Miscellaneous Rambling Part 3: Racism

Hello nonexistent readers! I’m sorry. I know it has been a few days. I got a little sidetracked. But I’m back now and want to talk about something.

Now, I know that today would be a good day to discuss terrorism, or something to do with 9/11, but you’ve probably read about that a lot recently and I didn’t want to sound like another recording. That’s not to discount the tragedy of 9/11, but I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about racism.

Almost nine years ago, the United States admitted their first black president. On that day, my dad said that racism was dead. The most powerful position in the world was given to a minority, how can people say that there is still racism with any power or relevance. So was my dad wrong in this optimistic statement? In my opinion, not as wrong as one might think.

I know that there was a white supremacist rally recently. But, like many other things, it was completely overblown. I’m not saying that the beliefs that the marchers held weren’t deplorable, I’m just saying that there was probably about four-hundred marchers. And what were they doing? Nothing destructive. They just wanted to wave some swastikas and feel relevant again. They were marching for a crappy cause, but I’m a big proponent of actions speaking louder than words. And if they would’ve been ignored, they wouldn’t have resorted to actions.

But instead, we had ANTIFA think that they were a bunch of Batmans, and this was a problem that they had to solve with violence. We had the news media giving this tiny group of people a disproportionate amount of coverage. And in the end, an innocent girl was killed.

Another clarification I have to make. I’m not blaming anyone for that girls death besides the human piece of garbage who ran her over. Quite honestly, I hope he doesn’t see the sun again. But would this have happened if we stopped caring what these people think?

So my opinion on racism is that it is extremely rare. I, personally, am not sure if I’ve met anyone who is truly racist. And I come from a small town with a recent large influx of Mexican immigration, so if there was a time for racism to show its face, a decade ago would’ve been the time. But my town full of rednecks, blue-collar workers, and an over-whelming white population just accepted them. If they didn’t like them coming, it wasn’t because of their race. Let’s face it, when there’s a large rise in any population, it usually causes issues. But my point is that when I lived in a town that people would almost automatically assume were a bunch of bigots, I did not see racism.

So is my town an outlier? Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think that it is representative of what most rural small towns are like.

So if racism is not to be found in my beloved redneck city, where is it to be found? I have a guess. Scattered. There will always be racism in the world, we can never fully kill it. But my question is: does it matter if there’s a man in south Mississippi muttering the “n-word” is his parents’ basement while daydreaming about an all-white society? Do we really need to get all up in arms when a few hundred people have a gathering that is universally condemned by every major religious and political group in America? Maybe we can solve it one a person-by-person base, but I don’t think it’s necessary to go to war.

I’d even argue that going to war with them makes it worse. Because it’s treating them like a problem rather than an annoyance. If you found a fly in your house, you don’t call pest control, because that would be an overreaction. And in a nation of three-hundred and sixty-million people, four hundred is quite a small fly.

You may say that the problem may grow, but is that true. I think it will only grow through misunderstanding. I think that it will only grow if people keep accusing everyone they disagree with as being a racist or a Nazi. When you have a guy like Ted Cruz, and you say he’s exactly like David Duke, well maybe some reasonable people like Ted Cruz and infer that they’d also like David Duke if he and Ted Cruz are so similar.

Now, this isn’t a right-winged propaganda article. I never intend for this to be a political blog.  This is an article for mutual human understanding. And if that’s a political message, then so be it.


Miscellaneous Rambling Part 2: Drug Effects

Hello imaginary readers. I’m back like I said I would be. And I have a story for today that takes place in one of my English courses.

As I mentioned in part 1, I am a new college student, and my first day of this particular class was today. It took me a good while to find the room. When I finally got there, there were only three people in the classroom. I didn’t know any of them, so I sat a little bit away from them. There were three rows of desks. In general, people who choose the back row are dumb losers, and the people who choose the front row are smart losers. So I choose the middle row. (Maybe I’ve just seen Mean Girls too many times.)

Slowly more students started pouring in. About five students later, a student with glasses, dressed in blue jeans with a blue plad button-up shirt, and a surplus of acne walked in. His face was flushed, but I didn’t think anything of it.  “He’s probably just sick,” I thought to myself in a rare moment of optimism. It didn’t take long for things to get weird.

While we were just sitting silently and waiting, the student loudly begins interrogating the classroom.

“Has anyone had anything bad happen to them recently?” Nobody says anything.

