The smell of desperation in the entertainment industry is more powerful than …?
Consider this tale: it is 2 pm in the south river section of the metropolis. Two young entertainers are sitting in the outer office of a TV producer, who is casting for a new soap opera: The Koffee Klown King, to be sponsored by Kimchi Koffee and Kreepy Krene.
The first girl, accompanied by her agent, is wearing green camouflage hotpants and a skimpy medium green singlet that displays her implants to advantage. The sounds of the latest pop hits are leaking from her modish earphones. Her golden heifer bobble earrings bop along to the tunes. The pert young thing sings in a teen group known as: Golfclub Villa Girlz.
The other girl, whose nose seems to have been sculpted by the same surgeon, is sitting demurely in a white blouse, pleated navy blue skirt and knee length white socks. Her mother, seated next to her, primly holds a French trombone case labelled Juillard and also sports a surgically enhanced nose.
Due to their similar appearance, the TV producer relies on his usual metric to decide between actresses aspiring to star in coffee commercials: a French roast examination.
He calls in the first girl’s agent and explains his dilemma and his demands. The agent quickly says: “My girl is sponsored by KK Donuts and last week she went to a famous golf club, going doggy style multiple times with the CEO of KKD and milking the full eight centimetres of the president of Kimchi Koffee Corporation with her pouty lips.”
The producer calls in the other aspirant’s mother to tell her that the other girl has the right specifications for the role.
The mother calmly informs the producer: “Au contraire, mon petit champignon. There is a fait accompli.”
“Last night my daughter was down on all fours while your company president rogered her from behind and the full eight centimetres of the KKC’s president was gobbled lustily by a younger one of my daughters in your president’s villa, while the rest of the golf club fapped furiously to the live feed of my youngest daughter servicing all the TV critics from famous university media outlets.”
The teenage secretary of the producer has overheard this interchange on the office intercom, he quickly minces into the producer’s office, girlishly flicks back his bangs, places his arms akimbo and mewls: “I have been pwactising Fwench with our company pwesident’s son for the last four months and scwewing the pooches of his lusty fwiends for two! I was pwomised the part!”
The TV producer slumps back in his chair, slaps his forehead and croaks: “Doh!”
A catfight ensues.
The bra ripping and panty tearing is captured on CCTV, stolen by security guards and twenty minutes of video is uploaded onto a website, where it is advertised for sale to over 18s by 3:00 pm.
By 3:30 pm a middle school boy has cracked the code and by midnight the video has been downloaded more times than Golfclub Villa Girlz’ latest youtube hit: “Getting groped by creepy old guys in the golfclub.“