1. fried chicken wings with pork fried rice
2. black pepper chicken (only at a mall food court)
3. general tso
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5633
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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This just speaks to how Caine and Royce came out as such hoes.
My dawg knows
The JZA wrote: ↑04 Nov 2025, 00:53Captain Canada wrote: ↑03 Nov 2025, 13:12"Well, you have my address. I guess you may as well come over. Help keep me warm." Zane now gave her his full attention, looking into her eyes now. He caught something that he wasn't quite familiar with despite them spending more intentional romantic time together.
All great options
The Chinese food discussion really sparked something here.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5633
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The JZA
- Posts: 8516
- Joined: 07 Dec 2018, 13:10
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lol Nah. Was watching TV with my O.G. one day and landed on this channel where this show was showing the slaughterhouse and how they left the pigs out in the open to bleed out. Flies getting first dibs and shit.
I'm good on that. Haven't ate pork since I was about 11
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 5633
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Season I | Chapter XI: Scholarships
The lights of the dome continued to bear down on the turf, throwing long shadows across the track. Heat still rose from the red surface from all of the practice runs they had done, and the air carried that mix of rubber, grass, and adrenaline that always made Bianca’s pulse quicken. She bent over to tie her spikes, glancing up as Zane jogged back from the end zone, his gray workout shirt clinging to him like it was made to fit only him.
She had seen him play on Friday nights — the whole town had — but watching him here, stripped of the pads and noise, was something else. His stride was clean, easy, like gravity didn’t hold quite the same grip on him. Every muscle seemed to know exactly what it was for.
“You ready, track star?” he called, that teasing grin lighting up his sweat-slicked face.
“Track star in the making,” she said, standing and shaking out her arms. “Still deciding where I’ll be running next year, remember?”
He chuckled, stretching out beside her. “Right. Penn State, Michigan, or Florida State. You talk about them like you’re picking between three engagement rings.”
She gave him a look. “It kind of is like that.”
Zane laughed, then took his mark at the line. “Then let’s see if your future school can handle this.”
Bianca rolled her eyes but took her stance next to him. The playful tension between them buzzed louder than the cicadas. She had always presumed because he was supposed to be the football guy, he would simply be a weight-room monster — not a sprinter. But when the two of them launched off the line, she felt the air shift. His acceleration was unreal, a blur of power and rhythm that made her chest tighten.
By the twenty-meter mark, she almost forgot to breathe.
Bianca had run with state champions, trained beside college-bound elites — but she’d never seen anyone move like that. He wasn’t just fast; he was effortless, a living contradiction to everything she thought she knew about mechanics and form.
She crossed the line half a stride behind him, staring. “Zane… what even was that?”
He turned, grinning, barely winded. “Just keeping up with you.”
But she knew he wasn’t. He was holding back.
And that, somehow, was the most thrilling part.
They walked the curve of the track together, catching their breath as the sky deepened into violet. Zane was laughing at something she’d said, head tilted back, the kind of sound that made her stomach flutter. He offered her his water bottle, and she took it without thinking, still trying to process what she’d just seen — that impossible burst of speed, that raw, unpolished grace.
“See?” he said, bumping her shoulder. “You were pushing me the whole way.”
She smiled, but her mind was elsewhere. Pushing him? Not a chance.
Bianca sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced over her knees. The soft hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound in her room. Her phone buzzed — a new message from Zane: Still can’t believe you almost beat me. Sleep good, track star. She grinned, typing a quick reply, then opened a new tab.
Her search history was already a trail of her indecision:
Penn State sprint program.
Michigan 4x100 relay stats.
Florida State recruiting class 2025.
She clicked through scouting reports, comparing facilities, coaches, team depth. She’d read them all a hundred times, but tonight her focus kept drifting — not toward college, but back to the way Zane had exploded off that line. He moved like someone who’d been built for this. Not football.
Speed itself.
Curious, she typed into the search bar:
Zane Jones football.
The autocomplete filled in before she could finish: Zane Jones two-star recruit — highlights — recruiting buzz — Rivals.com.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”
She clicked the first link. A page loaded with his stats, his photo — that same grin she saw at practice, now frozen under the bold headline:
ZANE JONES (WR, 6'2", 190 lbs) — Rising Two-Star Prospect, Class of 2026
Scrolling, she found notes from scouts:
“Explosive acceleration. Surprising top-end speed.”
“Could project higher if exposed to national showcases.”
“Under-recruited but climbing fast.”
Then came a forum thread:
“Who is this kid from Upper St. Clair?”
“Rumor is he just clocked a 4.37 in practice.”
“Expecting more offers soon.”
