It’s 5AM, cocksucka. Sun’s just creepin’ up, birds chirpin’ — and I’m standin’ outside shirtless, high as a fuckin’ kite, waitin’ for my Uber to go get a breakfast burrito to wash the taste of that monkey outta my mouth. Yeah — I banged J-Tard’s mama. Don’t judge me, I was coked outta my mind.

I’m standin’ there, half in the bag, still smellin’ like Marlboro smoke and sin… when I hear it. This weird squeakin’ and rattlin’, like a haunted fuckin’ wheelchair from a horror movie. I turn my head, and here he comes — J-Tard, rollin’ down the block in that Herman Miller chair he’s glued to, tryin’ to hold his blonde wig on.

Then it happens — his butt plug just plops right out into the middle of the road, covered in shit and god knows what else. This Honda swerves to avoid it, slams into a fuckin’ tree. Airbags go off, horn blarin’.

And J-Tard starts screaming: ‘I’m mama’s precious little shota baby! I'm BASED! Nobody touches mama but meeeeee!’ His phimosis is just leakin’, like battery acid all over the asphalt, steam comin’ off the pavement. He’s shriekin’ about all the wrestling moves he’s gonna hit me with — the suplex, the frog splash, the fuckin’ people’s elbow, whatever this mutant thinks he’s capable of.

Me? I just stand there, joint hangin’ outta my mouth, starin’ at him. Then I step forward, and just karate chop the pedophile right in the neck. His wig flies off like a dead cat and he hits the deck, screamin’.

I look at my hand — it’s covered in this hot, fungal goo, like I just stuck it into a deep fryer full of athlete’s foot. Some little kid ridin’ his bike starts screamin’ and vomitin’ all over himself.

And while I’m tryin’ to flick this slime off my hand, J-Tard starts crawlin’ up my fuckin’ leg like that melty acid guy from Robocop. That’s when I said, ‘Nope, fuck this,’ and dove into my Uber like the building was on fire.