Guess what baby bitches! Daddy's done with weddings and training and whatever other bullshit he was doing. He's back in the saddle. This is WEEK 52 (FIFTY-TWO)! That's our one year anniversary, cockholsters! It also happened to be my one-month wedding anniversary yesterday. I'm pissed because nobody said happy anniversary.

So I'm taking over this week and there ain't a damn thing anyone can do about it. The prompt, as you see above, is to combine cyberpunk with blaxploitation. You can play them both straight, satire them, whatever. As long as the story mashes both genres together into something resembling the kind of shit you take after drinking beer for twelve hours and eating nothing but pistachio pudding. The kind that comes in packets in a Jell-O box, and when your dog eats the box and packets it makes a really fucking horrible mess under the bed.

This is supposed to be free-form anarchy like the old days when the prompt was about potatoes and something something broads something armageddon. No flash rules. Unless I decide otherwise, of course! Deal with it and write, you fucking mongrel baby bitch ladyboy afterbirth inbred worthless dogs!