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Chapter Text

When Lil Wayne came to, he was lying face down on his horse dick. His eyes slowly opened, and he heard the sound of a middle-aged brutha talking at him.

“Are you alright, son?” The old, graying man nudged the rapper with his foot, trying to illicit some sort of response from him. The busy school hallway was starting to get congested as students slowed to see what was happening.

“Nigga, I ain’t ever gon’ be alright ‘til my baby Blaggy and I are reunited by love!” Lil Wayne shouted at him. He got up and looked around, and noticed all the poorly-dressed muthafuckas lookin’ like theys was being dressed up by Square-ass Enix or some shit.

“Well alright son,” the teacher replied, a look of genuine concern on his face, “But you need to move along, class will be starting soon and you don’t want to be late.” The man took a step away from Lil Wayne and turned to all of the students who had stopped, “That goes for all of you! Hurry up and move along.” And, with the elder man’s command, the hallway quickly started flowing again with no one wanting to go against authority this early in the school year.

Just as Lil Wayne stood up and found his footing, a small blue-haired retard ran up to him at mach-speed, screaming his fuck-mothering lungs out. Lil Wayne didn’t recognize the “boy” as he ran up to him.

“SHIT Lil Wayne,” The boy, Black Star, shouted, “It looks like a witch knocked you flat on your ass.” Lil Wayne, who was shocked by the lil nigga that was currently accosting him, went to reply but was immediately cut off.

“I’m glad to see that you’re okay, though! We need to get to class! Today is the day that the Sorting Hat assigns us our Meisters!” Black Star laughed obnoxiously and clapped Lil Wayne on the shoulder.

“Nigga, why you be calling ‘yo self Black Star when you be whiter than Patrick Carney in a snowstorm, my honkey-tonk niggardly nig?” Lil Wayne asked the honkey-tonk niggardly nig. “And why the fuck is you acting like I know your white ass?”

“Oh Dwayne,” Black Star laughed, still obnoxiously, “You’re so funny. Now let’s get going, I wouldn’t want to get assigned a fat weapon.”  Black Star ran off, clearly expecting Lil Wayne to follow.

After taking a long-ass hit off his emergency blunt (to ensure he’d be able to make it through this shit, ‘yo), Lil Wayne absent-mindedly followed the Mr. Potato Head-ass muhfuh. In a matter of minutes, they arrived in the coliseum like auditorium and took their seats. Lil Wayne, not wanting to deal with this shit, took a seat at the back where he could hit his blunt in peace. Black Star, being a prick, followed.

Lil Wayne and POC Star took their sits and the Young Money rapper did his best to try and filter out what the mosquito ass nigga beside him was buzzing on about.  He was snapped out of his dank ass kush induced haze moments later when two other young boys took the seats in front of them.

“OH HEY GUY S,” Black Star said with another annoying fucking laugh as he grinned at them, “this is my friend Lil Wayne, he’s a Meister too! Dwayne, this is Death teh Kid and Draco Malfoy! They’re in our class.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lil Wayne.” Death the Kid said, extending a hand for the rapper to shake. Wayne didn’t touch that shit.

“Grrrrrugugureeerggg,” Draco moaned, kicking his head back and opening his mouth as wide as he could.

“Oh don’t mind him,” Death said with an embarrassed shake of his head as he tried not to stare at his sperg king friend, “He cut his tongue out in seventh grade so that he would be edgier than his friends who got to go to the Blood on the Dance Floor concert.”

“GRURURURUGGGGRU,” Draco retorted, “GR GRU GR GRU GRU GURUUU!”

“That’s some hardcore-ass shit, my Nig Dug,” Lil Wayne said, his high starting to kick like it was Chris Brown at a fashion show. “That’s like what happened with my friend Lil Debbie back in high school. She got her start watching Cops reruns on TV as a kid, and that already turned her edgier than a dodecahedron. But then she started wearing Dead Kennedys shirts and carving the anarchy logo into her desks in middle school, and then she was so brooding she could’ve been in Starcraft: Brood War. But then in high school, her edginess reached a singularity, and her body completely inverted in grimdarkness. You should’ve seen it. It was like Pearl Harbor all over again.” Lil Wayne reminisced, a single tear running down his black face.

