Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself

[SickWaves Blackamura]

Part 1: Inside the Athlete (Episode 1) 

The young African Prince sat upon the peasant’s throne, it’s structure made up of cheap wood and cloth like that of the seating at some sort of faggy Cherokee casino. The mood was plastic, an artificial looking studio setup, even by Hollywood standards. Something in the air would lead you to believe that it’s the site of adult videos rather than sessions for a second rate streaming service.

: How’s it going, Crackle? This is “Inside the Athlete”. I’m your host, Jessica Berges! Thank you to you, the viewers, watching at home for the start of our new mini-episodic documentary series with our very special guest, Andre Aquarius. Andre, I’d love to thank you for joining me today. We’re all ecstatic to have you with us!

Andre: Fuckin’ about time somebody show a young negro some respect around here.

Of course white people didn’t wanna put my black ass on primetime programming. Comcast passes, Netflix passes, Hulu passes, and even fuckin’ Amazon Prime passes on this golden opportunity. Fuckin’ Crackle. Jesus fuck. Then they go and cast fuckin’ Michael B. Jordan to play the older version of me. What? Did Nick Cannon fucking reject them for an older brother gig on some Disney channel original movie type shit? At least they don’t got some motherfucker doing black face. #SMH

Jessica: Is there anything you’d like to share before we start the show?

Actually, if that means I get to do more lightskin shit like fuck Mariah and star in Rocky films, that would be pretty lit. You know ya boy gets to narrate his own docu-series so that’s pretty dope. No complaints there.

Andre: We all wanted the same thing, to share the stories, to share the life that motherfuckers don’t know about. That’s exactly what this is, the realness. There’s a lot more to Andre Aquarius than bucket hats and dank weed. That’s a big part of the style, but you’re about to learn that I’m on a whole other level!

Jessica: I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’re all very interested in hearing more about you!

This bitch ain’t bad. I think I know where I’m putting my dick after this.

The sexual tension is carried out almost telepathically. There’s a slight pause as Jessica has to resist blushing and showing signs of her inner white whore, the urge to bite her cherry red lips proving to be a great internal struggle for her. She feels her hidden valley fill with desire as she nods at the man in front of her with a slight smile on her face and the camera zooms out and cuts to a cinematic opening shot. A transition soon comes across the middle of the screen.

INSIDE THE ATHLETE: ANDRE AQUARIUS

STARRING: MICHAEL B. JORDAN AS ANDRE AQUARIUS

The scene opens up with a shot of a weathered looking high school. It’s brick walls are almost completely covered with “street art” (mainly penis’s and insults aimed at the faculty). Those filing in and out appear to be from lower class families as shown by the wear and tear in attire. Not Just Knee Deep by Funkadelic weaves itself gently into the background to compliment the visual as we hear the voice of Prince Lighstkin over the top of it.

That kid right there? That’s ya boy. Kind of crazy to think about me going from this quiet kid to the guy fighting for championship gold in the world’s top wrestling federation, but it took a lot to get me from that kid to the person that I am today. People only see one side and there’s good reason for that. You see, I spent my whole life learning that it’s all a game. If you want to survive and get ahead, you have to treat this shit like chess. Every move matters and after awhile, you have to start making the ones that benefit yourself.

Thots: Heeeey, Andre!

Young Andre: Hey.

Those are the thots. They was always on ya boy’s dick, but it wasn’t about that shit at that point. The pickin’ was usually good, but not great and definitely not at the level of pussy that I’m bringing in nowadays. Yeah, I was fuckin’em, but I was pursuing knowledge at this point and the pussy was just a bonus for me. I guess it was different for me back then. It’s not like I was depressed or anything, just numb in a way from all the other bullshit that black youth has to deal with in America. Of course, they mans was always pissed off at me for gettin’ all that attention, but shit, they was probably just jealous cause I’m going through the halls lookin’ like Drake and smellin’ like Frank Ocean songs.

