Written by Abel Rodriguez
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Friday, 19 March 2010

image for Chocolate-Smeared Hugh Grant Is Demanding Chocolate Cake At 50 Paces
Some of the chocolate cake frosting that Elizabeth Hurley managed to scrape off of Hugh Grant's white shirt.

LONDON - Public Relations Guru Matthew Freud, no relation to the Lloyd Freud family of West Wickham, took the old Ukrainian phrase 'Let them eat chocolate cake' quite literally.

The two British chaps were at London's Annabel's Nightclub celebrating the 41st birthday of Heather Herzner, one of the most famous trophy wives in the United Kingdom.

Freud, the former PR man for actor Hugh Grant apparently became angry when he heard Grant remark that Ashley Cole is a much better footballer than John Terry.

Freud, which rhymes with hemorrhoid, walked over to Grant, who was sitting next to the lovely and still quite delicious looking Elizabeth Hurley.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Abel and I were both wondering why in the world Hugh Grant never married Elizabeth Hurley. We both know for a fact that she would have married the silly-looking bloke in a Manchester minute.]

Grant looked up at Freud and asked "And what da fook does ya be wantin' wiff me mate?"

Freud replied, "My my, tis a lovely little white shirt ya have there ya uninformed bloke tis a bit of a shame dat it's gonna be all messed up wiff chocolate cake innit?"

Instantly Freud picked up the piece of chocolate cake that Grant was eating and he smeared it all over his white £600 Sir Sirloin Dress Shirt.

Grant screamed out like a 10-year-old Girl Scout and asked if he had gone stark raving mad or if he was just high on the imported Colombian salad dressing.

Freud shouted out, "Make it C, all of the above you River Thames-looking twat of a twit."

By this time Elizabeth Hurley was so scared that she had actually wet her pink bikini thong Alan Whickers.

She got up and ran off to the little girls room as Grant and Frued continued on like a couple of grade school blokes.

Grant yelled out that Freud was nothing but a bamstick banjo string. Grant hollered back that he would rather be a bamstick banjo string than a blue rinser with a Billy Willy.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Okay for our American readers, I am trying to keep up here. Let me see...Alan Whickers are what the British call knickers, which is what we in America call panties. A bamstick is a fool. A banjo string is that little doohickey thingamabob that is found underneath the penis that connects the fradoodle to the fopawenus. A blue rinser is an elderly person with blue hair (duh huh?). And a Billy Willy is a shriveled penis, for want of a better word. Blimey, and crikey, by jove, I need me a blithering beer right now.]

The manager finally managed to work his way through the throng of dancers who were dancing to the fabulous music of the world famous all-girl band The Bonkettes.

He went up to Grant and Freud and yelled out, "Hey, what da bloomin 'ell is ya two be doin', dis is Annabel's Nightclub ya bumbaclot blitherin' blokes, this ain't Wembley Stadium.

Da two of ya get yur chocolate stained shirt and your chocolate stained boxer shorts and get da bloomin' 'ell out of me place before I call me up da bizzies (police)."

Freud and Grant did as they were told. And as the two were leaving Hugh yelled out to Freud that it is not over. "Hey Freud." He screamed out. "I wants a rematch wiff ya...chocolate cake at 50 paces."

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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