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  • PhD
    PhD
    EWA Network Champion

    15-APR-2018
    Las Vegas, NV
    2:34 PM

     

    It’s a blazing afternoon at the Aria Resort and Casino on the Las Vegas Strip. The LIQUID Pool Lounge is packed like a daytime playground with partygoers swarming the area. Droves of college kids are on Spring Break along with the usual litany of hedonists are partying up while the resident DJ spins a familiar rap track by Drake.

     

    If I ain’t the greatest then I’m headed for it/
    That mean I’m way up/
    The 6 ain’t friendly but it’s where I lay up/
    This shit a mothafuckin’ lay up/
    I been Steph Curry with the shot/
    Been cookin’ with the sauce, chef, curry with the pot, boy/
    360 with the wrist, boy

     

    The camera zooms onto Philip Donovan at the deep end of the pool. He’s surrounded in a semicircle formation by a bunch of party folk who chant “P-H-D! P-H-D!” Philip’s chest-deep underwater swinging a weighted aluminum baseball bat alternating left handed and right handed hacks every 10 swings. After 3 sets, he grabs a champagne bottle floating in a pool toy and pops the bubble spraying the nearby folks, much to their delight.

    Philip hops out of the pool and catches a towel thrown at him by an attendant. He dries himself off, wrings a little extra water out of his swim trunks, and heads towards a private cabana where The Lemonheads are doing push-ups with slender, attractive gals draped on their backs. Did I mention those gals are inflatable dolls? No? Well there you go. They are in fact, better looking than most latex ladies.

    Philip puts his sunglasses on and slides onto a beach chair, presumably to catch some rays. A party bro approaches him as he’s about to slide on a pair of headphones.

     

    Party Bro: P-H-Diggity! What’s shakin’ bro?

     

    PhD: My Dirk Diggler, obvz. What’s gucci, my man?

     

    Party Bro: Dude, is it cool if I get a selfie for the ‘Gram? My buddies won’t believe this!

     

    PhD: Ain’t your buddies here, guy?

     

    Party Bro: They’re out in the casino doing their thing, y’know. Me? I’m just tryna’ get some of this action, you feel me bro?

     

    PhD: They ain’t your pals for realzies then lettin’ you go dolo like this, but whatevs. Let’s get it!

     

    PhD smiles and chucks up the OC hand gesture for the selfie op.

     

    Party Bro: Thanks fam. Go kill it in Toronto, playboy!

     

    PhD: Ha, that’s all I planned on doin’!

     

    Fade to black as PhD put his headphones on and relaxes.

     

    15-APR-2018
    Las Vegas, NV
    7:09 PM

     

    The scene shifts to a penthouse suite inside the Aria, where PhD is sitting in a chair besides a window overlooking The Strip. PhD picks up his phone and checks his social media feed, only to see that picture from earlier uploaded onto TMZ Sports with the headline “PhD busy catching rays; most likely to catch hands”. Dismayed by the cherry-picked information conveyed by the article, PhD puts down his phone onto a coffee table.

     

    And this, my friends is why you can’t trust bros. Bros. Bitches. None of them. You give them an inch, next thing y’know, your bid’ness gets blown out worse than a old school Nintendo cartridge.

     

    Side note y’all, PhD Commandment #3: Thou shalt not react when I use the word “bitch”. ‘Cuz if you ain’t one, slow ya’ roll. The more you get upset, the more that probz means the shoe fits. So if you got mad, then yeah, I was talkin’ ‘bout you, bitch.

     

    So this bitch of a journalist, Clown Shoes McGee or whatevs… he sees a pic of me in Sin City in my naytch environment and thinks I’m just blowin’ err’thing off ‘cuz bad optics or whatevs. Ain’t he ever seen a cat like me multi-task, like ever ever? I mean, there I was at a daytime pool party. While err’body else busy gettin’ lit, mad drunk, rollin’ offa’ Molly and all that jive, I’m at the deep end of the pool enjoyin’ the hot beats, feeding offa’ the energy of the crowd, and just gettin’ in an aquatic workout. Hell, I don’t do drugs and I rarely booze. And the irony of it all is, you got dudes slamming back Bacardi Mango Fusion, crème brûlée-flavored vodka, cinnamon-flavored Jack… and somehow peeps think I’m a fruit for teetotaling. There’s a reason I hafta’ control err’thing when I’m hollerin’ at y’all online. Cuz ish like this happens.

