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Old 29-Dec-16, 20:22
wallycleaverboy wallycleaverboy is offline
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Default The Celeb Shiner: Pick how you'd like yours!

The Celeb Shiner!
Pick one that you'd like to live out...

Scenario 1: American Shiner Story

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You are a personal assistant to actor Evan Peters, whose name appeared in the media after a widely report fight at a hotel with his girlfriend, actress Emma Roberts, in which she bloodied his nose. Our drama takes place shortly after that incident...

You have just gotten off the phone having set up a lunch meeting with Evan's agent when Emma bangs through your door and stands in your hotel room foyer, tiny fists on her lithe hips. She has on a denim short skirt and black tights. Her legs are amazingly long and slender for someone only 5'3". Hmm. Five-foot-three, 113 pounds. Dress size zero. How did she even reach Evan's nose to punch it? (He's 5'11").

"Well?" Emma's shrill voice breaks your reverie (part on that last thought, part on her legs).

"Well, what?" you answer, uncertainly. She seems pissed.

'You get his dry cleaning. You make all his appointments. You get him booze. Christ, for all I know, you even wipe his ass."

You stammer back, not wanting trouble with the tiny tempest. "Ms. Roberts, I'm not sure what you're asking me."

"Are you his pimp?" She almost screams it. "Tell me, are you getting him women?" She strides toward you, little hips swinging. And she's in your face. "Tell me!" she screams. And suddenly, bizarrely, she stands on the arm chair you just rose from, eye to eye with you and your 6'3" frame. And her small, hard-looking right fist is sailing toward you...

That incident didn't hit the papers, but it sure did a number on your nose. Unlike your boss, who only got his bloodied, your nose is broken in two places. And you've been fired. So it is with vengeance in your heart that you stride into Emma's agent's office with your lawyer, Nicole Roberts, herself a nice picture of legs, too! Nicole looks at Emma, sitting with those slender gams crossed in pantyhose. Then over at Emma's agent and lawyer, Ron Glassberg. "We'll take $100,000, Ron. Other than that, you'll have trouble. This is a third-time assault charge, so it bumps up to felony. And she's gonna get stuck with a "Crazy Emma" label. No one will hire her.

"I think you'll take nothing and like it," Emma smirks as she rises and walks toward the desk. "Other than that, this loser can let the whole world know that big old him, got his nose broken by little ol' me. He'll never live it down on the job or in the bars," she adds with a laugh. Your face blushes hot beneath the bandage across your nose. But even with two florid shiners, you find it hard not to ogle Emma's pantyhosed legs. She doesn't miss the ogle...

"Do you want to add a broken jaw to that?" she warns. When you shrink back from this tiny fury, your are mortified to hear your attorney laugh. Emma gives Nicole an amused look. "Actually, I think he's one of those guys that likes it," she adds. "When I popped him, he sprouted a boner." My attorney turns to look at me and catches that I am now ogling her hosed legs beneath the short hem of her suit skirt.

"Maybe I'll take a turn," she says, half in indignation, half in scorn. Somehow, when this nightmare meeting ends, the agreement is forged. I am now Emma's personal assistant! What lies in my future!? Mmm, legs, at least.

Scenario 2: Million Dollar Black Eye

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You are a worker rat at the grimy Hollywood gym where pro boxer Lucia Rijker sometimes trains. The buzz about Hilary Swank training for her new fight flick, "Million Dollar Baby," has forced the gym owners to shut down public access while Hilary trains. The production company paid a fortune for this privilege.

"You gotta work, baby. You gotta make it real," you've heard her agent brow beat her for weeks with this. "That Rijker babe is the real deal. If you want to look like her, you've got to work."

"I am working on it, Sol" you hear Hilary say. "I want that damned statue, again. I wanna show every Hollywood snot that my first Oscar was no fluke." She looks like anything but a boxer, in her size 2 red short dress and smart black pantyhose. 121 pounds "I'm gonna suit up."

You go about your business and are stacking equipment when you pass by Hilary going at the heavy bag. She notices you and asks you, not unkindly, to hold the bag while she works it over. After that, she hardly seems to notice you there.

"Gotta make it real. Gonna get that statue," she intones as she buries hooks, jabs and uppercuts into the bag. Her trainer spurs her on. "That's it, hon. Turn your body into it. You got it! You got it! Ah, you've come so far," he says, enthusiastically. Hilary takes a breather, and he continues to gush. "You know, when you first came here, you punched like a girl. Now, look at you! You could probably knock this guy on his can," he adds, motioning to you. And Hilary does look great. She glistens with sweat. Her long legs have lost none of the allure, but her glistening arms are well toned. Her face wears a hard look. She stands again. "Let's go," she says, apparently to you. You obediently hold the bag while she begins to pepper it again, grunting with hard hooks and straight punches. After a time, her trainer calls out to you, "Hey, fella. Do us a favor. Spar a bit with her."

"Uh, I'm not a sparring partner, sir."

"Oh, come on, a big guy like you? This little girl can't hurt you," he says, flatly contradicting his earlier statement. He pushes headgear toward me. "Just keep your mitts up. I just want her to have a live, moving target." Hilary is looking at me with eyes like lasers. For a moment I actually think I can see little gold statues in her corneas.

When we climb into the ring, Hilary is whirlwind shadow boxing, jabs, hooks and uppercuts. i push my mouth guard in and hear Sol say, "Ding ding." And Hilary comes at you like a tornado, her arms a blur. Sol barks at her, "Slow it down, babe. Slow it down. Technique, technique."

Hilary responds and methodically circles you, reaching in with jabs, looking for an opening with those laser eyes. There are a couple of lighting combos that you barely manage to fend off, then "Woomph!" and Hilary has buried a surprise uppercut to your belly. Then, there a lights...