Bianca leaned back, heart thudding. Zane hadn’t said a word about any of this — maybe he didn’t even know. He’d always shrugged off football talk like it was just something he did, not something he was. But the internet clearly disagreed.
Her cursor hovered over another link:
‘Underrated No More? The Quiet Rise of Zane Jones.’
She clicked.
As the article loaded, one thought anchored in her mind — part wonder, part realization.
He wasn’t just faster than she thought.
He was on the edge of becoming someone — and neither of them had seen it coming.
The lights of the dome continued to bear down on the turf, throwing long shadows across the track. Heat still rose from the red surface from all of the practice runs they had done, and the air carried that mix of rubber, grass, and adrenaline that always made Bianca’s pulse quicken. She bent over to tie her spikes, glancing up as Zane jogged back from the end zone, his gray workout shirt clinging to him like it was made to fit only him.
She had seen him play on Friday nights — the whole town had — but watching him here, stripped of the pads and noise, was something else. His stride was clean, easy, like gravity didn’t hold quite the same grip on him. Every muscle seemed to know exactly what it was for.
“You ready, track star?” he called, that teasing grin lighting up his sweat-slicked face.
“Track star in the making,” she said, standing and shaking out her arms. “Still deciding where I’ll be running next year, remember?”
He chuckled, stretching out beside her. “Right. Penn State, Michigan, or Florida State. You talk about them like you’re picking between three engagement rings.”
She gave him a look. “It kind of is like that.”
Zane laughed, then took his mark at the line. “Then let’s see if your future school can handle this.”
Bianca rolled her eyes but took her stance next to him. The playful tension between them buzzed louder than the cicadas. She had always presumed because he was supposed to be the football guy, he would simply be a weight-room monster — not a sprinter. But when the two of them launched off the line, she felt the air shift. His acceleration was unreal, a blur of power and rhythm that made her chest tighten.
By the twenty-meter mark, she almost forgot to breathe.
Bianca had run with state champions, trained beside college-bound elites — but she’d never seen anyone move like that. He wasn’t just fast; he was effortless, a living contradiction to everything she thought she knew about mechanics and form.
She crossed the line half a stride behind him, staring. “Zane… what even was that?”
He turned, grinning, barely winded. “Just keeping up with you.”
But she knew he wasn’t. He was holding back.
And that, somehow, was the most thrilling part.
They walked the curve of the track together, catching their breath as the sky deepened into violet. Zane was laughing at something she’d said, head tilted back, the kind of sound that made her stomach flutter. He offered her his water bottle, and she took it without thinking, still trying to process what she’d just seen — that impossible burst of speed, that raw, unpolished grace.
“See?” he said, bumping her shoulder. “You were pushing me the whole way.”
She smiled, but her mind was elsewhere. Pushing him? Not a chance.
***
Bianca sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced over her knees. The soft hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound in her room. Her phone buzzed — a new message from Zane: Still can’t believe you almost beat me. Sleep good, track star. She grinned, typing a quick reply, then opened a new tab.
Her search history was already a trail of her indecision:
Penn State sprint program.
Michigan 4x100 relay stats.
Florida State recruiting class 2025.
She clicked through scouting reports, comparing facilities, coaches, team depth. She’d read them all a hundred times, but tonight her focus kept drifting — not toward college, but back to the way Zane had exploded off that line. He moved like someone who’d been built for this. Not football.
Speed itself.
Curious, she typed into the search bar:
Zane Jones football.
The autocomplete filled in before she could finish: Zane Jones two-star recruit — highlights — recruiting buzz — Rivals.com.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”
She clicked the first link. A page loaded with his stats, his photo — that same grin she saw at practice, now frozen under the bold headline:
ZANE JONES (WR, 6'2", 190 lbs) — Rising Two-Star Prospect, Class of 2026
Scrolling, she found notes from scouts:
“Explosive acceleration. Surprising top-end speed.”
“Could project higher if exposed to national showcases.”
“Under-recruited but climbing fast.”
Then came a forum thread:
“Who is this kid from Upper St. Clair?”
“Rumor is he just clocked a 4.37 in practice.”
“Expecting more offers soon.”
Bianca leaned back, heart thudding. Zane hadn’t said a word about any of this — maybe he didn’t even know. He’d always shrugged off football talk like it was just something he did, not something he was. But the internet clearly disagreed.
Her cursor hovered over another link:
‘Underrated No More? The Quiet Rise of Zane Jones.’
She clicked.
As the article loaded, one thought anchored in her mind — part wonder, part realization.
He wasn’t just faster than she thought.
He was on the edge of becoming someone — and neither of them had seen it coming.
