QVC

QVC

Croatia

SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU COKE WHORE I WILL FUCKING END YOU

Mavericks

I'm out

Uber

FUBU

ALONE

75% + $5 ON EVERY $4 YOU MAKE

Royalty

FEET

Hold on, cubes

>I’m going to cut in right now Mr. Wilson, because someone needs to stop this charade you’re calling a pitch. When I was a mere boy my mother came home from one of her many business trips to South Africa. Only this time she had brought with her a gift – an antique, in a sense. “It” was an ancient looking African man she referred to as Po’mamba. He stayed with us for many weeks, keeping me awake at night with strange chanting. I became so frustrated by the never-ending stream of nonsensical noise my angry tears began to stain the front of my child-fitted Armani suits. On the fourth week, I came home from school early on account of Butch Charleston ruining my favorite handkerchief at recess. But the noises I heard from my manor were different that day. Peeking in the nearest window, I saw my mother surrounded by dark shapes, Po’mamba’s back against the glass. His chanting drowned out the sounds of my mother as I watched the surging black mass with confusion – until I realized it was a group of men. African men, slamming their cocks into my mother’s every orifice as she begged for more through two throbbing members occupying her mouth. All noise suddenly stopped. Po’mamba stepped forward, ripping off the tattered cloth that covered his crotch. An implausibly large penis flopped down between his legs which he guided into my mother’s bruised womanhood. The other gentlemen continued the chants. After what seemed like hours, Po’mamba released his load which oozed out through the small pockets of empty space between her flesh folds and his cock. A small speck of his thick semen fell from his glands as he exited, landing on the living room’s priceless Isfahan carpet. My day was perfect before your appearance here Mr. Wilson. I had breakfast with Buffet and Trump. I even made sweet love to Barbara on Lincoln’s original bed earlier. Your deal is the nigger semen stain on my priceless rug of a day. And for that reason, I’m out.

>its a "peasants beg on their knees to the ruling class to fuck them over and give them pennies on the dollar for their own hard work" episode

>As a young child I saw my Mother relentlessly beaten by my Father. I can still recall hearing her muffled screams through the walls of my bedroom as I lay trying to fall asleep. Some nights were worse than others, but I remember the mornings my Grandmother would take me to school because my Mother couldn’t be seen in public. She would wear sunglasses and long sleeve shirts for weeks while the bruising and swelling slowly healed around her eyes and arms. I never understood how something as simple as an overcooked meal or spilt glass of wine in the living room could send my Father into these inexplicable fits of rage; not until this very moment. Not until I saw your presentation. You are the stain on my fathers Afghan rug and I see no club soda nor salt to scrub you away. For an investment of 250,000 dollars I will retain 92% of your company with a lifetime of royalties and if you even for one second glance in Lori’s direction, I will personally crucify each of your children.

>A long time ago as a young man I was walking through Central Park by my lonesome. It was a beautiful night, light sounds of the city passing by, but otherwise quiet. As I strolled throughout the park toward my apartment I heard the muffled sounds of a woman screaming, and just a few yards away from me I came across a half nude woman with two men on top of her. We briefly made eye contact and I could see a look of complete desparation in her gaze, a call for help. I kept on walking. Her muffled screams got louder as she realized that there was no hero of this story, no one to save her from the arms of the men viciously having their way with her. She was a lost cause. I knew that even if I tried to help her there was nothing I could do to stop those men. Your strategy has yet to show ANY inkling of a profit, and frankly, your product has no market. You are that woman I couldn't help. And because of that, I'm out.

neat story: my 6th grade art class had to design a miniature scale city, and they took my advice and called it Fubu, the for us by us city.

the teacher thought I was so clever

...

I'd like to make a sizable contribution to her start-up, if you know what I mean

...

I would shove my face into her crotch while jacking off furiously, if you catch my drift

Look, I'll be honest with you. I don't actually have that much money. I lost most of it investing in various beauty products and toilet accessories. Elementary mistakes, I know. But even the best of us make mistakes. And that's what I am - the best. I may not be able to give you dollars, but what I can offer is something more valuable. Something that transcends value. Do you want to know what it is? I'll tell you, but I have to explain something first. They say money can;t buy happiness, and that's true in a way, but in another, more accurate way, It's not true. Because if you're poor (as I am) you're obviously not happy (which I am not) However, there comes a certain point where one can have so much money the responsibility piles up and life becomes stressful. Have you ever seen Citizen Kane? That's basically the theme of the movie. The sled, Rosebud, represents Charles Foster Kane's simple, enjoyable childhood, something he missed even when a millionaire. I feel a bit like Kane myself now. Sorry, I tend to get distracted easily. The point I want to make here is that I can make you happy without money. Cut out the middleman, so to speak. I'm speaking metaphorically, of course, since I love middlemen. Not in a gay way, I just mean it's the key to business in any enterprise. That's what they said in the movie Layer Cake at least. Daniel Craig was in that before he was James Bond. It was pretty good. Back on topic. I'll make you happy by helping you out. Give me 25% of your business and I'll give you 400 bottles of O'Keefe's Working Hands moisturizer, as well as a 40 cases of twelve boxes each of those weird purple plungers.

>Look. I'm not the most tech savoy person like Mark here, have the best manufacturing infrastructure like Daymon, or the selfishness of Kevin over there as he drinks pre World War 1 red wine but what I can do for you is that I will go Kite Surfing with you on weekends. We can bond and be best friends. I'm not investing in your product but for your friendship. I'm willing to offer you the same amount but for less of a share because I'm just desperate for a friend and you can't buy a friend out of Mark, Daymon, or Kevin for that price. As for Lori over there do you really want to be friends with her?