What’s Joey Chesnut's mouth and Dolly Waters got in common? They both count packed with countless weiners every year. Dolly, da bottom bitch oh B.O.B, bottom oh da bottom.

Na who we playen wit, Dolly’s name round here big as my name in da streets, but not as a big as ma thing in da sheets. Straight up, you gonna be my biggest match in da Ex Dub Eff. You a bigga name, and maybe even a bigge hoe dan the hoe I won the Television championship from. I done said I da best and called out da big boys, and you bout as big a boy as anyone round de Ex Dub Eff.

People been sleepen on CRAM since I got dis title. I faced some bums since winning da belt, and they thinken CRAM be cappen when he say he da man, but I’m like inside the school back in da day, no cap allowed. CRAM the truth, all thriller no filler. Come Warfare CRAM is gonna silence the doubters and da haters when I dog walk ya bottom bitch ass Dolly.

Country bumpkin mofucka, gonna learn what it’s like to get scooted across the grass. Ya already got a face dat looks like a dogs ass, now I’m gonna scoot it around the grass, on dat tryen to get the worms out ya hole tip. You common in with the big mo, and don’t go on some cancel trip ya millennial lib, I’m talken momentum. But ya got that from ya boy Corey over some dupe thugs. One of who, I took da Television championship from.

Guess you catchen the pin supposed to earn ya a shot at CRAM and my championship, or maybe it’s just da headcheeses trying to find anyone they can to throw at CRAM in hopes of da real THUG of Ex Dub Eff, slippen and fallen. Day don’t like CRAM cause I’m too damn real for um, too hot and controversial for TV like Springer in the nineties.

CRAM ain’t exactly the kinda face ya put on the poster for the corporate sponsors. CRAM ain’t exactly the kinda uso ya want repping ya on TV every week. Na, that want a pretty little white woman like Dolly to be they brand, but CRAM steady spoilen that plan. Ya think you gonna stop me Dolly, ya dead wrong, and I’m talken Biggie Dead wrong.

See dis about the weak or the strong. Who got it going on? If ya betten against CRAM, you're dead wrong. So, ya haters, ya opps, can relax and take notes while, while CRAM take tokes of the marijuana smoke. Gonna throw my head at ya, leaven ya in a scene like there was gun smoke, ya in a body bag.CARM for mayor, the opps slayer.

CRAM the head honcho, swift fists like Cu-macho. I got so much styles I should be down with the Stylistics. Dis ain’t no make up to break up with my TV championship. Usos need to wake up, smell Indonesia, cause CRAM gonna beat you to a seizure. When I crush your skull, ya ever wake up it’ll be wit amnesia. Dolly, ya won’t remember shit, just the two hits, CRAM  hittin' the JAM and ya back hittin' the deck.

I know ya done did ya thing round here Doly, and it’s plain to see ya back for another run, looken to grab some quick gold. You a two-time tag champ, a two- time Hart champ, da hell ever dat, a two-time Television champ, and CRAM maken damn sure it ain’t gonna be a three-time TV champ. But, looken over ya record what stood out to me da most is ya being a three-time X-treme champ. I’d have thought you only liked to get hardcore at the B.O.B Bukkie party.

So, dat got the wheels to turnen in the big melon on CRAM. Na, not thinkin bout ya with Bobby Burbon and Thunder “Moose” Knuckles, but thinken bout getten Xtreme. Dats right, I know ya all see where dis is headen. Warfare, Dolly,  you and me gonna get extra extreme. Day gonna be sayen CRAM doin too much when day see me get xtreme. Gonna look somethen like a murder scene when I’m done with ya Dolly.

See, ya got a bright past, but ya future dim. Ya my opp, and I’m gonna straight put ya down. CRAM the gas, and you the old-guard which made Ex Dub EFF look mid in the modern day. With all ya past accomplishments, came a lot a losses, and another loss getten added to dat record when we go to war.

This more than just a war between CRAM and Dolly doe. This a war between the new blood coming into Ex Dub Eff, trying to breath some life back into this place, and the old guard that rode this place into the ground and took it from gas to mid. Ex Dub Eff used to be da crème de la crème, I’m talken top shelf. But the folks like you Dolly, rode this place into the ground making it ya own personal playground.

CRAM repping the new heart and soul oh the NEW Ex Dub Eff. I’m talken non-cappen, non-gaslighen, real G’s. A new breed and new blood oh real ones who gonna talk da talk and walk da walk. CRAM be talken that talk to ya face, and ar Warfare, I be walken da walk like a mud hole in ya ass.



~ On a rainy Christmas Day, CRAM returned from a clandestine business trip to reign havoc upon Havok, the moist, bone-soaking air sprayed upon CRAMs as he navigated the desolate streets. The clock struck 2 a.m., and the city lay shrouded in hushed tranquility, the distant echoes of celebration mingling with the eerie silence.