Anyways, this is it, the door to the class that really made me a dreamer. I was studying my ass off in other classes too, but this is the one teacher who really got it. In a lower class, public school where minorities are the majority, the students run the place while most of the teachers just stop trying and give into the lazy ass motherfuckers, but not Mr. Lewis. This man was inspiration. Even if his students absolutely didn’t give a fuck, Mr. Lewis still got their respect. He was like the dad that most of us never knew. Kids were getting beat down or murdered for the color of their skin every single day and in this world, Mr. Lewis understood the impact he would have on a community if even one little negro was truly inspired and that’s what he did.

: Hey, Andre.

Mr. Lewis: Pay attention.

The voices of those behind me called out to me in a whisper, taunting me and trying to get some sort of reaction. For the most part, I used to be able to tune people like this out. When it was a bunch of them trying to get under my skin like that, I could feel a temper start lowkey building inside me. I can’t stress enough how much this class really helped me focus back in despite their words. It was all just background bullshit to me in comparison to the words of empowerment coming from the influence standing at the front of the room.

: Look at this nigga trying to get smart like he’s gonna be some kind of fucking success.

Mr. Lewis: Enough! I will not have ambition mocked in my presence! You can underachieve all you wish, but don’t you dare try to talk poorly about those who actually care! Mr. Thompson, if you put your head in a damn book once in awhile, you’d understand exactly what I mean!

These sort of things made all the difference to me. Mr. Lewis really got it and I knew that he appreciated the work that I was putting in. The expectation of the average motherfucker in the city was to end up dead or strung out. That ringing bell, that is the part that is a little unsettling to me. The world doesn’t like a smart black kid and I felt that every fucking day.

Mr. Lewis: I want you all to read pages fifteen through twenty-two in your textbooks for tomorrow.

Call me a suck up or whatever you want, but I was one of the only people you’d see stick around at the end. I didn’t get this shit anywhere else, so I guess I was kinda savoring that time. It was precious to me.

Mr. Lewis: Mr. Taylor, what can I do for you?

Yeah, I know that’s probably a bit weird to hear at first, but I was born Andre Taylor. Becoming Aquarius is all part of evolving, part of what would become a turning point in my life.

Young Andre: I just wanted to thank you for what you said earlier.

Mr. Lewis: Young minds that wish to learn deserve to be defended. It’s my job. Don’t worry about those punks. For years, I’ve had a ton of my students buy into all the crap that those around them try to suck them up into. The violence and feeding into a culture that ruins the life they’ve been given. I don’t get too many students like you, Andre. You’re special. Just keep doing what you’re doing and everything will be fine. Now, go hit those books.

That usual nod and small pat on the back as I went to leave school each day was important. It was the little things that really got me through a shitty everyday existence of discrimination and warfare. I smiled for now, because I knew I’d be stone-faced the minute I went out the exit and entered a black boy’s personal hell.

: Hey, nigger!

Those fuckers cheap shotted me. I should’ve known they’d pull some sneak shit like that. The minute we aren’t surrounded by the teachers inside the building who are there to break this kind of thing up, these assholes are waiting to try to hospitalize their prey.

: You like readin’ them books? You gonna be a fuckin’ scientist or somethin’?

When most people think of hate crime, the image of a hillbilly burning a cross into the front lawn across the street after a black family moves to their neighborhood or some faggot named “Officer Smith” making you clamp your pearly whites down on the curb like Edward Norton did to that dude in American History X. The real evil is these weasel ass, dark skinned assholes who want to make your life a living hell because your skin tone is lighter than their own. Not only that, but they actually want to trash you when you strive to be something in life other than your run of the mill nigga.

: Bitch ass nigga!

It wasn’t out of the ordinary to end up on the ground with at least two or three of these fuckers jumping you. In this moment, as I feel more and more shots land against my midsection, I kinda reflect on everything. It makes you wonder if you’re approaching it all correctly.

: See you tomorrow, nigga.

The thing is that I always got up and continued to pursue improvement, but I was starting to see things for what they really were. Eventually, no matter how calm and collected you try to be, the desk ends up flipped.

