Naomi Campbell Beat My Ass, Too!

Well, it looks like supermodel Naomi Campbell just won't learn. The temperamental star was recently sentenced to community service, again, for attacking and spitting on a police officer while being detained at London's Heathrow Airport several months ago. Initial published reports noted that Campbell became enraged after learning her luggage had been lost, but within recent weeks the "Rambo of the Runway" publicly stated that she was angered after being called a "Golliwog model" by a British Airways employee. For those of you who may not know, a golliwog is a grotesque, small black doll that depicts classic racial stereotypes of black people. Whatever the reason for her outburst, her attitude and temper continue to threaten her reputation and career. She's out of control, and The G-man knows this first hand. Sports enthusiasts cite "The Thrilla' in Manila", the boxing match between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman, as the greatest fight in history. However, the Hollywood community knows the greatest fight in history was between Campbell and The G-man, and it came to be known as "The Brawl at the Mall".

I'll never forget the date. It was October 25, 2005, and I walked into a mall in Hollywood, California, with Vice-President Dick Cheney and Mike Tyson. Scores of people made their way toward me to get an autograph, but Cheney's Secret Service personnel held them off. "Wow! This is what it's like to be loved and respected, huh?" said Cheney. "Yes, and you'd be just as loved if you weren't Bush's lap dog," I replied. Cheney hung his head in shame and embarrassment, and rightfully so. Tyson kept bugging us to go to McDonald's so he could get a "Happy Meal". We eventually found one along the strip and went in. The place was packed, but hanging with a veep has its privileges. The manager ushered us directly to the front of the line to place our orders. "We are so honored to have you here, G-man. We love AC!" he said. Cheney and Tyson hung their strangely contorted heads in rejection, and rightfully so.

A cashier named "Brown" placed our orders in front of us. Tyson tried to sneak a French fry and I slapped his hand. Cheney snickered, looked at the cashier and said, "You're doing a good job there...Brownie!" I told him that wasn't funny and that he ought to be ashamed of himself. He quickly lowered his head and began sucking away on a medium-sized orange juice. Suddenly, one of the Secret Servicemen ran over to him and whispered, "We have a Code Red, Mr. Vice-President! We have to get you out of here now, sir!" Cheney inquired as to why and was simply told, "She's coming, Mr. Vice-President!!!" Cheney responded by yelling, "Sweet Mother of God!" The last thing I saw was a trail of smoke and the front door of McDonald's slowly closing. Cheney bounced on me! Complete bedlam ensued shortly after. People began falling to their knees and crying in and outside of McDonald's. Everyone was running and tripping over one another in a drastic attempt to vacate the area. Even the stuffed Ronald McDonald figure hauled ass. Bats were flying around and slamming into the restaurant windows. Dogs and cats were biting and peeing on each other in the kid's play section, and the manager and cashiers were nowhere to be found. Hollywood had become a ghost town in a matter of minutes. The only thing that could be heard amongst the eerie and frightening silence was Tyson joyfully yelling "Weeeeeeee!" as he played with the toy car from his Happy Meal.

A loud clap of thunder interrupted the silence. I looked outside and saw a small-framed figure, dressed in Versaci and stiletto heels, hovering on a broom in mid-air. Two white, muscular bodyguards kicked the door open, and in walked the she-devil that is...Naomi Campbell. "Who is this peon that stands before me? Why do you not cower in my presence?" she asked. "Well, for starters, I'm The G-man, " I proclaimed. "The reason I'm not cowering in your presence is because I write for "Associate Content", and we AC writers fear no one! Last, but certainly not least, you'd be the size of a munchkin if you took off those damn heels. So, why should I be scared of spoiled heifer like you?" Her bodyguards attempted to approach me, but Campbell grinned and stuck her arm out to stop them. With her eyes firmly fixed on me, and in that demonic voice reminiscent of the character "Regan" from "The Exorcist", she told them, "I've got this." The two men exited and placed chains on the entrance door. Now, there was no escape.