My classmate tried again with a slightly different question, “Has anyone had anything good happen to them recently?” Again, the classroom was so quiet that you would’ve been able to hear the whimper of a baby mouse if one had chosen to do so at that very moment.

At this point, I felt bad for the kid. I thought he was an awkward kid trying to get a conversation started. I thought he was experiencing something that I too had experienced before. Believe me when I say this, I have never experienced anything like he was probably experiencing.

A few moments later, my professor walks in and inquires about the shouting she heard. Indeed, this student’s talking voice was loud enough to mistake it for shouting. But as the old saying goes, “snitches get stitches,” so no one directed my professor to the source of the noise.

Since it still wasn’t time for class to start again, my professor left the room. And so further down the rabbit hole we go.

The noisemaker in the class turns around. It looks like he’s crying. “Guys, I’m sorry for how I’ve been behaving.”

At this point, everyone in the class is visibly worried. My one friend in the class and I exchanged a worried look. I saw many others give their companions similar looks.

I can’t remember what the student said next, but it prompted me to ask him if he was okay, and another person, who was sitting behind me, to suggest that there was free counseling offered in the school. I don’t know if he heard us.

My professor walked back in the room. She could probably sense the tension in the air, but she didn’t know what it was attributed to. But then, the student began to sob.

“I am so sorry for how I’ve been acting. I’ve had a lot of bad things happen to me recently.”

At this point, I was holding myself back from laughing. I knew that the situation wasn’t funny, and I felt like human garbage for even being tempted to chuckle, but the situation was so bizarre, I didn’t know how else to react.

My professor realized that he needed to leave the room, and she asked someone if they could just read what she had written in her lesson plan on the projector to the class while she took him out of the room. I, being the sweetheart that I am, volunteered.

So my professor lightly suggested that he come with her outside the classroom.

“No,” he proclaimed boldly.

Recognizing that it would probably be a better idea to try and pet a bear cub than to try and push it, my professor nodded, and left the room to go get help.

During this time, it was planned for me to read the lesson plan. I don’t think anyone was in the mood for it though. I certainly wasn’t. We just quietly waited for our professor to return, presumably with help.

After a moment of silence, the subject of this story begins speaking again. “I’ve never done drugs before, besides marijuana.”

A few more moments of silence later, he says to me, “can you turn that screen off? It’s bothering me.” He was talking about the projector screen, which I was standing next to its controls. I thought that maybe it was the moving gifs on the screen that was causing him discomfort, so I scrolled down. I didn’t want to turn off the entire thing though.

“Here, I’ll do it,” he says. And he begins to walk toward me.

I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t scared per se of the student. I’d been taking mixed martial arts classes throughout last summer, and I had ten years of football and two older brothers. I was jumpy though. A crazy person is an unpredictable one. My mind raced to fight or flight mode, and it was steering towards fight.

I put my hand out in order to stop him from coming to close to me.

“Why don’t you sit down, buddy,” said a commanding voice in the back of the room. The student stopped in his tracks, muttered something, and thankfully, returned to his seat.

After saying he was sorry a couple more times, my professor came into the room accompanied by two male officers and one female officer. The smaller one of the male officers stood close to his desk.

“Why don’t you come with us.” It was worded like a question, but it was very clear that the officer was telling him what to do. Even in the student’s drugged up mind, he seemed to realize it wasn’t a good idea to be unruly with the police.

As he was being escorted out, the last thing he said was, “this is really happening,” and since then, I haven’t seen him. Granted, it has only been a little over five hours between the end of that class, and me writing this, but I doubt I will see him again.

And that’s the story of my first day at that particular art class. This is different from what I normally plan on writing, I’m not interesting enough to justify writing about my life every day, but I figured that was a story interesting enough to share. I left out some minor details for the sake of a futile attempt at staying anonymous, but everything I put in here is true. Besides, I have to have readers if my identity is going to be revealed, and that seems unlikely. So until next time, good-bye.


Miscellaneous Rambling Part 1: What I am doing with this Blog

Hello to everyone who’s reading. I realize that’s not addressing many people. In fact, it’s probably not addressing anyone all. I’m starting something that’s supposed to be like a public diary. I will sometimes plan ahead of time what I am going to say, oftentimes I won’t. Sometimes, it will be like reading the mind of a kid who has ADHD and will jump from topic to topic. Today, I am writing on complete improvisation. In fact, I only got the idea of starting this about two minutes ago. I am doing this because I want to write every day, and I figured that this is an easy way to do it.

