I should’ve been Rick Ross.

Ask my kids and they will swear by this story. So will I. Because I’ve been telling them this ever since they were born.
“I should’ve been Rick Ross”

**que the magical dream sequence**

So this all started many years ago. Back when I was in federal prison. I became real good friends with a prison guard named, Ricardo Ross or as I started calling him, “Rozay”. I was locked up in the pin writing rhymes all day and talked to Rozay of my dreams to spit fire on stage, without my shirt, fat as fuck, with just my beard and tattoos. Some real boss type shit. My friend Rozay always encouraged me. He believed in me and often snuck in wingstop as I wrote my rhymes and got all tatted up. Then came the day of my release….

Ricardo: Fallas, ugh, you a boss, ugh, you free my nigga.
Me: Thanks Rozay, you’ve been trill since day one. I appreciate that shit. I’m now 347 pounds because of all the Wingstop you came through with. My beard and tattoos are on point too because of the real niggas in da pin. I’m gonna chase our dream now.
Ricardo: Ugh. Yeah. Ugh. You a boss.
Me: Homie, I was reading in Hip Hop Magazine that they are having a singing to be the next great rapper just down the street from here.
Ricardo: Ugh. Yeah. Ugh. The streets been talkin.
Me: I’m thinking about going down there. I’m just kinda nervous. Would you go with me just for positive support? I’ll get us a 40 piece.
Ricardo: Ugh. Wingstop. Ugh. Say no mo.

So I frantically take off my shirt and lightly jog down to the auditorium where they were doing the signing. Ricardo caught the bus and arrived 3 hours later with his breath and fingers smelling of the Louisiana dry rub seasoning from Wingstop. I didn’t hate on my boy because a nigga gotta eat. What mattered was, he came through for support. By the time he had got there, I had already drank a few Dr. Peppers and waters. So nature was calling….

Me: Fuck dawg, I really have to go take a piss.
Ricardo: Ugh. I got you. Ugh. You a boss. Ugh. Bosses gotta piss.
Me: You’ll hold my place in line, homie?
Ricardo: Ugh. Fo sho.
Me: Thanks Rozay, I wouldn’t know what to do without you. You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world.

So I trot off to go take a leak and what I haven’t told you yet, is the demeanor of Ricardo as I told him how important he was to me. He bit his lower lip, shook his head and rubbed his hands together as if he had been plotting something all along….

So as I’m peeing and rehearsing my raps in the restroom. I hear fireworks and a loud roar of the crowd outside as the announcer proclaimed, “WE HAVE FOUND THE WORLDS NEXT GREATEST RAPPER!”

I urgently shake my junk and fumble to buckle up my pants and race out of the restroom to go see who the winner was. As I swing open the door. The crowd is in full celebratory mood as confetti and ribbons fall from the ceiling. Lights and cameras are flashing. I’m pushing and shoving my way through the madness and commotion to see who won. My excess weight at the time was holding me back from moving as fast as I wanted to.

Then….

Over the speakers….

Announcer: So how does it feel to be the Worlds next greatest rapper?

 

 

Ricardo: Ugh. I’m a boss. Ugh. The name is Ricky Rozay. Ugh. And everyday I’m hustlin.

At that moment I finally found a clearing in the crowd and saw my very best friend take off his shirt and start rhyming my rhymes. The crowd went wild as my dreams were crushed and my heart was broken.

I was supposed to be the one up there with the tattooed titties, sweat dripping off my beard and fire coming out my mouth. I was the one who was supposed to franchise and open up multiple Wingstops across south Texas. But Ricardo Ross lied and took my place in line that day. He became my broken dreams… And he became Rick Ross.

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