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But not even ratings can help the beleaguered network. Executives attempted at first to classify the situation as a simple wardrobe malfunction. But wardrobe malfunctions don't involve the thrusting, grunting, and discharging to the extent that we were able to see. By my last count at time of publication, the YouTube hits on this footage have gone viral - surpassing three billion views. That's right ladies. Three billion…
Although not everyone is pleased. My spies at the FCC tells me that "lewd and inappropriate" behavior, which this morning’s actions account for can carry a fine of up to $30,000 per second. Care to guess how much money that is? Maybe they should measure per inch…
Although, if it really came down to it, who doubts that the Prince himself wouldn't just pick up the tab and pay it? Nightclub goers in New York can count off the top of their heads how many times they've seen His Royal Highness gracing the clubs. Reportedly spending close to $25,000 on certain nights, the Prince has a voracious appetite, indeed. In fact, friends tell me that the Prince was actually at the Waverly Inn followed by Pink Elephant the night before his fateful "interview".
It's only a matter of time before YouTube removes all copies of the Prince and his rather large ‘retinue’. But fear not, denizens of Gotham, because we have the entire eleven minutes on our website. That includes the Prince doing the nasty, arguing with the head honchos when they tried to stop him, the infamous grab
and splatter on the said head honcho, and the rather athletic penis-waving at America. It's free now, so watch it while you can, because who knows how long our corporate overlords will keep it up before charging people to access it...
Still no word if the Prince broke any laws. While not a citizen of the United States and protected by diplomatic immunity, should the District Attorney decide to arrest him and secure an indictment, the resident visa that the Prince stays in the country with could be put in jeopardy...
What does that mean for you, frustrated home wife whose husband pays too little attention to your needs? It means, that our favorite bad boy Prince could in fact be banished back to his kingdom.
And now wouldn't that be a shame? Where would my paycheck come from? Because if there's one thing we need in our dreary New York lives, it's to lust after someone that deserves the name of...Prince Sin...
Till then, I’m Abby signing out. Keep your ears open, New York City…
Derrick
I must have slept through the whole fucking morning because when I wake up the goddamn clock says 4 pm.
Fuck me.
“Your Highness,” Pressly says, “it seems that this morning’s actions have caused quite the stir.”
Fucking hell, can’t a bloke wake up in peace without someone bringing up trouble? I sit up on the bed and grab a bottle of whisky that I left on the bedside drawer; taking it to my lips, I have a long gulp and let the burning amber liquid go down my throat and jolt me into consciousness. I look over at Pressly only once I’m ready.
He’s holding a copy of evening edition of The News of the Times in his hands. I groan to myself. Those bastards have had it for me since the day I fucking moved to New York City. I brace myself as I read the title.
“Meet Prince Sin!” it reads.
There’s a picture of me holding one arm out and the other grabbing my cock as I wave it on around. Despite myself, I can’t but chuckle and smile to myself.
“I fail to see what’s so amusing, Your Highness,” Pressly says stiffly.
“Prince Sin,” I say to him. “Has a nice ring to it, mate,” I say. Fuck it. They want to have some fun, I’m on!
I get up and, get myself inside some jeans. It’s just me so I decide to go shirtless as I amble down to the dining room - it’s already way past lunch time, but Pressly knows how I fucking roll.
“Alright, Pressly. Lay it on me, mate,” I say to him as I eat.
He clears his throat as I sit at the glass table and start filling up a plate and devouring everything in sight. Nothing better than a night of drinking and fucking to build an appetite. And, fuck, after plowing through three Russian models and a reporter during the past two days, my appetite is fucking huge right now.
“Well, Sire, as I said, it seems your antics this morning has caused an international incident.” An international incident - what the fuck? Apparently I’m some kind of fucking terrorist now? Since when is it illegal to fuck a willing woman in this country on camera? If anything, they should be applauding me for showing them how it’s fucking done. None of that politically fucking correct claptrap. “Every single media outlet from CNN to the National Enquirer have been talking about it all day. You’ve certainly raised some hell, Your Highness.”
Well, that does sound like me - I’m always ready to raise hell wherever I fucking go. And all the tabloids are always fucking talking about me. So, really, what’s different this time? “Relax, Pressly,” I say. “People like to talk. This will all just blow over soon.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be as easy as that, sire. I’ve heard that the District Attorney for the city wants to get involved now as well.”
“Who the fuck is he to get involved and what the hell can he do to my diplomatic fucking immunity?” I ask.
“By herself, the District Attorney can’t do anything, Derrick,” my attorney, Larry Summers says as he walks in. I wonder how the fuck he got up here when Pressly tells me, “I took the liberty of summoning Mr. Summers, Your Highness. He’s been waiting the last hour assessing the situation.”
I grunt. I’m fucking eating too. Larry continues. “However, what the DA can do is bring charges against you that if indicted on, will make you lose your visa.”
Fuck, did he just say what I think he said? And did he just say the DA was a woman? I’m not worried then. I can always fuck her real good, get her on the Blaine Train, and get her to drop to her knees while she’s dropping all charges.
“And if I know the DA,” Larry says, “Then Samantha Scar won’t stop till she gets blood.”
