187, muthafukka

Published under username Fred Durst Has A Posse

One of the things that's made me a celebrity is the fact that I say shit how it is. You get nothing but Durst, unedited, strait from the cerebral cortex. I don't mince words. I mince minds.

That's why I've got to come back atcha with the Truth. You're probably gonna hear about this in the news tomorrow. I just had to make sure you heard it from me before you heard the fakeness of sucker-haters. I think, you'll agree, my actions were justified.

R U ready? Can U deal wit da Real?

So I was up in the Lime Lounge in Jacksonville (you probably never heard of the place because it's very exclusive. It's a place where people like me and that fagwad Billy Corgan hang out at.) I was just sitting with my apple martini, maxing honeys for my next video shoot, when this dude comes up to me and asks me for my autograph.

Now, usually, I don't give autographs. Most of yous never been famous, so you don't know that you have mothafuckers coming up to you every day, even when your maxing honeys, trying to get your name on a piece of paper. But my real fans have decided to rizpect that, and they leave me alone for the most part, so I decided I'd give this sucker his autograph. I reached for the pen he was holding my way, when he pulled away and laughed.

"Just kidding, Durst. You suck," and he walked away.

Let's examine the mentality of the sucker-hater: this guy dressed all up nice and must have paid the bouncer a shitload of bling to even get let through the door here, just so he could dis The Durst.

Well, that apple martini really fucked up my senses. I was raging. I ran up behind him as he was walking away and tried to punch him in the back of his head, but the little latina bitch he was with saw me coming and screamed, so he ducked away. What a pussy...having to be saved by his bitch.

Anyway, he was like, "You stupid fuck, slap you like a little bitch."
And I was like, "You think my lyrics is just words. Like the songs says, motherfucker, I'll skin you raw with my chainsaw, bit..."

Before I could finish, he sucker punches me up in my face, chipping both of my front teeth. I stumble backwards, falling through a glass table, which jams shards of glass through my t-shirt. I feel like fucking hamburger. I feel like Tyler Durden must feel after a fight, only I feel nothing but humiliation and pain.

Even though this punk started the fight, the bouncers grab me and throw me out the club. "We're through putting up with your shit, Freddy," they said, as they chucked me out on the sidewalk. Just wait until I tell Carson Daly about this. These two motherfuckers will be in the unemployment line.

Anyway, I run out and get in my Ferrari. I'm bleeding all over the leather bucket seats, still thinking about that yuppie motherfucker in the club. I drive around the block and put my lights off, Boyz in the Hood style, and wait for that yuppie to come out the club.

So I'm waiting until like four in the morning till I see this fucker stumble out the club. That Latina bitch he was with was gone. Didn't even have enough flavor to keep one beaner chick with him all night.

Right when he gets out into the middle of the street, I hit the lights and start gunning the car right towards him. He aint shit but a deer in the headlights. I got the Smiths blasting on my stereo. "Bigmouth Strikes Again", which is appropriate cuz this motherfucker has a big mouth. Only I'm not joking when I say I want to smash every tooth in this motherfuckers head.

I hit him at like sixty miles an hour. There's a crunch, and blood splatters all over my car. His skull cracks on the windshield and I see his fucking eyeball fly out of his head. It was sweet.

Anyway, he flew over the car, and was laying in the street like a piece of dogshit. I put the Ferrari in reverse, and back up over him. Felt like going over a speedbump. Now that I'd sent this yuppie fuck to sleep with the fishes, I felt justified. I felt like tyler durden watching buildings collapse.

I started to hear screaming around me. That's when I put the Ferrari in gear and booked it out of there. I don't know if they got my plate numbers, but you may be hearing about me in the evening news tomorrow.

Anyway, I just wanted you to get the real.