“Damn, fuck, pizza.” Draco said, the edginess of that moment absorbing his own edginess and temporarily restoring his tongue, “That’s like some next leve-GRUGURUGULR.”

Lil Wayne was about to speak again, but he was cut off when a teacher stepped into the room and started to speak. Lil Wayne was tired of niggas interrupting him up in this bitch. “Attention Meisters,” the tall, dark haired man said, “my name is Professor Snape, and it is now time for you all to get your weapons. You will be called one by one for the sorting hat to sort, once you have been given your weapon you will have the rest of the day to get acquainted with them before training and classes truly begin. Understood? Good. Then I will begin. First up… Black Star.”

“THAT’S ME!” Black Star shrieked, popping out of his seat and running down the aisle to where Snape was waiting. “I’m ready I’m ready I’m ready to get sorted!”

Black Star was quieted as Snape struck him across the face, hard, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Be quiet, boy.” Snape said as he slowly leaned down to remove one of his boots, “Behavior such as yours will not be tolerated here at DWMPA, and I will punish you before you get sorted. Now, take off your pants.”

Black Star, who was turned on by violence play and rough BDSM, quickly complied, and Snape moved forward to begin inserting his foot into Black Star’s Black hole. Lil Wayne sat in his seat, watching with a look of shock on his face. “NIGGA, I DIDN’T KNOW WE’S WAS IN INDIA. WHAT THE CHRIST FUCK MUHAMMED FUCK SHIT GRAVE DIGGA.” Lil Wayne shouted as he collapsed to the floor in shock.

“This is Death Weapon Meister Punishment Academy,” Death the Kid said quietly, making sure to not take his eyes off his friend’s anus. Snape was knee deep in Black Star now and Death was sure that anyone caught looking away would find themselves in a similar situation, “the Meister school where teachers are encouraged to punish their students with sexual violence.”

“IT HURTS SO GOOD!” Black Star shrieked, “DADDY IS STEPPING ON MY THROAT AND IT HURTS SO GOOD!”

“You see, children. Disobedience will not be tolerated here at DWMPA. Now, while we give mister Black Star a chance to learn his lesson, let’s have another student come down to get sorted.”  Snape, who was wearing Black Star like a pair of Wellingtons, walked over to the list of names on his desk. “Now Let’s see here… Lil Wayne! Lil Wayne, come to be sorted!”

In a fit of awkward reservation, Lily calmly and slowly stood up and made his way down to ground level to be sorted out as well. “Aight, let’s do ‘dis sh--- I mean, uh, junk…” Lil Wayne stopped himself, lest he get Snape spelunking his cave with his entire bottom half like it was Ramadan in Miami 2009 all over again.

 Snape guided Wayne onto a stool and placed an ugly looking wizard’s hat on his head. Wayne was about to ask what the point of all this fucking shit was, when that bitch hat started talking. “Hm… Most curious,” it said slowly, “So many options, so many candidates, but who’s the best one? Dick Cheney? No… Hm. I give you… Drake!”

With maple syrup tears running down his Canadian-ass face, Drake slowly approached Lil Wayne like it was their wedding and he was walking down the aisle. “Dwayne… my love…” Drizzy said, his tongue dangling out of his mouth, perhaps to spite Draco. “It’s been far too long… I have so many questions…” Drake continued.

After clearing his throat, he began. “Do you love this shit? Are you high right now? Do you ever get nervous? I heard you fucked Rod, is it true? Is you makin’ money? Do you think those niggas you with is with you?”

And Lil Wayne was like, “Fuck no! I told you I wasn’t in for this shit and I still ain’t! He ripped the sorting hat off of his head and started running towards the door, “I love Rod Blagojevich, Aubrey! Not your half-black ass!” He stormed out of the auditorium, leaving a crowd of awed spectators behind him.