That being said, I will do my best to write every day, but I will oftentimes not be able to.  Sometimes, I will be writing multiple times a day. So we’ll see how this goes.

For a little bit of information on me, I am a first year student in college. I won’t say where for the sake of anonymity, though I am sure that I will slip up some time and say something too revealing. To the people who already know who I am, I’ll ask you to also keep your mouths shut. Although, I suppose that if I was truly interested in being anonymous, I would get an account different from the one I started for my creative writing class in high school. Getting mad at my identity being revealed would be like Peter Parker being mad that someone guessed that he was Spiderman after he dunked from the three-point line in The Amazing Spiderman. Could he have been any more obvious? So if my identity is revealed, I suppose I deserve it.

Topics you can expect from me range from: sports, movies, religion, politics, books, college culture, social media, news stories and what ever else I can think to write about. I don’t claim to be an expert in all of those fields, so much of what I write about will be what I like to call, “first glance analysis.” First glance analysis simply means that it is a reactionary analysis based on previous knowledge on the subject and on gut instinct, as opposed to one that is thoroughly researched and objective.

So, for instance, I may write about how I think that The Red Badge of Courage is a truly dreadful piece of literature that more belongs in a bonfire rather than in high school English classes. My opinion is just that… my opinion. I will not be delving into a deeper understanding of the book and analyzing different writing techniques. If an English professor were to debate me on the quality of The Red Badge of Courage, I fully expect to verbally get my ass kicked.

This isn’t to say that what I am saying will always be wrong. After all, I am well-researched in some areas, and I will try to do at least a little bit of research in cases that might become libel if I don’t wait to hear the full story first. I won’t be so reactionary that I will base a whole section on the title of an article. In fact, writing about news will probably be some of the few times I will do a proper amount of research on a topic. The reasoning for that is that I see enough misinformed to reactionary responses to news on my Facebook so to not subject my few readers to the same headache-inducing experience on this blog.

Also, please don’t try to pick apart my grammar. I have a strong sense of grammar and I don’t anticipate making many mistakes. You can correct my grammar in the comments if you feel the need to, just don’t disregard my blog based on whether I put my commas in the right place… or do disregard it, I can’t tell you what to do.

So for now, that is it. If by some miracle, someone reads this, please give me feedback in the comments. If you leave me criticism, I will take note of it, cry a little bit, and try to correct it next time. So, until my next post, I’ll see you later.

Well, I guess I won’t actually see you, I’ll probably just get a small sense in my gut that someone at any moment is reading my blog and then I will use my superb deductive reasoning to figure who, out of the seven billion people on the planet, you are.

Mental Free Running

I didn’t know what had just happened to me. One minute, I was sitting in my car and the next… I woke up in a bed with what looked to be a one-way mirror in front of me. My hands were tied at the wrist on the rails of the bed. The strain of the leather ropes was taking a toll on my blood circulation. I wanted to scream, but my throat was too dry.

After what seemed to be ten hours, a man in a white coat and wired glasses walked in. He was a slim man, looked to be approaching sixty years old and had kindly eyes. He was not the type of person who I would picture being a kidnapper.

“Who are you?” I rasped.

“Is figuring that out really a priority right now?” asked the man.

I thought it might help me get my bearings if I knew the people around me, but I figured it would be better to say nothing. Besides, the man was right. I’d rather know how to get out than who kidnapped me.

The man stuck a needle unexpectedly into my arm. I winced, but it wasn’t that bad. Next the man brought the needle underneath a microscope and looked through the lens.

“Perfect!” cried the man. He looked as though someone had just thrown him a surprise party. Even though this guy had probably kidnapped me, I almost felt happy for him.

“What?” I asked. I was ignored.

“This is exactly what I need!” exclaimed the man.

I figured it wouldn’t do me any good to question him again, so I just stayed silent and observed the scene in front of me.

“With this power, I can solve all of the issues in the world,” said the man.

This was just getting weirder and weirder.

The man turned to me. “Do you realize how extraordinary this is?”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’ve provided a sample for the cure to most kinds of cancer.

My mind whirled. This was actually great news. I had a grandfather who died from cancer, and I was willing to do anything from ever seeing that happen again.

Then, the man pulled out a knife. It was almost two and a half feet long with what looked to be a razor-sharp edge.

“What are you doing?” I stammered out.

“I need to harvest all of you,” said the man.

