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Blue skies and late nights, camp fires and cheap delights and whisky drained straight from the jar. In a hammock slung below a sky of dreams and sea of stars lay a pop princess and a hip hop pioneer, arms entwined and eyes locked into each others stare they whisper sweet – nothings to each other, >You re flash< he says >take it slow< she purrs back >and dont even dont think about going down under!< A mile or two out to sea, floats what has come to be known as a mega-yacht. Aboard his life like an episode of MTV Cribs but with more parties and less gold-encrusted pool tables. Surrounded by beauties by the bevy and sipping on gin and juice, Duff scans the horizon with his telescope (solid platinum, encrusted with diamonds, built in infa red) and spies young love or a new hope. Smiling to himself he thinks >they look different, younger perhaps at least changed, if not for the better but changed at least which is surely a good thing<. He turns to the girls on the boat, one hand pointing to the shore and the other raising his drink to the sky he shouts >I helped create that<.