Chicago adventure, the largest selection of Lily Wayne.
When Lil Wayne and Drake woke up from their portal induced black out, they found that they were in a hotel room. Wayne, not wanting to lay in bed with a bitch-ass nigga-ass nigga like Drake, immediately got to his feet and walked to the window.
“Shit, Drake,” Lil Wayne started, immediately recognizing the city from one of his tours, “we’s in Chicago.”
“Shit nigga,” Drake said, also getting his ass off of the bed. “It looks like we started from the bottom and now we’re in Chicago.” Even though they started from the bottom, Aubrey couldn’t help but notice how much he thought Lil Wayne would make a nice top.
“Why’s shit always gotta be a joke about your songs, nigga?” Lil Wayne glared at Aubrey, hating him for all that he was worth, which wasn’t a lot. I mean, have you seen Canadian money? That shit’s for Monopoly. “We have a mission to be doin’ and I wanna get it over with as fast as bullets come out my glock.”
Aubrey sternly looked at the now Rich Gang leader, and felt himself holding back tears of unrequited love, and a little jizz. “Well then, my beautiful rap baby, what do you suggest we get to doin’?” For as much as he badly wanted to get shit over with so he could collaborate with Jhene Aiko again for the millionth time, he enjoyed every passing moment he got to spend with Wayne, whom he was utterly certain was his soul mate.
“Well, first things first, I’ma smoke this joint.” Lil Wayne spent the next eighteen minutes satiating his terrible drug addiction while Drake watched silently from the corner. When he was done, he felt his weed senses tingling and quickly started for the door. “I know exactly what we need to do, Drake! Follow me, Nig Rigs: Over the Road Niggling.”
Dwayne walked out of the door, and, promptly, the room, to find that his phat-ass joint had hotboxed the whole building! You would never see this shit on Suite Life. Somehow, without any speakers, A$AP Ferg’s “Shabba” was playing as loud as humanly possible from every which way. Lil Wayne thought that this was the coolest, so when he walked out he did so with a swagger that hadn’t been seen on this earth since before Tyler Perry started making movies.
When Lil Wayne and Drizzy exited the hotel, they immediately found themselves at gunpoint. The man holding the gun was an overweight black police officer. He looked a lot like the black police sergeant from Die Hard. The officer was alternating his aim between both of the YMCMB rappers, and he looked like he was ready to kill. Of course, being black, Lil Wayne thought that all police officers looked ready to kill.
"Put your hands where I can see them!” The police officer didn’t sound like he wanted to kill the two gentlemen, even though protocol dictated that he should be choking them. Lil Wayne and Drake complied.
The officer lowered his gun when he saw that they were not violent. “I’m sorry about that, kiddos. I was just making sure that the drug activity reported in this area wasn’t being carried out by those damned Mexican cartels. Now that that’s all over I should introduce myself. My name is Carl Winslow, and I have a five centimeter penis. That’s tiny right?” He laughed. “What’s your guys’ names?”
“Damn, son, five centimeters? Hello, welcome to Tiny Toons Adventures, starring Carl Winslow’s penis!” Lil Wayne thought as he felt his six-foot-seven-foot horse cock writhe in his pants.
“My name is Aubrey, colloquially known as Drake, Drizzy, and The Caped Crusader.” Drake said, looking over at Lil Wayne, as if to say, “Now tell him your name, Dwayne. Also, please eat out my asshole.”
“And my nigga-ass name is Lil mothafuckin’ Wayne. King of rap and all humanity.” Lil Wayne struck his extra hip rap pose, just to show off that he was, in fact, the dominant performing artist.
“Wowee! My wife loves Rich Gang! You‘re definitely coming over to get some meatloaf.” Carl turned away and started to walk towards his police cruiser. Lil Wayne normally knew better than to let a cop get him in the back of his car, but this time his weed senses were telling him that it would be alright as long as he was still packing some mad-ass heat. When Lil Wayne and Drake got in the police car, they noticed that it was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. It was bigger than they could have ever imagined. In fact, it was so big inside, it was just the Winslow household.
“Wheres the hells are our asseses?” Lil Wayne asked, looking around the suburban household with clear confusion on his face. “How’d you fit a whole crib up in this car?”