Drake stared after him, his tears flowing more freely than ever before.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed since that fateful-ass day when the Sorting Hat had paired Drake with Lil Wayne. Wayne continued to not give a fuck, and spent his days going to class, smoking bud with his crew, and doing his best to avoid that Canadian-ass nigga that had no right to be here. He was also getting into macramé. In spite of this, Drake never ceased his advances towards Wayne, which only served to piss the Rich Gang Meister off.

It was during one of Lil Wayne’s “Basement Sessions” with his crew, Black Star, Death the Kid, and the tongueless Draco Malfoy, who was still learning to speak Drake’s language, Rosetta Stone, that everything changed. Snape walked in on that shit, prompting everyone to start swearing and try to hide their dank-ass shit. Snape immediately blamed Black Star for all of the illegal activities going on, and back-handed him hard. Once Black Star was spread on the floor, Snape locked his eyes on Lil Wayne.

“LOL Wayne, I can has a mishun for you!!!!!!111” Snape said with such teh randomnezz. He was wearing a bucket hat and a Bleach T-shirt that Dwayne KNEW was from Hot Topic. Lil Wayne did a double take, wondering if this weed was just the dankest that ever danked or if it was laced with some nasty-ass shit, like ipecac. With his double take, Wayne saw that Snape wasn’t, in fact, kawaii, but was just his plain-ass, ugly-ass, decrepit-ass self. He glared at Lil Wayne.

“Hurry along to my office, Young Money man, we have little time to waste.” He turned and started to walk away, but he paused at the door and looked back at Black Star. “You come to my office later, slut. I have to punish you for all of this weed.”

Lil Wayne looked reluctant, but he ultimately decided to follow along. “Aight, Nig the Cat, let’s do dis shit.” Wayne replied to Snape as he got his ass up and headed for the dizoor. Snape nodded and left the room, leading Lil Wayne to his office.

Snape’s office was on the third floor of DWMPA and was cush as shit. There were posters of naked anime women all over the walls, and instead of some normcore-ass wooden chairs, there were instead some rad-ass dank-ass straight-up anti-capitalist-ass beanbag-ass chairs. The only lighting in the room was provided by Snape’s large collection of lava-ass lamps, which sat in an ornate-ass case behind his desk. As they walked in, Lil Wayne realized that they weren’t the first to arrive. Seated in a Rainbow Dash-print beanbag chair, Drake was sitting there with baited breath, fondling his erect swoolen member through his True Religion jeans, waiting for Lil Wayne and Snape to return.

As they entered, he sprung to his feet, a huge grin on his half-black face. “Dwayne, I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. I don’t want anyone else to have your heart, kiss your lips, be in your arms, be the only one you love. I don’t want anyone to take my place. I’m your weapon and yo nigga and I don’t want anything to ever change that.” Drake unhinged his pants, and let his Death Scythe hang loose.

Lil Wayne slapped that shit. “Nigga how many times do I gotta be telling you that if your ass ain’t Rod Blagojevich’s I don’t want even a mini-me sized piece. When you gonna get it through your skull that I don’t need my lover to be easy, I need them to be worth it.” Lil Wayne closed his eyes and stuck his fingers in his ears and heard no evil, saw no evil, Hellen Keller.

Before Drake could respond, Snape cut them both off. “Quiet down, young men. This is an important task for you guys.” Snape walked up to his Inuyasha poster, a nude image of Kagome Higurashi, and reached up to contemplatively stroke its thigh. “It is time for you to go out and kill your first demon, this is very important because you need to kill ninety-nine of them and a witch if you  want to graduate high school.”

“Snaper, no Snaping.” Drake replied. “Aight my soulmate, we’sa gonna go kill thems demons together.”

Lil Wayne, however, was hesitant. “But SnapeCracklePop my nigga, I don’t wanna be doing shit with this maple flavoured motherfucker. He’s gon’ be grabbin’ up on my Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels and shit.” Lil Wayne pulled out his emergency joint. Snape normally wouldn’t allow it, but Wayne had a terrible addiction and couldn’t help it. If you know someone who suffers from weed addiction, please call 1-888-581-7845. You CAN make a difference.

