What up, doe? I knew you'd come through for me!
I gotta run Jigga, but give me the breakdown on the contract details with Frankfurt while I sit in this tanning booth and practice my duck face.
Motherf*cker, for the last time, I'm not Jay-Z, my name is --
Shawn Carter? Hov? H-to-the-Izzo? Jazzy?
Just because I'm black does not make me Jay-Z. Also, Jay-Z wants nothing to do with you; his agency told me to have you stop calling them every week asking for the latest updates.
In fact, I should fire you but since I skipped out on volunteering for the old and decrepit at the local shelter this past year, you're my new charity case.
Pshaw, whatevs. So Cliff, any news for me? Did you hear back from Rolex?
No. And I don't plan on hearing back from them. I did hear back, however, from Eintracht Frankfurt and --
-- Tell them I'll only sign if they can guarantee a banner of me on the side of their tiny stadium, with my duck face.
-- God, you're hopeless. No, Nik, they're going in a different direction. They're passing you over to sign Sparta Prague's Vaclav Kadlec.
Do they know who I am? Did you send them my mixtape? I have way better head shots than this, what's his name, Baklava Cadbury something or other.
Yes, just to acquiesce you and your massive ego, that, if it were a tangible thing would be shaped like a bellend, I did. And they still said no.
Yes, well. I'll continue looking for a new club for you and if you can just find a way to not get in your own way between now and then, that'll make the process that much easier.
Totes. OK, well hit up Florentino Perez and let them know my services are available once again.
Thanks, Chris. Until then, peace and you're welcome.