Mf can't catch a break

Waking up, rubbing his cute little eyes, baby J yawned as he rolled over, slamming his tiny body against the bars of the prison that hold him. In a cage with white bars and little flying, rotating planets above him, the ceiling above a blinding white, scary. 

A foot away, there are fellow prisoners, all crying, in utter fear. 

Merely hours ago, J had been in a comfortable place; it was warm, cushiony, and provided food whenever he wanted. Baby J was now in hell, and he knew it. 

A year later, Baby J now wasn't quite sure that he was in hell, but this hope was squashed when he was given an "airplane" of his first "real meal." Before this, Baby J could comfort himself by knowing that, although the place of comfort he used to live eludes him, he can still snuggle onto a big pillow and suck on it for food, almost emulating what life used to be like. The villains that removed him even seemed to be happy that they were taking away his vestiges of home, proudly exclaiming to people for weeks to come that they, "successfully weaned the feisty bugger." 

And now.... Baby J is no longer a baby. 

"Who... What... What am I?" 

One day, Baby J could see that he was... Different than everything around him. He was a thing distinct from the floor, the ceiling, or his clothes. He was... J. 

Going to school in prim little clothes, J saw other students in cute little prim clothes too, though he righteously thought to himself, "I am J, and they are not. Their shitty clothes will get them nowhere with me." 

J did not make any friends that year. 

The next year, J decided to do something different. 

"I am J, and they are not, but... Their shitty clothes... Should not be a reason for me to not get close with these people."

J.... Also did not make any friends this year.

And so he stopped trying. 

An outcast in society, J felt like he had no one to turn to. His father, a humongous giant like the others of his kind (old people), and his mother, a small giant, never seemed to take him seriously when he told them, "I am sad. I want to go back to where I came from." 

They laughed.... 

They laughed, and they shall pay. 

J started working out, running, doing push ups, and martial arts. 

"Goo goo, ga ga, motherfucker."

By 6 years old, J was a bald baby looking kid with a six pack and jacked arms, able to bench press 60 pounds, run for 15 minutes straight, and do 60 pull ups in five minutes. 

Shaving his head daily to stay hard, J wasn't going to let the world's difficulties stop him from success. 

Having a mirror that he stared at every day, he called it the "accountability mirror." 

"Don't be a bitch J!"