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Copyright (c) 2011 This screenplaymay not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.
"THE BLACK XPERIENCE"
SCENE: INT. A DARK VOID
The narrator sits in his crackled leather chair, the only
thing visible in the permeating darkness. He is first seen
at a wide angle, then slowly focused on. He addresses the
audience directly.
NARRATOR
What do you think of when you think
of the word "black"?
He pauses a beat.
NARRATOR
The word almost invariably conjures
undesirable concepts. Blackmail,
black markets, the Black
Plague...the list goes on. Nearly
none of the common contexts in
which one encounters the word
"black" inspire positive feelings
with most people. "Black" also can
represent the unknown...like what
being black in America today can
mean for individuals just like you
and me. Of course, one layer of
skin deep, humans are all pretty
similar...however, that first layer
is the only one anyone sees. As a
result, it can radically modify the
way one experiences interpersonal
relations and life at large.
Concordantly, the Black Xperience
has been a source of mystery for
colored people--and yes, I refer to
non-blacks as colored, as black is
the absence of color--for
generations. However, you are
luckier than most. You're about to
find out the answer to that most
vexing of questions...just what is
it like to be black? Unfortunately,
I must inform you that there is but
one way to obtain this
information...firsthand.
Narrator snaps his fingers. Camera quickly pans out into
blackness.
*Title card*
SCENE: INT. APARTMENT- DAY
A studio apartment in a large city. You are asleep, and as
the narrative largely takes place in your POV, darkness is
seen, as if through closed eyes. A clock radio goes off,
blaring an overly exuberant urban RADIO GUY.
RADIO GUY:
MY PEOPLE, MY PEOPLE! WHAT'S REALLY
GOOD? IT'S TIME TO GET THAT FUNKY
ASS UP OUT THAT BED, TAKE A PISS
AND A PRAYER, THEN GET OUT THERE
AND GET AT A DOLLAR! IT'S FROSTY
THAN A MUG HERE IN--
You roll over and pound the clock, then examine your brown
hand, still atop the clock radio in a fist.
NARRATOR
No doubt you are confused. Allow me
to enlighten you. You are now in
the body of an African-American
male by the name of...actually, it
doesn't matter what his name is.
Suffice it to say that he, as a
young black man of today, is the
ideal vehicle for you to glean a
comprehensive picture of the Black
Xperience. His is probably quite
different from the body you soend
most of your time in. However, to
assist you in this somewhat
difficult transition, you are
endowed with the most helpful tool
of a black man.
You are shown to start to lift the covers to look between
your legs.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
And of course, I refer to the black
instincts. This is a series of
defense mechanisms and
pre-programmed responses to
situational stimuli that most black
people naturally developed in the
interest of self-preservation in
hostile environments. What many
colored people are unaware of is
that the black instincts are
manifested by a a data analysis
system called the
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D v. 7.0- INITIATING...
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
"Black Reconnaissance and
Observation Heads-Up Display", or
"B.R.O.H.U.D.". Go ahead, try yours
out.
Loud yet muffled music plays outside.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Audio. Source likely car stereo system,
annoyance level 6. Club music. Analysis: Too early for that
shit.
NARRATOR
Yours are relatively new, so they
cannot sense everything...like the
fine line between CPT, or colored
people time, and "too" late. Look
at your clock, isn't it almost time
for work?
Clock is shown, reading 8:15.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Work start time: 8:30. Estimated travel
time: 15 minutes. Estimated preparation time: 10 minutes.
Job ETA: 8:45. Analysis: On time.
You get up and head for the bathroom.
NARRATOR
After a shower, you'll be ready to
go. Take special care not to look
unpresentable. A unique feature of
being black is that you represent
each and every other member of your
race every time you appear in
public. Any black people with a
nonstandard appearance are often
treated as representative of every
Negro a given observer has ever
seen. The reasons behind this are
unclear, but what is not unclear is
that that's the way it is...so it
is imperative that you at least
look like someone cares about you,
this morning if no other.
You roll out of bed and enter the bathroom through its
half-open door. The door shuts behind you, leaving the
camera's perspective outside the door.
Fade Out
SCENE: EXT. THE HOOD- DAY
A somewhat blighted urban environment. A snowstorm just
passed recently, and there are mounds of gray snow on the
ground. The street is largely unshoveled.
NARRATOR
This is your hood. Although it is
certainly not the only place that
one can have the Black Xperience,
it is the best environment in which
to show you the full extent of its
impact. As you can tell, it has
snowed recently...but what may not
be immediately apparent is the
reason the city has made no effort
to plow the streets around where
you live, leaving an ice rink
outside your home. Why is this?
You are shown from first-person view slipping and sliding.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Ice. DANGER. Concern for injury, 15%.
Concern for embarrassment, 85%.
NARRATOR
The explanation is simple. You see,
people spend considerable time
differentiating between large
American cities...
Montage
The Statue of Liberty, Golden Gate Bridge, St. Louis Arch,
Liberty Bell, "Hollywood" sign, Yankee Stadium, White House,
Las Vegas Strip, Cowboys Stadium, etc. are shown in a slide
show style.
End Montage
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
...but the truth is they only
differ in the landmarks they show
on TV, the monuments, stadiums and
other Faces of the City. However...
Montage
A short image slideshow of dilapidated urban residential
areas eerily similar to current city.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
for today, you live in a less
glamorous area of your city...the
hood. Most hoods in America are
near-identical...or at least first
cousins. If you have never seen a
hood in person, but have seen
popular cable series "The Wire",
the hoods of Baltimore look very
similar to those in New York,
Chicago, Los Angeles, New Orleans,
Houston, or most other large
American cities, including this
one.
End Montage
NARRATOR
This brings us to why the area in
which you live today is
poorly-maintained during inclement
weather. The plows and salt trucks
your city owns must concentrate
their efforts on the Faces of a
given city. To those who make these
decisions, the landmarks are the
parts that the world outside the
city can see and identify the city
by, and thus the only parts that
matter. Luckily, you work in Center
City, near the Faces of your
hometown. I wager you'll get better
footing once you're down there.
