#LikePablo

[SickWaves Blackamura]

Part 1: That just happened. 

When you shock the world, the paralysis begins. Suddenly, the cheers and boos deafen in the arena. Their voices are all the same. No matter who they support, they jaws still dropped from seein’ that new #SeaRG form in person. Every single movement that you make gets recognized as crucial and important because the people know that they witnessin’ greatness unfold before they very eyes. Every single person wants to get a whiff of you just so they can run back and tell all they friends and fam that they were in the presence of a few fuckin’ superstars.

To my right and left were two of the most dominant and accomplished muhfuckers in the business today. Between them, they had a walk in closet’s worth of accolades. Tonight was about sending a message before shit even starts with this trios tournament. The homie Splash put away GAYson just like we all knew he would and my nigga Tibs got that number one contender status tacked onto his name. Now I know everybody finna be askin’ about Prince Lightskin and wonderin’ the kind of impact that I’ll be havin’ on this whole thing. One of these things ain’t like the other when it comes to formal achievements and shit, but that all gets erased in dominant fuckin’ fashion one week from tonight as the beginnin’ of the end happens.

The mask was tucked away in my bag and replaced by designer shades that went along with that bangin’ new shirt and leather jacket combo. I don’t know how the fuck all these media faggots managed to weasel they asses into the backstage area, but I can tell you that every single camera flash makes for another magazine cover. We were stone-faced headin’ out the arena, walkin’ out with our dicks swingin’ like we just dropped a bomb in this bitch. Next Sunday, the scene would be just the same as this. Three dudes walkin’ away havin’ shook the world to it’s fuckin’ core.

Part 2: AA on that Jay Z grind. 

A lot of people would tell you that you ain’t supposed to mix your reds and your blues, but ya boy been lookin’ through them 3D glasses for a minute now. Wakin’ up in a haze like this from a night of eatin’ uppers and downers like them see through tubs of mixed up cereal in a little white boy’s kitchen cabinet. The shit I put in my system had left my memory of the night before pretty fuckin’ shitty. The light was coming through the off white curtains in a blurry storm of sequins that you’d see if you were to squint at night traffic.

As I rolled over, my hand grazed the bronze ass of some white bitch who kinda looked like a young Brigitte Nielsen. I don’t remember even havin’ a conversation with this woman. Did I fuck another nigga’s piece? I wasn’t sure, but I could tell that I had definitely dicked down a high class broad from the way she was curled against the linens like she was finna shoot a commercial for the hotel or some shit. While I stared at her in all her NBA courtside, arm wrapped around a nigga and his rolex lookin’ ass girl.

: Goodmorning, baby.

She nuzzled her face against my chest as her overpriced dyke haircut brushed against ya boy’s tattoo. Her breath smelled like something of a mix between lightskin nut and expensive seafood.

: Last night was so good.

I’ve never been a fan of having to talk the next morning. I never understand why a bitch can’t just bounce or hop back on Mr. Kunta and take that ride on the underground railroad like a normal person.

: Andre?

Fuck is this thot’s name?

Andre: Yeah, it was chill.

Not that I remember any of it, but you know, entertain and pretend to be interested for that mouth I guess.

: Round two?

She smiled before swallowing my member whole like she was tryna win a competitive eating contest or some shit, spent a good ten minutes on that knob before she got to where Mount VeGUCCIus was almost to the point of makin’ her teeth glisten.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

: Anette?

Well I guess we got the name now.

Anette: Shit, it’s my husb-

That’s the yellow light, not the red one. It’s like sayin’ “I don’t actually want to take the dick out my mouth, I’m just a whore with a deadline.” I pushed that head down, tappin’ my shit against the back of her throat as the pounding on the door continued.

: Anette?! What the fuck are you doing?! Who is he?!

I cocked my head back, enjoying the glory of the almighty blowjay. She jerked back in fear of her man’s likely intrusion as I went and rolled clean into the top pocket, snatchin’ that high score in the game of skeet ball and coverin’ her in Colonel’s mayo. #FingerLickinGood

Anette: Shit! You have to go!

I threw on my SeaRG jacket and looked over this broad who dangled a set of bike keys in the air.

Anette: Well you might want these.

I quickly snagged them away before zipping up my jacket and throwin’ a gym bag full of clothes and gear over my shoulder. My hands gripped at the waist of a pair of black pants which I struggled to slip into. This salty muhfucker continued to smash at the door before it finally gave way and I saw this giant Massah Bates lookin’ homo barge into the room with his Ed Hardy shirt suffocatin’ his torso and a the veins that ran over his tribal sleeves bulgin’ out at me.

