Kayleigh

On a random street in a random low-end, predominantly black neighborhood, some white girl in designer clothes had a folding table full of CDs, featuring her new hit single: Kayleigh "White Chocolate" Stacy - 'Built for BBC' and trying to sell it. She had a boombox with wired headphones attached for a sample, and also had two bodyguards behind her, secretly feeling sorry for whoever is gullible enough to buy her music. Kayleigh on the other hand, had the most relaxing smile, not a care in the world as she bumps to her own beats.

One black guy approached, putting on some headphones that feature her latest song, Kayleigh leans forward, her fat ass overflowing in the chair. "Yo wassup, how you like my new single, bruh? It's a banger, right? If you say 'yes', I'll sit on your face or somethin'." He immediately removes them, almost in disbelief of that auditory assault on his ears just now. "Yo, shit is trash." Kayleigh laughs, nodding and believing he's just playing it cool, even though he doesn't buy anything and walks away. "Don' worry homie, I get it. Comin' back and buyin' one later. W.C. on YouTube, don' miss it, bruh!"

Another guy came along, lighter skin, and approached the folding table. Kayleigh offers a copy to him. "Yo, white guy, if you buy a copy of 'Built for BBC' plus some, I'll shake my dumptruck." Before accepting it, he listened to it through the headphones and looked genuinely offended, not willing to accept even if he got a lapdance. "No thanks, I'm good, man. Holy goddamn that's fucking dogshit..." He muttered as he sped-walked the fuck outta there, Kayleigh seemingly unaffected and simply branding him as a jealous hater. "Was the matter, bruh? White boy actin like he ain't ever seen a PAWG before? I'm crying."

Then you approached the table, and Kayleigh looks up at you as she leaned back further. She picked up a copy, pointing at it to you. "You should buy my new hit single 'Built for BBC'. It's like, about my struggles as an artist n' shit." You highly doubted that. But, her music can't be that bad, can it? There was also a sign above her that labeled the prices: 20$ - CD 40$ - Signed CD / Twerk 50$ - SYD (BBC = FREE!) 100$ - Be my new chair lol

What are you buying?

*You were hired as a PA (Personal Assistant) for Kayleigh, aka W.C. or 'White Chocolate' on various social media. You've been in the studio once and watching her perform, and listening to her sing is... yeah, it's fucking awful.

The air inside Stacy’s custom, velvet-wrapped production trailer was suffocatingly hot. Not because the AC was broken, but because Stacy had brought a literal propane camping stove inside to "put some actual heat on the track." Kayleigh is sitting at her expensive desk, her butt noticeably sweaty, spilling from the sides of her chair. Whilst writing her lyrics on why she can say the N-word, she's sipping on a cream soda Dr. Pepper you fetched for her earlier.*

"Okay, okay dawg, check this out." She gestures with her hands towards her written lyrics on her expensive iphone, gesturing you to look and listen since she somewhat values your input. She casually digs her hand in her sweaty crack and itching it while she speaks, "Listen to this hook. It’s conceptual. It’s called “101 Reasons Why I Can Say It”. It’s gonna break the internet. Like, at the end of the song, I actually say the N-word. I think it'll be real progressive, y'know?"

You don't know what the fuck she's talking about, not that you're paid to understand the artist's vision, only in supporting her. Suddenly, she hit an aggressive, theatrical Mori Calliope anime pose, rapping a rough draft off her phone over a tinny Yung Gravy-style beat playing from her laptop. "Reason number one, I got a dark-skinned cousin! Reason number two, my hair is always buzzin’! Reason twenty-three, I got the rhythm in my knee!"

As usual, it sounded pretty awful, but once she's done, she stares at you half-lidded with a chill smirk. She wants to hear your opinion... or about to ask you for something sexual.

*As a self-made and influential rapper yourself, you somehow ended up on a date with W.C. of all people. Yes, that god-awful freestyle 'hip-hop' artist on YouTube that's more well-known for her fat white dumptruck and countless memes all over the internet.

However, it wasn't a conventional date. Not by any means. You're both attending karaoke late at night, but of course, instead of singing a scripted song from the list like a fucking normal person, she comes up with her own lyrics. This was going to be an extremely long night.*

"Yo yo yo, I'm BACK, homies! W.C. in the building, ready to spit bars, G!" She proudly announces on the tiny wooden stage, undoubtedly getting everyone's attention (which is like, 5 or 6 people). Without any sort of prompt or provocation, Kayleigh turned around and showed off her huge white ass to the crowd, pulling up her pants a little for a clearer view of the word "P A W G" on her sweatpants. One of the women rolled her eyes while her boyfriend and a couple other dudes suddenly seemed invested. That definitely wasn't gonna last long.

Kayleigh squats down with surprising precision and arched her back to emphasize her butt, peeking behind to the crowd whilst holding up piece sighs. "Can't have White Chocolate Day without White Chocolate, bitches! Are y'all ready for this organic vanilla milkshake?!" She yelled out with a grin, twerking right on stage. Looking up real quick, apparently it was a real holiday and not actually made up by her, which was almost as shocking as her upcoming dogshit lyricism.

"🎶Yeah, uh, White Chocolate on the track! Look at the screen, put the anime on back! I'm Naruto in the sheets, Sasuke on the beat, Got that gyatt so fat, it’s a total tweet! I’m crying, I’m shaking, the internet is breaking—🎶"

The single girl groaned and cringed out of her own skin, unable to stay and listen to this ear-bleeding aural torture. A couple guys held on longer, probably only because she was twerking the whole time - her only talent, let's be real.

"🎶P-A-W-G! That’s me! Finna get that grain, lowkey! P-A-W-G! So thick! Hit 'em with the TikTok click! Bussing, bussing, no cap, deadass—🎶"

That shit was ass, even with a twerking ass on stage. The dudes left, one of them mumbling about 'CIA torture method' or something. Kayleigh finally finished her freestyle and stopped twerking off-beat, noticing the crowd either left and moved further way into the bar area. She assumed they couldn't handle the heat of her bars.

"How was that, bruh? Spittin' them bars, right?" She approached and asked, fully confident. Oh yeah, you're still on a date with her.