You slip and fall on your back.
NARRATOR
Nobody saw that.
As you look up at the gray sky, you can see a SCORNFUL TEEN
pop out of a window down the street, pointing at you.
SCORNFUL TEEN
AHAHAHAH YOU BUST THAT ASS!
The teenager goes back inside. You pick yourself up and
continue to head towards MLK Boulevard.
NARRATOR
Luckily, your ass, while busted,
was unharmed in your fall. The same
cannot be said of your ego. Look at
the bright side...at least it
didn't happen out on MLK.
You continue to walk until you reach MLK Boulevard.
SCENE: EXT. MLK BOULEVARD, DAY
You look up and see the street sign "MLK Boulevard". MLK
Boulevard is a more-populated but still somewhat sparse
street in the early morning.
Oddly dressed hoodrats dot the landscape, starting their
strange and pointless promenade up and down the street doing
nothing of benefit to them or anybody else. Some passerby
glare at you.
NARRATOR
This is MLK Boulevard. It is the
shopping district and epicenter of
your average hood.
HOODRATS 1 & 2 badly dressed and odd looking residents of
the neighborhood, walk past with their noses turned up.
HOODRAT 1 looks at you and sucks her teeth.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Females, 2. Hoodrats. Terrible.
Analysis: Keep it moving.
NARRATOR
It is a mecca of depreciating
items, low-quality consumerism, and
dubious dealings, legal and
otherwise.
Places of business are seen as they are named by the
narrator.
Burger Spot is a McDonald's analog. The check cashing places
are called "Future Mortgaging and Payday Loan", "Debt
Ceiling Check Cashing", "Gold Standard Currency Services",
and "Local Nationwide Checking and Cash Advances" Kixource,
Sneaktip, Kicks Ahoy and Champion Sports are shoe stores.
BonaFried chicken is mostly Popeye's. Jayvee Mobile sells
discount prepaid phones.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
On this one street, there is a
Burger Spot, 4 check cashing
places, 2 liquor stores, a
laundromat, a BonaFried Chicken, a
Jayvee Mobile store, a Kixource, a
Kicks Ahoy, a Champion Sports, a
Sneaktip...everything city planners
figure those who live here will
ever need.
You look over at a table with factory variant merchandise.
NARRATOR
Nearby, a few people are setting up
tables where you can buy the latest
factory variant apparel.
A Guccy purse is shown.
A pair of Jordans with adidas stripes is shown.
"Designer" purses of various but uniformally horrid print
are shown under a sign reading "off-thentic"
You pass all of these and continue on. More passerby glare.
Nearby, outside a corner store with a "Smoker's Delight
cigarettes: 11.75" sign in the window, an OIL MAN attempts
to grab your wrist and put oil on it.
OIL MAN
Ay, man...got them smell-goods.
Check me out one time...
Super: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Oil man. Threat level minimal.
Analysis: evasive action necessary.
You snatch your arm from the oil man just before he puts it
on and briskly walk away.
OIL MAN
(off-screen behind you)
Aight, fuck you then!
NARRATOR
Nice work with the oil man...that
would have been on you until Labor
Day.
Passerby continue to glare. As you pass a second small
corner store with a cigarette sign, B.R.O.H.U.D. scans
multiple targets.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Possible ice
grills...scanning...scanning...imminent attack likely
negative, threat level minimal.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
The looks you're getting are
nothing personal, they're just
upset they live in the hood.
Wouldn't you be if you had to live
here past today?
As you approach them, you see a CORNER PREACHER in an odd
garb bellowing a nonsensical religious message as his HYPE
MAN hands out tracts. A few observers surround them, some
derisively curious about their message.
CORNER PREACHER
WE MUST RISE UP!
HYPE MAN
RISE UP!
CORNER PREACHER
WE MUST OVERCOME!
HYPE MAN
OVERCOME!
CORNER PREACHER
WE MUST THROW OFF THE BONDS OF
WORLDLY IGNORANCE...
HYPE MAN
IG'NANT!
CORNER PREACHER
AND NEVER QUESTION THE HEARSAY...OF
THE LORD!
HYPE MAN
*hums*
A few spectators react positively. You pass them as they
preach. The corner preacher continues his speech. The Hype
Man looks at you and hands you a tract.
HYPE MAN
Take this, brother...the only road
to salvation leads right to us.
Make your next move a blessed move.
You take one and read the cover. It reads: "This could be
the last thing you ever read...so do it or go to Hell!"
The tract is crumpled in your hand and tossed into a
trashcan near a pile of thousands like it on the curb.
A car passes, weaving through grooves left in the unplowed
street. You are splashed by gray snow as it does. You look
at the grooves in the street as you walk.
NARRATOR
Remember what I said about snow
plows being strangers to your side
of town? Well this is how it's done
around here. 4 black grooves in the
gray snow mark the trail blazed in
both directions by determined
drivers. This natural determination
to creatively work around the
inconveniences the world can
present is a marked feature of
black people. Some call it
"ghetto", some call it
"resourceful"...black people often
refer to it as "making it do what
it do"...an apt, if grammatically
incorrect, colloquialism.
DAMON, your best friend, rides by in the opposite direction
in his early model and snow-soiled, but otherwise
serviceable vehicle. He spots you and honks his horn, and
you look up to see him. You scan him as he rolls by.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Damon. Play cousin. Analysis: Could
have given me a ride, though.
NARRATOR
Look there, it's your homeboy
Damon. It appears like he's on his
way to work as well.
He salutes you with a closed fist and a loud "Yo!" and keeps
going. You are seen to extend your fist in a return greeting
before he turns a corner and rides away.
NARRATOR
I'm sure he would have given you a
ride if he wasn't going the other
way...in fact, an interesting note
about this is that as your close
friend, he is almost obligated to
do so. Indeed, if he had been going
in your direction and acknowledged
you on the sidewalk, NOT stopping
to give you a ride would have been
tantamount to a slap in the
face...especially in inclement
conditions such as this. Everybody
knows black people are somewhat
averse to the cold...have you ever
seen a snowball fight in Africa?
