Oh dear here we go again. Super ego vs super ego with the necessary accoutrements nearby, the very necessary super models that always come with super egos the way a chocolate sundae comes with a sprinkling array of crushed toasted peanuts. And when you’re a supermodel being offended by a super jerk (sorry Prince Pierre– these are merely Adam’s words) there is of course only one way to prove to the supermodels that you are worthy of admiration and adulation. Which way? The repugnant vulgar way which
does not turns on most super models and their fans- mash up violence. And lots of with it, with preferably $500 bottles of vodka (Grey Goose for when you feel like being opulently violent) being used as lethal weapons alongside your fists.
With the dust hardly setting pursuant to Saturday’s punch them and sock it affair at ritz club
‘Double Douche’ ‘Double Seven’ in NY’s meatpacking district the media is now trying to make sense of who is responsible for the fracas that has brought dishonor on the seemingly well groomed chaps of high caliber (so I have been told anyway) – Prince Pierre Casiraghi (of the Grimaldi dynasty), his pals Vladimir Restoin Roitfeld (man about town and art dealer) as well as shipping heir and model/celebrity dater (yes I know it comes with the territory of being a handsome heir to lots of money) Stavros Niarchos lll and fellow money bags socialite Diego Marroquin (if the 50’s had the ‘Rat pack’ the 80’s Hollywood’s up and coming the ‘Brat Pack’ 2012’s now have the ‘Wack pack’).
On one side of the fence is the veneer of a slighted ex football jock, Adam Hock who resorted to what he indelibly after many years of being a nightclub hero was the use of his fists after being put off by what he found to be obnoxious behavior courtesy of the ‘Wack pack.’
Offers our football hero (yes once a field hero always a hero…):
‘I acted 100% in self-defence. I felt I had to defend the honor of the women I was with. I feel I was victimized by several drunk, entitled guys, who felt they deserved the prime table with the most beautiful girls.’
Hmm. Resorting to handy fist action will always make certain men feel better about themselves and remind gangly supermodels who among their midst is the real alpha males. Sorry ‘Wac pack,’ your good looks, clout and money bags will not always be enough for certain quarters in town- says Adam.
‘Adam it’s me Scallywag. Do you mind passing me another drink dear? Grey Goose if you have it of course. Yes, like you I’m feeling slightly agitated and slightly debilitated today, life is just getting the better of me if you know what I mean.’
Continues our football hero:
‘They expected to be treated like the royalty they are. They didn’t get what they wanted, and it pissed them off.’
Rumors have also been spilling that Adam was peeved that the Wack Pack wanted his throne, as he and his gaggle of super beauties were at present occupying the club’s prime table. Something that this author could never imagine happening. Right?
Reflects Adam once again:
‘Noble he ain’t! This brat is just a clown in a crown.’
I see a budding career for Adam. Adam I am wondering what you can charge for the hour going about town knocking self entitled ‘Wack pack’ goons to the floor? I am sure there must be a gaggle of offended middle aged men with slight paunches and bad hair cuts that must be going through their checking account right now wondering how they can contact you. If I were you I wouldn’t charge anything less than a date with a supermodel, a free dinner to your favorite Upper East side boite and a back rub to void your strained shoulder blades (let’s admit it swinging a volley of punches does take its toll kids- notice Adam’s shoulder sling).
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