We return to the current day studio as Jessica beams with artificial excitement.

Jessica: Thank you for watching, folks! That will wrap things up for now! Join us next week for episode two of this edition of Inside the Athlete!

She removes her headset, the camera turning away as her “host face” gives way for the kind of “fuck me eyes” that only a combination of a touchy uncle and an absent father can provide.

Andre: I gotchu, bitch. Make this shit quick though. I gotta get back to the Mardis Gras celebration with my boys, so you better make ya boy nut before party time.

Part 2: A fucking artist (genocidal prelude) 

With lipstick stains on his collar area and the smell of designer cunt flowing from his fingertips like smoke from an extinguished campfire, Andre fumbles with his zipper on his way out of the crummy studio building, his member still sticky as a result of a lousy clean up job from his most recent screw.

Told that bitch five minutes and what she go and do? Trying to wrap her arms around my back like we’re going to live in the suburbs and fill up a series of picture frames with little faggot ass mixed babies. The one downside to fucking white girls, I swear.

The look of disgust on his face grows as he pushes through the doors to the outside. An aura of dankness radiated off his superior skin tone as he stepped out onto the street. The sunlight wasn’t particularly harsh, but with the flashing of the some odd dozen cameras among a swarm of press shooting out at him like beacons from the media vultures, it was hard to tell the difference.

: Andre!

: Mr. Aquarius!

: Do you have a minute?!

: Andre, over here!

He tries to push his way through the sardine can that is the massive wave of suit wearing douchebags. Cameras and microphones are extended outward and block his body from dick to shoulders. The sound of small clicking and repetitive, generic chatter makes Andre want to catch a case by way of crushing their skulls just to avoid having to listen to the leeches continue on in the way that they are. He pushes back as a Gillette fusion commercial lookin’ faggot accidentally taps the head of his manhood.

: Hey, Andre! Over here!

: Just a minute of your time!

Andre: Back the fuck up off me!

The enraged black youth reaches down towards the man he has just shoved to the ground, snatching a microphone from out of his hands.

Andre: Kick rocks, faggot.

The startled reporter stumbles to his feet and backs away slowly.

Are we fuckin’ serious today?..

He stands before the sea of people, stolen microphone in hand with his eyebrows cocked up a bit in a rage. His tongue presses against the front of his mouth as he takes a moment to process the frustration.

Andre: You motherfuckers want a story, right? That’s what everybody comes for, every single one of you fuckin’ reporters! You follow a young black man to a job site, wait outside, and wait for him to do something that you don’t deem appropriate so you can type up a headline something in the realm of “Wild nigger goes crazy on innocent members of the press.” This is what you fucking want?!

Those in front of him have fallen completely silent as Andre continues to ramble on.

Andre: You want the negro to act wild for your headlines?! Fine, I’m controlling this shit! I control all of this and all of you low life motherfuckers! Why ain’t the cops bust ya boy on some bogus shit yet?! They tried their hardest over the years, but I still run this shit! Why ain’t any of you been able ruin my fame and my success in life?! That’s because I’m fucking #BeachKrew, Prince fucking Lightskin, a damn artist, bruh! You want your fucking questions answered?! You ain’t gonna like the answers!

With slight hesitation, the reporters one by one begin to spout off their line of questions.

Reporter #1: Anything you can tell us in regards to your return and sort of new edge that we’re seeing from you?

Andre: New edge? I’m revolutionary! Same edge that’s always been there. Motherfuckers just chose not to see it, chose not to believe it! I was a fucking savage from the days of fighting off the oppression from people like Massah Jay and Massah Tort! I’ve been here all of like two weeks and yet, I’m getting swarmed. That’s because of the same damn edge, bro! Why ain’t you talkin’ to Jay or Tort?! Cause they ain’t the next great piece to the #BeachKrew movement! I bet nobody would have thought of the prince as a joke if my name was some gay shit like “Todd Smith” and I lived in Idaho selling used KIA’s, would they?!

Reporter #2: So what’s the plan in the coming weeks for Andre Aquarius?

