I didn’t set out to cause no trouble, na. All I wanted was to express myself through the only medium I knew how. I had been a dancer on the streets of New York for years before my IG account took off. I just wanted to show my enthusiasm for a track I knew wouldn’t be a memorable single without me. And I did. I put my heart and soul into that choreography. Incorporating a literal fucking heart into the damn thing. I just wanted to spread love, you know? Not death. Death was never my intention. I celebrate life, yo. That’s what I’m all about. That’s what dancin’ is all about. Or I guess it was before I set the example of incorporating a car into my routine. But like, it’s L.A. you know. When I moved to L.A., I had to start drivin’. Drivin’ and dancin’ became my whole world. That, and bitches. But bitches was always my motivatin’ force. My ray-zohn duh ett-ray. Okay? I don’t think I’d be even doin’ half the shit I do if it wasn’t for pussy.

Thing is, I shoulda known the public don’t got the same hand-eye coordination that I do. The unprecedented self-control over all my faculties, high, sober or otherwise (but no, I’m usually just high, that’s why I gots the hand-eye coordination that nobody else emulatin’ me do). At first, I was like, really happy. I finally got the fame I was seeking, even if it had to be through another person. A rapper who, truth be told, I don’t even really like that much. But he was useful to my end game, ya heard? He got me at least one million more followers within that first week. So maybe his music wasn’t so fuckin’ soft after all. Maybe I had underestimated him before. And now that I was like this “thing”–as big as he was–I started to lose sight of what, like, my actions hath wrought, you know?

When the National Transportation Safety Board–I know, what the fuck is that, I ain’t never even heard of it before–like intervened to make an announcement, I thought, “Damn, I’m hella powerful, ain’t I?” It got to my head. I was laughing to myself thinkin’ I had that kinda control over a gov institution. It didn’t scare me. Didn’t make me think shit was about to get live. Or that the most white people could handle was doin’ “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It).” But it was about three weeks into the whole thing that the accidents started poppin’ off. They all just seemed to happen at once, always either in California or in the Midwest. I guess nobody got time for dancin’ on the East Coast no mo. They too busy makin’ money while the rest of us burn (that’s a wildfire thang, in case you out the game with CA references).

Then from one minute to the next, I had turned from a god–a lord of the dance–to a fuckin’ villain to be crucified on the news. It was just lucky for me that–and I mean this never happens twice in the same year–another craze came along when all the car wrecks was escalatin’. Shit, this white lady goin’ off right now about it:

“This just in, a new dance craze requiring people to mount electricity towers and jump on the suspended cables attached has been causing more casualties than even the #IHaveNoFeelings Challenge. Created by Piggy–a play on his hatred for law enforcement–in late June, this dance was, just a week ago, the lead cause of death in America. Now we have K-pop sensation Kon-woo’s encouragement of the #ScaleUp challenge usurping that record from Piggy.” The usually aloof newscaster exhaled quietly, taking stock of the copy in front of her to decide whether or not she wanted to interject her own. “It seems to me, the more dangerous the dance, the more popular it becomes… what does it all mean for the youth of America now? Are they looking to have a good time at the price of death solely because life has become so difficult to enjoy? Stay tuned as the story–and the statistics–unfold right here on KTLA. In other news, STD rates are down due to no one having sex…”