*A lonely SUV exits the drive through window of the McDonalds in St. Peter, rumbling back onto 169 heading north for the Minneapolis/St. Paul International airport. The occupant has a direct flight to Miami to catch. Gaining speed like a 3 ton boulder rolling down hill, chubby fingers jab at numbers on a cell phone as an extra large McFlurry disappears in seconds.*
“Yo, what up babe, whatchu doin’? …. Nah, I’m not in training camp anymore. ….. Uh, I left the team. ….. Yeah. …. Technically unemployed, I guess, yeah …. No, it’s cool though, it means I came come hang out with you more and maybe become a tennis player and …. what do you mean ‘break up?’ …. That ain’t true, I can see my penis over my stomach any day of the week! … Another man?! …. Roddick?! The white boy?! He’s not even a good tennis player! …. Whatever, I don’t need you. I got tons of friends that like me for who I am, BMajor, the Music Maker! Forget you!”
*Sccchhhllluup!*
“Damn that McFlurry is good. I just call another hoe and get this new career poppin’. Who next?”
*Beep-boop-beep (those are phone sounds, obviously)*
“Hey girl, it’s me Big Mac. … Yeah, yeah I’m OK. I’m on my way back to Miami in the next couple of hours if you still want to go to the club and then head back to my studio later and cut that track. I heard that last one you did, shit was fly as a hummingbird. So good! … No, this one. Here, I’ll put it on my speakers so you can hear it over the phone …”
http://youtube.com/watch?v=
vftnaZjH5jw[/youtube]
“Damn, that’s such a good song. We are so good, seriously. Yeah, you remember that song? You called it ‘Aint About Money’ … Nah, that’s good, that’s good … because … uh, I got cut from the Vikings today. Well, actually, I asked for my release and they granted me my wish, so … No, it’s cool, I mean, we’re signing some real great musicians and I’m sure clubs are going to start calling any moment because everyone loves your shit, girl …. You what? Dropping me? What you mean you found some better agent?! Ain’t not other agent wear purple suits like I do! Bitch, get off my phone, you fired from B Major Music Group!”
*Super obvious hang up sound, like CLICK or something*
“Damn, that’s the last thing I need. My one established female rapper leaves me, my smash piece ditches me for a white guy, and this stupid Jew run football team kicks me to the curb cuz they think I’m too fat! Fat?! They let Pat Williams play last year and they calling me fat?! Die slow, assholes. I gotta call Rosenhaus.”
*Beep-boop-blurp*
“Yo, Rosey, what up man … Yeah I heard the news, what you think? I’m driving to the airport now to get back to Miami. I got some seriously good music opportunities next week and ….. No, it’s legit this time. I think MTV called or something, they said they really like what we’re doing, we’re bound to blow up … Yeah I know you’re a sports agent, so what? …. Work out? Why? I’m in the best shape of my life! Weight is like a bowling score, right? You want it high? More fat gives you more strength, or something? … Man, I’m fine. I don’t need you to sound like a coach all of a sudden. Just call some teams and tell them I’ve always wanted to play for them, that shit works all the time. … What do you mean you have already? …. No one? … Not even Carolina? …… What about Chicago? They got a great music scene up there and I think that moron Tice is still there. He let me do whatever I want …. No …. No, come on Rosey … Wait … No, someone will hire me, I swear, in the mean time I’ll keep paying you with the money I’m just rolling in from my super popular music care …. Hey, hello? Rosey? HEY! …. ANSWER ME!!! I’M NOT A FAT ASS!! I’M NOT!! I’M A SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS MAN THAT IS JUST DOWN ON HIS LUCK AND WILL PICK HIMSELF RIGHT BACK UP AS SOON AS OTHERS DO THE WORK FOR ME! GOD DAMN YOU, ROSENHAUS, GOD DAMN YOU! …..”
*sniff*
“…. What the hell did I do with BigMac, I need a friend.”
*PS: none of these people that you may think said this stuff actually said it, so, yeah.
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