Andre: Creating shit, tight shit. Just think of opposing temples as the canvas to the motherfuckin’ paintbrush elbow. It’s how it’s always been, a slow burn. I’m fuckin’ methodical, bruh bruh. Don’t you EVER fucking doubt me or you won’t be awake to remember what happens afterwards.

Reporter #3: Can you tell us what kind of impact you think John Gable will have in #BeachKrew?

Andre: Bruh bruh is a little depressing at times, but Gable is Hollywood as fuck, bro. On top of that, I think he’s on the same page as the rest of us. I can see that aggression in Gable is ready to emerge, stronger than motherfuckers ever seen before.

Reporter #4: So how do you see yourself fitting into the current WCF landscape or more specifically, how do you plan to standout among the rest of your teammates in #BeachKrew?

Andre: #BeachKrew is one unit, one collective of great minds who work together like a well oiled machine. At certain points, you’ve seen Jared, Rabid, Thuggin’, and Wade all being leaders and shit. I fit in this shit, because I control the world around me with fuckin’ force, breh. I am the color black, motherfucker! I’m the one who gave Malcolm the X, the one who passed the dank weed on to Harriet Tubman so that bitch could then turn the entire underground railroad into a giant hot box, the one who fingered Rosa Parks on that bus, and the one who stood up to call MLK a bitch ass! I’m the one laughing at squinty eyed faggots as they stitch my name into a pair of custom Jordan’s!

Don’t you people see?! I’m not just another weak little negro, crying like a little bitch with a jank ass posterboard shouting “#BlackLivesMatter!” like a fucking sack. I’m black life! I take empowerment and hoard it all up for myself as I crush motherfuckers! I’m here because I know how to dominate! I’m about to show everybody what it looks like when Andre Aquarius decides “Okay, now it’s time to straight up massacre everybody that stands in my way.” You want to know so much about Andre Aquarius, don’t worry. It’s coming this week.

A sound is heard coming from the building behind him. Andre shakes his head as he hears the yelling behind him and the doors burst open. The messy haired reporter pops out as the crowd of media appears a bit confused.

Jessica: Andre baby, I felt you finish inside of me. Just think, you might be a daddy!

She bursts into tears of joy as Andre deeply exhales. He turns back towards the media, extending a single finger towards the sky.

Andre: One minute, bruh.

He turns his attention back to the attractive young lady, giving her a half-assed smile with a complete lack of sincerity, much like hers from earlier in the studio. Mr. Kunta’s line up so that his palms are pointed towards each other before he hits a mean ass hadouken to a bitch gut. She quickly crumples over to the ground as the horde in front of him looks on in shock, their equipment slowly being lowered to further show their astonishment. Andre puts his hands outward, parting the crowd of white bread faggots like the black Moses.

Part 3: Allow me to reintroduce myself 

The bright lights of Mardi Gras were the epitome of everything #BeachKrew. From the neon painted tits to the flash being emitted from the pacifiers that were shoved into the cocksucker of every other drunk college slut, this was ecstasy for one of the world’s most influential group of terrible youth. Just the air that they were breathing was a glittery trigger sending them to a place where they all shared the same mental orgasm from the feeling of total control their surroundings.

The float rolled through a river of fresh sweat, vomit, and semen as it caught the attention of those positioned on the sides of the street. Whether they were frat bros covered in body paint or whores who were there solely to get filled up with every type of liquid substance that was available to them, these people viewed the royalty on top of the party ship as something far greater than anything that they had ever witnessed. It wasn’t just a group of celebrities, these were the innovators of dank, the people who would grant each one of them the best night of their lives.

With the camera focused in on the 6ix God, Prince Lightskin smiled down upon the masses through his spartan-like mask, his tattooed torso and neck displayed proudly along with his pure black attire of black pants and ring boots. He carefully observes every rich white girl as part of one collective army of thirsty skanks ready to feast upon his black goodness like a fat bitch in line for the chocolate wonderfall at a Golden Corral. The edge of the gliding platform was swarmed with female hands. Their palms, which all wore a sticky coating of Hennessy residue, extended towards the famous hangdowns which remained out of reach. Andre’s pupils dart around as he makes a series of criticisms and observations about the contenders.

