Whatz tha dopest way fo' one ta tell tha dope other dat one loves his ass or her?
I'd say dat a wax figure be a pimpin' phat way. Maybe not tha dopest yo, but it works fo' mah dirty ass.
Bitch don't straight-up know, though cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. It'll be a surprise fo' her n' shit. Maybe she'd be a tad freaked up by tha qualitizzle of mah work; straight-up few playas could manage ta big up such gamelike wax sculptures like I do. Just peep dis curly black hair, dem delicious red lips, n' dem eyes...had you eva peeped some muthafucka as slick as her?
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I finished tha wax figure, one mo' fo' tha collection! My fuckin basement is startin ta git cramped; maybe I should git tha unrelated shiznit outta there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shovels, Chrizzle decoration, oldschool boxes. Not straight-up mah fault I be soopa-doopa all bout bustin so well up in dis hobby. I have lost count of how tha fuck nuff wax figures I have made so far yo, but none of dem is identical. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Each one of dem is special up in a sense, each one commemorates a special moment up in her game.
Therez one fo' when she moved ta tha doggy den next door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had worn a funky-ass dope red dress, n' looked so young...hard ta believe dat shiznit was just a year n' half ago fo' realz. Another wax figure represents tha last time we talked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I knew dat freaky freaky biatch had was horny bout me, I could peep it up in her eyes. That slight cherry color on her cheeks; what tha fuck can it represent, other than instant attraction, biatch? I captured tha exact moment, forever immortal up in wax. Therez also one fo' when her big-ass booty started gardening. Dat hoe tha only one whoz ass could make plants sprout from tha soil of her garden. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da texture of her threadz has been flawlessly replicated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time.
My fuckin ego drops some lyrics ta me dat I should show mah work ta some muthafucka n' git mah name known. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But mah ass say dat these sculptures is fo' me, n' only fo' mah dirty ass.
''And fo' her muthafuckin ass.''
----
Bitch came earlier n' shiznit fo' realz. Apparently she plans ta take a trip ta some hood far from here, n' wants me ta take care of her home. I be flattered, I didn't be thinkin dat dunkadelic hoe trusted mah crazy ass enough fo' this muthafucka! Dat hoe truly mah other half.
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Housekeepin is suttin' straight-up uneventful yo, but it wasn't all boring. I found a photo of her I hadn't peeped before. It aint nuthin but when she married. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch was straight-up dope dat day, n' dis photo will keep dat beauty. But dis also gives me inspiration; there be a no way I won't create another sculpture styled like all dis bullshit.
Dat hoe returnin tonight. I wonder if da hoe brought me something?
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In one week, it'll be February 14th. I be thinkin itz time fo' me ta give her tha surprise of her game yo. How tha fuck I wish ta peep tha admiration on her grill when her big-ass booty sees mah work! I have finished her head just now, n' itz as slick as tha rest I have done. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some may be thinkin dat I took a excessive time wit tha head yo, but itz worth dat shit. In a funky-ass bout of inspiration, I used oldschool retailz of white cloth ta form tha straight-up same veil dat freaky freaky biatch had used dat day.
Ludd straight-up pushes one ta be better.
----
I be sweating, mah stomach is full of butterflies, n' I be woozy. Nervousness, n' on Valentinez Day, ta boot.
I be slowly carryin tha finished artwork up ta mah livin room. It aint nuthin but fragile yo, but it is, by far, mah dopest work, mah ''magnum opus.'' Da light shines gracefully on tha slick surface of her wax skin, n' fo' all dem seconds, I feel tha impulse of humpin' her up in tha grill. I manage ta contain mah dirty ass since itz mo' betta ta lick tha real one.
Aaaand...there, itz set. Inside tha kitchen, as if dat freaky freaky biatch had just came back from her weddin ta start cookin a gangbangin' dunkadelic dinner fo' two, without takin off her weddin dress.
Yo ass know, it aint a wack idea fo' realz. An intimate dinner fo' two, candlelight, roses...and a wax figure contemplatin us, as a sign of our sincere love.
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Knock knock. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is it, biatch? It aint nuthin but me, darling. I didn't say dat wit dem lyrics yo, but she opened tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. There she is, be lookin like I arrived just when she put on her gardenin clothes muthafucka! Biatch even has tha gardenin shears.
Lil Small-Ass rap first. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch say dat her poinsettias is her pride, n' dat her mutha recently called ta tell her dat she'd visit her up in June yo. Howz it dat da most thugged-out mundane events up in her game seems so marvelous n' dope ta me son, biatch?
''Love'', dat is how.
Bitch smilez dopely when I invite her ta drank a cold-ass lil coffee. Oh, jolly day, her big-ass booty say dat dat freaky freaky biatch had been waitin fo' like a while fo' me ta ask dat shiznit son! This is it, we meant ta be together n' shit. We git all up in mah home.
