Quote:
Originally posted by Nicole
The next morning, Beyonce sits in her palatial dressing room, examining herself in her vanity mirror and preparing for her morning routine. Breakfast? Exercise? Dance training? Vocal runs? No, her morning routine is much more important than that. She composes herself, takes a moment, then WHIRLS around in her chair, a look of horror on her face.
"No, I found her like this!" she exclaims. "She must have tripped down the stairs! Her neck…it looks broken. No, she's not breathing! Send someone right away!"
Her acting coach who's been in the room all along steps forward. "Much better. I really believed it this time. After 4 years you're finally getting it down."
Suddenly the door flies open and Blue bursts into the room, playing with her Princess Elsa doll (mommy said the Princess Tiana doll was way too dark). Beyonce glares at her. "What did I tell you about interrupting my morning routine?!"
"Sorry mommy."
Beyonce still stares daggers at her. "When the man in the police uniform shows up, what will you say?"
"Auntie Rihanna fell down the marble staircase. It was an accident."
Beyonce softens. "Good girl. You may have your father's face but you have my wits."
The acting coach paces the room. "If only you could cry. Then they'd never suspect foul play."
"Who do I look like, Jennifer Hudson?!" Beyonce asks. "I can't do it."
"Think of a deeply emotional experience," the acting coach suggests. "Like your relationship with your father coming to an end."
Beyonce rolls her eyes at him. Like she cares. That's not gonna do it.
"Ok then I'm afraid I'm gonna need to bring out the big guns," says the acting coach. "Think about your Hot 100 performance this decade."
Beyonce rises from her chair, walking toward the acting coach, her mascara a mess, tears POURING down her face.
"Finally, you're ready," the acting coach declares.
Beyonce picks up the phone and dials. "Rihanna, Blue's been asking for you all morning. She misses her Auntie. Could you come over please?" And with a sly, evil grin, she hangs up and begins her other morning ritual -- applying copious amounts of white foundation to her face.
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Rihanna slaps her 2006 Nokia Razor shut and rolls her eyes. Then she laughs to herself.
Auntie, she thinks.
That implies some type of love. But she could never love anything that came out of
that pvssy.
Rihanna’s face grows stone cold as she turns around to Esther Dean. “I need a #1 album,” Rihanna quips. “You have two days to write me a hit album. Do it now.” Esther nods. A grunt comes from the back of the room. Rihanna rolls her eyes. It’s Sia, who’s an ugly version of Smeagol.
“You can help too, Sia. I guess,” Rihanna sighs. Sia grins like a retarded kid who just got a sticker because he didn’t sh!t himself today. “Yes,” she grunts. “Like diamonds. Diamonds. Diamonds!”
Rihanna blinks a few times, turns away, and then pulls out her 1985 first generation cell phone. She texts how hard it is to produce an album and how much work is involved. She sends it to Katy Perry, who agrees whole<3edly.
“Have you picked out your persona for this era yet?” Esther interrupts. Rihanna turns back around, visibly annoyed. The reflection from Rihanna’s fivehead nearly blinds Esther, who squints.
“Yeah, I wanna be like…I wanna be like that girl, you know? That girl that everyone sees in the club and is like, ‘Yeah, I wanna be that girl.’ You know what I mean?” Rihanna ponders.
“You mean fun?” Esther retorts. “Yeah, that,” Rihanna says. “And make sure you sing the demos
exactly the way you want me to sing them. Like, pitch is everything.”
Esther nods and returns to work. Rihanna pulls out her 2002 Dell laptop and logs on to billboard.com.
“HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.” Rihanna cackles loud. She’s looking at Beyonce’s Hot 100 performances ever since 4 was released.
She’ll never get more #1s than me. Bleached stanky pvssy prostitute dog bitch could never. Will never.
Rihanna smiles. “I’m gonna run to Beyonce’s really quick. I’ve had a long day and this album certainly isn’t going to write itself.”
Sia runs toward Rihanna to say goodbye but is jerked back. She reached the end of her leash.
Rihanna rolls her eyes. As she walks out of the studio, she’s on the phone. “Well, hello sexy beautiful mama. Tell little Blue that Auntie Rih Rih is on her way.” She winks at Esther as she walks out the door.
