BOOTYMATH

*gripped by an existential crisis at my grandma’s cookout*

me: hey guys I should go

family in unison: lol ok bai

*drives like a hoe through the country looking for self*

me: fuck 

*a strange light appears on the horizon cutting into the dusk*

*squints eyes*

*squints eyes more*

*a single tear of blood emerges as Ray J “One Wish” begins to play in the distance*

me: what in the spongebob theme song is going on?

*the ground shakes and cracks as Ray J bursts from the Earth in his resurrected form as an ancient aztec metallic leviathan*

me: i did not bring a plate bruh I’m sorry

*the new god of r&b giggles and licks his lips as he marches over my vehicle turning everything he steps on into shiny denim or shades*

me: oh my god he’s heading towards Atlanta…oh this is damn

*I raise a ring made of pyrex to the sky and shout*

me: I CALL UPON THE GUARDIAN OF TERMINUS,  PORCHTRON!!!

*”Bando” by Migos plays as a lightning bolt strikes the countryside carrying a mobile suit wearing an A hat and flip flops with socks*

*I climb into the cockpit and raise Porchtron’s sword to the sky as I charge towards the city to battle*

*empties blunt guts*

ay bruh pass me the Gay Rights

*sprinkles them over weed liberally*

bout to get hella mewtwo in this bitch

*inhales smoke and is immediately thrown into a phenomenological body trip*

damn nigga I love everything. I think I am love. 

*the walls of the apartment burst with tendrils of light and beyonce lyrics*

G-g-g-get it shawty

*metatron’s lil cousin Yolo enters the room and beats me in 2k without moving any part of his monstrous angelic body made of fire*

Yolo: keep the peace and lead with fervor. Deny all religion. Future is the best rapper

   In the year 2049 there will be a war between the forces of Drake’s clone army (currently in full-swing development) and the imminent exercise/private security industry amalgamation, GymCorp. The precise cause for the conflict has yet to be prophesied by my nigga, but there will be barbaric bloodshed and overall fuck-shit on a global scale. 

  GymCorp, led by a Ukrainian rat fucking CEO with more weapons connects than you can shake a mouth sore at, will acquire both Apple and ISIS in 2034. This is a massive power move considering the fact that ISIS will have acquired both T-mobile and GAP by this time. GymCorp will usurp Apple’s recognizably cold and emotionally distant image but levy it with health-goth flair and zero clitoral stimulation. That, coupled with ISIS’s cinematography and sheer brutality, will cripple most opposition.

  Drake, however, will stand tall for anarchy and freedom. With a body that will be, at this point, 80% cyborg and an army of honest clones, he is so not the one. Future (now de facto king of Atlantis), will lend his forces graciously along with Gucci Mane and Jaden Smith. Jay-Z and Beyonce will have garnered enough power and science to become their favorite animals at will, so that will help also. 

There’s documented proof that over 14 black men are strategically kidnapped and turned into patio furniture every hour. I do not possess that proof.

What I can do, however, is pick my nose really fucking hard until it bleeds. Everything you do on the internet is shown to a really old and crotchety dragon named Lemons. He investigates every tweet, e-mail, and spitefully conspicuous instagram post then lazily nods and delicately places them into a designated file. Lemons is in no way morally allied with the data collection orgy ferociously jizzed along since 2001 spawning such programs as PRISM. He is simply too old and tired to act out on any ideas of rebellion.

Lemons is a slavic dragon born sometime in the 17th century B.C. His countless achievements are surpassed only by his ability to stay hidden through multiple periods of low dragon tolerance (and extermination). He is credited for accidentally inventing unleavened bread in Egypt, teaching the Assyrians how to fuck, and doing Harriet Tubman’s mixtape cover. The mixtape was called “Slave Feet and DMT”. It did numbers. Never Forget Lemons.

*removes shades*

let me explain something to you guys

*rubs hands together menacingly*

I told Birdman to kiss Lil Wayne

*kids gasp*

Thats’s not all though. I also smuggled crack throughout the country by methodically placing it in Adele’s fat folds

*one chlild cries softly*

If you look closely at the No Limit Records logo you can see me fucking a xbox in the ass. I slammed the door in my momma face every day before I left for school and I tatted “try me” on my dick

kid: didn’t that hurt?

Yes. Intensely. It also hurt when I let Ashanti conduct the laser removal OF SAID TATTOO. You know what else? Ashanti pussy smell like hot wheels.

*one of the children begins throwing up violently*

I was in the trap with nothing but a ps2 controller and some panko crumbs. I’m the reason Benzino decided to become a pastor

kid:…you mean Mase?

Let me see your phone

*kid hands me phone*

*I throw it at his mouth*