My heart was about to explode, but as the man got closer, it began to calm down. Maybe this was for the best. I wasn’t making much of my life anyway, so maybe I could make much out of my death. But I needed to know one thing.

“Will this help save the world?” I asked. It was a stupid sounding question. Saving the world was what superheroes did, not me. But if this could prevent sickness, maybe I was worthy of joining those ranks.

“A small portion of it,” said the man, ” this will go to the highest bidder.”

What? No. I didn’t want this. I wanted to make a difference. Not let some rich bastard take my whole life for an extra twenty years of his own.

My heart pounded some more, “stop! STOP” I cried.

But the last thing I saw was those kindly eyes of the doctor. And then, everything went black.



Sunny walked into his house and set his backpack on the floor as he collapsed into his favorite red armchair. He’d spent countless hours on this particular chair. Those hours spent on the chair were due to the fact that it sat barely three feet from the front of the TV.

Over the years, the TV had become a staple in Sunny’s life. The only time Sunny couldn’t hear the TV was when he was at school. Whether it was from Sunny or one of his parents, the TV was always being watched whenever the Sunny’s house was occupied. Even when trying to go to sleep, Sunny could hear the faint voices talking from the living room. It was at night that his dad would appropriate Sunny’s favorite chair to let the TV shout him to sleep.

As a result, Sunny found TV to be synonymous with home. And since when he wasn’t home he was normally at school, and he hated school. And when he was at home, that meant that he wasn’t at school, which made him like home, and by transitive property, he liked TV. It was there every day waiting for him to get back so he could explore the countless channels. That is, every day but today.

Sunny pressed the red button at the top of the remote, and the TV flashed on. But no TV show revealed itself from behind the black screen curtain. Instead, a series of grainy black and white strips appeared on the TV along with one of the most terrible noises Sunny had ever heard. It sounded like someone had put pebbles in a blender and turned it on. And no matter how many times Sunny changed the channel, the noise and the grainy stuff stayed on the screen.

Sunny then did something he rarely ever had to do. He turned off the TV. He tossed the remote on the rug at his feet in resignation and stared blankly at the now-useless box in front of him. He didn’t know what to do.

After doing much more thinking than he ever expected to do away from school, he decided to get something to eat from the kitchen. After looking through all the coverts and through the refrigerator, he found nothing that appealed to his appetite.

The silence in the house was deafening. It was strange not having the constant sound of the TV accompanying him in every step throughout the house.  Sunny thought he was going to go crazy.

After wandering aimlessly for a short while, Sunny stepped on something unfamiliar. It was a book with “Matilda” written on the cover. Sunny thought that was unusual since he hadn’t seen that book since his mom read it to him when he was a little kid. He wondered if he could read it now.

Opening the book, he slowly began to make his way through each page. Each page brought him into the magical world made by Roald Dahl. It was different getting a story from a book than from the TV. On a TV, you’re observing a story, but a book makes you feel like you’re  in the story.

After hours of reading, Sunny had not only finished “Matilda,” but he had also discovered many other wondrous worlds on a dusty book shelf. In the middle of him reading another book from Mary Pope Osborne, he heard the door open, and his mom walked in and muttered a greeting toward Sunny. Almost by instinct, she picked up the remote and the same grainy-looking screen popped up as before.

“Oh good,” Sunny said, grinning, “it’s my favorite channel.”



Zipped Shut

via Daily Prompt: Zip

Have you ever felt yourself losing your own will? Have you ever felt drained of even the most fundamental desires to do basic things. I have. I cannot speak. I haven’t been able to open my mouth since my imprisonment. It’s like my mouth is zipped shut.

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, or if I could tell you, but I used to be a wonderful singer. It was said of me that I could make anyone’s day just a little bit brighter just by the sound of my voice. I found my first love through my song. I wonder where she is now.

The only time I can even separate my lips is when I have to eat. I don’t know why. It’s as if the mental barrier that makes me unable to open my mouth has a key made of food. Even though my mouth opens though, I still can’t speak, let alone, sing.

Singing was when I felt the most free. Ironically, it’s what got me imprisoned. My captors heard me singing in the woods, and the next thing I knew, I was behind bars. Don’t ask me why they wanted to capture me. I never caused any trouble. All I did was sing and taught my children to do the same. Maybe they didn’t like my high notes.