: You son of a bitch! Fucking nigger! You’re gonna let some fucking jiggaboo slam horse cock into you on OUR fucking vacation?!

While this photoshopped lookin’ ass argued with his bitch, I turned my bare, caramel colored asscheeks towards them both and made my way outside before leaping over a low resting back deck, pants still awkwardly positioned halfway between my hips and my knees. As I made my way towards the ballin’ ass moped I had apparently parked in the grass behind this nigga’s house, I caught sight of a mix of tourists and brown people laid out along the shore. My head was pounding from bad habits.

Don’t know where the fuck I am? Are these spics part of a low budget cleaning unit or just some fuckin’ locals?

After I managed to slip into my pants, I heard a buzzing sound coming from inside the bag draped over my shoulder.

Wow, reception sure is a fuckin’ shocker out here.

I turned my head to the side, trying to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare as I practically ripped my bag apart in pursuit of El iPhone. I flipped the switched and quickly unlocked the screen to answer.

Jared: You get lost?

Andre: Fuck, I don’t even know where I am right now, bruh. Woke up to some Kardashian cunt in a timeshare crib or somethin’.

I pondered this statement in my mind before deciding not to say it out loud, creating a pause in conversation.

Jared: Andre?

Andre: Got tied up with some shit. Find a place to pull over, catch me an address, and I’ll be there in a minute, bruh.

Jared: Sounds good.

I swung my leg over the seat, quickly heading off to...somewhere else.

Part 3: Somewhere. 

Wind was rushin’ through a nigga’s hair while ridin’ through desert esque landscapes. I had gone from a headache caused by the drug trip of the previous night to a renewed high courtesy of that blonde thot’s side table drawer. Shit, this whole place was drugs. When all you see for miles is sand on both sides of the road with only the occasional spic owned gas station, it all starts to have a bit of an effect on you visually. Shit get’s lonely when it’s this monotonous, ya feel me? Pretty soon, you start either talkin’ to yourself or shit that ain’t even really there.

Part 4: Dethrone the king. 

Andre: You hear that buzz, Mikey? That’s me comin’ for ya ass boy.

My voice was accompanied only by the open road and hum of the tiny vehicle I road on.

Andre: I guess you’re good enough for them now, ain’t you, Mikey? Shit, you wasn’t even in on this trios madness last year, homie. As history shows, you was wastin’ away in openin’ bout bullshit against a couple of nobody faggots who ain’t even here anymore, two dudes who just never amounted to anything. Finally though, the most obvious and fittin’ member of that faggy little motorcycle club is bein’ recognized as good enough to be part of Massah Bates second comin’ party. The forgotten member of the Tom Bate’s club, a fuckin’ microscopic nothin’ on most people’s radars even when you got that title to your name, you still wasn’t even second fiddle. Poor Lil’ Mikey, just a faggot tappin’ his triangle.

Why are you here, Mikey? You even stopped to ask yourself what it is that got you to where you are this week? Face it, Massah Bates was out of options. Your “leader” was able to scoop his little bro Norman who was part of winnin’ last years inferior tournament, but then came that third spot. He wasn’t finna go lookin’ for Danny Anderson’s bum ass to fill the spot, Gonzo’s as dead as his fuckin’ career and well, that’s where Massah takes a break from the self indulgent, erotic autobiography that goes on in his mind every time he looks in the mirror to shrug them shoulders and say “I guess we’ll give it to Mikey.”

You do realize that all the blame is gonna fall on you when you lose this thing, right? Massah Bates was always known as the guy who thinks more highly of himself than anybody and I know that he’s probably too fuckin’ retarded to really understand what kind of threat this new DRG superteam is to him and his push for back to back wins in this tournament. Massah Bates is no doubt finna be expectin’ a repeat of the success he had last year in the pre-dank era of this federation. Who exactly do you think gets sent to the whippin’ post when you take that fat fuckin’ L courtesy of the Dag Riddik Gang? Yep, it’s the guy who wasn’t part of them Defilers of Logic.

I go into these things lookin’ for the weak link, tryna find that sweet spot that I can smash a fuckin’ hole through to tear it all down. I’m approachin’ your fort and seein’ nothin’ but termite damage. If this was the same stable from last Spring, I’d be goin’ for guys like you and Danny Anderson, but surprisingly, you might be the only guy here who almost resembles a competent opponent. Don’t take that as a compliment, because I promise you it isn’t. Fact of the matter is, that you the best they got. You might not be very good, but prior to this week, you the only man who hasn’t had the displeasure of turnin’ into everyone else’s bitch like Massah Bates and Massah Pisces been doin’.