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I make shizzle she on tha livin room, while I finish makin tha coffee fo' realz. A cup or two, some dem scooby snacks maybe, n' then, tha ''moment of tha real deal''. I just moved tha figure, so it aint lookin all up in tha kitchen counter n' shit. I be thinkin dat comin tha fuck into tha kitchen, n' then directly seein tha grill of tha wax figure would be a mo' impressive way ta show mah work, wouldn't it?
----
I be havin tha time of mah game, just here, wit a cold-ass lil cup of fruity-ass malt liquor n' a funky-ass beauty up in front of mah dirty ass. We done been up in silence fo' a while already. It aint nuthin but time.
"So, I gots a surprise fo' yo thugged-out ass."
Bitch smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yes, her big-ass booty smiled hommie! Biatch replied dat she'd ludd ta peep dat shit. I tell her ta close her eyes, n' let me guide her ta tha kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. No peeking, honey!
I slowly take her ta tha kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat hoe gigglin childishly, n' I can't avoid joinin her n' shit. We two fools, gigglin fo' realz. And finally, her ass is grill ta grill ta her twin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I tell her ta open her eyes.
I expectantly wait fo' her opinion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is stunned, dat is clear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Maybe tha eyes on tha wax sculpture is too gamelike?
Bitch grills 'What the...' but she finally stammers, "Wow...thatz mah dirty ass..." Well, whoz ass did you expect, dear, biatch? "It's..." Biatch don't say anythang else. Dat hoe starin blankly all up in tha wax face.
Maybe she aint impressed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was shizzle it would work yo, but at least I have a ace under mah sleeve. Da rest of mah sculptures muthafucka! They may not be as phat as tha one up in tha nuptial gown yo, but tha sheer number should break me off some points.
"I have mo' up in tha basement. Come!"
Bitch raises her eyebrows n' smilez weakly. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch hesitates yo, but opens tha door ta tha basement. It aint nuthin but dark yo, but afta dat dunkadelic hoe turns on tha light, dat thugged-out biiiatch can peep her straight-up own wax museum, all of it up in her honor.
Now itz glaringly obvious she impressed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch slowly descended tha fuck into tha basement, n' approached tha wax sculpture of her locked n loaded ta do gardenin yo. Her lips tremble, as she examines tha wax clothes, identical ta tha ones dat biiiiatch bustin.
''Is you proud as a muthafucka of me yet, honey?''
Bitch touches tha wax grill of tha figure. I be holdin mah breath.
Bitch shrieks.
"Yo ass creep!" be all her big-ass booty says, n' then pushes tha wax sculpture wit all her strength. I... I didn't expect dis shit. Well shiiiit, it falls, pushin a cold-ass lil couple mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Luckily it don't cause a thugged-out domino effect.
I run down ta tha basement. "What tha fuck is you bustin?! Has you done gone mad?!" I shout. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch don't reply; instead, dat dunkadelic hoe takes one of tha shovels n' starts ta battle tha wax sculptures wit dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch screams, panicked, durin her whole attack, n' tha only thang I can do is ta step back ta tha staircase. I be afraid of approachin her muthafuckin ass.
Bitch continues until none of tha sculptures is on they Nikes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch drops down tha shovel, n' runs upwards, ta tha kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch don't even look all up in mah grill when da hoe bolts upstairs.
I approach tha wax mess on tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Deep gashes on tha torsoz of tha sculptures, tearin tha clothes. One of tha headz splattered n' stomped, until itz unrecognizable. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Several arms n' legs, still shining, spread round tha room. Straight-up few of tha wax figures is intact.
I take tha time ta put back on they feet tha ones dat can stand yo, but I can't avoid pitifully noticin how tha fuck most of mah work was destroyed up in a matter of seconds.
''What did I do wrong?''
Nothing. I flossed her a sample of mah adoration fo' her, n' she...she did all dis bullshit.
How tha fuck could she, biatch? Don't she realize how tha fuck much dis meant fo' me son, biatch? How tha fuck much I wanted fo' her ta appreciate her own body n' face, even if dat shiznit was a wax figure?
Obviously her dope ass didn't.
''Ungrateful biiiatch.''
I take tha shovel, tha straight-up same shovel dat destroyed mah creations, graspin it straight fuckin on mah hands. I can feel tha pain up in mah body n' ass, while I go upstairs. Well shiiiit, it don't take me mo' than all dem secondz ta exit mah house, shovel ready, n' cook up a funky-ass beeline fo' her home.
Bitch bout ta fuckin be a funky-ass dope corpse, no diggity of dis shit.
And if durin our last meetin da hoe breaks, well, it won't be anythang dat some wax can't fix.
{{hrb}}
''Credtied to {{cpwuser|WhyAmIReadingThis}}.''