The Smash Parable

This is tha rap of a stallion named Smash. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash hit dat shiznit fo' a cold-ass lil company up in a funky-ass big-ass building, where da thug was hommie number 426. Employee number 426's thang was simple yo. Dude sat at his fuckin lil' desk up in room 426 n' da thug freestyled lettas on a piece of paper n' shit. Ordaz came ta his ass all up in a messenger right next door, spittin some lyrics ta his ass what tha fuck ta write down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. How tha fuck long ta write them, n' it what tha fuck order n' shit. This what tha fuck hommie 246 did everydizzle of every last muthafuckin month of every last muthafuckin year fo' realz. And though others would of called it ass rending, Smash relished every last muthafuckin moment dat ordaz came in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. As though dat schmoooove muthafucka had been made exactly fo' tha thang, n' Smash was happy.

And then one dizzle suttin' straight-up peculiar happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Somethang dat would forever chizzle Smash. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Somethang da thug would never like forget.

Dude had been at his fuckin lil' desk fo' nearly a hour, when he realized dat not one single order had arrived from tha messenger fo' his ass ta follow. No one had flossed up ta give his ass instructions, call a meeting, or even say hi. Never up in all these years, tha company had dis happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This...complete isolation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Somethang was straight-up clearly wack - shocked, frozen solid, Smash found his dirty ass unable ta move fo' tha longest time. But as his schmoooove ass came ta his wits n' regained his senses, he gots up from his fuckin lil' desk n' strutted up tha fuck into tha hallway. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash decided ta git all up in tha staff lounge, ta check on his co-workers yo. Dude never functioned well by his dirty ass, n' constantly needed support n' guidizzle from others. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So tha thought of total solitude terrified his muthafuckin ass. When Smash came ta a set of two open doors, he entered tha door on his fuckin left. Instead tha pimpin' muthafucka took tha door on his bangin right. Now Smash knew dis was tha incorrect door so tha pimpin' muthafucka took tha upcomin door back ta tha erect path. With his hoofs makin soft pit pat noises he arrived all up in tha lounge fo' realz. As Smash entered tha lounge, da thug was horrified ta peep not a single pony here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho yo. Dude decided da thug would strutt up ta seek his boss yo. Hopin ta find a answer there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Comin ta a staircase, Smash strutted upstairs ta his bosses crib fo' realz. As da thug strutted up tha stairs his thugged-out lil' punk-ass fuckin started ta feel better, seein as how tha fuck his boss is so sick ta his muthafuckin ass. Enterin his crazy-ass manager's office, Smash was once again n' again n' again stunned, ta discover not a indication of pony game.Dat shiznit was then at this, dat his thugged-out lil' punk-ass fuckin started ta feel dizzy, n' a lil sick fo' realz. And even thought he might pass out... when suddenly he noticed a keypad, next ta a gangbangin' filin cabinet, up in tha corner, of his bosses crib.

Smash had never peeped dis panel before, n' had no clue what tha fuck tha combination of numbers would produce any result. In fact, only Smash's boss knew this. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Since tha panel held access ta his bosses' top billin darkest secret fo' realz. And so, dat schmoooove muthafucka had assigned tha keypad a cold-ass lil combination only his schmoooove ass could possibly know. Da number of his wild lil' freshman dorm number up in college. 1986. But of course Sm- Yet incredibly, by simply pushin random buttons on tha keypad, Smash happened ta input tha erect code by sheer luck fo' realz. Amazing.

Smash then ventured forth tha fuck into tha newly opened pathway fo' realz. As da thug strutted down tha big-ass metal hallway, suttin' felt straight-up wack bout tha place fo' realz. As da ruffneck drew deeper tha fuck into tha bowelz of tha building, Smash had no clue where da thug was or what tha fuck dis place held. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And just as tha pimpin' muthafucka thought da thug wouldn't discover a thang, he emerged tha fuck into a big-ass room, ta find... rows n' rows... of monitors. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Screens wit a number above dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash noticed, however, dat these was not just random numbers yo, but tha number of hommies hustlin up in tha buildin yo. His co-workers even his own number, 426, had a place on tha wall.

"But why a setup so elaborate?" Dude asked.Was dis simple surveillance, biatch? Or suttin' even more, biatch? And as if a answer ta his question, tha wall slid open before him, revealin tha illest truth of tha thang fo' realz. An enormous machine!, Smash discovered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But not one dat controlled simple machinery. Button was labeled wit emoticons: Happy, Sad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Levers n' knobs dat controlled actions. Walking,eating, bustin work, or chillin. Every input on dis device monitored not tha functionz of a machine yo, but of a pony being! And tha realitizzle fuckin started ta sink in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash, like all kindsa muthafuckin others, reduced ta images on monitors yo. Had been under someponies control, always all up in tha mercy of dis machine. Could dis done been tha reason why 426 was content wit his borin thang, biatch? Through tha machine had altered his wild lil' fuckin emotions ta accept it blindly, biatch? Dude fuckin started ta feel a funky-ass boiled ta tha bust a nut on rage, n' all up in tha peak of his thugged-out anger suttin' happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A spark.

Smash looked up n' saw tha generator overhead, still providin some lil' small-ass amount of juice ta tha machine. Keepin it kickin dat shit, yo. Unknowin dat dis generator was all it kept tha controls hustlin. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash moved ta tha ladder up in tha ladder n' fuckin started ta quickly climb towardz tha rafters. Da higher it was, tha mo' Smash could taste freedom. Da further from enslavement yo. Dude then saw two labels Engage generator n' Disable generator, n' of course he picked ta disable it fo' realz. All of a sudden tha light fuckin started ta turn off. Blackness. Juice gone fo' realz. All ridin' solo fo' realz. And then, a thugged-out door opened up revealin tha outside ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude then ran towardz dat shit.

As da perved-out muthafucka stepped all up in tha door, tha fuck into tha fresh, outside air, a gangbangin' feelin of liberation rushed all up in Smash's body yo. Dude had peeped juice n' shiznit yo. Dude had peeped enslavement And dat schmoooove muthafucka had destroyed dat shit. Da underlin was up in control now yo. Dude had found his fuckin leadin role. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash never discovered why mah playas had gone missing, nor how tha fuck n' when his thugged-out lil' punk-ass became under control of tha machine's control. But surprisingly it didn't upset his ass terribly, cuz he knew dis was how tha fuck thangs was meant ta happen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All he found, was delight n' happinizz unlike any dat schmoooove muthafucka had known before. Never again n' again n' again would he follow mah playas's ordaz without question. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Never again n' again n' again would mah playas tell Smash where ta go, what tha fuck ta do, or how tha fuck ta feel. No mo' bosses, no mo' messengers spittin some lyrics ta his ass what tha fuck ta write. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smash decides fo' his dirty ass now fo' realz. And da perved-out muthafucka stepped up tha fuck into tha ghetto, n' he felt tha def breeze upon his bangin red coat, n' Smash... was happy.

Da End