A look inside Real HQ…

18 Sep

earlier today…

the tv in the kitchen sputtered the beginnings of the daily RM coverage. knowing the day’s big story, flope shifted uncomfortably in his eelskin loafers. he knew he wouldn’t leave–how could he, with the 7 trillion dollar clause in the contract?–but somehow he hadn’t expected the his prized possession to turn against him so quickly. “no, i bought him–he’s mine” flope quietly tried to reassure himself while decorating a torta de chocolate (“mou’s favorite!”, he thought to himself with a smile) in the shape of the champions league trophy, writing the words “your third!!!” in large blue icing letters. he considered briefly adding “our tenth” in smaller letters, perhaps along the bottom where no one would see it, but then thought better of it. “musn’t tempt fate, not with so many callers after my mou!” he reasoned as he put the icing down just as he heard mou ringing his servant bell while shouting that the tv wasn’t going to change the channel all by itself. flope hurriedly picked up the cake, cursing himself for forgetting to ready the tv so mou could watch his press conference as he did every day at 2pm. as he left the kitchen, flope involuntarily winced at the thought of the spankings he would surely receive. it was going to be a long year.


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