MN Manmacker's mansploitation
He called hisself a deejay, which meant looking studious when he played a pointless track of beats, no funk, no rapping, no singing, no guitar, just some boom-tiss, boom-tiss bullshit, like dance music for people with retarded ears.
“Yo, yo bro,” Vimook said, sidling up to Thumper like a side of spicy rice, after Vimook finished his ‘deejay set’ — he called hisself a deejay, which meant looking studious when he played a pointless track of beats, no funk, no rapping, no singing, no guitar, just some boom-tiss, boom-tiss bullshit, like dance music for people with retarded ears. “Heard you got out the big joint.”
From Thumper on Parole
Every nobody in this bar stared at him, none them listening to the disappointing rock music that dribbled out the speakers like a pansy’s nut. Music was awful nowadays.
Every nobody in this bar stared at him, none them listening to the disappointing rock music that dribbled out the speakers like a pansy’s nut. Music was awful nowadays.
Thumper kept poking buttons on the dashboard in hopes of finding some magic combination that would make it 1985 again.
“Radio ain’t a thing no more, Thump,” Jaekwel said.
“It is! It is, I got radio last week, swear to God!” Thumper kept poking buttons on the dashboard in hopes of finding some magic combination that would make it 1985 again. “Oh! Do it podcassed, I know ’bout that, there’s nigga shit on that. My parole officuh said it, there’s radio on satellites. Google it. It’s called podcassed, they do podcass it on Youtube.”
“Thumper, podcasting, satellite radio and Youtube are all different things.”
“Well, there’s Fatback on ’em! Put on Fatback!” Thumper leggo the buttons on the dashboard. Fatback was some old-nigga shit. Thumper assumed Deon and Jaekwel knew about Fatback, cuz every nigga oughta know Fatback and in prison Thumper put a smackdown on any nigga who ain’t show Fatback proper respect. “Put in Fatback on yo’ phone, nigga. I put in Fatback on my phone and it did it.” He made a little sound effect and a inscrutable gesture. “Scrrp. Just type it in, nigga. Fatback. One word.”
From Thumper the Mover
Luckily, Thumper heard a song on the TuneBleed that he curled his lip at, and he couldn’t resist mouthing off about music nowadays and how it made him wanna crawl in a cave and cut his ears off.
Luckily, Thumper heard a song on the TuneBleed that he curled his lip at, and he couldn’t resist mouthing off about music nowadays and how it made him wanna crawl in a cave and cut his ears off. That nigga be listening to Lionel Richie and shit. Prince. Some nigga named “Eric B” and some other one-name nigga “Rakim”. Michael fucking Jackson — not even proper Michael Jackson, Thumper listened to the Jackson Five! What kinda granddaddy nonsense was that?! Deon ain’t wanna get his goat going, so he kept quiet, he just let that old fool harangue the Lil Nas X song on the TuneBleed.
“I like music. I like propuh music, nigga, not some pisspuffin smackin’ his lips like a retard, whisper-rappin’, shit, goddamn, makes my dick shrink…” Thumper looked Deon up and down. “Bet that’s what happened to you. Yo’ daddy was listening to some nutty-butter rap when he put a baby in yo’ mama, so you end up short. If he was listenin’ to proper music, you’d be my size.”
From Thumper the Mover
He typed in fatback, cuz that was what he was looking at, what his ears was craving, what his mouth was hungry for and and what his pecker was currently deep within.
On came music, but it was some plastic-twang twinkie-fried country music that never seen a trailer park, so Thumper turned it right off. He typed in fatback, cuz that was what he was looking at, what his ears was craving, what his mouth was hungry for and and what his pecker was currently deep within.
Luckily, Frank Johnson’s honky phone got Fatback in it, and that was Thumper’s kinda funk, so he pumped up the volume.
Like rock and roll, but you could just tell the singer ain’t never get laid — plus it got a banjo.
One foursome used they phone to play something that sounded like a water-brain retard screaming obscenities over a romantic movie soundtrack and then took phone-photos of theyselfs listening to it.
But just off campus, there was a house with a rowdy party going on. Thumper’s ears hopped onto that sound like a city bus. He heard young’uns laughing and carrying on to loud music — like rock and roll, but you could just tell the singer ain’t never get laid — plus it got a banjo — and all them deep on the slur.
Something, Thumper thunk, done gone wrong in music. They oughta just rewind it to thirty-four years ago.
The music — picked by her — made his ears wrinkle. It was a out-of-breath woman huffing like a fat dragon alongside bells and whales and gales of webby twinkles, like the kinda music faeries might make if they was smoking crack. Something, Thumper thunk, done gone wrong in music. They oughta just rewind it to thirty-four years ago.
“Yo, nigga,” Thumper said, direct into that chocolate nugget’s ear so his voice would drown out the clanging clatter (which was maybe a band called “Dubstep” and sounded like computers being tortured).
“Yo, nigga,” Thumper said, direct into that chocolate nugget’s ear so his voice would drown out the clanging clatter (which was maybe a band called “Dubstep” and sounded like computers being tortured).
Some awful music blared from the speakers. It got a beat like hip hop, a slow-kidney tinkle-piss beat, like if rain could cry, but no words, cuz every nigga in the world musta got too sleepy to rap over it.
Some awful music blared from the speakers. It got a beat like hip hop, a slow-kidney tinkle-piss beat, like if rain could cry, but no words, cuz every nigga in the world musta got too sleepy to rap over it.
All morning they listened to some nutty-butter rap, Thumper could hardly believe it. Niggas rapping like a deflating balloon, beats dry as a frigid bitch, and every head in that barbershop a nod-along nelly.
All morning they listened to some nutty-butter rap, Thumper could hardly believe it. Niggas rapping like a deflating balloon, beats dry as a frigid bitch, and every head in that barbershop a nod-along nelly.