I’d fuck her, I’d fuck her, I think actually have fucked her, I’d fuck her, I wouldn’t fuck that bitch cause she got that Mumford and Sons shirt #PartyFoul, I’d fuck her..

He feels a mammoth like tug at his pant leg from a fat bitch who has managed to scale up the side of the float and now has her grubby little fingers wrapped around his attire like a fucking hoagie (She’s one of those loud ones who think that they’re “thick” rather than a whale). The gleeful, cow-like cunt runs a thick little tongue across her lips, ready to suck the filling out of the swiss roll. Thursday chuckles a bit as she notices the girl attaching herself to Andre. He lifts his free boot, pressing it against her frontal lobe as he tries to push her away.

God...damn….fat….bitch….get...off….my….shit!

As he finally pushes her free, this Wilford Brimley diabetes lookin’ ass charges at him with lust (and hunger) in her eyes. Andre calmly raises his boot up much higher this time, doing his best Massah Bates impression as he boots the bitch back off the float and down into the pit like King Leonidas did to that Persian messenger. He snickers a bit as he hears her large mass fall to the pavement and her bones crunching against it, most likely resulting in various breaks and internal bleeding. #NoFattiesAllowed #LOL

Much better.

Thursday’s hand turned from side to side in a mechanical sort of rhythm similar to that of a pedestal fan as Jared Holmes was near the end of a vicious promo geared towards the current trios champs, “The Sentinels”. The various beams of light shining off of Jared’s mask created several magical globes in the center of his lap as that familiar and sinister grin wrapped itself around his face like a medal of honor. Jared moves towards the camera as Andre turns his attention back towards his tag partner.

Jared: No bodybags on deck this time, just bloated corpses washing up on the beach.

As the 6ix God’s promo concludes, he turns to Andre with the camera now in his hands.

Jared: You want to join in the fun, Mr. Kunta?

Prince Lightskin cracks his well lotioned knuckles as he prepares that NOLA ether.

Jared: All yours, you negro bastard.

The two laugh a bit as the camera is focused in on Andre’s metal covered face.

Andre: Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is #Seablack, #MrKunta, #PrinceLightskin, and Andre Aquarius. What motherfuckers are about to witness is the rebirth of the only colored boy that really matters in this world. Sheeeiiit, we finna bring back segregation to the dankest degree. It’s about to be one fountain for the #Fuccbois and a gold plated one for #BeachKrew. For those who wasn’t watchin’ shit the last time I was around of just plain forgot, I am the last #FartcoreChampion (Let’s not count anything that happened after me since that shit is basically a joke at this point. #LOL) as well as the first and only African American champion (Who else was supposed to hold this shit? D’Angelo or some other ashy ass homo?)

Now this is what I come back to. After a single squash match against Slime on Wednesday night, ya boy is thrown into a main event for the trios championships. That’s all it takes and they’re putting me on part of the new superteam who’s gonna walk up in the spot and rip that shit away from the biggest squad of dysfunctional cunts the world has ever seen. Maybe part of the reason I’m here is for saving Seth’s cheap ass a dollar or two on a jobber contract. (Do they even get paid?) It could also be because they finally be seein’ the value. Please everyone, remind me again how I’m a joke. How many motherfuckers are booked on your average card? Fourty or fifty, right? I skipped that line right to the top, because you’re boy is fuckin’ #BeachKrew, because I’m this year’s breakout star. Quote me on that.

