Everyone knows about Karan Johar's latest ploy to get out of bankruptcy - hire a bunch of youngster actors, take them across America where they dance and kiss each other's necks, and charge a ridiculous price so he can afford more selfie sticks for...
Finally, the day had come for the final show of the Dream Team. Karan had waited for this with bated breath. Adoring fans, sparkling lights, great music and dancing, humor, all the money from the suckers in the audience. . .
Ahem.
However, there was none of that.
In fact, everyone - all fifteen audience members - were throwing tomatoes at the Dream Team. It didn't matter what they did: they tried more neck-kissing, dancing, Badshah's self-worshipping raps. Even the worst of the worst - Parineeti doing yoga, Varun pole-dancing, Sidharth doing stand-up comedy with his dog. But nothing was working.
"Guys, what do we do now?" Sidharth asked worriedly. The gooey bits of a tomato were rushing down his face.
"I don't know!" Varun fumed. "They didn't even like my stripping." He pouted, then quickly dodged another tomato. He grinned victoriously.
Until he got hit in the face by a chappal.
"Om, I don't care as long as I lose more weight. Om," Parineeti chanted, still meditating on her trusty scale that she never walked around without.
"GUYS I HAVE AN IDEA!" Alia shouted excitedly.
"NO!" everyone screamed desperately.
"Aw come on, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?" she stamped her feet pleadingly.
"Alia, babe -" Karan began, but stopped when he saw the resilient look upon her features.
"CAN I TWERK NOW?!"
"FINE!" he exclaimed, exasperated at the turn of events.
Alia squealed. This was her one chance. To prove that she wasn't a baby. She was a twerker. The best twerker there ever was. Her name was Alia Butt, for crying out loud! She was Rihanna.
"Let me just go grab my kit!" she ran excitedly, leaving behind her groaning team members.
. . .
It was dark. The lights were dim. The audience quieted in confusion.
It was her. Only her.
A spotlight switched on, and the audience was greeted by Alia's back. Then the music began.
Work, work, work, work, work, work
He say me have to
Work, work, work, work, work, work!
Alia closed her eyes, feeling the beat as she swayed. The whole crowd's jaws dropped, eyes widened in shock (and trauma).
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She was doing it! She was living her dream, fulfilling her one and only purpose in life! When all of a sudden. . .
riiiipppp.
Alia stopped. The music stopped. The world stopped. It was so silent a pin could drop.
Then, someone from the audience shouted, "DID HER PANTS JUST RIP?!"
Alia turned around at once and shrugged. Why was this a big deal? She was wearing tons of padding, and like three layers of tight pants. Everything was fine.
Unfortunately, the crowd didn't seem to agree.
Out of nowhere, pitchforks appeared. Fire was set to the curtains. People off the streets ran in, creating a huge uproar. The number of people only increased, amidst all the pandemonium. Yelling, screaming, destruction.
This wasn't good.
. . .
hehe. inspired by pitch perfect 2. thanks, fat amy XDXDXDXD