Let’s take a minute to think about who exactly Mikey Extreme takes it too on a regular basis. You’re a fringe main eventer is what we’re made to believe by the hype surrounding a lot of the shit you been competin’ in. I don’t buy that shit for one minute though, bruh bruh. You get to face people like Vengeance and Bernard Core on a monthly basis. That was the fuckin’ line to facin’ you when you held that strap. Holy shit, breh. You’re almost as bad as #FagRidiculous boastin’ about bein’ this great representative of somethin’ when in reality, you’re both just hoistin’ up a devalued title and actin’ like you’re the fuckin’ man for beatin’ people who are moderately passable at best.

So why ain’t you that dude goin’ up against Joey Splash for the world title? They didn’t even consider your ass last month when lookin’ for a number one contender, did they? Of course Massah Seffery had to put Godnilla in that shit, because you need some top quality #BeachKrew representation to make a card pop and sell them tickets. Who else was in that Slam 350 main event though? Steve “The other nigga on the roster” Orbit and surprise surprise, your trios partner Massah Pisces. Your efforts and supposed greatness got fuckin’ pushed aside there, didn’t it? You lose out to shuckin’ and jivin’ and a guy who’s been chokin’ on opportunity like it’s my own black dick.

Last week, the prepubescent fuck boy that me and Beavs bent over and Eiffel Towered was able to take your belt from you. This is when it all just goes downhill. You get to sit in the bottom of a fuckin’ pit along with Massah Pisces and Massah Bates and have yourself a little bit of a luncheon. After you claw helplessly at the muddy Earth that surrounds you, tryin’ desperately to climb out, you’ll find yourself plopped down in the middle of that fuckin’ hole with a blanket and a picnic basket laid neatly over the top of the fuckin’ mush, the sunken in plot of land that the Dag Riddik Gang has created with the piss from our own bladders. Your buddy Gem will extend his hand out to you and in it will be a plate full of shit. Sure, you’ll refuse at first, tryna convince yourself that you don’t want to eat the shit, but I’m here this week to show you how to chew. I’ll deliver it airplane style for you even. Soon, you’ll learn to love eatin’ shit. Just as Pisces and Bates before you, eatin’ shit will become all that you really know how to do.

What are you supposed to be to me? You’re not a threat in this. Massah Mikey, you are the number six in this main event and you’re probably the only muhfucker who doesn’t see it that way. This is one of those matches that happens so that somebody like you can learn that they just don’t belong at the top. You got knocked down against Ethan who I made look like a fuckin’ pleb twice already and you’ll get knocked down against us even worse. You want to try to come up into our fuckin’ tournament and think that you and a couple of faggot ass choke artists finna drop us? Fat fuckin’ chance. You’re part of the second best team in this whole thing by default and we are superior by such a large margin that it ain’t even funny, man. I’m endin’ your ass this week simply for bein’ in our way. Take it personal, take it very fuckin’ personal, homie.

Mikey’s America gets to meet the lightskin nation in what will be a blowout win for ya boy. For weeks now I’ve been tellin’ muhfuckers just like all about how Mr. Kunta is on the rise in this bitch. Most didn’t wanna believe this shit, but there’s no denyin’ what is just so fuckin’ obvious. You bout to learn that it takes a whole lot more than what you got in the tank to take on lightskin royalty, ya dig? Slam is the dawn of a new era, the age of Aquarius. This week, Andre Aquarius walks in with a few elbows for you and yours as I rearrange that edgy spellin’ to your name and knock some shit loose in the process. Massah “eXtreme”, finna go to Massah eFFtreme real fuckin’ quick.Whether you want that to mean “Fuckin’ Forgettable” or “Fuckin’ Faggot” is completely up to you, I’m just happy to leave you as somethin’ so much lesser than what you were before. This is when the prince dethrones you and assumes his rightful place.

Part 5: Reunited 

Still trippin’ off of desert air and drugs that had belonged to a rich white woman who I’d stuck my dick in, I pulled into a mostly abandoned lookin’ gas station chillin’ right in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. No sign led me here, but rather I found it along the main stretch of road that I’d been instructed to follow by Jared. Just outside of it were two mopeds parked sideways to intentionally occupy more parking space than what is actually needed. #AssholeStatus.

Jesus….does every fuckin’ radio in this piece of shit country just play gasolina all day?

I stepped through the door first spottin’ a dirty field worker lookin’ muhfucker stationed behind the counter and then noticin’ a couple of familiar homos arguin’ over roadside snacks and shit.

Andre: Took me a bit, but I found it.

