"I'm Blake y'all, and I'm Blake, ya'll, and I'm Blickety-Blake, and I'm Blake, y'all!"
Cornwallace rocked out to his tunes, as the effeminate anime on the television screen belted out lyrics, his enormous flat-top wobbling uncertainly.
"It sure is great to be OG in the early 90's," Cornwallace though, gaily.
There was a knock on the door, which Cornwallace answered, taking a long toke from the marijuana which he smoked like a cigarette.
"What up, blood?" the neighbor, Carl Johnson, asked the mildly blazed kitsune-fox.
Cornwallace snarled rabidly, because he was an animal, and animals cannot talk to people.
"Woah! Back off, homes! I jess wanted to invite you to a ballin' party! Grove Street respects its fine-ass furry friends!"
Rockstar really is bad at writing People of Color, Cornwallace though as he began to gnaw on CJ's leg.
The kitsune rummaged through the garbage can, looking for weed and pornography and underwear. He made horrible animal noises, in case any humans were watching.
"W-w-wutcha doin', Cornwallace?" Rotor asked, startling the multi-tailed fox, causing him to drop the half eaten burger he'd discovered.
"Rotor! You Faggot!" Cornwallace hurled garbage at the rotund walrus guy.
The Wallace stood, unphazed, as a discarded boot bounced off his skull. "C-c-cornwallace, M-m-muh-manic asked me t-to invite you to h-h-his puh-party."
"Tell him I've already got plans!" Cornwallace went back to rummaging.
"B-b-but—"
"—Not interested."
Rotor seemed to ponder this a moment.
"O-okay."
He began to waddle off. Cornwallace muttered ableist slurs under his breathe. He had always hated Manic, and frankly, couldn't understand why green hedgehog continued to try and socialize with him. He suspected it was because he was always trying to score weed. Cornwallace had a reliable supply of the stuff, which was hard to come by on account of animals not being able to talk to human dealers. Cornwallace had, of course, discovered a caveat: He could talk to Mexicans, but only when they were very high. This was a secret he guarded jealously from his animal brethren. He was, in fact, unsure of why he was rummaging through the garbage for the stuff, as no one ever threw any away, but the kitsune loved rummaging. Sometimes he found underwear in the bin, and it always smelled delicious.
Cornwallace felt a prick on his arm as he scoured. He winced. A filthy syringe jutted from his forearm. He pulled it out and threw it over his shoulder, letting it shatter on the street. He had special plans tonight, and he wasn't going to let a dirty needle stick keep him.
Manic fucked around on his guitar. He thought he was a musician, probably because he was on drugs. The truth was he couldn't play the guitar, or any instrument for that matter, nor could he sing. In fact, his only musical talent lay in remixing midis and posting them on ocremix. Nevertheless, he strummed blindly, pretending the sounds it produced were anything but nerve-racking.
"M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-muh-m-m-man-i-i-i-i-uh." Rotor breathed heavily.
"Haha! Shut up, Rotor!" Manic strummed.
The hedgehogs were always mean to Rotor, a fact he resented greatly. In fact, over the years, Rotor had begun to devise a plan to get revenge on his tormentors, and had been secretly building a nuclear bomb in his garage for the last eight months. It was almost complete.
"Aww, s-shucks, you guise." Rotor droned, his left eye wandering.
"I'm the greatest musician in the world, Rotor! I'm the Hedgehog version of Kurt Cobain!"
"Y-yeah!" Rotor blurted.
"I'm going to be drowning in hedgehog pussy later tonight! Bitches gonna hear me playing, and I'm going to be drowning in the stuff! You know what I mean, puss-monkey?"
"Hah. Yeah!" Rotor responded dully.
"Hahaha! Check out this shit!" Manic thrust a foul smelling pornographic magazine in Rotors face with his free hand.
"W-wow!" Rotor said, looking at the centerfold. It was a spread of a European hedgehog foraging in the grass. Rotor felt his boney penis twitch.
"That's right! Herrhoaoaoaoarraow!" Manic pumped his fist, looking like some kind of bad marionette.
"I-i-i-i, w-wonder if Bunnie will b-be there. Huh huh."
"Yeah, probably." Manic said, bored. "I don't know what you see in those half-robotic bitches, Rotor. Shit is disgusting. Unnatural, even! You're one sick fuck, Rotor. I don't know why I keep you around. Hahaha!"