As Tyson bit into his cheeseburger and repeatedly yelled, "Mmmmm! Tastes like Holyfield's ear!", the she-devil began to circle me. Fear engulfed me like never before. It was the kind of fear you experience after waking up next to Joan Rivers or Kathie Lee Gifford.... and they don't have any makeup on. Still, I mustered enough courage to say, "You're good for beating down maids, clocking people in the head with cell phones and spitting on cops, but you've got to come with more than that for The G-man!" A snake-like hiss slowly escaped her chocolate-toned mouth and she slapped me with great force. I flew at least 10 feet and landed next to the table where Tyson was sitting. Dazed and bloodied, I glanced over at Tyson in a silent plea for help. My plea was met with a simple "Weeeeeeee!", as he rolled his toy car along my forehead.

Somewhat woozy and my fists firmly clinched, I began to make my way toward her. "That's all you got, huh? Girlfriend, you're about to get a major McAss-Whooping!" I said. She threw several kicks, but I blocked them with precision. Doing my best Bruce Lee imitation, I yelled "Whaaaaataaaaaah!" as I caught her with a vicious shot to face. Her eye immediately swelled and her anger intensified. "Damn! I guess you won't be getting the cover of Vogue or Vanity Fair with a jacked up eye like that, huh?" My comment evoked enormous rage in her. She charged me, but I sidestepped, grabbed her by her hair and began banging her head repeatedly into the cash register. "Hey, Naomi? Got change for a twenty?", I yelled. Her stiletto heel soon found its mark. She drove it deep into my foot, which caused me to fall backward onto the "McFrosty" machine. I began throwing those two-for-a-dollar apple pies at her in a futile attempt to fend her off, but the hellhound just kept on coming. She stuck my head under the spout and quickly pulled the handle down. The ice cream began to fall and she smeared it all over my face. I kept screaming, "No! No!! I'm lactose intolerant!!!" My cries fell on deaf ears. She pulled me from under the machine, bitch-slapped me several times and threw me nearly 20 feet across the room. My head landed in the ass of a six-foot replica of "The Hamburglar". "Tired already, G-man? I'm just getting started," said Campbell. She grabbed me by my belt and violently threw me more than 15 feet into the French fry machine. I was covered in French fry grease and fries were all over the floor. My eyes were nearly beaten shut, but I could open them just enough to get a glimpse of Tyson kneeling down with his toy car and yelling "Weeeeeeeee!" as he stuffed his fat, tattooed face with French fries. I tried to stand, but the pain was too great. I immediately collapsed to the floor. My breathing was labored; my eyes were swollen; my nose and mouth were bleeding; my hands were shaking and my pride was severely wounded. Go ahead and laugh, but I'll bet your pride would take a hit if you got your ass kicked by an aging supermodel, too. There was no cheering section for the battered and dejected G-man that day. The only sounds that could be heard, in McDonald's and along Hollywood Boulevard, were Campbell's ghoulish wail as she mounted her broom...and that damn Tyson yelling "Weeeeeeeee!"

Even though this was a satirical piece, there is one indisputable fact regarding Naomi Campbell. The tantrums and abuse won't stop as long as the courts continue to handle this woman with kid gloves. Moreover, Campbell seems to have no regard for the law or this very serious matter. The proof is in the fact that she sashayed out of her community service stint in New York in a designer gown while flanked by paparazzi. It was a blatant attempt by Campbell and her management team to illustrate how fabulous she is, or thinks she is, under the most extreme circumstances. It all appears to be a big joke to her. Once again, she received community service for the incident at Heathrow, which basically amounts to a slap on the wrist. The way The G-man sees it, if you punch or spit on a law enforcement official, no matter what the jurisdiction, you deserve to be locked up. Period! She keeps getting away with these things because judges don't have the balls to toss her glittered, Calvin Klein-wearing ass in jail for 30 days! It's just not right. If a regular Joe or Jane were involved in these incidents they'd see a cell faster than Michael Jackson could reach for his old nose. In Naomi Campbell's case, "Miss Justice" is clearly blind...and she apparently wears Jimmy Choo's.