Courtesy of gizoogle.net (Warning: Mature Language Ahead…)
Usually any dreams I have fade away quickly afta I wake up. But dis one has straight-up stuck wit mah crazy ass fo’ whatever reason.
Andrea n’ I is stayin up in a hotel. It’s a pretty ill place yo, but not like tha Waldorf. Maybe a Hilton. I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch. Thin is like two floors directly above us, Kelly Clarkson is stayin up in tha same stupid-ass hotel. And EVERYBODY knows it cuz there be a ton of gangstas up there hopin ta catch a glimpse. So our crazy-ass asses figure, what tha fuck tha hell, we’ll go check it up since everyone else is.
Kelly’s crew apparently anticipated all this, cuz there was displays n’ a sort of mini-exhibit all bout her muthafuckin ass. And all tha gangstas was millin around checkin it all out. Da displays was all laid up kind of up in chronological order of her game. Most gangstas was down all up in tha end gawkin at all tha freshly smoked up shiznit n’ readin lil plaques bout how tha fuck her ass came up wit her joints dat everyone hears on tha radio n’ TV. A few gangstas was up in tha middle. But Andrea n’ I was tha only gangstas all up in tha other end where her early shiznit was. I remember sayin ta Andrea, “Her freshly smoked up shiznit is phat yo, but I just straight-up gots nuff props fo’her original gangsta joints tha best.”
Lo n’ behold, Kelly Clarkson was standin up in earshot when I holla’d dat n’ strutted over n’ holla’d somethang ta tha effect dat her ass was surprised ta hear some muthafucka say that and it was refreshin ta hear some muthafucka whoz ass didn’t just want tha freshly smoked up n’ sickest fuckin. Clarkson holla’d, “I hit dat shizzle just as hard on em projects as I do wit mah current ones, so it’s frustratin when gangstas just forget bout them.” Of course I straight-up agreed wit her muthafuckin ass.
I’m a funky-ass bit blurry on how tha fuck it happened afta dat yo, but at least fo’ tha time being, our crazy-ass asses was now up in Kelly’s “circle” n’ our crazy-ass asses was headed somewhere ta do somethang, probably phat. At tha straight-up least our crazy-ass asses was goin ta git ta ride up in her limo, muthafucka! So our crazy-ass asses git on tha elevator ta head down ta tha lobby n’ leave fo’ wherever our crazy-ass asses is going. But as our crazy-ass asses was gettin on tha elevator, a elderly biatch was tryin ta git on but tha doors fuckin started ta close before her ass could step on tha elevator. Bein tha kind ass I’m shizzle Kelly Clarkson is, her ass reached ta hold tha door open fo’ tha oldschool biatch.
Da elevator was one of em fancy glass elevators dat rides along tha outside of a funky-ass buildin so you can git a awe inspirin view of tha skyline, which I remember as bein generic enough not ta be familiar ta mah dirty ass. It wasn’t crowded yo, but you could tell dat wit our next occupant, we’d be inclined ta tell every last muthafuckin muthafucka whoz ass came next ta wait fo’ tha next one, rather than pack our asses all in.
I wanna say tha oldschool biatch had a strutter. At any rate, her ass was movin at a glacial pace. Kelly Clarkson continued ta hold open tha door yo, but tha longer her ass held it, tha mo’ determined tha door was ta close. Biatch tried ta push tha door open, kinda up in frustration n’ kinda ta protect tha oldschool biatch from gettin trapped by tha ever persistent doors. Right then tha elevator door slid back all up in it’s hidin place n’ exposed tha ground below. Biatch slipped and disrocked up.
Everyone instantly screamed, n’ it seemed like our crazy-ass asses all took a instinctizzle step back not knowin fo’ a brief instant if tha whole elevator was goin ta fall. Half a funky-ass beat later when I realized tha floor beneath mah feet was still solid, I dove fo’ tha opening.
Kelly had grabbed a hold of a shitload of tha machinery under tha elevator, n’ held on tightly wit her feet danglin up in empty space. All I could peep was rowz of hotel room windows growin eva smalla until they eventually kicked it wit a parkin lot some 20 stories below.
As her ass hung there her ass wasn’t lookin up at mah dirty ass. I hollered ta her, “Kelly, I’m here, muthafucka! Grab mah hand!” Still without lookin up her ass reached up a hand. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! At first I couldn’t reach her at all. I slid a funky-ass bit further over tha edge, not wantin ta plunge our asses both ta our dirtnap when her weight was added ta mine. I grasped her hand yo, but it was all oily from tha machine work her ass clung too n’ slipped. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! ”Hold on!” I shouted.
I done cooked up tha freshest lunge I could n’ our crazy-ass asses clasped each other’s wrists. I then was able ta git mah other hand around her forearm n’ pulled her up. I remember thankin her ass was lighter than I thought her ass would be. Dope fo’ both of our asses I guess.
As I pulled her up her ass was able ta git her footin on a big-ass gear underneath where tha door used ta be. But it was one of em gears dat looked like if it engaged it would just pulverize anythang dat kicked it wit its teeth. I could tell by tha look on her grill her ass had tha same stupid-ass thought I did so wit one last tug, her ass was back up in tha elevator.
Guess what, muthafucka! Biatch looked bout how tha fuck you would expect every last muthafuckin muthafucka ta look afta her ass almost plummeted from a elevator. Biatch was visibly frazzled, oil covered n’ wind blown. I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch. Our thugged-out asses all exited tha elevator ta tha 20th-ish floor lobby where I guided her ta a cold-ass lil chair ta collect her muthafuckin ass.
Now at dis point I woke up. I can only assume dat Andrea n’ I was later invited ta do all sortz of def celebritizzle shiznit n’ become Kelly Clarkson’s freshly smoked up besties.
B.G. Willers.com 