"Huh huh.. yeah." Rotor looked forlorn.
Cornwallace chewed viciously on the tire, raking it with his back legs. He growled and muttered to himself. It was the most fun he ever had, his tire time. He loved that tire. He loved it so much he showed it no mercy. He performed hate crimes upon it. His life was complete. He had found his true love, and together they would roll off into the sunset together.
There was a ring at the door bell. He instantly lost his erection.
"FUCK OFF, WITH YOUR RINGING THAT THING! I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT, BUT STOP MAKING THAT NOISE!"
He thought to himself, every time he heard that noise, there was, inevitably, some person or object behind his front door. He wondered if the trend would continue, and got up to investigate.
"Hey, bitch!" Sonic said.
"RAAAAWR!" Cornwallace snarled, latching cleanly onto his throat.
Manic pounded Amy Rose hard. He grunted, hamming up his performance, and shooting a wink to himself in the mirror. He wasn't particularly big, but Amy Rose was unused to anal sex, and he felt like a racehorse.
"AAAAAAAaaa!" Amy Rose cried.
"That's right, bitch! Whose yer number one?" He winked again.
"You are, Sawnick-er-Manic!"
"You know it, slut!"
"AAAaaaaa!"
Manic thought about weed and came hard in her ass. Amy slumped forward, her dripping sex unsatisfied and ignored. Manic laughed.
"I'm the greatest hedgehog to ever walk the face of the earth!" He cheered himself on.
Amy cried, quietly. She lacked the self-esteem to stand up for herself, and always found herself in such compromising situations as a result. She would cut herself, later tonight. She knew it.
"Later, bitch!" Amy yelped as Manic yanked his softening cock from her rectum.
She saw only a green blur as she looked to the open doorway.
Amy collapsed on the bed. Her anus throbbed, as she fingered herself lightly. She closed her eyes and moaned.
A child cried loudly, his mother shielding his eyes. Cornwallace barely noticed. He humped the mailbox viciously. He couldn't believe he was cheating on the tire like this, but it was too glorious to care. He started barking and yelping wildly, as human ears might have otherwise detected his bizarre bedroom speech.
Animal Control arrived mid thrust. As their gaze met, he froze momentarily, before letting out a hiss, and scurrying down the street.
An obese man chased after him with a net.
He lost the kitsune in a hedgerow.
Cornwallace went home to get high.
A horrible green gator bashed clumsily at a keyboard.
He was angry that women-folk were trying to take away his video games and make him acknowledge them as people, with thoughts and lives of their own.
"Anita Sarkeesian is a cunt." He typed, adding a hashtag to his tweet.
"Bwahaha!" He chuckled to himself. "Stupid feminists no take games away from Gary Gator. He am mayor league gamer pro! He play DoA beach volley ball all day, and run successful fansite. He am real gaymor. Not like stupad feminist gaymore only play depression quest and angry beavers on cellphone. Hahaha!"
The cool air and darkness effected his cognition, but he refused to go into the sun. The sun was where normal people lived, he thought. Normal people are not, in fact, hardcore gamers at all, but only hardcore misandrists, and he would, with his 155 MENSA IQ, never associate with such ilk.
He felt his stomach ache. Without sunlight to warm his bloodstream, he found it difficult to digest food, but he did not care. He would blog about this later today, and he would laugh, laugh at all the feminists and the transsexuals; laugh at all the white knights and their lofty ambitions to find themselves in soft feminist folds; laugh at the blacks and their enormous and ambitious hair-dos; laugh at Princess Sally and her bizarre tirades regarding social equality; laugh at the peons, working doggedly for their intellectual superiors, building smart phones and burning to death in factors he would no doubt someday own; laugh, because laugher is good for the soul.
"RAAaaagh! Hun-gee!" He muttered, crawling under his cot, looking for a spare piece of wilder beast which might have escaped his last feeding, and cursing when none was to be found.
He muttered something about god, and knew god could not be found. He was truly alone.
"Hey! Cornwallace!"
Cornwallace perked up his ears looked back with a predatorial gaze.
"Bitch! You gave me rabies! Now I'm gunna die!" CJ yelled.
Cornwallace just hissed and scampered inside his home. He had a tire to see about a date.
THE END