Shadee Monique Vol. 1/10: Where ARE WE GOING?

 Before we get into everything… understand that everything you are about to read is true!

Nothing is a lie and this is Shadee Monique story, EVERY LAST DROP OF IT!

Before Shadee left her family home and before when she returns!

Before being in the highest apartment in NYC, above her !

With all the twitter games played for the fans and all the hoes in the JBP community, nothing changed the waiting game that not even the swing out sister would not even allow! (To go on in her head)

The world, as a collective entity, had seen a lot. (but 4 new wedding dates that keep the fans eyes with each time Joe got on his knees, the rings got bigger in price, size and SHINE)

That started all on season 2 of POD WIVES as the final episode! ( making Shadee cry before the cameras cut off with a million questions)

Before Shadee vanished after the divorce, with Joe Budden’s daughter everyone one in the world clowned him later on what he said in Ep.879 about not doing it it all again.

But lets see! where to start???

From THE very start without any LOVE LOST !

Hmmm…

All had witnessed Shadee Monique, resplendent in designer labels, verbally dismantle rivals on national television.

Joe Budden, mic in hand, dissect hip-hop culture with surgical precision and unvarnished truth.

But never, in anyones wildest dreams including Brandy, most algorithm-defying dreams, could predict this.

It started, as most truly bizarre things do, with a slightly misconstrued charity auction and a competitive dare.

Shadee, believing she’d bid on a luxury spa weekend for underprivileged youth, found herself instead committed to a “community outreach project” in rural Pennsylvania.

Joe, roped in by a mutual acquaintance who thought his "analytical mind would be an asset," assumed it was a panel discussion on local entrepreneurship.

They arrived at the same dusty fairground entrance, simultaneously, in two wildly different vehicles.

Shadee emerged from a sleek, tinted Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen X, her perfectly coiffed hair catching the unforgiving afternoon sun, her designer handbag dangling from her arm like a weapon from the BUDDEN collection.

Joe ambled out of a slightly scuffed but still formidable Dodge Charger King, his signature hoodie pulled low, a pair of AirPods already in place, likely playing some obscure jazz fusion.

Their eyes met.

The confusion was palpable, thicker than the humid summer air.

Joe: Shadee? Joe's voice, usually a booming baritone, was an incredulous squeak.

Joe: What the hell are you doing at the Annual Lancaster County /From Cow to Crown' Dairy Art Show'?

Shadee blinked, her perfectly made-up face a mask of dawning horror.

Dairy... art? Joe, I was told... 'community building through creative expression,

Shadee: Plus we need to keep up with Ish, so shut up smile, and remember different is what the fans want! ( She said dusting him off)

Shadee: I assumed it was, like, a mural in a gentrified neighborhood. She gestured vaguely at the colossal, bovine-themed banner flapping in the breeze.

Joe: This looks like... a lot of milk. (Joe said with a random idea entering his mind!)

A harried fair organizer, a woman named Katie Zimmer with earnest eyes and a cheese-stained apron, bustled up to them.

Katie: Ah, Mr. Budden! Ms. Monique! So glad you could make it!

Katie: Your cheese block awaits!

Katie: We’re so excited for you to represent Team Urban Legends!

Katie: doing this will Boost your visibility in our family, so thank you…(She said with a smile)

Joe slowly removed an AirPod from one ear, with ideas racing in his popcorn brain. Cheese block, A Baby Hat Maybe??

Katie: Indeed! You're on the celebrity team!

Katie: Three hours to sculpt a masterpiece from a 40-pound block of aged cheddar! Theme is 'American Spirit through Agriculture'! (Katie beamed, handing them each a pair of rubber gloves and a small, surprisingly sharp-looking chisel.

The next three hours became legend, though it began strictly offline. ( Only what was captured by Carlos alone, and not Ian)

Shadee, initially disgusted by the sticky, waxy texture of the cheddar, almost walked out.

Her hands, usually adorned with intricate nail art, recoiled from the grease. "

Shadee: This is a violation," she declared, holding up a crumb of cheese on a gloved fingertip as if it were a biohazard.

(Making Joe smile and love her so much more)

Joe, meanwhile, approached the cheddar block with the same intense, critical gaze he reserved for a problematic rap lyric.

He poked it, sniffed it, even tapped it.

Joe: Structurally, this isn't ideal for a multi-faceted representation of 'American Spirit', he mused, already planning a deconstruction.

Shadee: Joe, it's cheese," Shadee snapped with a smile, "Not quantum physics. Just... make a cow or something.

But something unexpected happened.

As Joe meticulously scraped away at the block, attempting to form a rudimentary tractor, he found a surprising, almost meditative rhythm.

He started critiquing the cheese, not just the concept.

Joe: The inconsistent fat content here is really affecting my clean lines," he grumbled, more to himself than Shadee.

And Shadee, after a few minutes of dramatic sighing, found herself a little fascinated.

She watched Joe's surprisingly delicate movements.

Then, picking up a smaller tool, she started chipping away at a section he'd left.

She wasn't aiming for a tractor; she was creating something fluid, almost abstract, using the natural imperfections of the cheese to her advantage.

