I got the voice. I got the moves. I got the undeniable, world-shaking charisma. When I take the stage, knees buckle, hearts race, and lesser men question their existence.

There’s just one problem. I don’t write hits—I butcher them.

I don’t get it. The voice is there. The rhythm is perfect. But every time I unveil a Wesley Original™, the crowd winces like they just stepped on a nail. Critics call my lyrics "unhinged rambling," but what do they know? Art isn’t about rules—it’s about soul.

So I stick to karaoke. Because when I belt out a classic? The world bows. My hips swing, the crowd swoons, and for those three glorious minutes, I am untouchable.