Past LivesPast Lives
“THAT’S IT! I AM FUCKING SICK OF THIS!” Clover screamed, throwing her backpack down on the couch with as much force as she could muster. The three of them had come back from a mission and went inside their penthouse at college to decompress.
“Clover calm down, it’s--”
“NOT THAT BAD!? IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY SAM!? BECAUSE THE WAY I SEE IT, WE JUST WASTED OUR TIME AND PUT OURSELVES IN DANGER FOR THAT UNGRATEFUL BITCH MANDY!” Clover screamed at Sam, who backed up with her hands up. They had just come back from saving their enemy, Mandy, from a band of meth addicts who hid meth in one of Mandy’s stuffed animals.
“Alex, tell her that this isn’t that big of a deal,” Sam asked Alex, who glared at Sam, though without as much fury.
“No Sam, I’m on Clover’s side this time. Why do we ALWAYS have to save Mandy?” Alex asked, exasperated.
“Because we’re heroes, and
You're watcher forty-three, eh?
Though I'm on your position five-K, yeah?
S'ppose that position was free, eh?
"Thank you" is something I should say, yeah?
That's not something you just get, sucka.
Not just those easy words, playa.
You get a whole poem that is rad, sucka.
one made of all three thirds, playa.
pretty bad poem, you agree, eh?
But do watch my art as it will slay, yeah?
Creativity really is the key, eh?
You want me to go bloody away, yeah?
Well, you're in luck, I'm done.
But on DA I have only begun.
Thank you, thanks a bunch.
But I'm off... I have to... go now to... lunch?
Thank you for coming to my TED talk about writing raps for terrible Soundcloud rappers.