You walk past another corner store with a sign advertising
"Smokers' Delight Menthol Cigarettes" is shown. Nearby is a
much larger corner store labeled "Big Corner Store".
NARRATOR
That's the 4th store with a sign
advertising menthol cigarettes in
the window, isn't it? The question
of why black people by and large
prefer menthol cigarettes remains
unanswered, mostly because only
white people ask it. However, if
you want to stop for some, now is
apparently the time.
You are shown to take out and examine your wallet. You find
2 dollars. You look back at the sign and see that the price
of cigarettes is $12.
NARRATOR
Time to hit the ATM, eh? Maybe you
should save yourself a couple of
dollars and use your bank's ATM.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Gathering locations of nearby
banks...loading...loading. Search failed.
NARRATOR
Ha. Just kidding. You see, there
are no banks in the hood...only
check cashing places with ATMs that
charge around 8 dollars per
transaction, allowing for
miscellaneous bank fees and such.
The people that plan and zone
cities are no fools. Certain things
are the way they are for a reason.
You'll just have to use one of the
machines nearby.
You sigh, find yourself right outside Future Mortgaging and
Payday Loan, and enter.
SCENE: INT. CHECK CASHING PLACE- DAY
A long line is formed at one of the 3 bulletproof service
windows, the only one active. People wait in line
impatiently. A INATTENTIVE CASHIER ignores her customers in
favor of a lively phone conversation. AN ATM machine stands
alone in the corner with a short line in front of it.
NARRATOR
Note all the questionable financial
advice plastered on the walls.
Signs in the store are shown.
"Cash your check here! Only 10% fee!"
"Out of cash? Get a payday loan! Interest rates start at a
low weekly 50%!"
"Can't wait for a refund? Get a W-2 loan today for only 1/3
the refund amount!"
"ATM only $8!"
NARRATOR
You may be a bit stunned as you
watch the long line at the window
grow with people eager to be
fleeced. You'll have to ponder why
these places are designed to make
long-poor people poorer longer some
other time. You just need to visit
the ATM. You are running late, you
know.
You go past the main line to the ATM and stand in line for
it. You look over and listen in on the Cashier's
conversation, which takes little effort, as she is overly
loud. Some, (LINE WAITERS, 1, 2 and 3) in her line become
increasingly restless.
INATTENTIVE CASHIER
Yeah, girl, you know it's the first
of the month...long ass lines up in
here, all these broke motherfuckers
in here cashing welfare checks...
She pauses to let the caller speak.
INATTENTIVE CASHIER
Hell yeah I'm selling them food
stamps! I need new hair more than
the baby need expensive ass baby
food...I'll just let him have some
of my Chinese food.
She pauses again. The line moves.
INATTENTIVE CASHIER
Shit, I just chew it up first then
give it to him, he be aight.
LINE WAITER 1
This bitch!
LINE WAITER 2
Ain't nobody got time for this
shit...I got food stamps to sell
too!
LINE WAITER 3
(on phone)
...I know right? She all loud on
the phone like can't nobody hear
her, people like that blow my
goddamn life! Girl, let me tell
you, I...
The conversations continue in the background. The line for
the ATM moves again. It is now your turn. You produce your
card, slide it, and access the ATM.
ATM
"Welcome to GhettoBuxx automated teller system. Please enter
your PIN Number"
You enter a number and select "withdrawal".
ATM
"You have selected a $60 withdrawal. You will be assessed a
$8 fee for the use of this machine, as well as any charges
you incur through your bank for this transaction, is this
okay?"
NARRATOR
Of course, it's not okay. If you
had somewhere between 8 and 10
dollars to give away, you'd have a
pack of cigarettes already...but
you don't have much of a choice if
you live around here. Just finish
up. You're almost late for work.
You make your withdrawal and leave then turn and walk out of
the store as the Cashier continues her conversation.
SCENE: EXT. MLK Boulevard- Day
NARRATOR
After leaving the check cashing
place, you can now go across the
street to the Big Corner Store to
finally get that pack of
deliciously minty smokes.
You walk across the street towards the Big Corner Store.
The Big Corner Store is shown in detail for the first time.
A cigarette sign is in the window. A poorly crafted sign
taped in the window advertises weekly specials such as
"Vintage Milk 50% off!" and "4 quarters, now only $1!".
Another number-variable sign proudly announces their
freezers have not been turned off for 3 nights.
As you approach, you see a LOOSIE MAN stands outside Big
Corner Store.
LOOSIE MAN
Loosies! Loosies! Got them loosies!
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Loosie Man. Threat level minimal.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Ah, yes...the Loosie Man. This
person for whatever reason shuns
the normal 9-to-5 in favor of
selling single cigarettes in front
of stores with high traffic for
most of the day. This is a
surprisingly lucrative business.
However, you're in the market for a
whole pack, obviating his services.
As many people fail to realize, the
price of cigarettes can double when
purchased one at a time. Just give
him the black man salute and keep
moving.
You give him an upward nod of recognition, represented by
the camera going quickly up then down once. He returns it.
You continue on your way into the store.
SCENE: INT. BIG CORNER STORE- DAY
A largish neighborhood convenience store. Items from foods
to toys to lingerie can be seen. An Asian cashier is behind
the counter. He regards you with suspicion as you enter.
NARRATOR
Here you are in the Big Corner
Store.
The Cashier then makes a subtle motion to his helper
indicating that you should be watched. You look to see who
he gestured at and see his helper just as he conceals
himself behind a shelf, then peers out at you.
NARRATOR
Unlike its smaller counterparts,
they have a larger variety of
things people would not buy if they
could afford access to better
stores.
As you walk down an aisle, you see a package of food. You
pick it up and see an expiration date sometime in the 90s
and put it down with a grunt of disgust. You walk past a
rat-eaten package of cookies. Mousetraps are shown placed
between loaves of bread. You continue down the aisle.
