“C’mon,” said Sonny Goldman. “Just think about all the good times we’ve had. All the deals I’ve made for you. You don’t have to do this.”
After a long pause, Sonny said, “Hello? Bruce, you there?”
But it was too late. Bruce Alderman had hung up and taken his business elsewhere. Joining the countless other entertainers who had chosen to dismiss Sonny as their agent.
Perched above the Las Vegas strip in a sleek tower where he had a condominium, Sonny stood frozen by the window, unsure and weary of what to do next.
He didn’t think ageism was a thing until he got older and his clients began doubting his business acumen and ability to land them favorable deals.
Barely pushing 55, he felt a disconnect in their perception of him as he still felt sharper than ever. Either way, with his bills continuing to mount he had to think of something new … and fast. Something that could disrupt pop culture and push through all of the noise that dominated social media.
Then his phone rang.
He turned around towards his living room and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“What up. It’s Eric Summers,” said the man on the other line. “I just got a new phone.”
“Oh, I was curious why I didn’t recognize the number. What’s going on?”
“Look, I called because there are some things we need to talk about.”
Sonny swallowed hard as he was immediately struck with anxiety. Eric was his last client and he couldn’t afford to lose him. To many he was just a B-list actor with a stagnate career and obese body, yet to Sonny, he had lots of potential.
“Okay, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, I couldn’t of helped but notice that your talent roster has completely fallen apart. We both know my career is struggling and I just want to know what’re you doing for me. If it is best for me to stay, or find a new agent.”
Sonny was speechless and even more disappointed that he wasn’t prepared to answer the question.
“You there, Sonny?”
Staring in a daze at the flashing images on his TV of an apparent rooster documentary and fixated on its boisterous waddle, a strange moment of synchronicity occurred as a flurry of ideas connected into the ultimate stratagem to uplift both of their fortunes.
“The throat sack,” Sonny shouted.
“You heard me. The fucking throat sack. It’ll make us rich.”
“This is a joke.”
“Does it sound like I’m joking,” Sonny shot back. “I don’t have a whole lot of time to explain, you just got to trust me.”
Eric was skeptical but agreed to give Sonny the four months he needed to enact their plan.
The first order of business was to raise money.
“Some call it a double chin,” Sonny explained to a small group of investors out in New York,” others compare it to the fatty flesh on a rooster’s neck. We call it a state of the art implant that produces a pudgy and full bulge in the upper throat, pronouncing your fashionable status.”
He clicked the next slide to display a photo of Eric with two beautiful women. “I present to you … the throat sack.”
Unexpectedly, the room broke out in applause; allowing him to secure more than $5 million in funding.
Now with a war chest full of funds to create the next biggest trend in plastic surgery, he hired a team of scientists to create the implants and quickly filed all of the relevant patents.
With the promise of high profits, he even managed to secure the advanced approval of both the American Society of Plastic Surgeons and the American Academy of Cosmetic Surgery.
All the behind the scenes work was almost complete.
“What the hell is going on,” Eric said as soon as Sonny answered.
“What do you mean?”
“These texts and calls I’m getting. I don’t get it. All of a sudden these Instagram models keep hitting me up. Their insisting I take all three of them out to dinner.”
“Then do it.”
“Is this your working,” Eric asked hesitantly.
“Of course it is. But that doesn’t matter. This will be a boon to your career,” Sonny asserted. “Just make sure to show them a good time and smile for the cameras.”
As Sonny had planned, the paparazzi he hired took flattering photos of the group out on the town and ran the following headline on dozens of blogs the next day: Summers’ throat sack drives super models crazy.
They even quoted two of the girls, one saying, “that bulge is sexy as hell,” the other saying, “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It makes me squirm in my chair.”
As soon as the article and photos were posted, a massive buzz reverberated around the internet that was supplemented with ads by prominent plastic surgeons advertising the procedure.
Desperate men around the world saw how Eric Summers’ throat sack made a once overweight and unattractive individual a modern day sex symbol. Driving hoards of men to plastic surgery.
Amplifying this trend even further were all of the young women that were starving for likes and follows as they fought viciously to pursue the limited amount of men with a throat sack.
Dr. Nicole Levi, executive director of the American Academy of Cosmetic Surgery, was even quoted saying, “Many of us in the industry were hesitant that men would drop $25k on this procedure, but we cannot keep up with demand.”
Within a year, over 72,000 surgeries were conducted, surpassing the once most popular procedure of rhinoplasty.
Of course, none of this was able to occur without controversy as men broke out into two distinct camps: throat-sackers and anti-throat-sackers.
As the tables turned and the so-called players could no longer easily pickup women, things got violent.
On more than one occasion some jock would see an acne prone dweeb with a massive throat sack walk out of the club with several women on his side, turning his envy into anger then into rage.
One viral video showed such a jock grabbing the dweeb by his bulge, and hurling him down to the ground until unleashing a flurry of punches.
“I don’t see how this helped my career,” Eric asked about 18-months into the throat sack era.
“What do you mean? You’re the most famous you’ve ever been.”
“Sure, but that hasn’t translated into any new roles–” Eric cut himself short as an article on his laptop caught his attention. “Oh, fuck.”
“What is it,” Sonny asked, trying to sound surprised.
Eric texted him the article. “They outed us.”
With the headline reading, “Big Lie: The Throat Sack Hoax,” Sonny pretended to panic, “Fuck. I … I need to call you back.”
“But Sonny–” he said before the call terminated.
What no one knew was that Sonny had secretly negotiated a deal a year earlier to profit off the removal of the now hideous fatty throat sacks.
So long as he played the part, he’d double up his money.
Staring out the window of his condo on down to the Vegas strip, Sonny said, “Trends, you gotta love em’.”
To read the next story in this series, and find out what happens to Sonny click HERE.
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