After the loss of my voice, the worse part was the way people stared. For some reason, people liked to visit my prison. Before my confinement, I had a general rule. I only wanted to be heard, not seen. In prison, however, I was only seen and not heard. Even if I had a functioning voice, I doubted people would notice. It’s always so loud in here, one more voice wouldn’t be observed.

I am quite old now. I have not only lost my will to sing, but also to live. I long ago gave up hope that I would see my family again. I recently gave up hope that I would see outside this prison again, and now I’ve given up hope of seeing another sunrise.

I just wanted to sleep. Maybe in my dreams afterwards I could see my family. Maybe it was in my final rest that I would once again let my voice flow pleasantly into the wind and into the ears of others.

My head started to feel light, and I could feel my balance decreasing. I swayed back and forth for a moment, and then I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time… peace. I was ready to go. I just needed to do one more thing.

I opened my mouth, and let out one long note. My voice was just as beautiful as it had been years before. For the first time since morning, the prison went quiet. Everyone stared at me. I stared back for a moment, and then I collapsed.

I fell all the way from my perch and onto the hard floor of my cage. I noticed my wing broke from the fall, but it didn’t hurt. I knew that I was going to fly forever from that moment forward, along with my mate and my chicks.


via Daily Prompt: Fortune

The man walked toward the vending machine for lottery tickets. He took out a crinkled up ten-dollar bill and fed it into the machine. After spitting it out a couple of times, the machine finally gave in and swallowed the bill. The man pushed a few buttons and took a ticket from the machine.

The ticket read “Win a Fortune” in bold and colorful letters, but the man had never won anything. Not even a dollar. When asked why he bought a ticket from the same lottery every day, the man would smile and say that he knows the day he doesn’t buy one, someone else will be the winner.

He fumbled around his pocket until he found his lucky coin. It was a football-shaped penny that his dad bought him at a museum when the man was five-years old. The edge of the penny had dulled and turned black from scratching off countless lottery tickets. His dad told him that since this penny was chosen among all of the other pennies to be crushed, then its luck could only increase from there. Thus far, the theory had proven to be incorrect.

Just like any other day, the man won nothing. He smiled regretfully at the cashier, and walked out the door. He looked down at his watch, which read 9:15. He should be getting home soon. He didn’t like to be away from home much past 9:00.

The man looked both ways, and walked cautiously across the street. He’d always been weary of the street ever since a drunk driver grazed him along the side of his car and broke the man’s arm. The doctor told the man that he was lucky it wasn’t worse. The man just wondered what the odds were that he crossed the street at the same time as a intoxicated driver with dysfunctional headlights.

The man reached for his phone only to remember it had fallen out of his pocket into a puddle a couple of days ago. Eventually, he got to his apartment building, and walked up the stairs. He always took the stairs after the time the elevator shut down and trapped him for three hours.

He got to his door, and forced the heavy wood to open.

“Daddy!” came a screech, and the man’s four-year-old daughter ran up and hugged him. She was supposed to be in bed, but she always waited up for him. His wife walked out of his bedroom bleary-eyed, but happy to see him. And at that moment, that man was the most fortunate person in the entire world.


Hercules vs. Santa Clause


Once upon a time there was a jolly red man

That got as fat as a man can

Who made a plan to sneak into children’s places

Whether it was in chimneys or children

He liked tight spaces

Who is this man we’re speaking of

Why it’s Santa Clause

So you better watch out

You better start to cry

Because I’m about

To shoot your reindeer out of the sky



Someone has problems, tell me about them

Come sit on my lap

Tell me, what do you want from St. Nick

How about lessons on how to rap

You big pompous… Richard

Be prepared because I’m always ready to pounce

And I’ve got it where it counts

Yes you’re stronger than me

But your biceps have the only bulge I can see

Those steroids have effects on the side

No wonder your second wife committed suicide

Speaking of wives you killed your first along with the rest of your family

And your third wife gives me the Hebe Jeebies


Talking about wives? Is that really what you want to do?

You married the only person on the planet as ugly as you

Your bellies are so big, you probably can’t reach in for a kiss

And does peeping on children put you on the naughty list?

If it doesn’t then I don’t know what does

You must have made an allowance for stalking in your contract’s secret Clause

So come into the house of my kids and you’ll be chopped to bits

I must warn you, my fireplace is always lit

And my arrows have poisoned tips

I’ve survived Hera and Hades

Cerberus and Diomedes

Atlas and Hesperides

And Boars and children of Ares

I’ve fought everywhere from Egypt to Thebes

And I’m great with the ladies

You think you can threaten me? Please!

