Floyd Mayweather is being sued by his ex fiancee Shantel Jackson because he allegedly beat the shit out of her and publicly outed her for having an abortion. She sees this as an invasion of privacy and definitely no way to impress a lady. Floyd thinks making his former fetus Thanksgiving dinner conversation for the masses serves as a worthwhile tribute. Mayweather insists that his actions did not cross any lines because Jackson was in a relationship with him, thereby making her a public figure and fair game for abortion shaming. He has a point. If you don’t want to be a public figure, stop getting punched in the face by Floyd Mayweather. People have come to expect a certain standard of normalcy. To deny them this would be plain selfish, you baby killer. Here’s some concealer.
Floyd Mayweather’s 14 year old son Koraun Mayweather did a lengthy interview for a USA Today piece where he called his father a “coward” for beating the shit out of his mom. Koraun was in the house at the time of attack and escaped to alert security, possibly saving his mom’s life. Koraun weirdly still spends time with his father in what has got to be the most awkward game of catch ever. On the plus side, he gets to drive a Bentley golf cart around so take the good with the bad. It might seem strange the kid is still visiting Floyd until you realize Floyd has served a total of two months in jail for TKOing every woman he has ever boned, because Vegas values boxing revenue over women’s teeth or the family structure. It may have been an error in judgement to call your dad out in a national publication. He’s a few knocks to the head from going O.J. level rogue and you may have just moved up on the list.
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Floyd Mayweather hired ten strippers to twerk for an Instagram video in his hotel room in a sad attempt to show how culturally relevant he is. It’s also possible he contrived the whole thing as a lame excuse to makes his ass look sexy, which can get you stoned to death in many of his circles without a proper alibi. Floyd paid $3,000 each for the fetish models which kind of negates whatever baller status he was going for. Stephen Hawking could hire the entire staff of the Spearmint Rhino to shine his wheelchair in high heels and dog collars but at the end of the day what would it prove. Just that you’re overcompensating because most people care far more about pussy than black hole thermodynamics. Or boxing for that matter.
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You know the guy who got a free Chili’s gift card for attending a timeshare sales pitch and has the nerve to sell you on it at dinner. The guy who overdosed on pills twice and delivers Evangelical sermons to your voicemail thrice daily. The dude who attended a Tony Robbins seminar who you cannot shake free from at the birthday party you got roped into attending by your girlfriend. That’s Floyd Mayweather. This illiterate trick pony has been convinced by his ringleaders that having a shitload of money equals anything other than having a shitload of money. You don’t see Mayweather with a smile on his face. It’s because outside of posting cheesedick photos on Intstagram and punching women to get hard, he has no veritable purpose in life. He probably considers the facemasked shakedown which took place after he Instagramed this to the world to be a status symbol. He does not understand what money stands for or how to use it, hence he spends his time staging lame photos with it while it depreciates as opposed to investing in car washes while he texts death threats to the mothers of his future felons.
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I guess boxing was already ruined when everybody in the U.S. over 120 pounds decided they were no longer going to train in the sweet science. If it had not already been doomed, Floyd Mayweather would’ve figured out a way to ruin it. Mayweather is the anti-Christ of the sport. He’s enticing when you see him in action, but you wouldn’t want to handshake him on any deals after hours. Bieber’s little peen might have been there just before you.
In his latest round of ignoramus, Mayweather went before the Nevada Athletic Commission to assure them that all the bad and deviant and illicit shit they see on his Showtime All-Access reality show is completely staged, right down to the fake marijuana his ho’s are lighting up. Mayweather says the weed smoking is designed to be controversial and ‘outside the box’ type entertainment because it’s 1987 and stuff like that is super fresh.
The show itself exists only to gin up interest in Mayweather’s mediocre bouts upcoming on Showtime pay-per-view. The Athletic Commission seemed to readily accept Mayweather’s explanation because everybody who doesn’t cheat on their diet with cheesecake nibs collectively understands that reality television is entirely fake. Also, even if Mayweather is doing all kinds of unlicensed and unwise shit, he’s one of the few big moneymakers in the sport and he has a free pass on killing up to seven Vegas prostitutes in his hotel room. You don’t axe the golden goose just because it’s a monster pain in the ass. Maybe you beat it just a little to hear it squawk.
Bottle service and hot wings waitress Nik Nguyen is bitching publicly about Floyd Mayweather and his entourage tipping her zilch on a bill of $25K at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas. Mayweather partied there after his win over yet another fighter nobody gives a shit about because his name isn’t Pacquiao. The bill itself was kind of moot as the hotel casino was comping Mayweather so he’d hang out there with Jamie Foxx and make the place seem more than the discount room center where Hollywood junior agents go to blow low-grade coke in the bathroom. Still, it’s customary to tip the wait staff even on a gratis bill. She did wear the skimpy outfit and bring you bottles of Grey Goose while your boys slapped her ass for hours on end.
Some Philly waiter got stiffed by an Eagles player last week and made it public as well. Charlie Sheen arose from his cocaine crypt to get attention by offering $1,000 to the stiffed waiter. I’m sure it sucks to be Old Mother Hubbarded on a tip after servicing a table full of rowdy diners. That being said, there’s some level of confidentiality implied between diner and waiter that compares to john and hooker. What you ate, how much you spent, whether or not you’re a shitty selfish bastard who cums in your server’s eye and won’t even grab a napkin. You’re paying, that’s your business. I don’t need to be on Facebook being called an asshole just because I might be an asshole.
This story did have a happy ending as security guards at the joint picked up all the loose bills Mayweather and Foxx and his crew were tossing at the hooker dancers all night and handed the crumpled bounty over to Nguyen so she could leave with a tip that smelled like snatch and Vodka.
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