I figured I'll post them here every time I write a new one and update the thread here and there. here's the first one. Enjoy!
Pusha T gets home from a hard day of work as president of GOOD Music
“Goodnight, Rufus,” said Pusha T to the late night security man who was lounging in the security area of the massive, palatial building. Everyone had gone home. Pusha secretly always liked those long walks to the garage, with the building so quiet, unstirring, uneventful.
“Aye, night Mr. T!” chimed back Rufus, whose feet were propped up on the desk. He was digging around a huge bag of chips and was watching Thursday Night Football.
“Don’t work too hard now,” said Pusha, as he stepped into the elevator. Rufus gave a lazy thumbs up and went back to watching the game on his tiny little television. The elevator hummed to life and Pusha rested his back on rear wall of the elevator. He gently closed his eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief. Pusha drifted away, but like so many working men, his mind pulled him back to his work, and how he was going to make GOOD Music a successful label again.
When he had agreed to take the job as president of the label, he figured it would be an easy gig. Make a few announcements here and there, rap. Actually, with no business degree and no experience in running a label, Pusha generally thought that his role as president would largely consist of rapping, because that was his job. That is what it said on his resume. Now with each passing day, Pusha felt like he was incredibly out of his depth. The phone rang off the hook constantly. Malik Yusef was a terrible secretary, who had caused Pusha to miss a very important meeting. And the office coffee machine just broke, news that sent the troops into a downward spiral. To placate them, Pusha promised a pizza party on Friday, but accounting came by and said that a pizza party was definitely out of the question because of budgetary restraints and austerity measures, whatever the fukk that meant. Pusha laid his briefcase on the floor of the elevator and slowly undid his tie. He secretly dreaded coming back tomorrow morning.
The blinding lights from Pusha’s Prius lit up his garage door that slid up, the Prius silently shimmying into the garage, over the grease spot. Pusha shut his door and walked outside on his driveway. The sprinklers popped up and the grass became wet, shimmering, looking so prosperous, so verdant. Pusha grabbed his suitcase from the trunk and walked to the front door, where an empty and dark house awaited him. He grabbed the mail off the floor and looked through it. Bill. Bill. Bill. Bill. Oh, hey would you look at that, a Save The Date for Stacy and Evan. Pusha silently chuckled to himself and said, “Son of a bytch finally did it” under his breath.
He trudged into the kitchen and turned on the three lights that bathed the room in a soft light. Pusha placed the Save The Date card on the fridge with a GOOD Music magnet and opened the door. The chill of the fridge hit his face and Pusha stayed there for a moment, reveling in the sensation before realizing that he had no food to eat. There was a block of cheddar cheese, a couple of beers, a bottle of relish and a baking soda box that, for all Pusha knew, came with the fridge. The Arm & Hammer box gave Pusha an idea for a new rap about coke. But then his face fell. He didn’t know when he was going to be able to rap again with the new gig. He had the end of year reports coming up, and he had to fire CyHi The Prince tomorrow too. Pusha sighed, grabbed the cheese and some tortilla chips, rolled up his dress shirt sleeves and began shredding the cheese, carefully dispersing out the flakes on the plate full of chips. He placed the plate in the microwave as Pusha stared at the counter.
After his nachos dinner, Pusha walked up the steps to the bathroom. He silently ran a bath in the bathtub and lowered himself into the bubbles. Where Pusha usually equated his bathtub time with relaxation and luxuriant self-treatment, his baths now were opportunities for him to consider going underwater and ending it all. He ducked his braids underneath the water and came up gasping for air. He couldn’t do it, goddamn it.
Pusha dried off and went to his room. He put on his pajamas, silk ones emblazoned with the GOOD harp angel that Kanye had given to him as a congratulations on the new job and got into bed. He looked at his phone. 12:30. He had to get up again in six hours. The phone’s light shut off.
her t*ts arent near big enough