NARRATOR
Since you have a few extra dollars,
you should grab a quick breakfast.
You stop at a snack display and are shown deciding between
rows of identically unappealing junk food.
Two vaguely shady looking young school age kids wearing
backpacks pass in front of you, one carrying a "Donut Rod"
and the other carrying a bag of sausage, egg, and cheese
flavored "Panderz" brand potato chips, which has a hip-hop
inspired bag. You look back at the snack display.
NARRATOR
There's actually not much here that
qualifies as food, but if it's good
enough for the best and brightest
minds in the city on the way to
school, it's good enough for you.
You pick out a couple of snacks, a Dutch Roll snack cake and
a bag of Panderz then continue to browse the store. On the
way to the beverage case, you catch sight of the toy
section, composed almost entirely of guns and handcuffs for
children.
NARRATOR
Take note of the toy section. It's
primarily composed of guns and
handcuffs for the little boys. It's
a long-standing mystery why, with
all the black youth that will
either grow up to wear handcuffs or
will not grow up at all because of
gun violence, people would
encourage children to simulate
these experiences amongst
themselves...but here, all the
tools future black men will ever
need to create self-fulfilling
prophesies are at their fingertips.
You continue up the aisle. A section containing cheaply made
white Barbie variants is seen.
NARRATOR
I see they also have something for
the young ladies. What young black
woman in the making can't relate to
a 1/16th scale model of a 6'3", 50+
year old white woman with a 18-inch
waist, 43 legitimate jobs, and no
nipples? You just begin to ponder
this when you get the feeling
you're being...watched.
You turn slightly to see HELPER sweeping an already clean
patch of floor.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Asian shopkeeper. Threat level minimal.
Possibly following. Note and proceed.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
It's a bit odd, you've never felt
this before...but you're probably
just being paranoid.
You turn and begin to walk towards the cooler again. HELPER
somehow appears in front of you, adjusting a display of "Nap
Zap" shampoo that didn't need adjusting. You arrive at the
cooler and select a beverage.
An upright mirror slides down in its place instead of an
identical beverage behind it. You look into the mirror and
see yourself and the helper peering intently into the mirror
at you while Swiffering boxes on nearby shelves.
An red translucent Metal Gear Solid-like exclamation point
appears over protagonist's head in the mirror with the
accompanying sound effect.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- WTF!?
NARRATOR
Now you know something's up. Your
black instincts don't like this at
all...look around for the source of
the setup.
You look around in the store and see him a short distance
away, still staring and Swiffering. He notices you noticing
him and pretends to notice something else.
NARRATOR
You may wonder why all these black
ops are necessary.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Asian Shopkeeper. Following detected.
Probability of racial discrimination: 90%. Analysis: He
trippin'.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Then, your black instincts fill in
the blanks and tell you that he
thinks you're going to steal
something just because you're
touching items and wearing brown
skin at the same time. How unjust,
how discriminatory...how
commonplace. Of course, they
should have told you that about 5
minutes ago, but your black
instincts are new and do not
process information as fast as they
should. Nevertheless, this kind of
discrimination can certainly upset
even the most reasonable black man.
SCENE: INT- Big Corner Store- Dream Sequence
NARRATOR
You might consider doing something
somewhat regrettable, like hurling
a can of cream of racism soup at
his face.
Protagonist is shown in 3rd person picking up a nearby soup
can, taking a 3-step quarterback drop, then firing the can.
Can hits Helper's face with great impact, causing blood to
spurt from his nose as he doubles over in pain then writhes
in pain on ground. Protagonist extends both arms skyward in
"touchdown" motion.
END DREAM SEQUENCE
SCENE: INT. BIG CORNER STORE- DAY
NARRATOR
...but remember, that's exactly
what he wants so he can go home and
tell his family about the crazy
black person he saw today and they
can all have a good laugh about
those incorrigible Negroes. You
must remember that from a 3rd-party
perspective, you represent the
entirety of your people at all
times. So, calmly walk to the
register...
You take your beverage and snacks and brush past HELPER,
still tracking you in a semi-obvious manner. He scurries
away to avoid the detection that has already taken place.
You make your way to the register.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
...pay for your items...
You pay for your items. You hand him the money, he brusquely
slides the bills due you across the counter and scatters
your coins across it.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
...make a point to smile and say
"have a nice day" while wishing you
could shoot this motherfucker, and
leave for the train to work.
You calmly collect the change and walk toward the exit.
NARRATOR
Your Black Xperience is just
beginning, and you can't be
late...well, not THAT late...
Fade out as you reach the door.
SCENE: INT. TRAIN CAR- DAY
A mostly filled train car. It is diversely populated, but
the mostly black high school students of P.S. 666,
identified by their horned-crest uniform shirts and slacks,
yell and cuss rambunctiously.
NARRATOR
A common feature of The Black
Xperience is the urban work
commute. If you'll just select a
seat, we can be on our way.
A single empty seat is shown in the midst of an entire
section filled with students of P.S. 666.
A PHONE GIRL sitting behind the empty seat is shown combing
her hair in a mirror while yakking on the phone to her
NOT-SO-SILENT PARTNER.
PHONE GIRL
"I sucked his dick!"
NOT-SO-SILENT PARTNER
"You sucked his dick?"
PHONE GIRL
"Hell yeah I sucked his dick!"
They continue their repartee.
NARRATOR
Look, there's one near some
students of P.S. 666, the local
public inner-city high school.
Charming, aren't they?
A boy blasts a loud, unintelligible rap song using the
speakers on his phone.
B.R.O.H.U.D. is shown scanning the available seat and the
students surrounding it.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: Wild ass kids. Threat level moderate.
Analysis: No thanks.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Okay, maybe not that one. I
understand. However, before you
completely pass judgment on these
young people, let us take a moment
to examine P.S. 666 and the
students it claims to educate.
A boy is shown eating sunflower seeds and spitting them
casually onto the floor.
