Welcome to #HipHopFanFic, where we take the biggest headlines in hip-hop and re-imagine how they went really down. This week we take a look at French Montana and Khloe Kardashian’s budding, new relationship.
Khloe Kardashian and French Montana gazed at the monstrous sushi feast in front of them at Nobu. Large, delicate mounds of salmon, tuna and octopus lay in front of them garnished with wasabi, avocado and the finest ginger. They didn’t even order, the wait staff just brought them endless plates of food.
“Compliments of the chef, Mr. Montana” The waiter said, gently placing a platter of jalapeño yellowfish in front of them. French grinned. It was nice when you were so rich that people just gave you free food.
Khloe looked over at French Montana as he shoveled massive amounts of fish into his mouth-hole using his bare hands. She smiled and put her hand on his leg. He looked over at her and smiled ear to ear, a piece of octopus stuck between his two front teeth. He made a face like he was a jungle creature and grunted at her, laughing.
“He’s just so funny,” Khloe thought, “Light and easy. That’s what I need right now,” She had been through too much of Lamar’s sh*t over the past four years. She needed someone laid-back. He turned to Miguel in the middle of an intense recounting of a recent Call of Duty game. He was miming shooting aliens with a sub-machine gun, sushi flying everywhere. He laughed so hard. He was so jolly. She liked that he was always happy. Smiles are infectious and contagious. Things with French were easy. That’s what her mother didn’t understand. He wasn’t detrimental like Lamar was. He didn’t have an addiction that brought everyone down with him. So what if he was famous for popping Molly? Molly wasn’t even a real drug anyway.
“Yo baby,” He said, turning to her and shoving four edamame into his mouth, shell and everything. “I got you something.” He put down a shiny, gold-wrapped box in front of her. Inside were three enormous gold chains one of which said “Cocaine City Records” in diamond lettering.
“Oh, French,” She said affectionately. She let him kiss her on the cheek, he left a glob of saliva dribbling down her front. She could really build a life with him, she thought.
“Oh that ain’t it,” He said and led her by the hand outside onto Hudson St. Parked right out front was a gleaming white Jeep with a big red bow on the hood. “Happy 30th,” He said, planting his hand on her butt and squeezing. She put her hands to her mouth in surprise. She wasn’t really sure what she was going to do with a Jeep. She already had a Mercedes-Benz S-Class, a Range Rover, another Mercedes-Benz wagon and a Rolls-Royce but she guessed it was the thought that counts. Besides, Lamar never bought her a jeep. She threw her arms around French ecstatically. She was happy things were easy, for once. All of a sudden it became clear why her and Lamar didn’t work. It was French who she was destined to be with.