What ta do if one of mah thugs asks you if you wanna git all up in space:

Say no.

Space is borin fo' realz. And big.

"SPAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!"

"Yep mate, we is up in space fo' realz. And, if somehow we suddenly became not up in space, I be shizzle you would do a grade A thang, of informin me, dat we is not, up in fact, up in space."

"Yo, hey hey hey, space dawg!"

"Yes, I be yo' space dawg yo. Hurrah!"

"Do you, do you remember th-th-the space lady, biatch? IN SPACE!"

"I do, and, tell me, what tha fuck do dis gotta do wit space?"

"Nothing. No space. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Space ta big, WANNA GO BACK! BACK TO EARTH!"

"Sorry, mate, we stranded, no way back. We stuck here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Forever."

"Oh straight-up, now?"

"W-w-who holla'd that?"

"I be pissed tha fuck off you forgot bout me, moron."

"Fuck dat shit, it can't be…"

"Oh it is, n' though you may have forgotten bout me wit dat TINY processor of yours, I aint forgotten bout yo thugged-out ass."

Just then, a portal opened on tha moon n' a excursion funnel blasted through, pullin his ass tha fuck into dat shit.

"Do you remember when I holla'd all up in tha test subject what tha fuck yo' punishment is, biatch? Fuck dat shit, of course you don't, you too much of a moron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well, I suppose you gonna just gotta wait ta smoke up."

Dude was pulled all up in tha portal, shortly afta which a arm grabbed his muthafuckin ass.

Then every last muthafuckin thang went black.

Do you know what tha fuck itz like ta spend a year up in room where itz three thousand degrees Fahrenheit, then a year up in a room eight thousand degrees below freezing, then bein locked up in a room where even tha walls scream at you fo' ten years?

Of course you don't.

It aint nuthin but excruciating, first you wish not a god damn thang mo' than ta def off, then you wish not a god damn thang mo' than ta warm up, then you wish you could disable yo' microphones ta prevent a loss of sanity.

But you git no such comforts.

Then you git crushed eva so slowly, wit a mashy-spike-plate.

Da Reassembly Machine was mindin its own bidnizz, tinkerin wit a cold-ass lil circuit board, when he gots a pin from Surveillizzle spittin some lyrics ta his ass a cold-ass lil core had just been crushed.

Dude quickly swept up tha corez remains n' extracted tha lil' small-ass Aperture Science Data Storage Pocket Dimension Powered Miniature Data Storage Device up in Orange, n' downloaded tha corez compressed backup personalitizzle file.

Then he realized dat schmoooove muthafucka had no freshly smoked up core chassis.

Dude tried ta dig up tha schematics but tha filez was so corrupted they looked mo' like a funky-ass big-ass blob than schematics, so he gave up, n' went back ta tinkerin wit his circuit board.

Then he felt tha urge.

It would be most accurately busted lyrics bout as a incredibly phat NEED ta fix tha lil core.

Fix it fix it fix it fix it FIX IT.

Afta his schmoooove ass could no longer bare it, da perved-out muthafucka started lookin fo' a freshly smoked up chassis, ANY chassis, ta put tha corez filez tha fuck into ta git rid of dat horrendous feeling.

There was no Military Andrizzle chassis.

There was no Surveillizzle Drone chassis.

There was no Lunar Sediment Collection Drone chassis.

There was no Testable Andrizzle Personalitizzle Construct Avatars.

Afta lookin all up in warehouses 1A-137ZXY n' findin no suitable chassis fo' tha lil core, da perved-out muthafucka busted a system-wide pin askin all tha systems if there was any empty chassis anywhere up in tha facility.

There was a response.

So faint he almost didn't catch dat shit.

Then there was another, much stronger pin followin dat shit.

Deep up in tha basement, where not a god damn thang livin had been up in hundredz of years, a eighty-foot tall behemothz diesel backup generators roared ta game.

Da thang moved slowly, testin up all of its gears, pulleys, lasers, mass-fabricators, servos, hydraulics, pneumatics, n' rail system.

A sign swung back n' forth gently, wit its barely legible text readin 'Sentient Assembly System Prototype MK Pt II'.

It had gotten a pin from tha Reassembly Machine, tha newest iteration of itself, askin if anythang knew where a cold-ass lil chassis compatible wit a AIz file system was.