Jared: Good, you’re here.

As Tibs began to turn around and speak, Mistah Splash followed.

Joey: Well you look as fuccin high as always. Wander off into a back alley somewhere?

Andre: Let’s be real here, who the fuck is sober these days? We’re ridin’ fuckin’ mopeds simply for the sake of bein’ trolls as we go through hundreds of miles of Mexican bullshit on our way to make them extra big ass paychecks. So yeah, of course I’m fuckin’ high, bruh. Spiritual quest and shit. Plus, it’s not like I need to be in tip top fuckin’ shape to take it to this bum ass 2016 Dark Riders Gang.

Joey: Well that’s about as obvious as it gets, isn’t it?

Andre: What you muhfuckers back here hootin’ and hollerin’ about exactly?

A look of frustration crossed the young Mistah Splash’s grill.

Joey: Fuccin gas station food around here is horrid. Am I really supposed to fuel my body with microwavables and generic garbage food?

Andre: Meh.

Jared: Let’s just grab something and head out.

Andre: I feel you on that, bro. This place smells like Massah Pisces’ main event performances.

I spotted some poorly made flyer posted on a tack board near the entrance which I quickly swiped before turnin’ towards Joey and Jared.

Andre: This.

Their brow’s crinkled in unison as they took a glance at the piece of paper in my hand.

Joey: What the fuck is that for?

Andre: A party with an address, bruh bruh. It’s a sign.

Joey: Are you serious?

Andre: Mistah Flash, Splashy, Joey Dab...I got this, bruh. That’s what this whole thing is about. Them paychecks come when we inevitably squash every team in this fuckin’ thing, but gettin’ fucked up and smashin’ brown pussy is part of that too, homie.

We had ourselves another little pause as Joey stopped to think.

Jared: He has a point.

Joey: Jesus fuccin’ Christ. First the name, then the ridiculous mopeds. Where does it end?

Tibs smiled and slapped a handful of cash on the counter to pay for his shit as we made our way out of the dumpy little gas station.

Jared: It doesn’t.

We all climbed aboard our rides, checkin’ to make sure we were good to go before startin’ up them engines.

Joey: For fuck sake, are you even gonna be able to drive? You look like death right now, ya tweaked out bastard.

Andre: Yet I feel like Pablo.

Another pause in conversation took place before I continued my response.

Andre: Pussy and paychecks, baby. Pussy and paychecks.

Part 6: Feel that. 

As we pulled into a swarm of cars and people covered in neon lighting, we could immediately hear the thumpin’ of Gasolina which is apparently the fuckin’ spic national anthem or some shit.

Joey: Jesus, did you come here looking to party or get HPV? I’m honestly curious here.

Andre: I’ve gambled before, homie. In fact, if you ignore the shitty ass music that everyone seems to be fuckin’ with in this part of the world, it ain’t as bad as it seems at first. Make yourselves at home in this place. That’s how you survive the month of May in WCF.

Tibs shrugged a bit and lifted a pinky to his nose, inhaling hard. Joey rolled his eyes and took some from Jared, quickly followin’ suit. The two headed off towards a group of people while I had caught the attention of this nice little piece who wasn’t wearin’ much of nothin’. After approachin’ me, her tongue found it’s way to my neck as did her left hand to my dick. She used her right hand to lift the dropper into ya boy’s ear.

Andre: Damn, ma..

She smiled and released my hang down before tauntin’ my ass by swayin’ them hips back and forth as she disappeared into the crowd.

Part 7: Weekend at Bernie’s 3 

The path was pre-lit for my convenience, guidin’ me through a tunnel of rainbow vomit that looked as if Kesha had squirted glittery cunt juice along the interior of the Coachella inspired greenhouse sort of buildin’.

Andre: Hello?

The sound comin’ from my mouth quickly turned from a normal echo into a series of inflections over the top of my own voice.

Fuckin’ Mexican acid..

The Willy Wonka lookin’ landscape was interrupted by the reality of desert sand and moonlight in a way that was almost like a computer glitch. Between a wall of visual dankness and a few cacti was a small trench in the ground. I could vaguely see what looked like a pair of legs stickin’ out over the edge.

These muhfuckers is crazy, comin’ out in the middle of nowhere just to get they fuck on. Shit’s wild.

Upon approachin’ that shit, my jaw fuckin’ dropped. Within the trench was generally decomposed remains of a man with no head. His wardrobe was all too familiar. He was a pile of bones wrapped up in biker attire like some faggot ass Sons of Anarchy ripoff. The patches and design of his jacket stood out immediately.

