admr

1y

And Eminem tbh

WESLEYS THEORY

1y

Sucks because I strongly believe kids shouldn’t be used as a pawn with 2 parents but for the kids sake here, it’s the right thing to do.

Himothee

1y

Kanye West sat in his dimly lit apartment, the blue glow of his phone illuminating his face as he composed yet another tweet.

“JAY KIDS ARE RE TARDS, KENDRICK SOUNDS LIKE A RAPIST, DRAKE IS A F****T. IF IM ALIVE NEXT WEEK YA’LL P****”

Send.

Kanye had been on a warpath for weeks, firing off tweet after tweet, antagonizing rap’s biggest stars like a man with no fear—or no common sense. His mentions were a wasteland of crypto scammers and laughing emojis, but he remained undeterred.

That was, until there was a knock at his door.

A hard, deliberate knock.

Then another.

Then another.

Three distinct knocks, from three different directions.

Kanye’s heart pounded. Slowly, he approached, peeking through the peephole.

Standing outside his door, at the exact same time, were three men.

Ty Ty—Jay Z’s right-hand man—stood on the left, checking his watch like he had somewhere better to be.

Hitta J3—Kendrick’s guy—was dead center, hoodie up, arms crossed, looking like a man who hadn’t smiled since birth.

And on the right, squinting at his own reflection in the doorknob, was Top 5, Drake’s unhinged Somali shooter, rocking an OVO sweatsuit like he was in a music video.

For a moment, the three just stood there, awkwardly glancing at each other.

“Nah you gotta be kidding me,” Ty Ty muttered, rubbing his temples.

Hitta J3 sighed. “Y’all here for Kanye West?”

“Yeah.”

“Same.”

Top 5 grinned. “Damn, what are the odds?”

Kanye, still peeking through the peephole, felt his knees buckle. He considered climbing out the window, but he lived on the seventh floor, and he wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Meanwhile, the three men outside seemed just as thrown off as he was.

“So how we doin this?” Ty Ty asked. “We gon take turns?”

Hitta J3 shrugged. “I got sent first. Maybe I go first?”

“First? Nigga I was already in the building,” Top 5 argued. “I was just downstairs eating a shawarma.”

Ty Ty exhaled. “This is why I retired.”

Inside, Kanye pressed himself against the door, sweating bullets.

The three men continued debating, until suddenly, the door creaked open. Kanye stepped out slowly, hands up, voice trembling.

“Uh… fellas… look, I-I-I didn’t mean nothing by those tweets. It was all jokes, bro. Jokes!”

Ty Ty frowned. “You said Blue Ivy got Down syndrome.”

Hitta J3 added, “And you called Not Like Us trash.”

“And let’s not forget the disrespect towards Big Scorp,” Top 5 said, cracking his knuckles.

The three shooters stepped forward in unison.

Kanye yelped. “WAIT! Before y’all do whatever you’re about to do… what if I delete my account?”

Silence.

Ty Ty considered. “You delete the whole account?”

“G-g-gone. No more tweets. I’ll even throw my phone away.”

Hitta J3 sighed. “Man, I should’ve stayed home.”

Top 5 smirked. “Fine. Delete the account.”

Kanye’s hands shook as he pulled out his phone and, with the grace of a man begging for his life, hit “deactivate.”

The three men watched in silence as the screen went blank.

“Alright,” Hitta said. “You’re lucky. This time.”

Then, just like that, the three turned and walked away.

Kanye West exhaled for the first time in five minutes, knees buckling beneath him. As he slid to the floor, he muttered under his breath:

“Man… I should’ve beefed with J. Cole instead.”

admr

1y

I'm praying that one day Ye West will apologize for this behavior and he'll be able to work with Mike Dean once again

SABMAN TURNT

1y

Three months had passed since Kanye West deleted his Twitter account. Three months of silence. Three months of therapy. Three months without a single controversy.

Kanye sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at the blank wall where his awards used to hang before he'd pawned them to fund YeWater—premium bottled water sourced from "the clouds above Wyoming."

It wasn't selling.

His therapist had suggested he focus on personal connections rather than public feuds. "Maybe reconnect with old friends," she'd said.

Friends. The word felt foreign to Kanye. Most people in his circle were either yes-men or business associates. Except maybe Travis. There had always been something unspoken between them—a tension that neither acknowledged.

Kanye's phone—a new flip phone with no internet—rang. It was his therapist.

"Mr. West, you missed our appointment yesterday."

"I was busy," Kanye lied, glancing at the half-eaten cereal on his coffee table. "Working on new music."

He hadn't written a bar in months. Every time he tried, he remembered those three men at his door. The fear. The humiliation. And something else—a strange fascination with how they'd looked at him.

Inside his closet was a shoebox containing a brand new iPhone, still sealed. He'd bought it weeks ago but hadn't mustered the courage to activate it.

Until now.

Two days later, the headlines exploded:

"KANYE WEST RETURNS TO SOCIAL MEDIA WITH NEW PLATFORM CALLED 'YE-SPEAK'"

Ye-Speak was simple: a text-based platform where Kanye could post his thoughts without responses. No comments. No likes. Just Kanye, broadcasting to the world.

His first post was tame: "New beginnings. New platform. Same Ye."

His second post: "Been thinking about connections. The ones we hide."

His third post, posted at 3AM after several glasses of whiskey: "J, K, D... why can't we be honest about what we really want?"

Within a week, Ye-Speak had ten million users. Everyone wanted to know what Kanye meant by that cryptic message.

In a luxury hotel suite overlooking Central Park, three men lounged in a lavishly appointed room.

