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Toothache

Toothache

Ya naa, teeth are pretty fascinatin’ fockin things.

Every tooth is different; they each form slightly different shapes which allow them to operate their very unique roles.

There be the incisors, canines, premolars, an’ molars – all of which work in tandem to bite, rip, tear, chew an’ grind down whatever you put in yo motha fockin cakehole, ya feel?

Dat said – each type o’ tooth shares one very distinct thing in common with all the others, be that when one o’ those babies goes rotten, there ain’ no reversin’ the disrepair.

Once those beautiful ivories start to corrode an’ crumble, all the dental care in the world ain’ gon’ save ‘em from their inevitable decay, ya feel?

When dat happens – best thing you can do is find yo self a good peg surgeon an’ remove those rottin’ teeth from yo bazoo.

Heh heh.

Juss recently – Arcadia’s been sufferin’ from a bad fockin case o’ toothache.

Similarly to those vexin’ little tusks you find rustin’ away in yo grill, there be this good for nothin’ motha focker skulkin’ aroun’ – takin’ chunks out of anyone he can.

Like any functional set o’ teetsies, this cracka doesn’ ride solo. Never too far behind him are his eager band o’ mercenaries, ready to clamp their clackers into each an’ every food offerin’ he throws their way.

These Blood Runner sons o’ bitches? They don’t discriminate neither, dawg. They’ll take it in turns to bite, rip, tear, chew an’ grind down any nigga they can to propel their pearly white boy asses to the top o’ the food chain.

Only come Olympus – when that withered ol’ cuspid, Blacktooth, tries to feast on me – man’s gon’ realise he’s bitten off more than his motha fockin ass can chew.

Heh heh.

See somethin’, Blacky, you an’ your bitches need puttin’ straight on a few things – an’ I ain’ juss talkin’ about yo motha fockin teeth neither.

You might think you have the sharpest bridge in Arcadia, but from where I’m standin’, the decay that has taken up residence in those chiclets o’ yours has spread to yo motha fockin mind, dawg.

The decomposition in you runs so deep dat it’s mouldered your brain like a pot fockin noodle.

That shit ain’ cool, son, an’ that shit ain’ fly. When a tooth eats away an’ renders beyond repair, there can only be one thing for it – an’ I should know.

Heh heh heh.

Ya see, Blacktooth, I’ve had plenny o’ aches in my mouth like you before, an’ no matter what I did or how fockin hard I tried, nothin’ could save them from the inevitable; juss as nothin’ is gon’ save yo festerin’ ass neither.

On Monday night – I’ll do what needs to be done for the good of Arcadia, dawg.

I’ll stop the rot; I’ll remove Olympus of its bad fockin case o’ toothache.

Come Clash of the Titans, you an’ yo pussy-ass band o’ brothers ain’ gon’ feed at my fockin expense.

I’ll be the only nigga dinin’ out, ya hear?

Cause it ain’ gon’ be no white boy day.