Andre: Where the fuck did you get that from?

: What are you talking about?

Andre: The fuckin’ vest.

: What’s it to you?

Andre: I know that fuckin’ vest, homie. That’s Dark Riders Gang shit.

: Yeah, so?

Andre: Who are you and what are you doin’ wearin’ that shit?

: I’d love to chat more, but I don’t really have a fucking head anymore if you haven’t noticed.

Andre: Hmmm…

I looked around the surroundin’ area, hallucinations still wrapped around me. I spotted a small cactus, flinchin’ a bit as I lifted it from the ground and felt it stab against my skin. I approached the beheaded biker and placed the plant on top of his shoulders.

: A fucking cactus?

Andre: Well shit, bruh. I don’t have a lot to work with here.

: Whatever. How do I look?

Andre: Kinda fuckin’ terrible if I’m bein’ honest here.

: What else is new?..

Andre: You ready to talk now?

: Fuck it. Why not? What were you saying again?

Andre: I asked you why the hell you’re wearin’ that shit. Why is it that I’m out in the middle of BFE and I just so happen to run into a dead dude in a DRG vest?

: Have a seat.

Andre: Where?

: Here, jackass.

He pointed to a spot next to him in the middle of the trench. I looked at him for a minute before rememberin’ that I was talkin’ to a corpse with a fuckin’ cactus for a head. I sat down next to the body and pulled a pre-rolled blunt from the pocket of my own, much cooler lookin’ Dag Riddik Gang jacket which I quickly lit and took a hit from before offerin’ to the dead homie.

: I’m good, thanks.

I inhaled from the dankness once more, waitin’ for him to speak.

: The name’s Bryan Payne. You might’ve heard of me.

Andre: Oh shit, you mean like that nigga Maddix Payne? How’s he doin’ anyway? I heard he was off in some B level company bein’ pushed as their top guy. Nice to know that someone decided to throw a retard a bone like that. There’s only so many openings at Goodwill, ya feel me?

Ghost of Bryan Payne: No, I used to be part of the Dark Riders Gang.

Andre: Used to? Does that mean you wasn’t a fan of assless chaps?

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Oh, shut the fuck up. Who are you then? What makes you so important and knowledgeable with WCF history?

Andre: Nigga, I’m Andre Aquarius.If you didn’t know, it’s May which means they make all of us travel down here for a month for this trios shit. You know, the tournament that your faggot ass crew only managed to win by default last year.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Yeah, sorry. Must’ve not noticed you arrive since I’ve been dead and all.

Andre: You goofy, breh. Anyways, why you hangin’ around in a ditch in the middle of the desert?

Ghost of Bryan Payne: You think I’m just laying around in a ditch for fun? Fucking cartel got my ass, machete across the neck. Not exactly how I wanted to spend my time down here.

Andre: Tough break, homie.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Tell me about it. I was on my way up in the business too.

Andre: Didn’t you lose an opener to that faggot Spencer Adams? That dude sucked ass. I wouldn’t exactly call that movin’ up, bruh bruh.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: What do you want exactly?

Andre: I was actually just about to get my fuck on at a party that was...somewhere around here. I kinda just bumped into you on accident.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Shouldn’t you be getting back to what you were doing then?

Andre: Gotta ride this wave a bit first, bruh. I’m not tryin’ to wander around anymore right now. While I’m here, I might as well fill you in on some shit that you might be interested in hearin’ about.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Normally I’d tell someone as obnoxious as you to kindly fuck off and leave me to continue rotting away in peace, but it’s been awhile since I’ve had a conversation with anyone, so I suppose you have my attention.

Andre: See, it’s funny that I ran into you this week. It just so happens that I’m facin’ off against a few of your DRG brothers in the first round.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Who would that be exactly?

Andre: Well of course it’s Massah Tommy Bates. Then you got Massah Gemini Battle who is still with the company surprisingly. Oh, and they decided to go ahead and scoop up Mikey Extreme as their third man this year since Gonzo’s been like a burn victim/Paul Walker impersonator lately. Me and my homie Jared Holmes is teamin’ up with the fuckin’ world champion in trios this year. We’ve kinda been ridin’ down to Slam for trios for a couple days now, decided to stop in the desert and unload a little bit.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: You’ve got some pretty tough opponents. I hope you and your boys aren’t taking this one lightly, because you’ll be crushed if so.