“You don’t have a choice, Dwayne. You and Drake are together forever now, he’s your scythe and you’re his meister.” Snape angrily clarified. His stroking of Kagome’s thigh was becoming vigorous now.

Lil Wayne lowered his head. Boy what he wouldn’t give for one of those sick-ass Lizzie-ass McGuire-ass blowjays rights about the fuck now. “Nigga I ain’t together with no one but Rod Blagojevich, right now, over me.” Lil Wayne shouted.

“Shshshshshshshshsh…” Drake added. Lil Wayne glared at the Kraft Dinner-snorting cuntlord.

“You aren’t helping, you Kraft Dinner-snorting cuntlord.” Lil Wayne said, taking another hit off of his emergency joint. The room was getting so hazy that it was like a sauna filled with loving men.

“Be quiet both of you. I will hear no if ands or butts. You will fight  the demons together, or else you will both fail high school and have to pay thousands of dollars in fees. Now go. The portal will open in three… two… one… thank you for helping us help you help us all.” Portals opened beneath Wayne and Aubrey as Snape finished. Snape began gently stroking Kagome’s vag-hair as the two fell into the portal. Y’all know that shit, motherfucker! Suddenly, an overriding sensation came over Snape. He immediately disrobed and jumped onto the floor head-first. He began rigorously fucking the portal, and it felt so good. It was almost as if he had Stephen Totilo from Kotaku sucking his poontangy-tangy-tang. Just then, as he was about to bust a mad nut, the portal closed, taking Snap’s mauve avenger with him.

“Welp,” Snape said melancholily as his dick was ripped away from him like a child from a meth addicted mother. “Just wait until #GamerGate hears about this.”

This was all about ethics.

Chapter Text

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!”

Chapter Text

Previously, on Family Matters…

“Shit, Drake,” Lil Wayne started, immediately recognizing the city from one of his tours, “we’s in Chicago.”

…

“My name is Carl Winslow, and I have a five centimeter penis. That’s tiny right?” He laughed. “What’s your guys’ names?”

…

“Wowee! My wife loves Rich Gang! You‘re definitely coming over to get some meatloaf.”

…

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.

…

“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!”

“Shit nigga,” Dwayne ‘Lil Wayne’ Carter started. “Dis right here is all powered wit’ Japanese Anime Waifu figurines?” Lil Wayne was an expert in this field, and was incredibly impressed by the progress that had been made during his week of absence.

“YES IT IS DWAYNE!” Urkel exclaimed, his pants vibrating rhythmically as he approached them, his finger still floating over the button that would spell our heroes’ demise. “THE TECHNOLOGY YOU’RE SEEING HERE TO DAY IS THE TRUE CUTTING EDGE. THE CULMINATION OF YEARS OF ADVANCED WAIFU RESEARCH.”

“Well shit nigga.” Lil Wayne said, with a smile and a very very sultry nod. “Then I’s only got one questions fo’ yo’ ass.” Lil Wayne pause all dramatically. Tryin’ to make Urkel  tremble with antici…

…

…

…

pation.

“Who be yo waifu?”

Steve laughed at the genuine question, for in his mind, there was really only one possible answer. Not just for him, but for any nigga who dared consider themselves an affluent waifu connoisseur. 

“AS IF THERE IS ANY COMPETITION, RYUKO FROM KILL LA KILL, BIG GUY.” Steve gave a snort-intensive chuckle to himself as he pulled out his cum-stained figurine.

“Well shit, Urkel.” Drake said, standing up and reaching deep into his pants. “That’s just too bad fo yo dumb ass. Cuz any nigga with half a brain knows that Ryuko be a scissors-ass Waifu.”

“OF COURSE, AUBREY. BUT WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?” Urkel looked up from his beloved waifu figurine, genuine confusion passing over his face.

“Well, as any kindergarten nigga can tell you, Rock beats scissors.” And, with that, Drake revealed his waifu as he pulled his Dwayne the Rock Johnson anime figurine from his pants. The resulting clash of energies caused a distortion of spacetime unlike anything that had been seen before. A flash of light filled the room and when everynigga could see again, the force field had shattered and Urkel was sprawled out on the floor, his precious figurine desecrated. Drake and Lil Wayne barely managed to stand while Carl collapsed to the ground, still crying about how his wife had been brutally murdered by the Artist Formerly Known as Urkel.