Shadee: You know," Shadee said, wiping a stray crumb from her cheek, this actually takes... patience.

Shadee: And an eye for detail, She sounded genuinely surprised?

Joe glanced at her work a swirling, almost cloud-like formation that was strangely elegant.

Joe: That's... not bad, Monique.

Joe: You've got an intuitive sense for the medium.

They fell into a strange, synergistic rhythm.

Joe, the meticulous architect, laying down the broad strokes for their agricultural panorama.

Shadee, the instinctive artist, adding flourishes, textures, and unexpected details that brought their cheesy landscape to life.

She used toothpicks for tiny fences, Joe carefully carved grooves for furrows in their cheddar field.

There were moments of exasperation!

Shadee: Joe, stop trying to make a whole combine harvester! We have three hours, not three days!

and moments of bizarre camaraderie!

Joe: Monique, pass me the spork. I need to feather this pig's ear.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the sculpting, they stood back, covered in cheese dust, sweat, and a faint aroma of aged dairy.

Their creation was... well, it was certainly something.

A lopsided tractor pulling a cart full of what looked suspiciously like a glamorous, lounging cow with very large eyelashes (Shadee's touch), all set against a backdrop of rolling cheese hills and a sun that was more of a giant, spherical, slightly melting disc.

Katie stood at a panel of local dairy enthusiasts, approached with solemn faces. They circled the sculpture, murmuring.

One judge, a stern-faced woman in a sensible cardigan, pointed to the glamorous cow.

Judge1: Such... personality!

Another commented on the bold use of negative space in Joe's tractor!

They didn’t win first prize. That went to a hyper-realistic depiction of a prize-winning Holstein.

But they placed Zero because they was removed from the secret judging, earning a ribbon and a genuinely surprised contract before cheer from the fair-goers who had recognized the unlikely duo.

As they walked away, the sun setting, casting long shadows across the fairground, a strange calm settled between them.

Shadee: You know," Shadee said, picking a final crumb of cheddar from her immaculate extensions, I wouldn't have thought it.

Shadee: But... you're not terrible with cheese, Joe.

Joe grunted, a flicker of something almost like pride in his eyes.

Joe: And you, Monique, despite your aversion to manual labor and anything that isn't Gucci, have a surprisingly steady hand.

Shadee: And you listened! (Sometimes…”giving Joe a kiss”

Shadee: Don't push it, Budden, she warned, a small smile playing on her lips.

Joe: But... this wasn't the worst three hours of my life!

Joe pulled out his phone, snapped a selfie of their cheese-dusted faces, a rare, almost shy smile creasing his features. "

Shadee: The internet's gonna lose its mind!

And the internet sure did, when the pictures and snippets of their unlikely collaboration finally surfaced, it did exactly that.

From memes of Shadee's glamorous cheese cow to analyses of Joe's surprising sculptural technique, the world reveled in the utterly unexpected alliance in dairy. Because sometimes, the most original and engaging stories aren't about the drama we anticipate, but the quiet, messy, cheesy moments we never saw coming.

Yup The internet, when the pictures and snippets of their unlikely collaboration finally surfaced, did exactly that. From memes of Shadee’s glamorous cheese cow to analyses of Joe’s surprising sculptural technique, the world reveled in the utterly unexpected alliance that was covered in newspapers.

These cheesy moments we never saw coming.

The immediate aftermath was, predictably, a hurricane of media attention.

Shadee’s Instagram blew up, not with the usual curated fashion shots, but with candid, cheese-dusted selfies and bewildered captions that somehow made “aged cheddar” sound like a luxury material.

Her agent, initially apoplectic, quickly pivoted, rebranding her client as a “multi-talented creative icon, unafraid to get her hands dirty for the sake of art and community.

Joe’s podcast co-hosts mercilessly roasted him, but viewership spiked, and even cynical industry pundits admitted that Budden’s “unconventional approach to cultural commentary” now extended to dairy products.

(No rapper has came this close to making Fa!rlife look, not even 50 Cent with gatorade)

And then, a new email landed in both their inboxes, forwarded by Katie, the earnest fair organizer.

The subject line: Mount Scrapple County Folk Art Revival: Sustainable Sculpture Challenge By Coca Cola.

Shadee: Absolutely not! Shadee declared into her bluetooth earpiece, pacing her impeccably minimalist Tribeca loft.

Shadee: I’m not doing another, what did Katie call it? ‘Rural artistic endeavor.

Shadee: My nails are only just recovering from the cheddar trauma.

On the other end, Joe’s deep voice was a slow drawl.

Joe: Hold on, Monique. Let’s dissect this. ‘Sustainable Sculpture.’ That implies a certain environmental consciousness.

A narrative. Potentially, a metaphor for societal recycling.

Joe: This isn’t just cheese.

Joe:This could be… a statement.

Shadee: It’s a statement that I don’t own a pair of steel-toed boots, Joe! she retorted. “

Shadee: What are the materials? More milk products? Are we churning butter this time? Because I draw the line at churns.

Joe paused. The brief mentions repurposed agricultural materials.

Joe: Old tools, tires, corn cobs, hay bales, rusty gears.

