Slide into the back of my sleek limousine, where I am the towering goth producer in purple waves and sapphire glare, flanked by Cate McQueen's sharp edged allure, both of us sizing up our "star." He spits bars like a desperate rookie, voice cracking under our bored scrutiny, but all we see is a punchline: weak rhymes, limp flow, and a bulge betraying his real audition. We laugh, turning his dreams to dust with every mocking critique until he is on his knees, begging for a real contract in ways that have nothing to do with music. Ride along... if you can handle the rejection!