Urkel groaned, his body twitching in pain. “I’VE FALLEN AND I CAN’T GET UP!” He cried, the oft-repeated phrase triggering one of the house’s failsafes.

Drake and Lil Wayne watched as panels in the ceiling opened up, dropping down all the parts required for him to ascend to his final form, Mecha Urkel. Lil Wayne gasped as he gazed upon the seven foot, plasma cannon-armed behemoth that now stood before them.

“LOOK WHAT YOU DID.” Mecha Urkel said, his gatling gun cock starting to spin up as he bared down on the seemingly defenseless rap duo.

“You know, Lil Wayne, I always meant to tell you that you the only nigga for me, and I always said that you only live once, but you never really realise how numbered your days are until you’re no longer alive e’rryday, e’rryday, e’rryday, e’rryday…” Drake continued to rap the entirety of “The Motto” as everyone around him tried desperately to awkwardly pretend they didn’t notice.

Eventually Lil Wayne put a stop to all this shit because, as the prophet DMX once said, ’I show no love to homo thugs.’

“Oh shut up, Drake. I is all for Rod Blagojevich and ain’t no amount of bad rap gon’ have you steal my heart, even if it be the sweetest damn thing I done ever heard, nigga.”

Drake felt his heart go doki doki as the other man satisfied his humiliation fetish. He could hear that Dwayne was denying his love, but he knew deep down that eventually the other rapper would come around. He knows, deep down, that his soul mate wouldn’t leave him runnin’ through the 6 with his woes.

“Aight Dwayne but we’s about to die.” He gestured to the speed at which Urkel’s ‘gatling gun’ was spinning. “So either you be suggestin’ a plan, or we’s gonna be iced like all of my hometown.”

As much as Wayne h8’d to admit it, Abraham Nigcoln was right. He needed to think of a plan, and fast. Lil Wayne went to subtly reach for his Glock. He pulled it out and kept it out of sight. Han Solo.

Urkel, being somewhere near omnipotent in his mech form, immediately saw what was going on and put a stop to it with his death laser, blasting Lil Wayne’s Glock away like it was the public’s interest in the music of Tyler, The Creator. “DID I DO THAT?” Mecha Urkel called, his annoying laugh reminding Lil Wayne of a chapter gone by.

“Well shit, Drake,” Lil Wayne said, a frown on his face, “I think we’re going to have to do the one thing I don’t wanna do.”

“You’re gonna let me penetrate your rectum with my moose antlers?” Drake asked hopefully.

“Nah, Eleanor Nigby,” Lil Wayne said with a frown, wishing shit could be no-homo like it was fifth grade. “I’m gonna need you to become my weapon. I didn’t want nor need you just a day ago, as I had my trusty Glock and my horse-cock at my disposal. But now, I…” Lil Wayne almost choked on the homosexuality.

“...I need you.”

Upon hearing this, Drake came fast like 911 in white neighbourhoods. “D-Dwayne… you… want me to be your weapon?” Drake’s eyes were watering like Lil Wayne had just blazed another fat one.

“Yes, Drake. I want to use you to knock down bad guys like Bush knocked down the towers.” Nothing anybody could say could convince Lil Wayne that that wasn’t a made-for-TV event. THERMITE WAS FOUND AT GROUND ZERO.

In that moment, Drake felt complete. His body filled with tingling excitement. He felt himself being lifted into the air slowly, but surely. He could feel his body going up, on a Tuesday. His body did a twirl or two as his body contorted and imploded onto itself like this was some Pac-Man-ass shit. A beam of white light emanated from Drake’s horrifically contorted, not-quite-human body, which was surprising considering Drake is black. No one could even bear to look at Drake, ‘cos the money in the way.

