I don’t really care who is getting humiliated here, so long as they don’t keep me trapped in this monkey suit longer than my contractually obligated five hours of filming. Apparently the contestants are horrible at baking and have been nominated by their friends and family to be embarrassed on national television. Therefore, I’m out of bed before nine o’clock in the morning to act as a judge on some ridiculous reality television baking show. So he’s found a way for me to make nice and improve my image. My agent has his panties in a twist over the league threatening to boot me. Now this morning? It’s the furthest thing from a typical day. Gloves came off, teeth were knocked out-not mine, thank Christ-and plastic surgeons were called in for the other guy. As the cameraman mentioned, I’m currently suspended from my dream job as an enforcer for the Brooklyn Bison over a fight that got a little out of control last week. It hasn’t even started yet and I’m already fucking annoyed. Several fans crowded around the entrance to the studio laugh and I keep walking, ready for this whole day to be over. I pull down my Ray-Bans a touch to let him see my fresh black eye.
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