Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles by Bo Unce

lips.  "Is that you?"
    "Yah, and who be askin'?  Whafuck?" Marcus replied.  I hadn't heard that nickname in a while.
    "It's me!  Yvonne!" came the reply.  At last I could match a gender to what I was seeing.  "Remember me, sweetie?"
    "Yvonne?  Nah, I only knew one Yvonne," Koochy replied.  "Straight busted nuts up in her, dat shit was tight, yo!  Peaced out like ten years ago, unngh!  Hope that ho be stayin' fly.  Stay fly, ho."
    "Dinny.  Marcus, listen.  That one night we had..." it panted.  "I'll just say it.  You have a son."
    Koochy's jaw dropped.  It literally finished rotting off and fell to the ground.  "Whaaaaaaaa?" came a cry from his suit speakers.
    "Hahahahaha!" I laughed.  "Koochy I knew you liked them thick chicks but damn!"
    Koochy grabbed his jaw and shoved it back in place, then thought logically.  "Bitch, you ain't Yvonne!  Yo' ass as tight as a garbage bag full o' rotten cottage cheese!"
    "It's baby weight!  A mother's body is a treasure!" Yvonne rasped back.  "You're... you're triggering me!!"
    "Dat shit was ten years ago!  You ain't in no fo'tieth trimester!"
    "Marcus, look."  The screen above the scooter flashed a progression of pictures: a slim, sultry white girl with a big ass sitting on Koochy's lap.  Then Koochy on the floor passed out with smoke curling from his nostrils.  Then the same girl resting her hands on a baby bump.  Then the girl surrounded by empty tubs of ice cream, butter and mayonnaise.  Then the girl with her hair dyed green and purple.  Then the girl sitting proudly in her first mobility scooter.
    Holy shit!  This was really Yvonne!   I thought to myself.
    The pictures continued, also showing a small boy turning into a much rounder, more rotund boy.  Then Yvonne at a feminist rally, using her scooter to bulldoze weight scales and diet books into a laser incinerator.  Then Yvonne with a poorly-overlaid label of "now an online activist!", the picture showing her lit by a compute-pad screen and behind piles of pizza boxes.  Over time Yvonne's green hair was getting thinner, and her makeup got more and more outlandish, leading to her current "smiley face drawn on a thumb"-like appearance.
    I couldn't look at the pictures anymore, I was getting nauseated.
    "This is a tactical and strategic disaster," Alphonso announced, invoking his Vice-Admiral voice.  "Let's kill it!"
    "Nah, Alphonso," Koochy said somberly.  "Dis be the mutha of my son."
    "Stay right there!  I'm coming over in person!" Yvonne warbled.  "I'm bringing Junior.  You got anything to eat?  You're the hosts, I'm the guest!"  The motorized scooter backed up and drove away.
    I shut the door.  "Koochy," I started.  "How did that thing find us?  We're in the middle of fucking nowhere!  This is Old Cleveland for crying out loud!"
    "Fuckin' Felix Navi Dod.  Gotsta be.  That fucka's probly laughin' his dumb ass off.  How he run up on Yvonne anyways?  I ain't got no chil' support on file!"  Marcus paced around the room angrily.  "Muffucka ain't never fight a clean fight by his own damn self!  We ain't got time for no baby momma!  But sheeit.  Dat be my son, kid.  Shit is scraight serious mane, I see how you be feelin' all the time now.  Damns."
    "What?  Oh, uh... yeah," I faltered.  What had become of my children/siblings?  Baby Sienna?  That mutant-brain brother of mine, Ralph?  How exactly did I be feeling all the time?
    "Well," I counseled Koochy.  "If there's anything I've learned from being my own son, it's that you can't blame yourself for what you do as your own kid.  I mean, that is some deep shit, man.  Think about it."
    "P, what tha fuck, mane?  You on some ganja you ain't tol' me 'bout?  Sound high as fuck, kid!" Koochy accused.
    "I'm just saying," I continued.  "When one day you are your own father and want to have sex with your mother, and your other son and brother has a lisp of some sort, you'll understand."
    "Sheeit.  Cain't understan' yo' ass.  Maybe I