I was repping this musician chick that fuckin sucked a while back. Why? Cause her dad, Big Chuck, was rich and he talked me into it with money.

One day I say let’s do a big party and make her famous Big Chuck.

He says whattaya have in mind.

I say gimme like 100k and I’ll figure it out.

He’s like word put a budget together.

I put a budget together and include PR and marketing as a huge item.

That item goes to me.

I say look let’s get together in person to discuss this.

He lives in Vegas in a mansion cause he owns the biggest weed factory in North America.

I roll up to Vegas with my gf and stay at big chuck’s second house that’s not in use but is eerily in use… if that makes sense.

Then we go to a casino and buy cigars and lose money at roulette.

Then he wants to meet for dinner to discuss the party at Caesar’s palace.

Should I come? My gf asks.

Nah, I’m gonna try to close this deal. I don’t think this is a casual dinner.

I show up to meet him in person for the first time. Till then we had only talked on the phone. He’s a fat dude like six foot fifteen and shows up with his hot af wife that’s the same age as his daughter, my client.

You didn’t bring your girlfriend? He asks right away.


We don’t discuss business at all and he makes me eat expensive sushi.

Then the meal is over and I’m like fuck. I didn’t get a chance to close the deal.

I gotta get this check.

He says come to my house and we will continue discussing the deal.

I say I’ll come tomorrow

I get back to his other house and gf says someone rang the bell while you were gone.

It was a weird guy. He had a letter.

Is this where Chuck lives?

Why? My gf replied.

Is this his house?

Who are you?

Give him this letter.

No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Does Chuck live here?

Go away.

So that’s all that happened?

Yeah, it was mad sketchy, she told me. Maybe she didn’t say mad. I say mad. Whatever.

Point is strange people are looking for Big Chuck.

We go to the aquarium and gamble some more money and smoke a cigar in a cigar lounge and eat pricey burgers and go back home.

The next day I go to Big Chuck’s mansion and his nanny looks like a fuckin stripper.

It’s awesome.

He’s got tennis courts and the phone is glued to his ear.

He waves me to the top floor where his daughter is.

You two figure it out he says.

We don’t figure it out.

Then he calls us for dinner.

Another rushed dinner where I try to close the deal.

Dinner ends.

He goes to his room.

I talk to his daughter more and we come up with a gameplan. We are ready to present the idea.

She calls her dad cause the house is so big.

Dad’s sleeping she says.

Are you kidding? I’m fuckin leaving tomorrow.

So I get back to New York and the money stops. Big Chuck stops paying me.

My retainer dries up. I halt the marketing campaign.

Big Chuck disappears.

I don’t hear back from him until a year later when he needs me to publicize a lawsuit he’s filing against another weed company.

So I draft that shit up, get it published in Variety, and never worked for that big fuck ever again.

That’s the story of Big Chuck.

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