Andre: If this was last year’s trios or some time durin’ the Summer when these muhfuckers were climbin’ to the very top of this shit, then maybe I’d agree with that statement. If my name wasn’t Andre Aquarius and I didn’t come from the most dominant group of all time in #BeachKrew, then maybe I’d say that’s how it is. I know you ain’t exactly been around to see the kinda work that people like me and my partners been puttin’ in, so I’ll keep that in mind when speakin’ to you about this shit, but since I’m here right now and in the spot that I’m in with this federation, I guess I should fill you in and give you them details on why exactly this little Dark Riders Gang reunion shit show ain’t got a chance at shit this week.

Massah Bates and his clusterfuck of a stable might’ve been able to pick up a midcard title or two and win the trios and back then, I’m sure that was considered a big fuckin’ deal, somethin’ that the more ignorant and easily impressed members of the audience were eatin’ up like beans and cornbread when it was happenin’. I was scoutin’ this shit out before my arrival, I know what they did, but compared to us that shit was child’s play man. Remember what they did and remember it as fondly as you want to, but let me whip out the massive cock that is the list of achievements of me and my allies just to show you how miniature the pipe is that your buddies were swingin’ around.

#BeachKrew is a stable that has taken hold of just about every division in this bitch. From championships to major event wins. For this trios shit, I’m teamed with the world champion Joey Splash who let’s face it, has easily taken every single belt or match that he’s felt like simply because he can. The muhfucker is that good. The other man is Jared Holmes, the leader of my faction and the next great competitor in the world of professional sports. This dude set the WAR eliminations record and finished high in that shit, won Hellimination to secure temporary control over the entire company, snagged a TV title along the way, and most recently got himself a win in the trios championship.

There are two thoughts that I know most muhfuckers gonna have about this lil’ three man unit that we threw together. The first for some might be “How in the fuck are these dudes gonna manage to be even slightly cohesive? Joey Flash teaming with two dudes from #BeachKrew when one of them is the number one contender to his championship and even changing his own name to fit the #BeachKrew name pun tradition. That’s crazy!” The answer to that one is of course a simple one, we want to win this whole fuckin’ thing and that requires the best muhfuckers in the entire federation to be a part of your team. Go ahead and check that one off the list.

The second thing that the much smarter majority would be thinkin’ about is just how fucked every other three man squad in this entire field is. Trust me when I say that there has never, ever been a team as obviously stacked and dominant in the history of the trios tournament as we are this year. The sad truth is that the only other team who has a clear advantage of the majority of the competition is your old DRG homies, but they’re at a clear disadvantage here. The biggest thing is that they have these guys like Massah Gemini and Massah Bates who have been reduced to nothin’ but shells of the promise they once showed.

I guess that you can consider me the wildcard in this shit. I’m still on my road to them officially recognized achievements and that’s fine, but in recent weeks, me and my homie Beaver have man handled everyone from upstarts to so called legends like Logan in what has been nothin’ short of tag team division dominance. Between that and the fact that ya boy is obviously walkin’ out of Mexico with a tournament win to his name, I think everyone can just start lookin’ at me and recognizin’ what they see as the next great thing. Oh, and guess who we get the pleasure of buryin’ for them tag belts? None other than fuckin’ Gemmy Battle. This week, Massah Seffery must’ve been feelin’ extra devious, I’m talkin’ on them white boy with a bowl cut and an assault rifle type of levels, because he just continues to put poor Gemmy into these matches that he’s clearly goin’ to lose. Fuck, Seffery really is just determined to completely bury this man’s career.

Shit, I know that Joseph Splashington is gettin’ pretty sick of just beatin’ up on the same guy every fuckin’ week. It’s a no brainer, my undead bruh bruh. The fact is that before you even start takin’ a look at the talent and proven ability to get shit done that me and Jared Holmes got goin’ on, you see the fact that we have the guy with dozens of wins and just about a handful of losses who is proven fuckin’ kryptonite to this fuck boy Massah Gemini. Go ahead and go to that book shelf and dust off that copy of green eggs and ham, because whether it’s a plane, a train, or whatever other fuckin’ vessel you can throw into the equation, Splashy got Gemmy covered. We can just tag the homeboy in at the same time as that little skitzo faggot and he’ll practically just drop to the mat on the spot.

Now I get to join in on the fun and have a part in that oppression of Massah Pisces Battle. It’s really just some mean spirited fun at this point since this faggot just keeps provin’ me right by gaggin’ on it literally every fuckin’ time. He’s just a fuckin’ glutton for punishment, a Kunta ripoff without half the pride and with none of the kahones. Hell, he might just keep up his trend of bein’ a fuckin’ loser this week and eat the pin himself. Knowin’ that Tommy will be mad as hell at such a result, maybe Massah Bates and his neo nazi padawan Massah eFFtreme can get in line and join in our little game of hit the nigger baby.



