Page 93 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 10
"This is insane. Was this choreographed into the performance?"
"Let's just call it a wardrobe malfunction," Tim said with a wink.
"Well, you better hope the judges like it as much as the public does. This thing is blowing up on social media."
"Wait, are you actually broadcasting it?" I asked.There's no way...
"No. God, no," said Owen. "The FCC would sue us into oblivion if we did. We just blurred it out when you guys got naked, and then cut the feed when we realized what she was doing behind the American flag. I think they caught it fast enough so that no one at home even saw her start to give head. We've just been showing highlights from earlier and saying we're having technical difficulties."
Thank God.
"But #ITAblowjob has set a record for the most used hashtag over a one minute span in the history of Twitter."
"How does anyone on Twitter know about it if you cut the feed?"
"Cell phones in the audience, and some news stations around the world didn't censor it as quickly as we did." Owen pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the Twitter feed for #ITAblowjob. Most of the tweets were grainy cell phone images of Alina blowing the guy behind the flag or comments about how hot and/or how much of a slut she was, depending on if the poster was male or female. Owen clicked the button to bring up more recent tweets, and suddenly the grainy images were replaced with HD shots of a silhouette of Alina clearly sucking a random guys dick behind the American flag.
"What the hell?" I asked. "How are people getting these images in HD?"
Owen pointed to the logo in the bottom of the images. "I think that's the logo for some sketchy news station in Croatia. They must have decided to post the official feed to their website to get five minutes of fame."
"But how are they getting that feed from your cameras?" asked Tim.
"Our contract to broadcast the ITAs in the US requires us to send all the uncut footage to other stations around the world that purchased the rights for their countries. That station in Croatia..."
I stopped listening when a gif popped up on the Twitter feed of Alina bobbing her head up and down.Fuck! This has to stop."Owen, you have to stop this. She must be over her allotted time or something."
Owen pointed to his ear piece that he used to communicate with the producers back in New York. "I thought for sure they'd have me stop it, but they told me the official rules don't permit me to enter the stage until it's clear the performance is over."
"How the fuck does no one at the ITAs want this to stop?!" I yelled.
"I'm as shocked as you are that they haven't stopped it. But until they do, my hands are tied. If you want to stop it, maybe you could try to cut the lights or something." Owen shrugged and looked back out at stage.
I grabbed a random towel to cover up my junk as Tim and I sprinted into the hallway.
"What the hell?" asked the guard. Apparently he didn't know what was happening on stage, because if he did, my lack of pants would hardly be shocking.
"Long story," I said. "Where's the control room?"
"Why?"
"There's a uh...lighting malfunction. We need to check it out."
"Oh, okay. Down the hall to the right. Room 107."
We took off in that direction. Tim stopped me as we rounded the corner and saw there was another security guard standing outside the control room.
"Let me handle this," said Tim. "I feel like your current outfit hurts our credibility slightly."
"Okay. But hurry."
Tim calmly walked up to the security guard and said a few things. Rather than going inside, he turned around and came back to me.
"No luck," said Tim, shaking his head. "He said no one gets in without proper clearance."
"Then we only have one choice."
"Are you going to threaten to flash him?"