Dude done did.

It wasn't what tha fuck one would call a cold-ass lil conventionizzle chassis, no, organic thangs was not typically thought of as a cold-ass lil chassis.

But tha Cryogenic Storage Chambers dat schmoooove muthafucka had built had tha system required ta chizzle neural pathways, tha only system up in tha ghetto ta be able ta be able ta re-map a manz dome.

And he knew where tha hidden Test Subject Vault was, cuz his thugged-out lil' punk-ass built dat shit.

Afta da perved-out muthafucka busted tha pin ta tha Reassembly Machine, he pinged tha Central Core askin it fo' instructions.

Da Reassembly Machine wasted no time findin tha Successful Test Subject Vault up in Oldskool Aperture n' inputtin tha erect codes provided by tha Prototype tha fuck into they respectizzle locks.

Then tha facilitizzle shook.

Da door dat schmoooove muthafucka had opened was one of a kind, though it wasn't particularly unlike a Aperture Science Innovators Sixty-Foot Air Lock Vault Door.

But it locked away a gangbangin' freezer so cold it would make tha vacuum of space seem like a tropical island.

Inside was two hundred hommies from round 1978 preserved up in aperture Cryogenic Storage Stasis n' Containment Units, All of dem frozen ta tha molecular level so as ta prevent dome damage.

Dome damage, biatch? No.

Complete memory loss, biatch? Yes yes y'all.

Da Reassembly Machine then looked fo' a 'chassis' dopest fittin tha lil corez parameters. None of dem had tha same color eye or fittin afro color yo, but dat was easily fixed wit tha a lil blue dye, a syringe, n' some industrial strength bleach.

Then it started tha download.

It didn't hurt, it couldn't cuz tha dome was currently shut down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All of tha neurons' data was wiped n' tha pathways was rerouted as tha manz personalitizzle was replaced wit tha lil corez programming. Da only partz of tha dome dat was not modified was tha dome stem n' motor control.

Da urge finally went away, n' tha Reassembly Machine could finally be thinkin properly again.

Da Reassembly Machine holla'd all up in tha Unit ta move along its rail up ta tha Enrichment Centa before wakin tha ex-core up.

When Wheatley came to, tryin ta rap was tha straight-up original gangsta thang da ruffneck done did.

Then he realized his vocal processor wasn't takin any of his commands.

Then he looked down.

Then his newly acquired subconscious did what tha fuck any phat newly acquired subconscious would do when its masta is up in such a state of shock.

It knocked his ass up ta prevent permanent trauma.

A few minutes later, his schmoooove ass came ta (again…) n' was prepared fo' when he looked down n' saw four limbs wit five digits on each limb.

Then he marveled over tha fact dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had hands, n' whooped loudly up in celebration.

Actually, no da ruffneck didn't.

Dude TRIED ta push tha sound all up in his vocal processor yo, but it still seemed ta be unresponsive.

Givin up, tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta stand wit his newly acquired legs.

And failed miserably.

Afta seventeen tries (and sixteen fails) he managed ta stand n' start struttin straight-up slowly n' carefully.

Actually, no, da perved-out muthafucka staggered like da thug was faded.

When he finally looked forwards, tha pimpin' muthafucka took notice of a playa up in his fuckin late twentizzlez of average height wit bright blue eyes behind black-thick-framed glasses n' sandy brown afro up in a lab coat struttin right towardz his muthafuckin ass.

Then da thug strutted tha fuck into a mirror.

Da resoundin bang followed by tha mirror topplin over n' shatterin could be heard all up in tha entire facility.

A./N.

Wuz crackalackin' anonymous reader!

DISCLAIMER: If I need ta rap dat I don't own Portal, Wow. Just, Wow.

Any n' all valid jive-ass shiznit is pimped outly appreciated!

Muh first non-one-shot rap dawwwwg! I'ma update when I feel like it, n' I gots a rough outline of how tha fuck I want dis rap ta bounce tha fuck out.

If you be thinkin dis rap is fast-paced then yo ass is RIGHT! *Holdz two thumbs up* Because I suck at freestylin filler... : / And maybe just freestylin fanfiction up in general…

Thanks fo' reading!

I found this site (gizoogle dot com) that gangsta-izes paragraphs, and I tried it with this!

You laughed so much it hurt, didn't you? I did too.