As he unlocked the door to his dimly lit apartment, the faint scent of pine and remnants of a solitary Christmas lingered in the air. But before he could embrace the comfort of his own space, an unexpected ambush awaited him. Five shadowy figures, adorned in the telltale markings of the Gangster Disciples, pounced upon CRAM as he crossed the threshold.

A melee erupted within the confines of his own sanctuary. CRAM, known for his tenacity and resilience, fought back fiercely, his determination blazing like a bonfire in the night. However, outnumbered and taken by surprise, he soon found himself overpowered.

The crack of a bat against flesh echoed in the empty corridors as the Gangster Disciples unleashed a brutal assault, their blows raining down upon CRAM until his once indomitable spirit faltered, subdued by the unrelenting onslaught. Weakened and disoriented, he was forcibly dragged into a waiting van, the night swallowing his muffled cries for aid.
Hours passed like an eternity as the van traversed the labyrinthine streets, eventually halting in front of a nondescript smoke shop nestled within the heart of the city's underbelly. CRAM, battered and bloodied, was unceremoniously hauled into the depths of the shop, where a clandestine chamber served as their dungeon.

In the grim confines of a smoke shop, named Mr. Smoke’s basement, CRAM lay shackled and bruised, his enslavers reveling in their sadistic intentions. Torment danced in their eyes as they subjected him to unspeakable agonies, their twisted minds finding perverse pleasure in breaking the indomitable leader.

Yet, amid the shadows and searing pain, a glimmer of defiance burned within CRAM. With each agonizing moment, his resolve solidified, a determination to survive and reclaim his freedom kindling within him like a dormant inferno awaiting its moment to blaze.

As the cold tendrils of the night clutched at the city, a struggle of wills unfolded beneath the smoke shop's facade—a battle for dominance, a clash between rival factions, and an unwavering testament to the resilience of a leader unwilling to bow to the forces that sought to crush him. Hours of torture turned into days of torture.

The Disciples had been vastly weakened and their ranks slashed by the bombings and fires from The Company, and now they want revenge. The few remaining members had called for reinforcements from neighboring states and now sought information. As the leader of The Company, CRAM was the only man who knew ever detail of the organization, and that is exactly what they wanted to extract from CRAM before finishing him off. 

For days, the grim confines of the smoke shop's basement had become CRAM's harrowing purgatory, a chamber of torment where the days bled into nights, and the line between consciousness and delirium blurred. The Gangster Disciples, relentless in their pursuit of information, subjected him to a cruel symphony of pain and coercion, seeking the secrets that lay guarded within his stoic silence.

Bruised and battered, CRAM bore the scars of their sadistic fervor, his spirit tested but unbroken. Each passing moment etched tales of agony upon his flesh, yet within the labyrinth of his mind, a steely resolve took root, fueled by a simmering determination to defy his captors and emerge from the abyss they had cast him into.

It was a desolate, moonlit night when fate took an unexpected turn. As the hour grew late and the pall of exhaustion draped over his captors like a shroud, two men, tasked with inflicting fresh torment upon CRAM, approached his shackled form with sinister intent.

With the eerie silence of the night as his ally, CRAM summoned the last reserves of his strength, his muscles tensing as if anticipating the impending struggle. As the men unchained him, their guard momentarily down in anticipation of another session of torment, CRAM seized the fleeting opportunity with the precision of a predator poised to break free from its confines.

In a sudden surge of defiance, CRAM launched himself at his captors, a primal roar escaping his lips as he fought with the ferocity of a cornered beast. The element of surprise was his weapon, and he wielded it with a resolute determination to reclaim his freedom.

A flurry of fists and desperation filled the dimly lit chamber as the cacophony of their struggle reverberated through the smoke shop's basement. CRAM, drawing upon reserves of resilience he didn't know he possessed, fought tooth and nail against the two adversaries who sought to shackle him once more with chains of agony.

With sheer tenacity and a resolve steeled by the trials of his confinement, CRAM managed to overpower his assailants, their stunned faces mirroring the disbelief of their defeat. Bloodied but unyielding, he broke free from the fetters that bound him, his movements fueled by an unrelenting desire for freedom and retribution.

Amidst the chaos, as the dust settled from the frenzied struggle, CRAM stood, his chest heaving with exertion, a testament to his unyielding spirit. The smoke shop's basement, once a prison of torment, now bore witness to a triumph born from the depths of adversity.

With wary eyes scanning the shadows, CRAM swiftly navigated the labyrinthine corridors, every step a testament to his newfound liberation. The night, pregnant with possibilities and uncertainties, embraced him as he emerged from the clandestine depths, a survivor reborn from the crucible of his own resilience, ready to reclaim his mantle as the indomitable leader of "The Company."

As CRAM took a deep breath of freedom, he paused as evil intent crept through his mind. CRAM turned and reentered the Mr. Smoke. On the shelves were small torches, intended to be used on glass pipes. CRAM grabbed two of the torches, lit them, and began to set ablaze the smoke shop.

As CRAM exited he could hear the screams from the basement over the roaring flames and sirens in the distance, and for the first time since Christmas day, CRAM smiled. ~