How Kanye West SHOULD Have Proposed

Last night Kanye rented out out a baseball stadium and a couple of musicians to propose to Kim Kardashian on her 33rd birthday. I know right? That's AT&T Park and a couple of fucking violinists to propose to THE MOTHER OF YOUR CHILD AND LOVE OF YOUR LIFE. For anyone else who was a little disappointed in Kanye we daydreamed about how the momentous event should have gone down.

It is a cold night in Russia. A lonely Kim forlornly stares at her iPhone, her mind racing with questions; why hasn't Ye responded to her camel hoof selfie? How long can it take her assistant to fly the correct ylang ylang oil for her foot rubs into Russia? Why hasn't her tan accelerator, KARDASHIAN GLOW, kicked off in Moscow? Is salami a carb? Taking a moment to listlessly massage the knot in her shoulder from craning to take pictures of her butthole, she sighs heavily as she body slams her hotel bed. Her face buried in Egyptian cotton sheets she can feel a bad cry coming before the opening credits of Enter the Void booms from outside, an ominous, disjointed voice rumbles "MS KARDASHIAN, YEEZY IS READY TO SEE YOU."

Her heart is pounding as she grabs the $300, 000 mink stole she's been using as a hand towel and races downstairs…via the private elevator. As she steps out into the snow the whole of Moscow Square is plunged into darkness. Suddenly there's a deafening clang as a spotlight shines to reveal an 8 foot tall leather Bulgari box in the centre. She scuttles over to it as fast as her nerves and Louboutin trotters will allow her. As she draws closer to the box it flops open to reveal Kanye– motionless and nude but for a pair of one of a kind Air Yeezys and a sapphire encrusted Margiela jock strap, reclined in a pile of Persian teacup kittens. Kanye carefully stands up, the brisk Moscow air beating his nipples into razor sharp shivs, and saunters over to a now open-mouthed Kim.

"Kim…baby…you my boo thang, my only followee on Twitter and you got the finest back off I've ever plunged my dick into", he inhales sharply as he fights back tears before continuing, "…I like Jay Z, BUT WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW ABOUT MARRIAGE PROPOSALS?"

They both break down into giggles before 'Ye composes himself again and reaches for something in his jock strap. For the first time, it isn't his glistening cock end. Instead he is gently cupping the reanimated corpse of kitten Mercy, his first gift to Kim. Mercy's glassy eyes stare up at Kim to reveal the three thousand karat blood diamond ring hanging off her collar. Kanye gets down on one knee, takes the ring and overhand throws Mercy into the distance.

"Kim…will you marry me?"

"Yes! Yes! YES!" Kim cries.

The turrets of Saint Basil's Cathedral, now installed with LED banners, light up with the Tweet "@kanyewest LMAO SHE SAID YES, NIGGAS" and Moscow Square is once again bathed with light to reveal the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra, dressed entirely in white fur, launching into the first strings of Kanye's new track, "HEADING HOME NOW". They embrace.

"I love you, Kanye."

"I love you, Kim."

Kanye's lawyer, who's been waiting in the wings taking cheek cell samples from baby North, gulps back tears of joy before running towards KimYe with pre-nup papers.

As imagined by @FUERTESKNIGHT

Kim arrives in San Francisco bay in a blacked-out SUV. She's been told she has to make an appearance at the launch of Khloe's new tech start-up iCoil, a USB contraceptive that's inserted into the womb and sends you a What's App message every time semen has been successfully neutralised. But when she gets there, it's deserted and pitch black. The only sound is the shore lapping against the harbour and Kim's brain cogs whirring at breakneck speed. WTF is going on?

Suddenly a beam of light shines from the horizon, accompanied by the opening bars of "Heartless". The spot falls down to reveal Kanye, dressed in $200,000 ruby-studded Marc Jacobs jumpsuit, stood atop the tower at Alcatraz. He's flanked by 10 topless dancers - five former WWE wrestlers, five former Miss Armenias - wearing leather jogging pants and prison officer hats, slamming truncheons in the palm of their hands to the beat. The auto-tune kicks in, and he beginnings singing: "In the Night , I hear them talk, the greatest story ever told/somewhere far along this road he gave his soul/ to a woman so marvellous/she my number one harlot/will you be my marriage martyr".

There's a fuck load of explosions, including one of those fireworks that explodes in the shape of a hat, and Kanye jumps, bellyflopping into the icey waters below. Kim, who still has no idea what's going, let's out a scream. The lights fall to the ocean and only the song strips down to just its heartbeat synths. Dun dung Dun dung. Dun dung Dun dung. Dun dung Dun Dung. Kim fears the worse, and starts to unlock her phone to make funeral arrangements and find a new husband on Tinder. But just then Kanye climbs out of the sea, impossibly having made a costume change into top hat and tails (he didn't actually swim, there was a complex system of tunnels that he got a bunch of architects he was hanging out with to design). He gets down on one knee, and presents Kim with the original ring used in the Lord of the Rings films, which he purchased with some of Jay-Z's money. "Kim," he says, "when I saw that Instagram of you with your arse three times the size of our child, I knew I never wanted to be with anyone else. Will you marry me?"

Kim stares deep into his eyes, opens her mouth, a tear falling down her face. And just as she's about to reply, someone from the Kardashian's production team shouts "CUT! SORRY THERE WAS A BOOM IN SHOT AND WE CAN'T SEE THE RING FROM THIS ANGLE. CAN WE DO THAT AGAIN?"

As imagined by @SamWolfson

Kanye West and Kim Kardashian are holidaying in Saint–Tropez. Yeezy’s eyes mist up as the sunlight dances off Kim’s ample bosom. They’re lunching at a local fish restaurant. Kim can’t de-shell prawns, so Kanye helps her, like that bit in Ghost. He gives her a peck on the neck and rubs the prawn on her lips. She shivers, her sizable derriere quivers, testing the foundations of the chair on which she’s sat. Kanye slips off to the toilet to re-bandage his legs (he’s not injured, he just wears bandages as trousers sometimes now).

Kim looks out on onto the Côte d’Azur and catches a glimpse of the citadel. Such beauty, she thinks, such history. Kanye returns. "Come," he says, delivering her into their chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce. "Where, Kanye, where are we going?" she asks. "All will soon become clear, my sweet," replies Kanye, looking out of the window.

They board their yacht. A waiter is waiting, two glasses of Armand de Brignac on a gilded tray. The sun sets and the two lovers dance under the moonlight of the Riviera.

"Kanye, you’ve got a red dot on your chest." observes Kim. A crack blasts through the air, deafening, as Kanye’s bullet-shattered heart sprays thick blood all over Kim and the waiting staff. Kim screams as she watches a woozy Kanye fall chin-first into the water. He is gone.

After Kanye is laid to rest in a Hood By Air casket, Kim’s life takes a nose dive. Her child is taken into protective custody as her depression makes her a negligent parent. She loses her TV deals, sponsorships, perfumes, make-up ranges, clothes, it all goes. She’s alienated by her family as she turns to trendy new super death drug, Krokodil. A seedy webcam porn site operator approaches her, ignoring her decaying flesh and jaundiced appearance, and offers to have her on his website. She agrees.

Kim, with wetness in her only functioning tear duct, sits up in bed, nude, and switches on the camera. As she puts a single digit in her vaginal canal, but she can feel something. It’s round, but it’s not a diaphragm, and there’s something sharp on top, something big. She delicately pulls it out, holds it up to the light. It’s a engagement ring, with the biggest rock she’s ever seen.

The chat box on the webcam site pings.

‘(08:14PM) YeezySeason420 says: will u marry me? :0)

As imagined by @joe_bish