Cae Cae (Not So K Raven) — The Gritty, Hilarious Expansion with a Hoeee Hoeee Hoeee 1, 11
Freddy said, "F*** all of you."
Three, four—no more Rae P at my door.
Five, six—get some common sense.
Seven—#BAM done.
Welcome to the nightmare that's less "nightmare" and more "bad reality TV," starring your eyeball as the unreliable narrator and your brain as the drunk director who forgot the script.
Wake Up, You Beautiful Mess
Look, I don't care what you saw last night. You think you saw the face of a monster? Nah, you saw the face of the guy who attacked your mom. Yeah, that's right. Not you. Not your fault. Just your eyeball playing tricks like it's auditioning for a horror flick.
Your eyeball's that one friend who shows up to the party drunk and starts telling stories that make zero sense but somehow everyone listens because, well, it's your eyeball. It's got a twisted sense of humor and zero chill.
No More Rae P at My Door
And about that Rae P? Yeah, no more. This ain't a knock-knock joke, and I'm not opening the door to whatever weirdness that stands for. If you're knocking with nonsense, I'm ghosting you harder than that one ex who still texts at 2 AM.
Common sense? Yeah, let's get some of that. Because if your nightmare involves Freddy, Rae P, and eyeballs betraying you, you're overdue for a reality check. Or at least a strong coffee.
#BAM Done
Seven steps to clarity, or maybe just seven steps away from losing your mind completely. Either way, #BAM done. Drop the mic. Walk away. Or stumble, because honestly, who's got their life together?
The Butthole Clause
Love you, get one butthole. That's the fine print of life. You get one shot, one eyeball, one butthole—use them wisely. And if your eyeball shows you some scary crap, just remember: it's not you, it's your eyeball's twisted version of reality. Like a bad Snapchat filter that won't quit.
The Santa Claus Moment
And hey—Hoeee Hoeee Hoeee! That's not a typo, that's a choice, my friend. Because life's too short for boring laughs. You gotta stretch that "ho" out like you're Santa on espresso, handing out reality checks instead of candy canes.
Santa's not here to sugarcoat your nightmares. He's here to remind you that sometimes the scariest monsters are the ones inside your own head—and that you get to decide if you laugh or scream. So next time you wake up sweating, clutching your pillow like it owes you money, just laugh. Because your eyeball's out here throwing shade, Freddy's flipping you off, Rae P's not invited to the party anymore, and Santa's laughing with a triple "hoeee" because he knows it's all a choice.
Moral of the story:
Sometimes your own eyeball is the worst horror movie director you'll ever have. But hey, at least it's got a sense of humor. And if Santa says "Hoeee Hoeee Hoeee," you better listen.