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Poly Poppers

There be some rumour goin’ around, ya naa, that people these days be havin’ full-blown romantic flings which involve more dan one partner.

Now don’t get me wrong; Big Slim ain’t usually one to turn down an opportunity to take on a multitude of Big Booty Judy’s all at once.

This stud muffin? He’s got da tools in the box when it comes to stuffin’ the ragamuffin, mon.

But this so-called polyamory I’ve been hearin’ so much about lately? I wouldn’t touch it with me ten-inch tent pole, ya get me?

For anyone who may need help to get their heads around this one, ‘ear me out. Polyamorous relationships tend to only function well when all partners involved get one another’s informed consent.

In other words? It be a mutual agreement between those who consider themselves more dan just good friends.

People who see themselves as polyamorous are said to adopt a conscious management of jealousy, rejectin’ da view dat sexual and relational exclusivity are prerequisite for deep, committed, long-term relationships – which sure as shit rules you two dick lickin’, douche bagel, motha fockers out, innit.

Ya naa, homies, ever since I arrived in OSW, you be squabblin’ over me like a pair of possessive fuckin’ popcorn hoes.

Firstly, there be Drewitt; a self-confessed rollin’ stone who’s been at my side, tryin’ to edge himself closer to my good nature ever since da day our paths first crossed.

For days, weeks, even months now, he be followin’ me around like a lost cause; fiercely seekin’ to catch my eye.

Desperately trylin’ to grab a brotha’s attention in da hope he’ll find friendship from someone with less than four fuckin’ legs for a change.

Drewitt ain’t no prick teasin’ poly popper. He knows nothin’ about sharin, ‘avin chosen to live a life of solitude on da edge of society.

Secondly there be, Teddy O’Toole; a candy-ass, white boy, motha focker who by comparison whores himself out to every Arcadian with a pulse to peddle his fancy, sugar-coated vendibles.

On da face of it, Teddy bear, you are quite da man of da people, innit? Ya never be one to shy away from da public spotlight, and that duplicitous face of yours is printed on every sweetmeat from here to Timbuktu.

But behind closed doors, you’ve proven yourself to be just as obsessive Drewitt where I be concerned.

You even put a bullet in dat motha focker’s head, just so’s you could jump into one of Tombstone’s drawers with Big Slim and have him all to yourself, innit?

But homies – dis nigga don’t belong to anyone.

And I wouldn’t give give either of ya an ounce of lovin’ spoonful if me life depended on it.

At Warforge, I’ll do whatever it takes for us to get da job done, ya feel?

Only then it’s gonna be every man for himself.

No more fun; no more games.

Whether you like it or not, motha fockers, too many cocks spoil da broth.

There be only room for one man in my life.

The only one that’ll ever matter to me, ya get me?

And you be lookin’ straight at him.