Carl chuckled. “You see, boys, when our TV show, Family Matters, was taken off of the air in 1998, we were left bankrupt by Urkel’s crippling addiction to collecting Japanese Waifu figurines to masturbate onto. When we couldn’t afford to make our mortgage payments, we had Urkel modify the car so that our house would fit inside it. We’ve been living here ever since.” This was all science, so deal with it.
“Damn, that’s some real-ass shit, Niggy Azalea. I wish I could live in a crib this nice in a car this trill.” Lil Wayne holla’d, his weed senses warning him of impending danger. “So, where’s this dank-ass kush-ass meatloaf that y’all promised me, motherfucker? I want it, I need it, but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love it.”
“Be careful with your swear words, Wayne.” Carl warned, a threatening darkness looming behind his eyes, “This is a family show. Or at least it was before the Jews got their hands on ABC. Damn them, stealing everything from America. Now, if you want your meatloaf, follow me into the kitchen.”
Drake was offended at the blatant anti-Semitism, but Wayne didn’t give a shit, he just followed after Carl as the man began to lead them through the crib. He led them to the kitchen, which was fairly big and luxurious.
“Damn, son, this place is Hell’s BITCHIN’!” Lil Wayne bellowed.
“Well thank you son, me and my wife spent a lot of our television money making this place look nice. None of the appliances are real, you know? They’re all just here for television.” As Carl spoke, Lil Wayne noticed that something wasn’t quite right. All around the kitchen a wall of blue light had appeared, and it was slowly closing in on the group of three men. Lil Wayne thought that maybe theys was being ascended into heaven by the lord himself. Lil Wayne had been a devout Christian after he got just the sickest H-jay from a nun, who was nun other than Nicki Minaj.
“What is this shit?” Drake cried out, fear spreading on his delicate face like autism spreading from new vaccines.
Carl looked shocked as Drake pointed out the force-field. “This is certainly Urkel’s doing! One of his inventions must have gone haywire again!” This had happened on several occasions when nigh his entire house would be thrashed to all hell by one of Steve Urkel’s inventions, but luckily he had the magic power of television status quo, and the millions of dollars’ worth of damage would be completely restored come that next episode. Sadly this stopped happening after the show was taken off the air.
At this point the force-field was tight around them, pressing the three men’s sweaty, clothed bodies together (not gay). This gave Drake the mightiest of erections, but Lil Wayne was none too pleased with their current situation.
“What is the meaning of this!?” Lil Wayne called out angrily. The response shook him to his soul.
“DID I DO THAT?” Steve Urkel entered the room, his voice ripping apart our main character’s ears like a wood chipper ripping up dat ass doe. He approached the force-field slowly, an evil, sadistic look on his nineties sitcom face. He was holding up the bloody, severed head of Harriette Winslow, which was all sorts of fucked up.
While Carl broke down crying at the sight of his dead wife, Lil Wayne and Drake stared on in awe. Was this really happening? Had Steve Urkel really gone mad?
“The fuck is this shit, nigga?” Lil Wayne demanded, barely able to keep on his feet as Carl collapsed onto him.
“THIS IS MY WAIFU FIGURINE POWERED DEATH-FIELD! IT WAS ALL A TRAP LIL WAYNE! I KNEW THAT YOU AND YOUR GAY CANADIAN LOVE INTEREST WERE COMING FOR MY DEMON SOUL AND I COULDN’T ALLOW THAT TO HAPPEN!” Steven Urkel seethed with rage as he spoke.
Drake subtly chuckled, nudging Lil Wayne. “Heh-heh, hey Dwayne…” Aubrey paused for comedic effect. “We… beez in his trap! Y’knowimsayin?” It took every fiber of Drake’s Reboot-ass being not to completely burst out laughing like he was looking at pictures of dead children.
“Sick, brah.” Lil Wayne said, high-fiving Drake. Then he turned back to Urkel. “So you’re the nigga-ass demon then, Urkel? The one that we was sent to cap?”
“THAT’S RIGHT, DWAYNE!” Urkel laughed maniacally as he held up a large science remote with a single, comically oversized button. “AND NOW ALL I HAVE TO DO IS PRESS THIS BUTTON TO KILL YOU!”