So I’m just sittin’ here, jammin’ to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, when my mother walks in. I turn to her and I says “Hey ma. Rolling Stone gave this like four stars in their interview. I guess I really am a musical genius.” She just looks at me and shakes her head slowly from side to side and walks her way upstairs. What does that woman not understand? This music of my creation be drippin’ with inspiration, you know what I’m sayin’? It’s an introspective look at society and its actions toward one another. When it comes to being the best, believe me, I is the best.

My name is Kanye West. Pronounced Kanye West. You may know me as “that one d bag who took the mic from Taylor Swift.” But she deserved it. And as a matter of fact, I is a very talented writer. My songs have changed generations of people. Some people be like “Kanye. Kanye man you can’t even play an instrument, Kanye.” But I’m pretty sure that they just joking. And it’s like man, you don’t even know. I put all my heart and soul into my music. Some people be like “Kanye. Kanye man your ego so big that it would make Oprah's look small.” And you know what I say to that? I say those words ain’t big enough for your dumb face. Now I realize that was a very witty comment and now you be plannin’ to use it on your friends and all. But listen, that comeback is copyrighted and if I catch you using it, I will sue you for all that you’re worth. Which ain’t much, right? Ha! Ouch. I’m so clever.

I recently went through a story of true self realization. It all started in my large, beautiful, grandose studio, eatin’ a chicken sandwich that my mom got me from KFC. I was laying down some sick auto tune on my voice. I genuinely believe-actually, I know that I have the greatest voice in the word. I feel like if all of the greek Gods were to become intimate with each other, and then have Fergie be a part of it, you would have my voice. It’s pitch perfect an absolutely smooth. I use the auto tune because it’s an artistic decision made by myself so I will become completely unique when faced against all of the other wannabe musicians. Anyways, as I applyin’ this auto tune, I realized, why am I doing this? I am a perfectly hardworking man who is unreasonably good at everything he tries, so why am I here? So I grabbed my diamond-studded coat and left the studio, off to join my real dream. Wrestling.

I’ve always loved the WWE, or World Wrestling Assosiashun because I’m just assumin’ that ya’ll didn’t know that but now you do because Kanye told you! So anyways I go to John Cena’s apartment. It’s a bad apartment. Terrible quality. Smashed windows. This man has no care for anything. He could learn a thing or two about self-respect. And I’m like “John. I got this mad body and these actin skills that need to be exercised.” now John took this in the wrong way. He says to me “Kanye. Kanye man I’m a lonely man too. We can make this work, Kanye.” It’s like no man! I wanna become a wrestler! So I promptly made him polish my shoes and I left his house, never to return again. And I said to my limo driver to go to the WWE presidents house, because we have bisnuss to discuss. He says to me “Kanye. Kanye man there is no president, Kanye.” And I says man, did I tell you to argue with me? And so we headed off to the WWE president’s house.

We arrive at MGM studios. I ring the doorbell and none other than James Cameron answers the door. I tell him about my dream and how I would truly become the only fan favorite because I’m so lovable in many ways. He says to me “Kanye. Kanye man I don’t resspec you or your music and I don’t think you have any skill whatsoever, Kanye.” I’m pretty sure he was joking of course. So I continue telling him all of the marvelous attributes that I contain, such as I can break through steel with two fingers alone. He tells me to prove it, and I say the acoustics in the room are not suitable for such a great task. So I break down his door and play the single note piano riff to Runaways on his piano and he stood there in his dumb little chair pretending not to be impressed. “Kanye.” he says. “Kanye man you got no talent.” He was very obviously joking. But he still made me leave his house. As I’m leaving I go “You think I care that I can’t be at your dumb house? You ain’t got nothin’! I have a coffee maker with my name engraved on it! And Avatar SUCKED!” I told James Cameron. Or better yet, James Camera! I just called James Cameron a camera. Ha ha. I must be some kinda comedic genius or somethin’.

I walked along the streets of LA alone, 99 Problems playing through my headphones. I be singin’ along, nailing all of the intense vocalizations. But just because Kanye is on top of the world doesn’t mean that Kanye is feelin’ good. As a matter of fact I felt down. I had just been told multiple times that I’ve got no talent. Now I realize that they just joking but it hurts me, you know? So I stop at my local bar and burst through the door. I go up to Jimmy, the dude behind the counter and in my most strictest voice I say “I need the entire stash of whatever you got because I be workin my entire manhood off and nobody cares. My father isn’t proud of me no matter what I do and each day I try and try and yet he still say that Kanye is a whiny little so and so who has to pretend to write songs so he can have friends. Now I realize you a little white bartender who probably has never written a hit record in his low little life, but let me tell you, my music makes me proud. And people have been tellin’ a lot of rude jokes towards me lately and I need to drink all of my sorrows away.” He says to me “Kanye. Kanye man you a selfish bitc-” That’s when I pulled my gun on Jimmy. I cap him. He starts cryin’ like a normal white bartender would. I help myself to a few pints of Crystal Champagne and leave.

I be walkin’ down the streets, dark and alone. This guy on the corner be sellin’ some square shaped candies. Looked kinda grainy but still extremely compelling to the human eye. “60 bucks, this stuff is wild” he tells me. So I buy some. I taste it and it’s relatively okay. Then I have a thought. I may be perfect but the rest of the world isn’t. I’m absolutely perfect. I drop to my knees on the sidewalk and shed a Kanye tear. The tear moistures the sidewalk and gives birth to a small tree, and it keeps growin’ and grown’ until I am surrounded by an absolute wonderland of power. Dr. Dre emerges from a tree leaf and says “Welcome to the Forest of Wonder and Magic For The Sons of Unimpressed Fathers.” He was surrounded by a beam of light. Birds are chirpin’, and a midget playin’ a harp is in the background somewhere. Then he says somethin’ that just really that really ticks me off. “Life is better here. You will never have to wait for your mom to make you pizza rolls again. Our ovens are fast. Join us, Kanye.” So I capped him. Join us? Nobody tells Kanye West what to do. As he lay there bleeding like little pansy Dr. Dre is, I wonder what to with my life. So I take the crown and become the supreme ruler of the Forest of Wonder and Magic For The Sons of Unimpressed Fathers. Michael Jackson starts performing a welcoming song for me. Apparently his dad didn’t like him either. We have a lot in common.
So I call my dad. “Dad.” I says. “Dad I ate some delicious candy and I’m a ruler now. I’m a supreme ruler. Aren’t you proud of me?” There’s a silence, and then Dad goes “So? You have to earn a title like that. And you have done anything but that. Hitler was a supreme ruler. My own son is a dictator. What kind of sick child have I raised.” Then it sounded like he was puttin’ what sounded like a gun-related object in his mouth. From what I was hearing over the phone it was obviously a very high calibre pistol, black in color but brown trim around the sides for extra artistic flair. “Huh” I thought. “Dad sure does have classy choice in suicide.” Then there was a gunshot.
Oh well. I didn’t like him anyway. He doesn’t even understand, man. Nobody does.