"How?" you actually say, before you realize Hilary has knocked you down. You are looking at the gym's ceiling lights. But you're not out. You just want out. How does 121 pounds--that's a featherweight manage to floor a heavyweight? You get to your feet.

"Hey, guys," you say. "This is a little beyond the job descrip..." But you don't get to finish. "Gotta make it real," you hear the 5'6" beauty chanting again and again, as she swarms you. There's a shot to your head, and--incredibly--your headgear has spun around and covered your eyes. What's not covered is your jaw and you cannot see. Shots pepper your belly, chin and jaw in succession.

"Gotta make it real!"

Somewhere from miles away, you seem to hear Sol say, "Babe, take it easy." And that is enough for you. You rip off your head gear. "Now, hold it one min..."

And Hilary's left hook arcs into your eye. It's followed in a nano second by three right jabs to your nose, which springs a bloody leak. You are jack knifed by a belly uppercut. Then...lights. LIghts again. Her uppercut, evidently. Your chin snapped back and that's all folks.

Trainers carry smelling salts, and that is your rude awakening, though Sol tells you even that took a while. "You were out at least five minutes fella. We better get that jaw looked at."

Fortunately, your jaw isn't broken, but it is dislocated. And Hilary's apologies are sweet and heartfelt, especially when she sees the huge shiner she's given you. The real deal alright, with swelling under your eye and on the lid enough to half close it. A study in purple that promises Hilary her gold. It doesn't hurt that the gracious beauty has promised never to tell the gym guys about your match, given you a one percent cut of her salary for the flick and her training glove, autographed with the words, "Shiner by Swank."

Scenario 3: She stars in "Lost." You just live it.

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You gotta love the mania and devotion TV shows sometimes spawn in their audiences. Star Trek conventions. Website shrines. Comic Con.

You are at the latter annual exhibition in a frenzy to see the celebration of "Lost," your favorite TV show of all time. The crowds, however, are enormous. You enjoy the festivities and the talk about your fav but don't hold much hope for getting an autograph from one of the stars. The lines are daunting.

Taking a break, you saunter out past the aisles of booths to find a good place to sneak a smoke. There are lots of technicians and maintenance folk out this way on golf carts and such. You turn a corner that is dark except for a small light coming from a door on the right. But your eyes are on the end of the hall, which seems to have a door leading outside. Smoking lounge!

"No, thanks. I'm gonna grab a smoke," you hear a feminine voice intone. You've come to the right place. As you pass by the right-side door, a tall blonde is coming out. She's about 5'9" and 130 pounds. Her perfume is wonderful. You reach for the door. "You taking a smoke break," you ask politely. The woman looks briefly at you and nods.

Outside, the dim evening light still offers a clearer look than the dark hall.

"You don't look like crew," the woman says.

"I'm not, I...Say! You're Elizabeth Mitchell! Oh, my God. Forgive me. The last thing you want is to be besieged by fans when you want a smoke break. My name is Brian"

"It's okay," she says, polite and smiling. "You like the show, Brian?"

"Don't worry," I laugh. "I don't go Hinkley over it. But I do love it. And i love your character. I always love a woman character who can be strong and beautiful."

"Thank you," she says, this time with a real smile.

You press on enthusiastically but wary of sounding too much like a nut-job fan.
'Of course, sometimes you guys in Hollywood do go over the top."

"What do you mean?" she asks, seeming genuinely interested as she drags on her smoke.

"Well, like a lot of Hollywood shows these days, they show an awful lot of men-women fights with women winning. I mean, I know there are some times tough winning, but Hollywood's not very real. Look at the scene you did with Jack Shepherd in "Tale of Two Cities" in season 3. You know, where he shuts the flood gates and turns toward you, and you knock him out with one punch?"

She blows out some smoke coolly and says, "Well, you know, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't hurt someone when I hit them."

"Yeah, but Matt Shepherd's like 6'2" and 200 pounds, and you're what, 5'9" and 130? I mean, come on, one punch?"

"Well," she continues, just as patiently, coolly, "When you catch someone by surprise..."

But you cut her off. In your zeal not to look like uber-nut fan, you've become loquacious and airily dismissive. "Naw, Hollywood's just gone wacko over these female empowerment thing. It's like women are better at everything from brains to brawn." You yack on, and now Elizabeth's polite veneer is starting to rub off. But you don't notice. Your excitement at meeting this hot blonde of your dreams coupled with your determination not to play the fool has made you just that. Elizabeth makes a rejoinder or two again about the effect of a sucker punch, but you're not having it (at least yet).

Finally, the willowy blonde blows one last puff of smoke and rubs the butt into a light pole. "And that's really what you believe?"

"Yeah, I really do."

You are mystified, utterly mystified when she suddenly snaps the cigarette butt at your face. So you never see the right cross that she buries into your eye socket, dumping you on a couple of trash cans, which fall over with you.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she says with a laugh, before she turns and walks away, heels clacking on the cement. "Oh," she turns suddenly. "I'm a big fan of Dum Dums, but I guess I owe this to you, Sucker." And she tosses a raspberry lollypop on your prone, garbage-strewn body and walks slinkily and oh-so-femininely away.
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  #2  
Old 30-Dec-16, 06:25
simplyred simplyred is offline
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Default Re: The Celeb Shiner: Pick how you'd like yours!

I knew that you don't disappoint.
I'd pick C, because I'm fan of Elizabeth and I like that scene from "Lost".
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  #3  
Old 30-Dec-16, 11:24
mech928 mech928 is offline
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Default Re: The Celeb Shiner: Pick how you'd like yours!

I'll pick "B."
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