Alisha Vause: “Sure, let’s talk about the nigga who has the audacity to go out on the first night of PURE and talk shit, and then go backstage and talk more shit, and basically spend the whole damn show babbling about how he’s the bomb, how he’s the future, and anybody who doesn’t recognize him as a diamond instead of a lump of coal should be shot. Be sure to get this down, ‘cause I’m about to go on a rant here.”
As requested, TMZ dude holds the camcorder and takes a backseat.
Alisha Vause: “First and foremost, Rebel and Callahan, you guys took a risk by allowing that fool to eat up so much airtime just to insult fans and prop himself up for a royal whopping this week. Maybe fans will tune in just to see his punk ass get clobbered to death by a strong black woman, or whatever the hell it is Callahan markets me as. But if I were sitting at home last week as a consumer, and that’s who was on my screen – and that’s who you offer up as must-see television: I’d have turned the channel. I’d have told my niggas PURE ain’t no different than all the other bubbly promotions acting tough but got marshmallow busters prancing around like hotshots. Why? Because this story is too fake, man.
It reminds me of 2 Chainz, that rapper who bragged about money, power, class, and all sorts of crap common niggas don’t have. 2 Chainz acted hard, and wanted to be photographed smoking blunts and riding Lamborghinis. Then what happened? An actual gunner caught a whiff of that power puff girl on the street, body checked him and his whole entourage, and robbed that nigga of not just his possessions but his pride. That 2 chain bitch pleaded with cops to not leak the story – to not let anyone know the truth because his whole fantasy world would crumble.
But the cops didn’t have to do shit. That’s public record. Anybody can find that out via Google search.
So when Callahan texted me saying who this trick was and my goal: exterminate all roaches, I felt bored. PURE is supposed to be the best of the best and all that jazz. Every upstart promotion labeled as ‘wrestling at its finest’ practically never delivers on that promise, except for a few. And me? I’m one of those few. I’ve been chosen not just because I’m great at what I do, but because I offer diversity, rawness, a colorful personality and ... I forget what else Callahan said.
Point being, though, I can’t focus too much on burying this Breakfast at Tiffany’s enthusiast. Even though it’d be absolutely hilarious to hear everyone next week, especially whoever loses this week, defend themselves by merely stating: “At least I’m not the dumb nigga who calls himself Diamond Legend. Hurhur derp.”
For real. Say his name aloud, and if you don’t instantly bust a gut, you probably spend all night convincing yourself you a ‘real wizard’ like that Harry Potter bitch too.
But for real this time, I digress. Let’s talk about this win. By default, I’ll join the ranks of these other qualified guys who’re aiming for World gold, and I bet I’m mostly dealing with a bunch of insecure nutjobs who NEED the belt to validate themselves as more than old-timers or rookies or socially awkward dweebs lusting for popularity.
Let me tell you right now, that’s not the case with me. For everyone who watches my matches and follows my ascension to the oval office, I’m doing this strictly for you guys who’re sick of cheaters, bland fighters and fake ass niggas, like Diamond Legend.
When I threaten to bomb a nigga, expect Hiroshima levels of devastation. Look no further than how different a song Diamond Legend sings next week compared to now. What’ll he say after I cleanly rock him? After I decisively lay him to sleep with a one-two combo?”
Like earlier, Alisha abruptly stops and looks at the TMZ fellow as if waiting for a response. Before he can think of one, however, Alisha answers.
Alisha Vause: “Nothing... Well, there may be noise coming from him, but that’ll just be him gasping for air.”
Farah Khan: “Boom.”
Once again tugging on Alisha’s hand, Farah tries to begin the long walk home.
Farah Khan: “Excuse us, dude, we got better stuff to do.”
End.