Here’s something else to quote me on. “#BeachKrew will walk away at the end of Slam as the new trios champions”. I’m really, really looking forward to it too. Can you imagine the fuckin’ Twitter boards, bro? Just picture how angry Massah Bear Blood is gonna be, imagine the tears running down his face like he just lost the pinewood derby race to a kid named Spalding or some mall shooter ass shit like that. People like Team of Torture are going to curl up into a ball in scream in they pillows like the backdoors was bein’ reluctantly accessed) After all, making people miserable from our success is a #BeachKrew specialty. We step into the building, take the gold, fill our opponents with doubt, and we wear that shit like we signed to Roc Nation and cashing six figure checks on the weekly. (Which we are. #LOL)

There are dudes out here thinkin’ that #BeachKrew is somehow done just because we lost a few belts. These motherfuckers aren’t understanding how the sea moves in waves. So we drop a handful of belts one night and every other fuckboy under the sun is cheering “Hooray! Those...those #BeachKrew bullies really got what was coming to them! They must be nothing now!” They think that when #BeachKrew drops that shit, that they’re somehow gonna be in line to go for them next. The part I love is when you see that look in they eyes after witnessing us grab more of that gold after a few weeks. I see them lose a bit of hope and it makes ya boy gleeful.

Onto the #Fuccbois at hand. You want reason number one why we gon be walking out with the straps? How about the fact that we’re an actual team and not just any team, but THE team. Check those odds, faggots. It was #BeachKrew who dominated every major PPV ever since we arrived on the scene. Teams beat collections of random #Wrassluhs. That shit is just the facts. It’s not like we a squad of rookies either. Each of us has had the chance to observe and fuck up everyone in this joint. What you got on our side is three guys with massive chips on their shoulders, three guys primed and ready for the spotlight that this new Frankenstein Sentinels team has simply let burn out. Maybe they had it for a second, but it’s gone and ain’t nobody changed the bulb.

We got Joseph Macaroni and Duneiel, but where does Occulo fit in? That’s the momentum killer right there. Occulo been rubbing his hands together, pretendin’ he’s plottin’ on us and shit, but I know it’s cause he feels the REAL cold comin’ from this very promo right here. This dude has done what? Had one forgettable US title reign during a time where every lame under the sun held that shit? Are we really underdogs in this bitch? Fuckin’ “Occy” (as the homos call him) has been here for over a year and only kind of done something, ONE thing, a single accomplishment that even stands out a little. It took #BeachKrew how long to collect them accolades? A couple months? That’s no time, man! Think about where you’ll be at this rate? In a year, where will you be at? Do you really think you’ll even be able to sniff first class seating for a second rate airline? I don’t see you even making it into the conversation of getting your contract renewed at this rate.

Of course I’m not going to count you holding the trios championship since it’s clear that you’re the fucking cinderblock that’s gonna drag Joey and Duneiel to the bottom of the sea to be swallowed up by the krew. You’re not even a half, but rather a cardboard cutout that’s there to OCCUpy (Your new name. Prince Lightskin just changed it for you. Can I get an #LOL?) space so that this sad looking Sentinels line up is able to compete in trios matches. Your average retarded, Stone Cold t-shirt wearing fan might see Occulo as “A member of the mighty Sentinels”, but I see you more as that fucking homeless guy in Kickin’ It Old Skool, nothing more than obligatory filler.

No matter how many times that Sentinels roster is changed, you will still be the fluff and filler to your clearly superior teammates. Each time these faggots start the circle jerk, you “earn” your position by simply getting down on your knees like the good lawd told ya! Even if Macaroni and Duneiel stroke each other with precision and care, you will always be the toothy blowjob that makes their night a little rougher every time you unhinge your jaw like a cobra ready to deliver the venom that cripples your victims in every match where they’re really counting on you. There’s simply no elixir for your suckage, breh. Even Spencer Adams wouldn’t be able to find the antidote for the poisonous effect you have on your teammates.

Don’t worry though, OCCUpy, you ain’t the only motherfucker with a depressing drop off in relevance on your team. I mean, they still ain’t as bad as you and probably never will fall to THAT level, but they ain’t invincible and that’s been showing recently. Here’s the thing, bruh bruh. Those people you rely on to carry your team, the ones who you’re hoping can bring enough hot fire to propel you to victory, they’ve become a bit of a snoozefest in some ways too. Sure, they’ve looked really good on they own in the past year, but after #BeachKrew came along and sucked the will to live out of most of these motherfuckers and their little feud with each other was done, Duneiel and Macaroni were left with what? It’s just been...boring, bruh.