NARRATOR
As a publicly funded urban
secondary institution in an area of
town obviously deemed educationally
expendable, Triple 6 commonly gets
less funding and attention than
some of its counterparts in better
areas. True, at first glance the
students may seem a bit
maladjusted--
A boy sharpens his knife on the seat in front of him.
A girl cracks her gum.
NARRATOR
But consider what these young men
and women have had to contend with
since the start of their
educational career.
A STUDIOUS LAD attempts to bury himself in a textbook before
having it snatched by 2 students, who play catch with the
Studious Lad's textbook as he tries desperately to get it
back.
NARRATOR
Of course, it is not to say the
parents lack blame and the students
themselves are not responsible for
their own education, but we often
lament the evils in society such as
crime, poverty, and addiction. What
many fail to realize is the root of
all societal evils is ignorance.
A PREGNANT GIRL is shown speaking with HER FRIEND.
PREGNANT GIRL
My girlfriend told me if I let him
hit it from the back, I wouldn't
get pregnant...dumb bitch.
HER FRIEND
Well, least you don't gotta go to
school all year. You don't ever
gotta come back if you don't want!
PREGNANT GIRL
You neither...
HER FRIEND
Oh yeah! *pssh* Fuck it then...
They both get off the train at the next stop.
NARRATOR
Nothing fosters ignorance like a
50% public school dropout rate,
like the one in this city. It's an
all-too-common story in public
schools across the country. There's
an old saying that goes "if you
think education is expensive, try
ignorance"...so why is it that so
many of the schools with high
minority populations are
underfunded and failing? Is someone
trying to sabotage our children? Do
we need an entire generation to
flip our burgers? Is all but
ensuring the future lifelong
failure of the bulk of an entire
race a form of genocide? These are
all questions best pondered another
time...for now, let's find you a
seat. Look, there's one across the
aisle.
The kids carry on.
You scan the car for other available seats, skipping the one
next to a TOUGH-LOOKING BLACK MAN in a hoodie, skully and
boots. He is listening to music, nodding his head with a
"mean face".
NARRATOR
Don't act like you don't see it.
Feeling your gaze, he glances at you, then goes back to his
music. You look past the seat again.
NARRATOR
Oh, I see. That guy next to the
only open seat looks kind of rough,
doesn't he? He could be some kind
of hoodlum! Well, you have your
black instincts, use them. Check
him out.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Male. Calm, unarmed, minding own
business. scanning, scanning... Analysis: Just some guy in
Timbs.
NARRATOR
I told you. Now sit.
You sit next to the tough-looking black man and settle in
for the ride.
The kids continue to rave nearby.
You look at the other passengers and see that some of them
are looking in your direction and exchanging whispers.
NARRATOR
As you can see, the students are
intent on making early morning
spectacles of themselves. Notice
that some of the other passengers
begin to whisper and gesture subtly
in your general direction. Clearly
they wonder if you have something
to do with it...or worse, are
discussing bets on when you're
going to join in. While it can be
mortifying, the best thing to do
about these semi-silent judgments
is to simply ignore them. There is
little you can do about the
prejudices of others.
An argument breaks out between 2 students, STUDENTS 1 & 2.
STUDENT 1
My J's cost more than yours!
STUDENT 2
Yeah aight! You know you got those
on 60 dollar special down at
Sneaktip! Clown ass, broke ass,
bitch ass nigga! Your bread short
like cracker crumbs!
STUDENT 1
Yeah, but I fucked yo bitch!
STUDENT 2
Nigga, you don't get no pussy! Only
pussy round this mafucka is *sniff
sniff* YOU!
STUDENT 1
Man, fuck this!
Student 1 shoulder bumps Student 2, who shoulder bumps him
back.
They shoulder bump each other in circles.
The P.S. 666'ers chant "fight"!
STUDENT 1
Do something, bitch!
STUDENT 2
Hit me, pussy!
STUDENT 1
You won't hit me! You ain't got the
heart, with your punk ass!
STUDENT 2
Ima trash your life, fuck boy!
They continue to bump each other in circles.
Other passengers are shown disapproving of the scene.
A WHITE WOMAN points toward the spectacle and shakes her
head.
WHITE WOMAN
(mumbled, but audible)
Would you look at those little
apes?
NARRATOR
Looks like things are heating up
around you. You'd better use those
black instincts to assess the
situation. Always be aware of your
surroundings.
The 2 fighting kids are shown still posturing.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- 2 males squaring off. Punch not thrown
within 15 seconds. Analysis: They fraudin'.
NARRATOR
Well, they're probably not going to
fight, but it's still a negative
display in front of the neighbors.
Even though you have nothing to do
with the situation, you probably
can't help but feel an acute sense
of embarrassment. You wish you
could say something, anything to
stop this public debacle, but such
an action would almost inevitably
result in a conspicuous
confrontation which you do not have
the Black Xperience mastery to
handle safely and effectively.
However, lacking this never stops
everybody...there's always someone
willing to try.
A WHITE MAN, apparently fed up, begins to shift in his seat.
His SEATMATE turns to him, concerned.
WHITE MAN
(to Seatmate)
Every gosh darned day with this. I
pay the same 3 dollars they do to
be on this train...for crying out
loud, I have a right to my G.D.
sanity!
SEATMATE
Brad, just let it go!
WHITE MAN
No! I can't take this malarkey any
more! I'm going to do something
about it!
SEATMATE
Brad, no! Don't do it!
You see the WHITE MAN stand and approach the rowdy scene.
They continue, oblivious.
WHITE MAN
All right, kids...that's about
enough! You guys settle down!
All students freeze in disbelief.
WHITE MAN
Now, I think I speak for everyone
when I say that I'm tired as heck
of the same thing every morning! We
all pay good money for a reasonably
peaceful ride to work, and because
of you, none of us can get it!
Students are shown giving looks ranging from indifference to
contempt. The fighters turn away from each other and towards
the man.
WHITE MAN
(cont'd)
I wonder who raised you to believe
it was appropriate to comport
yourselves this way in public, hmm?
