I’m Abigail Adams, and here’s what Abby’s hearing...
Looks like New York City’s very own Prince Sin has found someone he can spend an entire evening with. Our spies tell us that the young lady – and she was young – met the Prince at the fabulous Per Se restaurant at the Time Warner Center. They had cocktails and proceeded to enjoy a 14 course tasting menu put together by Executive Chef Jolan Tru.
But all is not well in Camelot. Sources in the restaurant confirm for Abby that the Prince pulled out all the stops. He booked the entire restaurant, and left it empty. Meaning that he and his special love were the only ones there that night. But witnesses saw the pair get into an argument – we’re still trying to figure out about what. The last thing people saw was the lovely lady running out of the restaurant before the Prince caught up to her.
Was it a successful night for the billionaire playboy? Apparently not, because the lady in question was seen hailing a cab off Columbus Circle, while the Prince was picked up by his own car. Woe to us for not getting a picture of the duo – especially when it means that Prince Sin struck out…
And for you skeptics there that think the Prince may have hightailed it back to the lady’s apartment, Abby has full confirmation that he was in fact spotted in the Meatpacking District. We lost sight of him after that. Oh well, we’re sure our bad boy Prince of Sin is going to show up sooner rather than later. Until then, here’s a recap on our brooding hero.
The District Attorney is still weighing charges to be filed against our wayward Prince. Should he be indicted, we are now almost certain with our legal experts, that the Prince will lose his residency visa and be deported from the country.
The Press Secretary for St. Livy, Samantha Bayer, gave no comment to the Prince’s condition, only referring to the ongoing trade talks between the Kingdom of St. Livy and the US, stating that that was the overriding concern of the King at the moment.
One things for sure, if Derrick Blaine is kicked out of the country, there’s probably a legion of women prepared to follow Prince Sin and his gorgeous body and enormous appendage to wherever he settles next.
Stay with us for daily coverage on this breaking news situation. Until then, I’m Abby signing out. Keep your ears open, New York City…
9
Derrick
Fuck me. I’m going fucking mental thinking about Daphne.
But she’s not fucking here, is she?
Don’t fucking roll you’re eyes at me. I know what you’re thinking. That I’m a fucking wanker and I don’t fucking deserve her.
But I know she’s so much more than a fucking stripper. I know she’s got so much potential.
I’m actually fucking glad she didn’t act like all the other fucking girls and try to jump on my enormous cock right away. I want this to be right. I want to deserve this woman. I want to be worthy of her.
Then why the fuck am I in my Bentley with my mates not two hours after she and I parted ways?
Fuck me. I can’t give you a reason. All I know is that I needed to go out. I needed to clear my fucking head. So I called them up. They’re always down for a night out. Sons of fucking Wall Street titans and Senators and the lot.
I look out the window of the Bentley as it's driving down the street, and see that the line to the fucking club goes nearly one fucking city block.
Jesus Christ, I think. This many people on a Friday night want to go to this spot. Are there that many lonely fucking people out in the world?
It's not like I want to come here. But it gets me out with my mates. It’s a chance to clear my head, like I said, remember? A way to unwind. A place to pick up the sluts so I don't have to do a lot of work to figure out who I'm going to fuck for the night.
That’s right. I’m going to clear my head the only fucking way I know. I’m going to drink and fuck it out.
After all – if that cunt DA presses charges and gets an indictment, this is all gone, isn’t it?
A part of me can’t say I blame the DA for fucking me up the ass like that.
I know I sound like a cocky, arrogant bastard, and I guess if you called me that, I'd look you in the face and tell you that you were absolutely right.
Then, if you were a bloke, I'd beat the shit out of you.
But guess what? Nothing would happen to me.
Because I'm the fucking prin
ce. My father, no matter how much of a wanker he is, is still a head of fucking state. Which means I have something known as diplomatic immunity. There are certain crimes I can commit and there’s very little the police can do about it, because I’m a foreign dignitary.
It's good to be the son of the fucking King. But it’s made me into an asshole. I’m realizing this the more I think about Daphne.