Then we got the force, the man, the myth, the legend, Masssssssaaaaaaah Saaaaaanmaaaaaan! I gotta say, bro, I’m ready for this shit. I been doin’ my homework, ya dig? I’ve been hittin’ them books on ya ass. Me n’ Mavis Beacon rolled one up in the parking lot. I passed the reefer, she passed me that quick lesson out of “Mavis Beacon teaches you how to body Tom Hardy. It was tight. Mavis gave me them sand goggles to help guide ya boy through the desert, she has granted me that expert ass wanderer skill like she did for the homie Denzel in The Book of Eli. See, I’ve been on these dope movie references this entire promo. What you motherfuckers got on me? Nothin’, man!

You know what line I like? That gay ass shit about The Sentinels standing for the fallen and what not. Well Massah Sanman, does that count for the launched bodies of people like Massah Macaroni’s lil’ elbow noodle? Can we get instant replay on that shit? Where ICE Beckman at? We need the comic strips, bruh! You know Joey be all like “Duneiel y u do dis? My son is ded! #LOL” I’m sorry, bro. I just love reminding you, Massah Mac, and everyone else in the WCF Beachgoers that your little super team consists of a murdered, some kinda like French guy, and another guy who’s just there. Never gets old.

A tanned bro hand reaches at the edge of the float, lifting a blunt up towards Andre. The prince leans down, offering a nod to thank the random douchebag as he takes a fat ass hit before passing it back.

How you doin’ since losing that belt to this wet noodle ass bitch that is your tag partner by the way? (That’s Bee-Tee-Dub for all my white bitches) Have you really been thinkin’ about how you’re supposed to be snatching that gold back up anytime in the near future? We already know it ain’t gonna be by beating my bro Jared to advance in one of those trilogy cup matches, so when is it? Do you think that your little makeshift team losing your belts to us is a step in the right direction for you? Is that really even your belt to defend? You didn’t even earn that shit, bro! You’re almost as much of a fill in as OCCUpy is!

Give us the real champ, dammit! This ain’t no match for pretenders! Do me a favor Massah Sanman and just send Howard out to get his arm rebroken or just go ahead and replace Occulo with Howard so our competition looks at least a little more compelling. Poor, poor Sanman. You really are fucked, aren’t you? Your Sentinels of today are nothing even close to what they once were and you know that. That’s why your ass is losing this week. This ain’t your game, this is our shit, because when the waves crash upon the beach, they make sure to drag the sand right along with them.

There ain’t nobody talking about how great your little throw together team is with those belts around your waists, is there? How many little Sketcher wearin’ ass white kids ran up to Joey Flash and said “Wow, you da bess world champion I’ve ever seen Mister Flash..erm...I mean Mister Macaroni...wouldn’t wanna disrespect your fallen child!”? How many of them shouted out “Occulo! I’m your biggest fan!”? (Let’s go with NONE since nobody actually knows who you are at this point. #LOL) Was there anyone who screamed out Sandman’s name like “Dune! You’re my favorite wrestler! Can you sign my Bane mask?!”

Mr. Kunta holds his finger up in a moment of realization.

Andre: Actually that last one probably did happen. Sometimes I forget that lil’ white folks enjoy big muscular faggots like you. Oh, them crazy white kids, always bordering on being a little autistic and shit!

His head falls downward, moving slowly side to side as the frustration from the man behind the mask grows a bit.

Andre: No matter what anybody thinks in this situation, The New Sentinels are the ones who have to try to step up to the level that WE are at. “Andre, Joey Flash and Dune are former world champions though! They’re the real deal!” I’ve heard it a million times and I’m still not intimidated. If people wanna call these dudes the top dawgs (No entertainment around here #LOLWink), then it just means that much more when we fucking body these retards. Everyone sees us as the team that’s unraveling, but the three dudes across from us was never even in the realm of being cohesive in the first place. Me and my bros are that Gorilla Glue while these motherfuckers got lint on the sticky side of the scotch tape. Temporary would be a fuckin’ compliment in this situation as I don’t see them even lasting after we murk them for what are soon to be OUR trios championships.