You should already know that I’m finna be droppin’ my dollar down on that cheap wood counter of the carnival booth and collectin’ on my three plays. Shit bruh, I only really need that first ball to drop his ass and cap off things the right way this week. Imma collect that giant stuffed cartoon knock off from Mistah Mustached munchkin with a drinkin’ problem. I’ll probably hand that shit to some little spic bitch, tell her ass “Ay little momma, put down the horchata and show ya boy what it feels like to get a blowjay from a thot with a hairlip.” How you doin’?

People like me and Jared, we ain’t about to fail with the spotlight. Unlike Massah Gemmy, when we climb up to the very top of this shit, we will make sure that what we do up there matters and actually has some sort of impact on the world around us. Since you’ve been deceased, the rest of us have been rollin’ our eyes as we’ve had to witness little Gemmy get chance after chance at bein’ a top dog only to fuckin’ choke and get knocked back down to bein’ a pathetic excuse of a midcard champion like he did with that US strap or like he’s doin’ right now with MY tag team championship wrapped around his waist.

At this point, how much do I really need to say about Massah Gem that isn’t already stated by his weak ass performances? I’m smashin’ an already dead gerbil with a hammer just to see it’s internal organs exposed basically. What’s Gemmy finna do in this one? Is he gonna plant himself in front of a camera somewhere and try to convince us all that he’s anything close to a winner or competent top shelf performer? I don’t think even Gemmy himself is gonna believe the false words of confidence that spews from his mouth. Shit, I’m sayin’ all this to a damn skeleton. It don’t even matter if he ain’t the one hearin’ this, he’ll know he’s fucked the minute exit that Gorilla position.

This little team they got makes almost less sense than it did last year. I mean, I know they go by that Defilers of Logic shit as they have some fuckin’ weird sense of pride in bein’ a nonsensical unit, but now it’s far worse than dysfunctional, it’s just fuckin’ beyond broken. Quite the Humpty Dumpty of clusterfucks we got here. It’s already fuckin’ obvious that the piece of shit patriot, the Massah of Massah’s, and the let down of the century make about as much sense as an Adam Young feud. Now we have to witness this Frankenstein of a unit limp itself along and try to muster up some amount of pride from the rubble created by all the soul crushin’ loses just so that they even stand a chance at goin’ toe to toe with us.

I saved the “best” for last in Massah Bates. Finally, The Mountain is about to make his long awaited return to a DubSeaEff ring and try to kick his way to another headscratchin’ push towards bein’ a world champion. I know there’s a large, mostly Southern portion of the fanbase who is salivatin’ in anticipation of seein’ another Bates Boot dropped on one of us. Probably me, right? I bet they turnin’ down the Country music radio just to adjust the antenna’s on they TV set’s to see “That loud mouth nigger!” get hit with that legitimate size 74 boot just drill me right upside the fuckin’ jaw and blast my ass straight to the moon.

It’s poetic that on my road to greatness, I get this goober fuck in round one. It would’ve been nice to see this happen at the end of the tournament, but I guess I can get behind the idea, the fact that I get the pleasure of deflatin’ people’s great white hope in the openin’ bouts. It ain’t no secret that me and Bates, we natural rivals. Both of us represent everything that the other muhfucker is against. I’ve made a career out of mockin’ and castratin’ dudes just like your boy Tommy. I have a problem with some dude walkin’ around, actin’ like he’s somethin’ he’s not and actually seein’ a bunch of toothless faggots in Dale Jr. shirts cheerin’ him on like he’s some kind of hero. I love destroyin’ the people’s dreams as I rip apart their idols, so you know I’m really gonna have fun with dissectin’ one as false as Massah Bates.

Anyone with a brain in they fuckin’ skull knows that Tommy is about as lame as they come with some gay ass world views to match and that’s comin’ from me. Shit, do we really have to deal with more of this man walkin’ around and pretendin’ to be morally righteous? I know he’s probably grittin’ them teeth at a nigga like me just for even existin’ and I’m the one that’s here to tear whatever is left of the veil from his face. I’m gonna die laughin’ when the video package comes out of this man holdin’ “church” and tryna act like he’s a superhero rather than a faggot with an undeserved ego about him. This man got his code and I got a little code of my own that goes a little somethin’ like this.

I took a minute to clear my throat as the skeleton Bryan Payne turned his cactus head a bit.

#Chill of Rights

First Amendment: All shall bow before Prince Lightskin in all his glory as the only acceptable religion is Lightskinism. All fuck boy non-believers shall be murked.

