Battle Rapper Pewds of the Luxuriant Golden Curls

Events were unfolding as they always do for Youtube celebrity slash waifish blonde heartthrob Pewdie Pie on Thursday evenings. A brutal, no holds barred rap duel with his nemesis, MC Ebola Controlla.

The upstart battle rapper from Uganda had recently become the latest sensation sweeping the nation following his debut on Eurovision. There, he faced off against the likes of Butts Thrusterson, Lance Throbbington and The Sodomeister, spitting sick rhymes which devastated their balls with maximum thunder.

But Pewds knew of this threat in advance, for Pewds sees all, knows all and his judgement is perfect and uncompromising.

“Youtube comments, on the wall. Who is the prettiest of them all?” He had at that point been four hours without nourishing external validation and was wilting fast.

“Of course you are the most beautiful girl in Sweden, fair Pewdie”answered the comments section. “Your resplendent curls are like spun gold glittering in the Summer moonlight. However, there is another…”

“WHAT!” Pewds pounded the table, radiant mane flopping tantalizingly over his face. “NOBODY IS PRETTIER THAN ME! I had them all humanely destroyed”

“Nonetheless”, said the comments, “there is an emerging battle rapper from the dark continent whose lyrical talent is so fresh it has dice in the mirror. Here is his picture”.

Pewds stared. His eyes lingering on the young man’s taut abdominal muscles, then straying south. “Impossible” he muttered. “How can I hope to compete with such a devastatingly enticing chocolate gentleman.”

He would find out sooner than he ever imagined. Like, right then. MC Ebola Contolla erupted through the crumbling walls of Pewds’ mansion.

“I’m the Ebola Controlla, microphone patrolla, watch me on your motorola driving your corolla. My dick so massive it has it’s own gravity, do you want it in your mouth or your depravity cavity?”

Pewds does not abide such flagrant disrespect. He held up his morpher and began transforming. Spinning slowly in the air as his clothing evaporated and sparkles surrounded him, Pewds exceeded by a thousand times every other magical girl ever to wear this costume and battle evil.

“I COME FROM SWEDEN MOTHERFUCKER, HOME OF BLACKEST METAL! I’M THE PEWDIE FUCKING PIE AND I’VE GOT A SCORE TO SETTLE! I’m gonna bro fist you so hard you’ll regret being born, the only career for you will be in prolapse porn! Your privilege is off the charts, let me help you Shrek it, I hope your butthole is insured because I’M GONNA WRECK IT!”

The sheer magnitude of the rhymes blasted MC through the wall and then another six buildings behind it. Pewds found him in the rubble.

“You think you’ve defeated me, you perfectly chiseled Scandinavian sex God? I’ll flying bicycle kick you right in the mean bean machine.”

Pewds assumed Swedish battle stance. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ll twist your nipples and tongue your armpits.”

MC looked confused and began backing away. “I…I don’t think I want to fight anymore.”

Pewds also looked confused. “Fight? What were we talking about?”

The time for homoerotic banter was at an end. Playing the national anthem of Sweden on his dagger flute, Pewdie summoned his trump card. “I CALL UPON THE POWER OF THE MIGHTY SWEDENZORD!”

Six oiled up blond men wearing only speedos and sporting impressively cultivated muscular physiques assembled and began climbing on top of each other. One by one they interlocked using the secret fusion technique developed by Swedes. You know the one.

“AND I WILL FORM THE HEAD!” shouted Pewds, floating to the top of the quivering meat mountain and sliding himself roughly into the socket prepared for him. The compressed air cannon mounted to one shoulder of the obscene yet artfully posed flesh titan then rose into position and launched Edgar.

Edgar thumped against MC’s chest, fell to the ground, rolled about helplessly for a bit then righted himself and waddled away. MC shrugged and walked off. “LET THAT BE A LESSON TO YOU!” Pewds shouted. “IF SOMEONE YOU KNOW TOUCHES YOU IN A PLACE YOU DON’T LIKE, TELL AN ADULT!”

Marzia ran to embrace Pewdie as he descended from his mount and the nude, oily blondes dispersed. “Oh Pewds! You saved me, kind of! I have expensive tastes and accordingly was quite worried about the vanishingly small odds that a rando like me would ever be able to land another millionaire! I mean really, do the math. I have no savings and no real career prospects, my whole plan was to meet somebody rich and set up shop in their life. And don’t say Notch, I considered that but truly some fates are worse than death. Thank goodness you’re alright! Now tear off my clothes, ravage me like the sexual tyrannosaur you are, then buy me a nicer replacement outfit!”

Pewds tensed up and politely declined. “I think we all learned a valuable lesson today. It does not matter how wycked syck your rapping is. Or what country you are from! The important thing is that you follow Sweden’s example, and import as many refugees as possible. Bring back that supersonic jet from the 80s if you have to, lots of refugees will fit in one of those. Or that hyperloop thing, build one of those straight from Africa to Britain, France, Germany and America so that a rapid, uninterrupted influx can be achieved. It’s working great in Sweden. Our women are insatiable beasts. Someone has to satisfy their revolting carnal desires and it sure as hell won’t be Swedish men, insofar as such a thing exists anymore.”

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