Individually, we see them flaws. It’s not like any of these guys are a secret at this point. We’ve seen them at their highs, but we’ve also seen them at lows of near homelessness. Especially Joey “Da Bess” Macaroni. Don’t let this gluten free fruitcake fool you, bro. You know he’s thought about putting that barrel to against his dome a few times. I’m surprised it didn’t happen after losing to GRIME (I’m putting it in all caps now, Chr...erm I mean Joey! #LOL). You know you can’t ever live that shit down and we know it still haunts you. Are you having trouble following through with pulling that trigger successfully? Would you rather I just do it myself, fuckboy? You know that when Joseph SEA:16 meets Taylor 9MM, I’m gonna blast your sorry ass straight to hell. #OnlyTheDankestQuotesHere

Ask yourselves, is Joseph Macaroni really “Da Bess”, or is he simply a motherfucker with a forgettable and barely existent title reign, a loss to GRIME, and a record padded with easy wins in tag matches that are booked in his favor? I get it. Massah Macaroni is valuable to Seth. He’s a white bread, Uncle Rico mustache havin’, child touching lookin’ ass motherfucker whose value is in a ring name created by a retarded kid and the fact that he’s easy to understand. Massah Macaroni shows up, wins some random clusterfuck that we all knew he’d win since his opponents are trash, and repeats. It’s simple. I see the fear in motherfucker’s eyes. It’s because #BeachKrew is the most marketable fuckin’ team in the history of the BIZness. We bring the sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll back to this bitch.

So the Prince of Superior Skin Color makes one of the most anticipated returns in WCF history and people still wanna call me the joke? Whatever, breh. Use your damn head! I wasn’t the motherfucker who lost to Grime, jobbed to Yung Adam, and lost his world title in the span of half an episode of Adventure Time. Is this what you have to offer me? This man been doin’ so much foolish shit in the past year that you’d think he was being mentored by Logan! Absolutely bafflin’ that these are the so called main event players even though they’re the ones dickin’ around while me and my fam been grindin’ this whole time! Keep fuckin’ whippin’ me, bruh! I ain’t no Toby ass bitch!

Massah Mac, take a seat, bro. Wherever you are, pull up that chair and let’s have a little chat. (Just make sure to uncross them legs first doe. I want to conversate man to man, mano a mano. None of that faggot shit when you talkin’ to African royalty, ya feel bish?) You see, Massahroni, I know how seriously you take that precious win loss record of yours. I know that the world is going to see exactly what Massahroni is about when you end up losing that belt, probably due to the incompetence of OCCUpy which will result in you taking your rage out on that poor loser post match. Not only is ya boy gonna enjoy puttin’ the sack down on your gold after we take that ish, but I’ll be grinning like a white dude with an AK in a shopping after adding an extra blemish to your career.

It’s pretty fuckin’ funny that people try to look at us like we’re these terrible fuckin’ snakes. Shit bruh, at least we come right out in the open about being dicks on a regular basis. If you ask me, it’s pretty sketchy to be the motherfucker who runs around breakin’ arms and acting like an asshole in general to everyone in front of them for the hell of it. You never was no face, breh, you just have a kid who got #BeachBodied by your “partner” SnorkelDune. “Let’s cheer for this guy because we feel bad that his son is fucking dead!” Let me ask you again, who are the real bad guys in this situation? See, bad and good is based on moral standing. #BeachKrew is simply a collective of realists who can see the world for what it is and choose to fuckin’ own it rather than let it own us. In the case of these dudes like Joey Macaroni and Duneiel, I’m about to go out there and show the world what happens to a snake when you cut off it’s head.

The prince holds his arms out to his sides before pounding his right fist against his chest.

Andre: The red flag is up.

Fade to black.