Loud music, cursing, fighting, a
general disrespect for those around
you, it just indicates a total lack
of--aah!
WHITE MAN is struck in back of head by thrown glass
"Magick"-brand juice bottle.
BOTTLE THROWER is shown sitting next to LOUDMOUTH GIRL.
BOTTLE THROWER
Yo, shut that shit up, dickhead!
LOUDMOUTH GIRL
Yeah, shut the fuck up with that
bullshit white man don't nobody
wanna hear that and wasn't nobody
talking to you who the fuck is you
anyway with your faggot ass you
ain't my pop my pop is black and
you ain't nothin' but a bitch ass
white man who NEED to sit his honky
ass down somewhere and...
The Loudmouth Girl continues with her tirade.
The kids laugh and cheer on the loud girl, who feeds on
their approval and keeps screaming. You look around at the
other passengers, who are ahgast. The fighters are seen with
arms around each others' shoulders, their battle forgotten
in the apparent hilarity.
The man cuts his losses and slinks back to his seat,
defeated.
NARRATOR
Look around at the horrified
passengers. It's clear that they've
never seen such an egregious
display of total disrespect in
public...not this week at least.
The white man is seen sitting back in his seat holding his
swollen head. He groans in pain and sinks into his seat as a
woman behind him fans him with a newspaper. The students
carry on in the background.
WHITE MAN'S SEATMATE
See, Brad? I told you...that's
exactly what to expect out of
"those people".
NARRATOR
You may find yourself offended at
the statement, but more than that
you should be gripped by a deep
sadness that another negative
stereotype of your people has been
painfully reinforced for all to
see.
The train pulls into the destination station.
NARRATOR
Luckily, the train pulls up to your
stop in Center City and it's off to
work before any further
embarrassment to you or your kind.
Come now, hurry up. You're even
pushing CPT.
You walk through the opening train doors.
Fade Out
SCENE: INT. OFFICE CUBICLE, DAY
You slide into your desk, look at the clock on your phone
reading 8:46, then quickly check your email. All the emails
are marked "work related". You close it out quickly,
uninterested.
You look up and see MR. HEAD, a balding middle aged white
man wearing a tan blazer with elbow patches, a shirt, tie,
slacks, and a pair of skiers' sunglasses on the back of his
head, approaching from down the hall.
NARRATOR
Oh, look, it's your boss, A.
Richard Head...but that's Mr. Head
to you.
Mr. Head waves, points at, or otherwise physically greets
some of your co-workers as he makes his way to you. They
audibly return the greetings.
MR. HEAD
"Hey, big guy...what's new?"
"How's it going, Charlie?"
"Good morning, Beth...say, you're
looking good today, Is that a new
dress?"
Mr. Head begins to approach you.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- White male. Authority figure. Urban
escalation mode on standby...
MR. HEAD
Yo, what's great, dawg? You
chillin'?
Mr. Head reaches out for a street-style handshake.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Alert! Stereotyping detected. Annoyance
level: 12%.
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
Just a second. In case those black
instincts still aren't 100%
functional, notice that your
greeting was a bit different. There
is a simple, if troubling,
explanation for this. You see, Mr.
Head is a middle aged white man who
mostly knows black people from
watching BET with his 13 year old
son. As an unfortunate result, he
is under the assumption that all
African Americans speak and behave
in the manner shown on the
channel...i.e. like a bunch of
coons...and even more, believes
that they are totally incapable of
functioning otherwise, even in a
professional setting. He's not
really a racist, at least not by
the traditional definition. In
fact, part of him is so enamored
with black people and their culture
that he secretly wishes he could be
a part of it on a temporary
basis...kind of like a Halloween
costume. Black people, such as
yourself today, have an innate
understanding of this white man's
burden, and it is for that reason
your black instincts decide against
kicking his teeth through the back
of his head for his blatant
stereotyping of you and your
people. That and the fact that you
need this job. Anyway, let's
continue.
Unfreeze.
Mr. Head's hand is still seen extended towards you.
MR. HEAD
Come on, Bro Frazier, give me some
love!
As you leave him hanging, his face goes from idiotically
exuberant to slightly worried.
NARRATOR
Go on. Just do it...he WILL keep
his hand there indefinitely. Return
his handshake so he can get out of
your face. If you really can't bear
it, use your left hand...for
reasons not fully explained, it is
disrespectful.
You extend your left hand, and he grasps it and does a
series of complicated hand motions. Eventually you snatch
your hand away.
MR. HEAD
All riiiight. Going lefty, okay,
okay! That's what's poppington.
It's not what we do in my hood, but
I always appreciate when the homies
show me love, do you know what I am
saying?
You look back at your computer and pretend to type, trying
to ignore him so he'll go away. He stands there, undeterred.
MR. HEAD
Yo man, let's rap. Don't be all
antisocial and jizzunk.
You look back at Mr. Head.
MR. HEAD
Check this out, my brother...we're
getting together a pickup
basketball team around the office.
It's so gangster. We could really
use somebody like you...I know you
probably shoot hoop all the time,
am I right?
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
Hold it. At this point it is
important to note that not only
have you never mentioned basketball
at any point during your employ,
you haven't ever been on a serious
basketball team, only play at the
park a few times a year and in
fact, lettered in some other sport
in high school. He has formed an
assumption about your blacktop
prowess on his own accord. Your
black instincts should tell you
something's wrong here, but I'm
sure you can ignore it long enough
to explain why you're not the best
man for the job. Finish up and
let's move on.
Unfreeze.
Mr. Head makes a skeptical face.
MR. HEAD
Pssh. Do not try to play me, my
brother...I know you people know
your way around a basketball..."
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: Further stereotyping detected.
Annoyance level: 43%.
Mr. Head realizes his mistake with a grimace.
MR. HEAD
Duh...I...not like that, not "you
people"...I meant...um...people
from this city...and...I just
thought...
He laughs nervously.
MR. HEAD
...this is kind of like touching a
tar baby...doh! Um...I mean!
