It’s not just the money and the lifestyle, there’s also the glamour and the fame….and the women!
The shimmering gold Gulfstream jet slowly taxied along the tarmac, taking its time to pull up to the waiting ramp truck.
The small group with me comprised three young businessmen from a growing CBD marketing firm, a selection of sexy young models in tight clothes, a local budtender with a gift box of his finest nugs, and Turkish Gary, whose falafel truck sat idling nearby.
The larger crowd was waiting behind the ropes in the terminal. The security guards were still keeping a lid on the pandemonium…so far.
I found myself shaking a little. It was really happening, and I was here to witness it!
After a short wait that seemed like an eternity, the door of the jet cracked open. A billowing cloud of smoke erupted from inside.
Suddenly, through the smoke burst forth a dazzling laser light show and a booming beat.
Beside me a little shriek, some muted giggling, then suddenly it was all quiet again. (Except for the booming beat.)
I had been assigned to cover the arrival of a VIP passing through town. Famous celebs like Kid Rock and the woman from Tiger King had come through lately, but I let the other reporters cover them.
I was holding out for someone special. Someone making a real difference in the world. A CBD copywriting phenom named Mr. C.
Out from the smoke a hand emerged.
A hand wearing an enormous and gaudy pinky ring, wrapped around an even more enormous and enormously gaudy cane. Gold gleamed and rubies sparkled in the late afternoon sun.
Suddenly he stood before us.
He seemed as if a god, the whole universe conspiring to make his appearance as stunning as could be imagined.
Decked out in an immaculate, most righteous purple suit. From the bottom of his white patent leather shoes, the gaiters, the vest with some glittery stuff on it, to the wide-brimmed hat up top – it strains my vocabulary to describe how amazing he looked.
There was a reason David Bowie made sure to never be at the same place at the same time as Mr. C.
As he reached the bottom of the steps, the CBD guys rushed up to greet him.
Mr. C. slowly raised his hand, his palm facing the men, stopping them dead in their tracks.
As if like magic, the booming beat subsided. He began to speak.
“Quick question: Who is better? Vaynerchuck or Cardone? Go!”
The conversation ramped up instantly. Soon the men were arguing among themselves. Mr. C. smiled, stepped aside, then made his way to the waiting budtender.
He accepted the kind man’s gift, and thanked him graciously. At the exact appropriate moment he excused himself, then finally acknowledged the models.
I stood waiting for my chance to speak with Mr. C., while he and all the girls scrunched up in a big group hug that lasted a really long time.
On the other side of me Mr. C.’s assistant was taking a headcount and placing an order with Turkish Gary.
Mr. C. and the models started moving towards the waiting limo, a sexy, horny blob.
The chauffeur opened the door and Mr. C. slid inside. Seconds later the CBD copywriter’s head popped out. “Sorry girls, there’s not much room, so somebody is going to have to sit on my lap!”
The models started giggling and rushed for the chance to be his choice.
The CBD guys kept arguing as they walked to their car parked behind the limo.
Soon I was alone on the tarmac.
A CBD content writer like you won’t believe.