Second Amendment: All followers of the Church of Lightskin must be strapped up at all times to defend they ruler.

Third Amendment: Stay out the room when Mr. Kunta is gettin’ his dick sucked. Shit’s just rude, homie.

Fourth Amendment: Don’t be a faggot nark.

Fifth Amendment: Always plead the fif.

6ixth Amendment: Don’t be slackin’ and playin’ with the Prince’s valuable time.Always go zero to a hunnid, nigga, real quick.

Seventh Amendment: Don’t owe the Prince no money.

Eighth Amendment: #LightskinLivesMatter

Ninth Amendment: Get the cam out, nigga. These people tryna step. Make it viral.

Tenth Amendment: Stay up out the royal traphouse with that bullshit.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Is that a real thing?

Andre: Of course it’s a real thing. Don’t you dare question the chill of rights, bruh.

Ghost of Bryan Payne: Whatever. Continue.

Andre: That’s just coverin’ this faggot from a moral standpoint. While I hate this man for all the lame shit he stands for, I’m even more giddy to make sure he stays in that spot that he had before leavin’ as the OG Massah Gemmy of shortcomings. I could sit here all night with you and just go and on about how much of a downward spiral this man went down. Why else would he think it would be a cool idea to try to spark a political career? It’s because he has fallen and he can’t get up.

I know there were a lot of muhfuckers who would sit around and ask themselves “What happened with Massah Bates? I thought he was supposed to be the next big bad, the oversized version of Joey Splash who just mows down everyone with his giant frame.” This is a man of cartoonish size that we’re talkin’ about here and yet, he was the weakest Goliath that we’ve ever seen. He was the great vanquisher of Grime, right? He took out one of the greatest cancer’s in the Dub and probably saw himself as bein’ something of a god among men, yet he goes and loses that shit to Howard Black like he ain’t shit.

So let’s wait for someone to come out and try to drop some lame bit about how this unstoppable mountain of a man is goin’ to dominate me in this match. Massah Bates has to answer the call here. It’s not the other way around and never really has been. This “mountain” is a fuckin’ joke to me. He’s the sand castle on MY fuckin’ beach. I know he spends so much time tryna build his empire and legacy up and that he’s so proud of his handiwork, but I’m fuckin’ high tide. You put the 170 pound Andre Aquarius in the ring with this fuckin’ roided out tard and I’m washin’ his ass away.

This whole tournament is clusterfuck city and this is the year where me and my boys run through each and every challenger to the bar that we set the minute we were announced as part of this thing. We’re the envy of each and every other muhfucker in the DubSeaEff right now. We’re the Miami Heat of this bitch, lookin’ like Wade, Bosh, and Lebron against all these lottery bound fuck boys. You put Joey, Jared, and Andre on a team and it’s a no fuckin’ contest. Massah Seffery has turned the Dark Riders Gang into the Jose Aldo to our Conor McGregor. We’re those dudes rollin’ up with the suits who demand the ratings and generate them profits. The DRG is ridin’ into a brick wall with no helmets on in this one. We will be both where their quest for a repeat starts and ends. SEAlieve that, my skeletal homie.

I turned toward the cactus headed body, but saw nothin’ but the sky and what appeared to be a series of low layin’ stars still reskinned with hallucinations. The homie B-Ry was gone and soon, his former teammates would be too. Bates would take his nostalgic wank job of a biker club and drift off to a place where people would soon forget him. Massah Bates was about to ride the Harley into the sunset and be burnt to a crisp from the heat.

Part 8: To victory. 

Joey: Wake up, faggots.

I woke to this Italian asshole love tappin’ the side of my face to create what was known as a broke nigga’s version of an alarm clock growin’ up. My head felt like it was beatin’ against the front of my skull as I turned over to see my two partners already awake and packin’ up their shit for the road.

Jared: Rough night?

Andre: Shit, bruh. I saw some shit. Party drugs in Mexico are somethin’ else.

Joey: Where did you run off to last night anyway? Gettin’ your fuccin’ dick sucked like usual, ya slimey bastard?

Andre: Not exactly, just off havin’ myself a little spiritual journey.

Joey: Great, looks like I have a couple of Whole Foods hipsters for trios partners this year.

Jared: At least you get the banter.

I threw the handful of things that were out back into my travel bag and strapped it to the back of my moped as did Jared and Joey. Despite the fact that our name and temporarily adopted lifestyle was a parody of our opponents this week, we were nothin’ like they had ever been. Last year, The Defilers of Logic were the underdogs of the federation and of this tournament, but not us. We were the clear favorites and for good reason. This week, the superior DRG rides on.