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Annoyance level: 71%. Deploy stone
face.
Protagonist is shown with a look of severe contempt on his
face.
MR. HEAD
D...um...hey, here's an idea. How
about I treat the whole department
to lunch and we all hang out in the
conference room? Yeah! that should
be fun. What do you say,
bro-chacho?
NARRATOR
Go on. Accept his reparation
invitation. Feel free to treat
yourself to an eye roll as you do.
MR. HEAD
All right. See you at grub time, my
man. Deuces!
Mr. Head flashes a peace sign, then walks away.
NARRATOR
Now, with the boss man out of your
curly black hair, you can finally
start work.
You are seen to pick up a pen and begin to fill out a TPS
report.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Of course, actual job duties don't
vary by race nowadays...they're
pretty uninteresting for people of
any skin color, and the Black
Xperience is no different. If you
don't mind missing this riveting
portion of the day, we'll just move
on.
Fade out
SCENE: INT. CONFERENCE ROOM- DAY
The conference room is populated by hungry co-workers
sitting around the room waiting for lunch.
NARRATOR
After a while, it's lunchtime.
Though you've decided to take the
boss up on his earlier offer of
some complimentary food for your
midday meal, everybody knows
there's rarely any such thing as a
free lunch...
Mr. Head enters with bags full of food from BonaFried
Chicken and sets it on the conference table.
You watch him as he enters.
MR. HEAD
Attention everyone...attention!
All chatter stops.
MR. HEAD
Okay. I just wanted you guys to
know I appreciate what you do
around here. You're all valued
members of the GeneriCorp family.
You guys are the soul of this
company...and what better way to
show you that I care than with some
authentic down-home soul food? It's
BonaFried chicken, honey!
All co-workers laugh, murmurs of approval.
You look at the food.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Scanning, scanning...mediocre chain
chicken. Interest level 36%.
MR. HEAD
Everybody dig in!
Mr. Head looks directly at you.
MR. HEAD
I know you are feeling this, am I
right my brother? Just don't be
taking the big piece of chicken,
that's for me, do you know what I
am saying?
A smattering of laughter is heard.
You heave an audible sigh.
Office mates approach food and begin to make plates for
themselves.
NARRATOR
The aroma of fried chicken fills
the air. It's just fast food,
nothing to go crazy about...but for
some reason their scent is slightly
more inviting to you today. It may
be that other than that bag of
chips and Dutch Roll you ate while
working this morning, you haven't
eaten all day. However, your black
instincts should tell you that
being too quick to the chicken is
an open invitation for your boss to
make some asinine joke.
You look up at Mr. Head, who is still in the room talking to
your co-workers as they eat.
He walks away from the food over to JANET, a co-worker, who
is tearing into a drumstick.
MR. HEAD
Good, huh?
JANET
Mmph-mmm-hmm.
MR. HEAD
The lady who makes it says it's an
old family recipe passed down from
her ancestors...but when I called
BonaFried headquarters, they said
she wasn't available. I just
wondered if since it's a family
secret, if all her brothas and
sistas know it too?
Janet laughs, spewing chicken as she does.
NARRATOR
Yes, just like that. At least he's
away from the food now. Go ahead,
make a plate.
You walk over to the food and see that most of the large
chicken pieces are taken as well as the bulk of the side
dishes. You carefully select a couple of pieces and scoop up
some sides.
NARRATOR
So...you've made your plate. Want
to stick around and socialize?
You look up and see Mr. Head eating a large piece of chicken
and regaling a different group of coworkers with his mouth
full.
MR. HEAD
...and I wonder if since it's a
family secret all her brothas and
sistas know it too?
All co-workers laugh uproariously.
NARRATOR
That's what I thought. Well, guess
it's back to the desk...
You pick up your plate and slip out undetected as the
laughter continues and Mr. Head continues his diatribe. You
walk down the hallway where you find your own desk a short
distance away.
SCENE: INT. OFFICE CUBICLE- DAY
You are alone in your department, as all the other
co-workers are at the impromptu chicken party down the hall.
You set your plate down, pick up a piece of chicken and
un-sleep your computer to check your email and see one from
a co-worker marked "HILARIOUS VIDEO"!
NARRATOR
Ah, hilarious internet videos...the
opiate of the modern masses. You
could use a laugh right about now,
right? Go ahead, click it...it's
your lunch break.
You put down your chicken and click the link, which takes
you to urban pop-culture website WorldWideHipHop.com. The
link brings you to a still of a video marked "Ghetto
Pregnant Hoodrat Knife Fight Gone Wild!"
NARRATOR
Wait. Before you start that video,
let's discuss something. Yes, it's
almost always hilarious when some
gutterbutt bitches go crazy in
front of a camera...what's more, it
becomes the civic duty of an
appropriately equipped citizen to
capture such activities for
posterity and public shaming, to
discourage similar actions by
others. However, make note of the
site name.
The URL "WorldWideHipHop.com" is seen in closer detail.
NARRATOR
"WorldWideHipHop.com", and websites
of its ilk, contain almost NO
actual hip-hop, instead acting as
an odd marriage of YouTube and a
supermarket checkout magazine for
the hood. It's a minor note until
you realize that the word
"hip-hop", originally coined to
describe the products of the raw
and passionate voices of those
living certain unfortunate
realities and using the medium as
an outlet for their experiences,
has now become almost a catchall
term for ethnically based
foolishness like the video you're
about to watch. As a result,
hip-hop and buffoonery are now
inextricably connected in the minds
of many people. This unfortunate
phenomenon can be attributed in
large part to people such as...
MR. HEAD approaches your desk quietly from seemingly
nowhere.
MR. HEAD
Yo, what is going on, Bro-Magnon?
You look up to see him.
NARRATOR
Well, speak of D'evils.
MR. HEAD
Hey, I'm sorry about this morning.
I was cold trippin', feel me? I
thought a little grub might smooth
things over. I thought about you
when I picked the menu. How you
liking that? Just like momma used
to make, am I right, my brother?"
