After a hard day of parting and hating on the white man, the black gay man, the police, the politicians, the ghetto, the high life, other rappers, Ja Rule, white wimmen, Drake, black women, Americans, Rick Ross, and candy-canes, professional rapper DMX decided he would settle in for his hard day of work.

“Yo, bitch nigga dogs, I gonna sleep!” Dog Master Extreme called out to the hounds of the world. When he finished his sentence, a pretty much literal ocean of pit bulls fell upon a vacant lot and stacked up on top of each other to form a fully functioning apartment building complete with cable television and toilet facilities. Before some fool came stepping up on his crib and tried to start a beef, DMX went inside, went up to his room, and went to sleep.

He woke up the next day and felt like the X-Man of the Dark but noticed that when he looked down, expecting to see the obvious muscular form chiseled from ebony that he always was, he instead saw a squishy white marshmallow-y horse body where his Dark Man X body should be and that he was not with his dogs.

He was inside a white horse carcass, again. DMX made a mental note to give a fine whooping to the Colombians who were responsible for this situation the first time, and then he went on to try and take off the costume. However, as much as he pulled at the lovely white fur and grabbed at the purple mane on his head, he made no progress. That was when he looked into an astoundingly decorated mirror and saw that he was the horse carcass.

When his jaw dropped, so did the horse's in the mirror, and so DMX was left with the only reasonable conclusion.

“Aw shit, I’m a cracka horse!” But instead of being a little punk, he almost immediately got over it. “A’ight, I’mma roll with this.”

And so Dog Master X inside the body of the pony walked on out of his bedroom, down a flight of stairs, and got mad pissed at coming upon a dining room with a lil’ white unicorn, a pink adult unicorn, and a white pony in a stupid hat.

“Well good morning dear, we were waiting for you all morning to come down and eat some of Sweetie’s cooking, dontcha know?”

DMX then looked at the table of food that was as burnt as Lil’ Wayne, and was not having any part of it. “Nah man, I ain’t eating none of that bitch nigga shit.”

“B-But I worked hard on it . . . “ Said that little unicorn filly.

“Aw shit, sorry son. But why your lil’ nigga ass slaving over a hot stove? That’s what broads is for.”

“Goodness gracious! Rarity, are you feeling okay? You’re usually so kind.” The mother pointed out.

“Nah bitch, I ain’t feeling okay, not as long as the murda po-lice is still around.”

“Honey, I know you’re an adult now but watch your language, okey dokey?” The father said.

“Nigga, you talking to me? Because I know your punk nigga ass ain’t talking to me.” DMX then turned to Sweetie Belle “Yo, lil’ nigga, lets go hit the streets.”

“Really? Okay!” She said, delighted to spend more time with her more colorful mouthed sister.

So then DMX kicked the hinges off the door and waltzed on outside with Sweetie Belle following, leaving behind two very concerned parents. They would not be the only two by the end of the day to be upset over the sudden explosion of language in their otherwise delightful world.

Author's Note

Yeah, I figured pit-bull hotels would be a good way to start off one of the few DMX stories on this site.