You must be blind

Because you will Acheloos this battle as fast as the Keryneian hind!

Santa Clause

You want to know what puts you on the naughty list?

How about killing your family and your mentor and being an obnoxious fur-wearing misogynist?

Delivering gifts to all the nice children of the world isn’t too much to ask

But listening to a single one of your verses? Now that’s a Herculean task

After all of this fighting, I do have some good news

You no longer have to kill yourself because I did the roasting for you

Now in a battle you might win bouts one two and three

But you’ll never beat me

Because I’m like Hydra: twice as hard is how I’ll come back

Maybe after I proclaim you for myself as my elf I’ll let you hold Santa’s sack

Luke Skywalker vs. Harry Potter

Harry Potter
Lets start this battle with a little introduction
I’m the boy who lived
And you ain’t got nuttin’
Except daddy issues
So I’m going to ask you to move because I’m getting some love
From someone who’s not my sister
I can’t believe you kissed her
You infectious incestous homo erectus mister
Now I’m going to give you one last chance
To walk away now, here, I’ll give you a hand

Luke Skywalker
Oh please, is this the best you got for me
You’re like training
I deflect your blows with my eyes closed
Because I don’t need my eyes to feel your weak forced flow as the flow of the force flows cold in my veins high to low
My rhymes are as hot as my light saber
And I’m going to savor the flavor of victory
You have nerve to bring up fathers
At least I got to meet mine
And guess what, he got to see me with his own eyes
Not through some BS Mirror on Erise
You’re dead like Sirius Black
You had your verse, but Skywalker Struck Back!
What people see in your movies leaves me stupefied
You still can’t entice me, and you’re on your eighth try
For goodness sake
during your movies, I still have to force myself to stay awake
They make me feel deathly hallow
And the only way someone would enjoy it if they were Sorcerer’s stoned
And you’re the problem is what I think
You’re the second worst character after Jar Jar Binks
We’re wizards! Your lightsaber doesn’t alarm us
We can get rid of that with the flick of our wrists: EXPELIARMUS!
And you can move objects with your mind? Oh big deal
With a simple Crucio, I can make this little girl squeal
Come back again if you want anymore
Because this victory goes to… GRIFFYNDOR!!!

Whether it’s the Emperor or Vader, Bounty Hunters, or slug gangsters
I’m the ultimate evader and immune to all dangers
I’ve got forty years in the industry
And you can’t touch me
Of real power, you barely have an ounce
Tell me, what’s your midichlorian count?
Your rhymes are measly
And your movies have about as much magic as Ron Weasley
How great can Hogwarts be?
And you need glasses just to see
With a school full of magic, you still rely on muggle technology?
So come at me you little snitch
Or will you tuck your broom between your legs and fly away like quidditch?
I’m the New Hope to end this drawn out franchise
The wizards are done
Now it’s Return of the Jedi

Stevie Wonder vs. Daredevil

Of all the people to rap against me
They make me face this Ray Charles Wannabe?
I fought Spider-Man, and I kicked his DONKEY
You’re not even a fighter man, you will not last
I prey on on your Superstition
I move so fast I make you look as slow as Fisk Wilson
With all the hurt I’ll be dishin’ you’ll be wishin’ it was The Punisher doing the punishin’

Stevie Wonder
You seem angry
Why don’t you take a metronome and count to three
Once you calm down, then you can talk to me
You actually think I’m scared
Cross me even the Devil wouldn’t Dare
I hope you have your wits about
Because we’re about to Sir Duke it out
Of my victory, there is no doubt
I’m about to have a rap attack that goes so fast that you’ll need life insurance
Better call Ben… Affleck

I can tell your nervous, I hear your heart beating
This place is overheating
Because I spit fire so hot, I’m like a dragon breathing
Your words you’ll be eating
You think you can beat me? You couldn’t be my sidekick even
I’ll let you go now if you repent
Stand trial for your sins
Nelson and Murdock represent
And don’t try me again
Because when it comes to rapping, I’m the Kingpin

Stevie Wonder
Call me Eminem because I’ll keep rapping
Call me Einstein, because I’m a force that won’t be stopping
Call your daddy, because this beating is free
Call me JOHN CENA, because you can’t see me
Your name is Matt, because I’ll step all over you
You can’t defend yourself against this verbal abuse
I wonder what drugs the writers had to be on to create you
Pick up your phone, it’s me, I’m Just Calling to say I hate you