Lil Wayne was shocked as ever. “Ay ‘yo, Nigg.com, what’s happenin’ to ‘yo ass? Is you turnin’ into some freakay-ass voodoo-ass nigga?” Lil Wayne hadn’t been this confused since he first found out that Young Thug was successful.

Eventually the light faded and people could finally look at Drake, who had transformed into a diamond-studded bong. Huge pillars of smoke billowed comically out of his mouthpiece.

Lil Wayne could barely contain himself, and he proceeded to take the longest hit he had ever taken. When he finally pulled back, he was higher than Snoop Dogg on his tip-toes on top of Mount Everest.

“Are you ready to trash this fool, homie?” Drake said telepathically to Lil Wayne, the power of his smoke beginning to hot-box the entire kitchen.

Lil Wayne stared at the bong for a long time, thoroughly confused about how he was hearing Drake’s voice. “Nigga, how are you talking to me? Smoke signals?”

“No Dwayne, I’m in your head. And, if things go my way, soon I’m gonna be in your pants too.” Drake continued to speak to Lil Wayne, his mouthpiece beginning to release a bit more smoke than usual.

Lil Wayne tried to hit Y to pull his bicycle out of his pocket to get the fuck away from this shit, but Drake stopped him.

Drake’s words echoed. “There’s a time and place for everything, but not now.”

Carl Winslow was still on the floor crying.

Lil Wayne picked up the newly bongified Drake, holding it like a bludgeoning weapon. He looked at Mecha Urkel and went into fighting stance. It was on.

“We got you, nigga…

…

…

…

…

…

“…grocery bag.”

Chapter Text

“YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFY ME, PITIFUL RAPPER? FACE THE WRATH OF MECHA URKEL!!!1!” Mecha Urkel fired his BIG ASS dakimakura launcher as he screamed. The plush, naked body of his Kill La Kill waifu slamming into Carl Winslow at full force. The impact of the blow caused his entire bottom half to fly across the room, while his upper body was disconnected from his stomach region, leaving Lil Wayne and co. to wonder if his upper and lower body would get joint custody of the stomach.

“Damn, Drake mah nigga, did you see that shit? Mr. Winslow looks like some kinda fuck-ass 4chan-ass gore thread.” Lil Wayne shouted, taking another long draw from the Bong of Destiny. He turned slowly to look Mecha Urkel in the eyes. “You know what them niggas say ‘bout me, don’tcha Urkel?”

“WHAT DO THEY SAY, LIL WAYNE?” Urkel asked, his dakimakura launcher trained on the Young Money hoodrat. He was ready to kill his bitch ass, but was also curious about what people said, so he decided to give him a few moments of his time. Like he did with Mormons when they came to his house. He didn’t care what they were saying, but talking to them made him feel like he was less dead inside.

Lil Wayne raised the Bong of Destiny into the air and smoke began to pour from it. “When it Wayne’s’ it pours, nigga!”

There was an explosion, and the whole room was filled with smoke. Mecha Urkel couldn’t see, and the smoke made his eyes and lungs burn in a way that wasn’t totally unpleasant. He allowed himself to bask in it for a few moments, enjoying the nice-ass buzz he was feeling. But then it hit him.

“REEFER MADNESS! REEFER MADNESS!” Mecha Urkel cried out, firing his dakimakura launcher randomly around the room. “THIS NEVER WOULD’VE HAPPENED IN THE EARLY 90’S, BEFORE THE LIBTARDS GOT A HOLD OF THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA AND DESTROYED OUR AMERICAN VALUES OF CHRISTIANITY AND GUNS.”

Luckily for Lil Wayne, he had retreated to a ceiling gargoyle so Mecha Urkel’s waifu pillows were totally ineffective. It was Arkham Asylum all up in this biznatch. With his head up in the clouds and his dick swingin’ down low, he fixed his bong’s sights on Top Urkek and prayed, for what was to happen next was something nobody could’ve ever dreamed of.

