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Message: [QUOTE="LAOrange, post: 1176987, member: 160"] "One good shot, that's all I ask." Thought the paparazzo as he crouched low behind the car across from the main entrance. He saw Brad Pitt exit the Melo center surrounded by a large entourage. He popped the lens cover in anticipation of the one moment when he could prove what Harvey Levin claimed was the smoking gun. He thought, "This could be bigger than the elusive invite to Bruce Pearl's Tennessee house party or even Larry Eustachy's DareDorm video." After all, this was Brad Pitt. Only superseded by Clooney himself. Levin knew they couldn't get Coach C, he was faultless, so Pitt would have to do. It wasn't as if Pitt hadn't given up Galella gold in the past: plaid pants, lots of whiney faces, the classic orange pimp hat, digits buried to the first knuckle... even the ultimate meme: a lurching celebrity tearing off his jacket to cement certain loss--but, those were all public shots--TMZ would only pay big bucks for the ultimate reveal. The one that shows what happens behind the scenes. The paparazzo knew that TMZ had been sending lens jockeys for close to ten long years; and still they had nothing more personal than a very pretty and philanthropic wife. Even after they'd set Pitt up with a brilliant ESPN-fueled saga of lost boys and 70's style porn moms, the celebrity escaped with barely a scratch. As Pitt passed, the paparazzo's shill, a small child--a local tutor, stopped the star to ask him for an autograph. Obviously upset by his entourage's inability to keep fans away, Pitt gave a pained sideways smile to the girl and bent down. The camera zoomed in on his lower back. Pitt's orange, white and, strangely silver, polo shirt slid up. The paparazzo adjusted for a clearer shot and...boom goes the dynamite!... there it was... the fabled FabMelo tramp stamp in all its Brazilian glory. He was rich. [/QUOTE]

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