WEST: This is really good champagne. Thanks for inviting me, guys. Really spacious Jacuzzi! These raspberries are rather succulent, are they not? I often forget that life is invigorating outside of my cramped academic “institutional” office.
JAY-Z: Damn, what’s with the finger thing you just did?
WEST: Oh, I just quoted “institutional” while saying the word, in order to assert—and sadly, concede—my cognizance of such being an Anglo-Saxon patriarchal “construct.”
JAY-Z: What the fuck, you just did it again.
WEST: Whoops, sorry. Just ignore me. I will try to refrain from doing so. Wow, this champagne is really amazing!
WEST: Nah man is just Moët, an I aint got time for that umlaut, mafuckers aint got grape sparkle shit on my dick—you at Cornell, nigga?
WEST: No, Cornel is my formal name. As for my surname—yours as well—West signifies the vector towards which our slave ship headed so many years ago, our own Atlantic Diaspora. I’m at Princeton, professor of African American Studies and Religion. And please, I weary of that term.
WEST: Nigga aint a term, is a term of endearment, the straight indictment of endearments, of my dick in shit, the sodomy in your ear as packing a lobotomy, but you can’t comment. Start now bitch, I’ll fuck up your esophagus, my kiddies in your belly, not that you is into R. Kelly, or in that ass of yours bent, my prodigy is incumbent.
WEST: I’m detecting some abrasive allusions to me (a) being a bitch, and (b) ingesting your semen. Very impressive, Kanye! How do you ad lib such glorious rhymes?
WEST: Got a halo, a big ring for my big head yo, round my head, you heard that said back when Gucci suit me, now I’m Prada cos cash I got a lota, gotta halo like Jesus did yo.
WEST: I find your dichotomous allusions bridging high- and low-brow culture very compelling. “Lyrical pastiche,” I believe I called it, in an essay I wrote about hip-hop for The New Criterion.
JAY-Z: You did that shit with your fingers again. Listen, we got a bunch of white bitches about to join us later on, and you got “cock block” written all the fuck over your forehead. “Okay?”
WEST: I see you’ve caught on with the finger move, nice. Though, I have a feeling you are somewhat mocking me.
JAY-Z: This is called a bird.
WEST: Chill Jay-Z, he’s cool. But really, Princeton, leave now. Your vocab is more opaque and useless than expired condom lube, which um, hey what rhymes with lube? Shit, I’ve lost it.