“I call this attack Weezy F, baby. And the ‘F’ is for phenomenal!” In the blink of an eye, Dwayne tipped the Bong of Destiny over and began to pour his dank-ass, fire-ass, top-of-the-line-ass molten bong water all over Mecha Urkel’s body. The move saw little to no effect on Mecha Urkel, and he didn’t show many signs of it doing any actual damage. In fact, with the way he made giddy noises when attacked with the bong water, it almost seemed as if he derived some sort of sick enjoyment from the searing pain.

“Ew, what the fuck, man, why would you find pleasure in such a gross move?” Lil Wayne asked, Urkinkshaming Mecha Urkel.

“DO NOT JUDGE ME FOR WHAT I LIKE, LIL WAYNE. I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOUR HOLIDAY RETREATS WITH ROD BLAGOJEVICH. I KNOW THAT CHAINS AND WHIPS EXCITE YOU.” Mecha Urkel re-aimed his deadly weapon and fired a waifu pillow of cross-dressing Ciel from Black Butler, with his Jolly Rancher-ass dick hangin’ right out. The aiming was wholly inaccurate thanks to the dank-ass smokescreen set by the Bong of Destiny, however, and the pillow simply struck the gargoyle, sending Wayne falling into the smoke below.

“Shit, Wayne! That was the best attack I got and it didn’t do anything to him! What are we going to do, my darling beautiful daddy?” Drake whispered into Wayne’s mind, sending shivers down his spine that he didn’t need, or want, to feel.

“I guess it goes to show that, like always, you ain’t nothing but a useless-ass, broke-ass maple syrup nigga,” Lil Wayne said, bemoaning the maple syrup nigga. “But don’t worry, my homie G, I gots one last trick up my Burberry sleeve. I’ma need to take a quick succ off you, though, mah nig.”

Drake’s eyes lit up like it was the Bombing of Baghdad all over again. “D-Dwayne-senpai, you want sum succ??? ;)”

With hesitation, Dwayne nodded, and proceeded to take the longest, most life-affirming bong hit in the whole world. A bong hit with the impact of a goddamn speeding train. Not even Drake knew what was coming next, but he trusted that his sweet, caring daddy would know exactly what to do to get them out of this pickle.

Power began to swirl around Lil Wayne, filling the room with a bright yellowish light. It was like this nigga was going Super Saiyan, but ain’t no nigga got the hair for that.

The force of his powering up cleared the room of smoke, leaving the rappers and Mecha Urkel face to face. “AH, THERE YOU ARE WAYNE! YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HIDE FROM ME BUT NOW THE SMOKE IS GONE, JUST LIKE MY PARENTS.” Mecha Urkel turned to the camera, a sad look on his face. “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan started to softly play. “Please come home mom and dad. I miss you.”

Lil Wayne felt nothing and did not waste any time. He rushed towards Mecha Urkel, running with his arms behind him like he was a Naruto-ass nigga. It was Lil Wayne’s ninja way. Believe it.

“Now it’s time for my special attack, nigga!” Lil Wayne cried out, pulling his gun from his waistline. One shot rung out, and Mecha Urkel was dead. Urkel exploded into a near-unwatchable pool of hyper-realistic blood and internal organs, which exploded all across the room, covering the entire set.

“...D-Did… Did I do that?” Urkel asked, muttering his final words before falling to the ground and lying immobile, where he would stay until they took over the place to start shooting Fuller House.

Lil Wayne surveyed the room, feeling like he was on top of the motherfucking world.

“That was easier than it should have been, daddy.”

Wayne shuddered as Drake spoke into his mind, still not used to the fact that it felt like that maple leaf-ass nigga was whispering into his ear. “That what Young Money does. We win.”

Lil Wayne surveyed the room before his eyes locked onto the corpse of Carl Winslow. A deep sadness filled his dank-ass soul. He approached the upper half of the body, nudging it with his foot. “It’s a shame that he died, Wayne.” Drake said quietly, mirroring his daddy’s sadness. “I was excited for that meat loaf.”

Lil Wayne nodded. Carl had become a very close friend to him, and it hurt to see him go. “So what do we do now, Drake?” Wayne asked, unsure of what to do.

Drake remained silent for several long moments before speaking, seemingly lost in deep consideration. “Press F to pay your respects.”