An uplifting story about you.

I have written a story for you on ILX because I love you. Please enjoy this story. Thank you. Vote for me. ORNALOD XXO

It was any normal day, nice and sunny and a great 70 degrees. Just the type of day that makes a person want to take a walk. With Latrell Sprewell down the streets of Inwood. "Where the fuck is that Jeter bitch," he asks, forgetting that Jeter doesn't even play basketball. All of a sudden Latrell finds himself stricken with a robot arm that shoots green lazers from the elbow. After an unfortunate "accident" involving a motorcycle and an elderly stockbroker with a limp who is into buttfucking movies, Latrell decides that he must devote his life to Greenpeace. Initiantion, however, was more involved than he thought. He was a man of the streets, but what these treet hugging hippies put him through even his pyrotechnic cousin (give name Shathead) couldn't handle. This would prove to be the turning point in his life: should he start the hoops or blast these long-haired, soap ignorant new wave hooker anime girls. Led by Mariah Carey, these so-called women were enough to turn him off both hoops and dolphins forever. "God, what should I do," Latrell often found himself saying. Loudly, to himself, on the subway. Eventually the cops became suspicious of this panting half-man, half-=cyborg and his troop of hooker girls. Suddenly on day, Costanble Anthony came into the tubeway and shouted down to Latrell, "Hey boy, is that a reefer?" and it seemed to echo forever, like when you're in a really long tunnel and you yell something dumb down it to hear what the echo sounds like. Latrell threw down the offending bud and took off running, cutting through the subway doors with his lazer arm, trying to find a route of escape. He found himself inexplicably on the Upper East Side...of PARIS. "What the fuck?" said Latrell. "i'm not supposed to be here."

Suddenly he hears the beautiful melody of "Drop It Like It's Hot". After diggin' the vibes for a brief moment, he grabes his satellite phone from his pocket to see that Shathead is trowing him a ring. "Look, bi-ot-izi-itch, we shootin' hoops or what?" said Shathead. "Listen," replied Latrell, "I've kinda got a situation here." He found himself relaying the story, as he understood it, to his cousin. After the unpelasant denial of a b-ball game, he hung up the pholne and realized a chihuahua was staring suspiciously at him. As Latrell continued to walk, he heard a voice. It was coming from the alleyway where Serge Gainsbourg once lived. He peered down it and saw RAVER BUGS.

"Holy shit," he said, "What the fuck was in that weed?" It was at that moment in which Latrell realized that he should be fighting crime. Then the author made an obscure literary reference to something by Virginia Woolfe. Something about rural farms in the Phillipines. What in the fuck, now everybody's confused. Except Latrell. Latrell and his robot arm. They be on a mission. To the Phillipines. He must go, but first he had to collect all the glowing francs on the neighboring streets. As his Pac-Manesque adventure began, his lazer arm started to vibrate. Latrell willed his panic into a more controlled part of his mind and took a look. After only a few minutes, he realized he had accidentally actilvated his "Love Machine Mode".

What does this do, the reader might ask. I'll tell you. I'll tell you good, son. It creates the most horrible thing known to man. An unstoppable evil. No one can survive it. What is it??

MONKEY.
ROBOT.
KNIFE.
FITE.