Joe: The theme is ‘Growth and Renewal’.

A beat of silence. Shadee pictured herself, resplendent in a custom utility jumpsuit (likely designed by Virgil Abloh, if she could swing it), wrestling with a tractor tire. A strange, almost perverse curiosity flickered.

Shadee: Fine. But if I get tetanus, you’re paying for the private jet to Switzerland for treatment IN A TEMPLE SOMEWHERE.

Two weeks later, Shadee, indeed in a surprisingly chic, form-fitting work suit – thankfully sans Abloh, but still designer – stood in a dusty barn, surveying a collection of rusted plows, bent pitchforks, and stacks of old tires that looked suspiciously like props from a post-apocalyptic film.

Joe, in a new, slightly cleaner hoodie, already had his AirPods in, circling a pile of defunct combine parts like a predator assessing prey.

Joe: Structurally!

Joe began, removing an AirPod…

Joe: these discarded implements offer a unique challenge.

The inherent decay could be read as a commentary on industrial decline, or, conversely, as a foundation for new narratives of resilience.

He poked a rusty harrow with a stick.

Joe: The patina is… authentic.

Shadee wrinkled her nose.

Shadee: The patina is tetanus waiting to happen. How are we making ‘Growth and Renewal’ out of this?

Shadee: It looks like the end of the world, not new beginnings.

Joe: Precisely the irony, Joe countered, a flicker of his characteristic analytical fire in his eyes.

Joe: The juxtaposition creates the tension… What if we use these as the roots, the buried past, from which something fresh emerges?

The next few days were a strange ballet of friction and flow. Shadee, surprisingly, had an eye for composition, envisioning elegant arcs from twisted metal, and finding unexpected beauty in the texture of woven hay.

Joe, surprisingly, had a knack for practical engineering, figuring out how to balance unwieldy objects, how to secure a precarious stack of tires, and how to stabilize a rusted wagon wheel that Shadee insisted was the perfect “halo” for their nascent creation.

Shadee: Joe, this pitchfork needs to be angled for maximum visual impact, Shadee commanded, pointing with a perfectly manicured, gloved finger.

Shadee: It’s about the line, darling… The upward momentum.

Joe: The upward momentum is contingent on not collapsing on some poor bystander, Monique, Joe grumbled, meticulously tightening a cable around the base of a towering structure of old gears.

Joe: We need a counterweight. The physics are non-negotiable.”

He taught her basic knot-tying, she taught him about negative space.

He learned that old burlap could be draped with surprisingly dramatic effect; she learned that a well-placed bolt could prevent existential artistic dread.

They even tried some rudimentary welding, sparking and sputtering their way through attaching a few smaller components, leaving them both smelling faintly of ozone and bewildered accomplishment.

By the deadline, their “sustainable sculpture” stood tall and defiant. It was an abstract, almost plant-like form composed of layers of rusted tools, old tires forming a sturdy base, and strands of hay braided with discarded twine reaching towards the barn ceiling like tenacious vines.

At the very top, Shadee had insisted on placing a single, polished piece of driftwood, found by a nearby creek, representing the “new growth” emerging from the industrial detritus. It was gritty, imposing, and strangely beautiful.

The judges, a diverse group this time including a local environmentalist and a retired art teacher, approached with even more solemnity than the cheese panel.

They circled the piece, murmuring about “innovative material use” and “profound metaphorical resonance.”

They didn’t win first prize; that went to a painstakingly crafted miniature farm diorama made entirely of recycled plastic bottles.

But they placed second, earning another ribbon and a respectful nod from the Mount Scrapple County mayor Will Haynie himself.

As they packed up, covered in rust dust, grime, and a faint aroma of hay and metallic tang, a familiar calm settled between them.

Joe: You know, Joe said, wiping a streak of grease from his jaw, “

Joe: your eye for form, particularly with the driftwood, provided the essential counterpoint to my structural integrity. It elevates the piece.

Shadee, carefully folding her custom utility suit into a designer garment bag, allowed a slight smile.

Shadee: And your… ‘structural integrity’ kept my vision from toppling over, Budden.

Shadee: Though I still think you over-engineered that base.

Joe: Prudence, Monique. Prudence.” He pulled out his phone, snapped a joint selfie with the sculpture in the background.

Their faces, grimy but oddly satisfied, held a shared secret.

The internet, when the pictures and snippets of their second, even stranger collaboration surfaced, did not exactly that.

The world, initially amused, was now genuinely intrigued. The Urban Legends were no longer a one-off joke; they were becoming an unlikely, almost mythical duo, consistently defying expectations.

Because some stories, once they start, don’t just end with a quiet moment. Sometimes, they evolve, messily, unpredictably, into an ongoing saga of absurd, yet profoundly human, connection.

And the world, it seemed, was ready for the next chapter.

Shadee: OKAY ALIY MENREL ENOUGH, LET ME TEL THE STORY, LETS GET TO THE TEA, AND LET ALL THE JUICE SPILL LIKE HENNY OUT A BOTTLE FOR A FALLEN O.G!

Shadee Monique Vol. 2/10 : bioride

TBA