That picture from TMZ of 50 Cent and Chelsea Handler sitting close to each other at a jazz bar in New Orleans isn’t what you think. Not that I really know what you think exactly since that it’s not clear what’s going on in that picture. 50 Cent and Chelsea could be talking about young America’s new love for spaghetti tacos, or they could be deep into a staring contest, or he could be feeding his finger to her pikachu. But according to Chelsea, it’s definitely not the latter. Chelsea went on her Twitter yesterday to set the shit straight and say that 50 Cents is not licking on her erect forehead vein. Chelsea wrote:
Everyone, calm down. I met with mr. Cent about a potential project. There’s nothing to report yet, ill let you know if there is.
about 16 hours ago via ÜberTwitter
A business thing. Riiiiight. I’ve heard that one before. No, I really have. It’s time for another chapter in Michael K’s Non-Adventures in Whoring! So, when I was around 18 or so, I started fucking around with some much older fancy L.A. type who had a fancy job and loved all things fancy. Dude was only running around with me so he could write off our dinners together as charity. On our third and last date, Mr. Fancy took me to some fancy restaurant where fancy people eat fancy shit. We’re standing there waiting for a table when one of Mr. Fancy’s snobby piece of trash friends strolls up wearing PradaDolceGucciVersaceArmani .I thought she was going to charge me for merely looking at her.
The two of them start talking about their stupid fancy lives and their stupid fancy jobs and their stupid stupid stupid fancy stupid stuff. About 5 minutes later, the snobby piece of trash turns to me and says, “Hi, I’m Katrina (or whatever the hell that asshole’s name was).” Then Mr. Fancy goes, “Oh, he works in my office.” WORKS IN HIS OFFICE?! Like I empty his trash cans for a living! Like he’s rewarding me with a fancy dinner because I’m so good at emptying his trash cans and shit!
Now I realize that maybe he didn’t want the fancy people in his fancy circle to know that he’s friendly with a cheap teenage whore from the San Gabriel Valley, but “works in my office”? I would’ve given him the $20 in my wallet to introduce me as “a cheap teenage whore from the San Gabriel Valley.” Shit, I’d still give anybody $20 if they introduced me as “a cheap teenage whore from the San Gabriel Valley.”
After she left, he said to me, “Sorry about that. It’s a small town.” No, it’s not, asshole! And it’s not like I wanted to go to that stupid restaurant. I would’ve been happier at fucking El Torito. Well, their sweet corn mash is really good.