make me

artistic rendering of lapp

i asked the bingjeet to write an erotic fiction where @Lappland changes his mind

In the heart of the city, where neon lights painted the streets in restless hues of desire, Lappland toiled amidst the sizzle and spice of Taco Bell. His apron clung to his frame, a canvas for the secrets he harbored—secrets that simmered hotter than the beef in the kitchen.

He was no ordinary taco artist. No, Lappland was a contrarian fetishist, a maestro of culinary rebellion. When customers begged for extra cheese, he'd sprinkle less; when they craved mild sauce, he'd defiantly hand them fire. His motto? "DONKEY KONG…BAD!!! "

But beneath the fluorescent glow of the fast-food joint, Lappland's heart craved more than just fiery sauces and crispy shells. His pulse raced for none other than Donkey Kong, the barrel-tossing, tie-wearing gorilla of video game fame. Yes, you heard right—the pixelated primate who'd stolen countless hours of childhood joy.

Their paths collided one fateful evening. Lappland, wiping grease from his brow, glanced up from the cash register. There stood Donkey Kong himself—or rather, a guy in a gorilla suit. But Lappland's heart didn't care about zippers or faux fur. It beat in sync with the rhythm of forbidden love.

"Welcome to Taco Bell," Lappland drawled, his voice as flat as a tortilla. "What can I get you?"

Donkey Kong—let's call him DK for brevity—leaned on the counter, oversized head brushing against the salsa dispenser. "I'll take a Crunchwrap Supreme," he said, voice muffled. "Extra guac."

Lappland's eyes narrowed. "Guacamole is overrated," he declared. "It's just mashed green mush. You want flavor? Try our shredded lettuce. It's the iceberg of authenticity."

DK raised a furry eyebrow. "I beg to differ. Guac is the soul of any self-respecting taco."

And so began their daily sparring. Lappland argued for nacho cheese supremacy; DK championed pico de gallo. Customers watched, bemused, as they debated the merits of soft versus hard shells, like two philosophers locked in a cheesy dialectic.

But as the weeks passed, something shifted. Lappland noticed DK's eyes—those plastic orbs that held a hint of mischief. DK, in turn, admired Lappland's unwavering commitment to culinary chaos. They were like two mismatched ingredients, destined to create a flavor explosion.

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This but unironically also

Just simp for the music while hypocritically muting it like the rest of us

@Lappland @X being not-kong is not enough, you need to be anti-kong.

Why?