Rap Industry Fan Fiction

Lil B Drinks Chocolate Milk for the First Time

He was a grown ass man, dammit.  It was time to see what all the fuss was about.

Lil B surveyed the chocolate milk selections at his local grocery store in Berkeley.  A wall of brand names confronted him.  Nesquik…Ovaltine…Hershey…even Atkins had a brand.

Yoohoo!  That sounds fun.  Lil B chose Yoohoo.  It cost $1.27.  Lil B gave the cashier a two dollar bill and took the change.

Lil B couldn’t wait.  As soon as he stepped outside he popped the can open and took a tentative first sip.  It was good!  Creamy, and sweet.  He took a bigger gulp.  He couldn’t believe he had never tried this before!  Lil B looked at the nutrition facts.  It was a big sugary, and the “99% caffeine and fat free” plastered on the logo was a bit misleading, but nothing worse than your average soda.

Lil B was gay.  Lil B was happy.

He took a stroll down to the local park, can in hand, unusually aware of the weather.  It was sunny, with only a few clouds in the sky.  There were birds, and a squirrel.  But of course there was a squirrel, there were always squirrels on college campuses.  …How did Lil B get to UC Berkeley so fast?  He had only been walking for-

The can of Yoohoo was no longer cold.  He was sweating.  The sun dimmed in the sky and Lil B noticed a chill wind from the East.

His peripheral vision diminished as Lil B tried to focus on what was in front of him.  Anything.  Colors faded, then disappeared, then back again, to the left, splashed.  Lil B noticed there were no longer any squirrels, no birds, no park, no bench, no grass, no sun.  He was alone, a singular figure in an entity, a void.  He shattered, then regathered, then shattered, then atom by atom reconstructed himself from these shards into the same Lil B, yet different all the same.  His brain transfigured itself into Mind, its axons and synapses and nerves running forth along his limbs to configure themselves into Perception.  His heart now manifested itself as Loveliness, his capillaries and veins rushing along into the arterial highway of Feeling.  From these two parallels each piece of his physical framework, his muscles and bones pieced themselves until he was physical once again, yet so much more. His nerves throbbed in a cyclical pulsing of Life, the sine and tangential waves interweaving lines of the mathematical truth of life.  In and out, side to side, up and down,  the dichotomy later revealing itself not to be All, that the very notion of such binary indicated Something Else was there.  Lil B reached out-with what?  To where?  To whom?  Not now, a whisper soothed.  The oscillations repeated and built and climaxed into a crescendo louder than a thousand rushing waterfalls, more magnanimous than all the stellar winds raging across the cosmos, more beautiful than a symphony’s most earnest timbre, more profound than the connection between lovers in the most holy of moments.  Finally Truth was made, a single infant bathed in an arterial embrace, at peace and whole in the universe, complete.

Silence.

Lil B woke up.  He was naked on his bed, arms and legs stretched wide and drenched in sweat.  He blinked once.  Blinked again.  There was a fly on the ceiling.  He breathed.  

Again.  

He went to his computer.

BASED X HYPHY MOVEMENT!! 2012!!!!! LIL B STARTED IT!!! AND AS OF RIGHT NOW IS THE ONLY ONE KEEPING HYPHY AND GOING DUMB ALIVE!! HE HAS PICKED IT UP LIKE HE DID SWAG,
LIL B SAVED THE WORD “SWAG” AND MADE IT POPULAR,
NOW LIL B HAS TAKEN THE LEGENDARY TRADITION IN RESPECT TO MAC DRE AND KEEPING IT ALIVE, BUT NOW ITS BASED

— LIL B

condor120 asked: DUDE what happens when Drake watches Titanic?!

Big Boi tries to go to Arby’s

It was closed.

I looked at him.  ”Do you have a back up plan?”

He just smiled.

mrbrightsideandtheglasshalffull asked: WHAT IS LIL WAYNES FAVORITE CANDY?!

idk but i remember reading a profile of lil wayne in rolling stone that talked about how all his teeth fell out bc he read too much candy

RAP INDUSTRY FAN FACT: One of us hung out with Waka Flocka and wrote about it.

Hi, it’s Drew. I write for VICE sometimes. Here’s some shit I wrote:

HOW TO NOT VIOLATE MAN CODE: MY DAY WITH WAKA FLOCKA FLAME.

We’re headed to a photoshoot, and as we eclipse the realm of “fashionably late” into “just plain late” territory, Waka realizes that he’s left his boots at the hotel in Queens. At this point, there’s no time to double back. He’s got to be photographed in Timberland construction boots. Wheat color. Or else. The problem with this particular exigence is that the boots are out of season, so not too many stores carry them. He holds his iPhone up to his mouth and says “Timberlands” into it, hoping that Siri will point him in the right direction. It doesn’t understand him. He says it again. Still no dice. On the third try, he says “Timberlands” with the enunciation of a Word Ninja, and Siri tells him that there’s a store that sells the boots several blocks uptown. The only problem, his publicist/surrogate mom points out, is that we’re headed to Brooklyn and we’re already ridiculously late, so there’s no way we can hit the store right now. Waka gets pissy. It’s the first “diva” moment I’ve seen from him, which is impressive for someone so famous that he gets recognized every time he even thinks about peeking outside, and who’s five for eight in terms of singles cracking the Top 20 on the rap charts. It’s hard to imagine, say, DJ Khaled not losing his shit if he pulled up to the marina only to discover that somebody had taken his cigarette boat out for a spin, or Soulja Boy keeping cool if somebody forgot to give him wasabi to go with his tempura roll. Five minutes later, however, Waka seems to have recovered. No Timbs, no problem. He pulls out his laptop. His wallpaper is a picture of himself riding a bike. He starts listening to his own music, and says—I swear to fucking God I am not making this up—“I wonder if I could invent my own language.” There are six of us in the car besides Flocka. No one responds.