     

    Anyhoo, y’all want a moment of clarity like Hov? Being mad cereal? Let’s get to it.

     

    Live From Toronto, few days away. That EWA Network Championship? Got damn, it’s likely coming back to my girl after we were apart while college was in sesh. I mean, we’re talkin’ before Skype and e-mail and all that ish was the normz. I’ve been tellin’ anyone who’d listen that the EWA owed me my shot at redemption the last time I gave that bad girl up. Cuz y’know, the minute I kick someone’s ass at Battlelines or Fight Night or whatevs, they’ll cry like Young Buck on the phone with 50 Cent to get a second chance and shazam! The EWA genies grant wishes like they were hookin’ up kids dyin’ of leukemia. But when I want my way? Psh, back of the bus with the rest of the freaks. Don’t get it twisted tho’… the freaks and weirdos are more my speed. At least they know who the hell they are and own it.

     

    And who the hell am I?

    A self-made dude with a fashion empire that stays winnin’.

    The cat that gets laughed at for being different, but laughs at err’body else for being the same.

    The guy that gives other guys like Sterling and Yosh sleepless nights, keepin’ them guessin’ what my next move is.

    The man who knows what he wants, and God help ya’ bitch ass if you stand in the way of me gettin’ it.

     

    Let’s keep it a dollar bill here, folks. Yosh. Sterling. I don’t like either of y’all. Y’all both bore me to tears with your stale-ass takes that makes Tim Duncan seem like Ace Ventura in comparison. I mean, the next entertainin’ diss y’all come up with will be the first. Real talk? That upsets me. Not cuz you’re hurtin’ my feels, naw. You’re insulting the fans’ intelligence to boot. I don’t stand for that, being a man of the people and ish. I can take gettin’ finessed for my money, but when y’all waste our time? We can’t get that ish back. And that’s when y’all gots to pay the piper.

     

    So here we are. Me and two of my newest rivals. As Pops used to tell me, “A rivalry ain’t a rivalry until you’re willing to go to hell just to drag the other guy down with you.” Pops always knows what’s up.

     

    To win back my Network Championship, I’m sparin’ no expense when it comes to dishin’ out an extra serving of my hands and my Jordans. All this time Yosh avoided me? That’s months of payback pent up in my veins ready to go buck wild on his “I’m a Bushido, but I’ve got as much honor as Orenthal looking for the real killers” ass. Sterling. The more you dismiss me, the harder the punch you’re gonna’ take and the more satisfyin’ it’ll feel when you’re countin’ the lights on the ceiling as I stand above you handing you another L.

     

    I know y’all might be thinkin’ this is me coming off the rails. Far from it, boys and gals. The Air Canada Centre finna’ be like the OK Corral and I’m Doc Holliday locked and loaded with the Network Championship in my sights. Yeah, there’s that whole Path of the Warrior 2 thing that comes with it, but if I can’t get my Jimmy up and wet for my old BAE, does anything else matter? That’s just the cherry on the sundae as far as I’m concerned.

     

    Sterling. Yosh. Y’all gonna’ hafta’ kill me twice over before either of y’alls greasy mitts takes that Network Championship back home with ya. I’ve said lately that it’s PDT vs The World. And if I had to fight 50 other guys and gals to bring my baby home with me, best believe I’d gameplan for that ish too and find a way to win. Drag all y’alls to hell and then put the lid on that bad boy on my way out.

     

    But for now, you two’ll will do. And then, y’all will be done. One hot minute. And you’re gone.

     

    Fade to black.

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