LIL WAYNE FANFIC I DID ON TWITTER WHILE AT WORK
UFO hovers over Young Money hq, Lil Wayne’s furious alien father beams down. “You were supposed to SUBDUE this planet, you lazy slarfnot!!
“WHY do the earthlings still have so many defensive capabilities? WHERE are your mining operations? WHAT is this gibberish on your arms?”
(whiny wayne voice) “But daddy i’m the greatest rapper alive! I got millions in the bank and pussy and cars—-“
“PUSSY? We’ll see how you like the ‘pussy’ on a Class Zed planetoid out in the Pzrthel sector. Maybe trilobites will be more your speed!”
Baby tries to step in, gets two words out before Lord W’ynordh unholsters his pro-jac and reduces him to a mound of red goo & gold teeth.
Drake tries to get to his feet, falls. “My- my legs don’t work!!” he whispers to Wayne, with a pleading look in his moist eyes.
Wayne looks quickly away as his father incinerates his wussy protege. Gritting his teeth, he pulls out his cell. “Momentarily, your grace.”
Wayne ducks into the hallway and finds the White House number in his phone, biting his nails as it rings once… twice…
Wayne coughs and affects a perfect posh honky voice: “Bill? Carlton Byrd over at RJL Select, wondering if I could ask the big man a favor.”
“Yeah? Nice. How many holes are they playing, do you know? Ok, just tell him I called.” Wayne hangs up & swiftly googles the golf course.
Wayne returns to his office and bows magnanimously to his father. “The President of Land-Mass Prime awaits us, your grace.” His dad grunts.
“He awaits, does he? I am beginning to comptehend the true extent of your failure here, son.” Wayne winces slightly but maintains his smile.
Wayne somberly pilots the Armintor Airskip towards Andrews Air Force base, aware that his father notices him casually deploying a few EMPs.
“We are expected, yes?” his father asks, grinning. Wayne remains fixed on the readouts which confirm the bases’ armaments are neutralized.
Wayne glowers. “As you know, lordship, these people are weak. To encourage ferocity I demand they always greet me with a display of force.”
The airskip lands on the green of Andrews’ golf course just as a group of secret service men rush to inform POTUS of the security failure.
Wayne steps off the ship and greets Obama loudly in his Lil Wayne-iest voice, momentarily baffling the servicemen. Obama: “W.. Weezy baby?”
Then W’ynordh steps off the ship, cape floating behind. Servicemen aim their guns at what they assume is a member of Parliament/Funkadelic.
W’ynordh abruptly roars and a nervous serviceguy fires. The bullet stops inches from his heart, then reverses, right up the gun’s barrel.
“Hold your fire!” Obama shouts above the moans of the mutilated servicedude. W’ynordh points to Boehner, “Who is this offworlder?!”
Boehner (all together now…) starts to cry.
“Pathetic!” W’ynordh shouts, releasing a stream of nanobots towards the humans on the green. “A shame to the entire Tunechian race!”
As Wayne forlornly watches the nanobots methodically disassemble the security team, the words GAME OVER appear in midair in a font of guts.
Wayne pulls off the VR helmet designed to look like Kool Moe Dee’s shades and steps out of the RAP HERO machine to sarcastic applause.
“Still can’t get past level 3, huh Weez?” says a boy swinging his tentacles derisively. A transluscent warlus pushes his way into the game.
“Fuck this game,” snaps Wayne. “I would be great if it were just the rapping parts!” He kicks the dusty floor of the Space Port arcade.
THE END! (Grandpa Cexman closes the musty old tome of folktales from the empire’s decline)
“Read us the Smashmouth one again!” shouts Cexwell jr. “Yeah!” chime in the other children. Grandpa coughs into his hanky, pleading off.