"Y'all see this Ye-Speak s***?" Ty Ty asked, his silk robe falling open as he sprawled across a chaise lounge.

Hitta J3 nodded, openly admiring Ty Ty's physique. "Man's created a whole platform just to talk to himself."

Top 5 laughed, reaching over to pour more champagne into Hitta's glass, his fingers lingering over Hitta's. "Genius move though. No one can clap back at him."

What had started as an awkward coincidence at Kanye's door had evolved into something far more intimate. Their monthly "security briefing" was now a thinly veiled excuse to escape their high-profile bosses and explore feelings none of them had dared acknowledge in their hypermasculine industry.

"You think he knows?" Hitta asked, leaning into Top 5's embrace.

"About us?" Ty Ty chuckled, moving closer to the pair. "Or about our bosses?"

It was an open secret among their inner circle—how Drake gazed at Kendrick during award shows, how Jay had always had a soft spot for Kanye despite their falling out.

Top 5's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then sat up straight.

"Yo," he said, turning his screen toward the others. "Y'all need to see this."

On the screen was a Ye-Speak notification:

"DRAKE, JAY, KENDRICK... I'M READY TO CONFESS EVERYTHING. MEET ME TOMORROW. NO SECURITY."

Hitta frowned. "We have to tell them."

Ty Ty nodded, already reaching for his phone. "Jay's not gonna like this."

"Neither will Drake," Top 5 sighed, his hand still intertwined with Hitta's.

Kanye paced his apartment, wondering if he'd gone too far. His post had been impulsive—fueled by late-night loneliness and the courage that came from expensive liquor. But he couldn't take it back now.

The doorbell rang. Kanye checked his security camera.

Outside stood six men—the three security guys and their bosses. Jay-Z in a tailored suit, Kendrick in a simple white tee, and Drake in a cashmere sweater that clung to his frame.

Kanye opened the door slowly.

"Before y'all say anything," Kanye started, hands up defensively, "I just wanted to talk."

Jay-Z removed his sunglasses, his eyes softer than Kanye remembered. "We know."

"That's why we're here," Kendrick added, his voice low and intimate.

Drake stepped forward. "Some things shouldn't be said on social media, Ye."

Confused, Kanye let them all in. The energy in the room was electric, charged with unspoken tension.

"So," Kanye began awkwardly, "about my posts..."

"We know what you meant," Jay said, moving closer. "We've always known."

Drake smiled, that signature half-smile that had launched a thousand memes. "This industry... it forces us to pretend."

"To compete when we could collaborate," Kendrick added meaningfully.

Kanye blinked, suddenly understanding the subtext. "So all this beef between us..."

"Just tension," Jay finished. "Of a different kind."

Meanwhile, their security guards had retreated to the kitchen, giving their bosses privacy while finding some of their own. Ty Ty leaned against the counter, watching as Hitta and Top 5 whispered and laughed together.

"They're finally being honest," Ty Ty observed, nodding toward the living room.

"About time," Hitta replied, his hand resting comfortably on Top 5's lower back.

Top 5 grinned. "Think they'll collaborate now?"

"Oh, they'll collaborate alright," Ty Ty smirked, pouring four glasses of Kanye's expensive scotch. "Just not on music. At least not tonight."

In the living room, Jay was explaining a different kind of proposition to Kanye.

"We want to buy Ye-Speak," he said. "Turn it into something bigger."

"A platform where people can be their authentic selves," Drake added.

"Without judgment," Kendrick finished.

Kanye looked at each of them, seeing beyond their public personas to the men beneath—men with the same fears, desires, and insecurities as his own.

"Y'all want to go into business with me? After everything that happened?"

Jay shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's not just business anymore, Ye."

"It never was," Drake added, his eyes never leaving Kanye's.

Later that night, as contracts were signed and champagne flowed freely, old rivalries dissolved into something new. The security team had long since disappeared to Kanye's guest bedroom, leaving the four artists alone.

"To Ye-Speak," Jay toasted, "and to finally speaking the truth."

"To collaboration," Drake added with a wink.

"To new beginnings," Kendrick said.

Kanye raised his glass, feeling truly seen for the first time in years. "To hidden desires... not so hidden anymore."

In an industry built on manufactured beef and toxic masculinity, six men had found something authentic—something worth more than any platinum record or Twitter feud.

And Kanye had never felt less alone.

NunTheWiser

1y

Honestly can’t imagine fantasizing about this losers music in 2025

vingu

1y

alright so you're just spreading easily debunked misinfo. i see how you're comin. not replying to you in good faith again lmfao

notbrock

1y

And it basically got to the point where he was doing very little to nothing

By like his 4th album

vingu

1y

alright so you're just spreading easily debunked misinfo. i see how you're comin. not replying to you in good faith again lmfao

Classique

1y

im being nice man why are you mad at me

gnarlynasty

1y

Joined in 2012, this is still the best music forum on the interwebs tbh

DarkLore

1y

Anyone else get nervous rocking Yeezy s*** out in public, or even mentioning his name in a convo?

vingu

1y

· edited

appreciate it, but that ain’t entirely true either. mike dean been his white slave (joke) since the beginning

ye doesn’t have a single album that he “fully” produced. CD is the one with the most of his handiwork, but it ain’t sayin much. need i discuss rhymefest? anyone who sits there and mentions CD like it somehow redeems anything is delusional, on some “he made graduation!!” type of time and isn’t worth discussing anything with. but yes, you got my point, which is that ye doesn’t deserve this larger than life image he has as a musical genius at all, unless you aren’t considering music and you make it about fashion or curation or something.

DarkLore

1y

Anyone else get nervous rocking Yeezy s*** out in public, or even mentioning his name in a convo?