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Not your brother. Further stereotyping
detected. Annoyance level: 71%.
Mr. Head punches you jovially on the arm.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Annoyance level 75%. Analysis: I don't
know you like that.
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
He just doesn't get it, does he?
I've got news for you too...he
won't. You could try to calmly
explain to him that while lunch was
cool, he should keep his hands to
himself because he doesn't know you
like that. You could also try to
explain that he can speak normal
English when he talks to you
because surprisingly, the vast
maajority of black people
understand it. You could try
explaining a lot of things, but be
aware that if you do, he just will
not get it. In fact, he would
likely respond with something to
the effect of...
Unfreeze.
MR. HEAD
Don't be like that, bro-job! We
don't have to have beef. We have
got to stop all this black on black
hate!
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Annoyance level: 86%.
MR. HEAD
We go way back, dawg. I ride for
you in these corporate streets, and
now you don't bang with the O.G.? I
thought we were cool, why you want
me to cry, homie? I feel you
though, you still feel some type of
way from this morning. Ah ight.
Check it, I will allow you to do
you, come back and check on you
later, all right? We good dollars,
my brother?
He extends his arm for another handshake.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Annoyance level: 91%. Urban escalation
mode armed.
NARRATOR
You'll want to watch that urban
escalation mode. You see the result
of entering that state of mind
every time you hear about a fight
in an inappropriate place, a
seemingly nonsensical shooting, or
any other acts of rashly
ill-advised stupidity perpetrated
by black people. Unchecked, the
urban escalation mode can destroy
lives, families, and communities.
I'm certain at this point, you're
tempted to make all his delusions
come true and make at least one
part of him black by punching him
in the eye. However, I must remind
you that following through with
that impulse will get you fired,
sent to jail AND marked with a
criminal record...and let me tell
you, your black ass ain't ever
getting a legitimate job again once
you get into the system. Please,
reconsider.
You shake his hand the normal way.
Mr. Head looks a bit puzzled, then shakes it off.
MR. HEAD
All right...I got a hot new temp.
Gotta teach her to take
dictation...yeeeeah.
He starts to exit, then turns back.
MR. HEAD
Stay black, man.
As Mr. Head walks away, the screen turns red-tinted. An
alarm only audible to the protagonist is heard. Mr. Head
continues down the hallway.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- SEVERE STEREOTYPING DETECTED. ANNOYANCE
LEVEL MAX. URBAN ESCALATION MODE ACTIVE.
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
Wait just a second now. Not that he
doesn't deserve it, but think about
what you're doing. On one hand,
it's true...there are those who
would call him an unrelenting
cretin and agree that the word
following the next word he speaks
to you should be some profane
derivative of "ouch". However,
remember what will happen if you
were to find him and do this...
SCENE: INT. OFFICE CUBICLE, DREAM SEQUENCE
Protagonist is seen in 3rd person to leap out of chair,
sprint down hall, find Mr. Head, tap him on the shoulder,
and deliver a Stone Cold Stunner as soon as he turns around.
Protagonist then gets on all fours, leans into the face of
downed Mr. Head and taunts him with unintelligible but
clearly derogatory words.
End dream sequence.
SCENE: INT. OFFICE CUBICLE, DAY
NARRATOR
Admittedly, it will feel good in
the moment, but is losing your job,
social standing, citizenship and
freedom really worth it?
You watch Mr. Head exit until he turns a corner, then look
at your desk clock, which reads 2:17pm.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
However, I will say that there
likely is no way you're making it
until 5:00 and leaving here without
handcuffs. Perhaps you should find
a back stairway to slip out of for
the day. Sure, somebody may notice
you left a little early and you may
get fired. However, that urban
escalation mode is one of the most
volatile forces known to man. If he
returns with all that jive-talking
nonsense, you can't be held
responsible if you put a few of his
teeth in his stomach...except by
your job and a court of law. You
WILL be fired and you WILL go to
jail. I would play the odds.
You get up from your desk, leaving your food untouched, and
head towards a fire escape.
NARRATOR
Good call. Besides, with everybody
preoccupied with bland, tasteless
chicken and Mr. Head running some
sexual orientation for the new
temp, it's very likely nobody will
even notice you're gone...
You walk through the door and descend a few stairs.
Fade out.
SCENE: EXT. DOWNTOWN- DAY
You step outside. The weekday hustle and bustle of your
average midsize-to-large American city goes on all around
you. The streets are perfectly shoveled and plowed. You
begin to walk down the street back towards the train stop.
NARRATOR
Here you are, in the bustling
center of your city.
Men and women, predominantly white and wearing business
suits, populate the sidewalk. Cars, cabs, buses and bikes
whiz by in either direction.The ground is utterly spotless.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
After the day you had at work, you
probably just want to go home, flop
down on the couch, and watch some
TV. The train stop is only 2 blocks
away. In a perfect world, you would
make the trip to the station in 3
minutes. Unfortunately, you don't
live there...and neither do Cause
Criers.
As you walk, CRIER #1 pops out of a nearby alley and begins
to approach you.
CRIER #1
Excuse me! You, sir! Do you have 5
minutes to discuss a petition for
laws against texting and walking?
It kills over 10 remarkably stupid
people annually...with your help,
we can stamp it out in our
lifetime! Join the fight against
natural selection!
You shake your head no and keep walking.
NARRATOR
Cause Criers are people who are
paid to stand in the middle of
sidewalks, hold clipboards and
bother people who are obviously on
their way somewhere. They have
their own ideas about how valuable
your time is.
A short distance away, CAUSE CRIER #2, a white guy, appears.
He approaches with a sign-up sheet in hand.
CRIER #2
Good afternoon, sir. I wanted to
know if you were interested in
making a donation to the
Disadvantaged Reality TV show Stars
fund. For the price of a cup of
coffee per day--
You walk away before he has a chance to finish.
CRIER #2
(as you pass)
--you can feed an ex-American Idol
for a...month...dammit...
NARRATOR
As you are finding out, Cause
Criers can be aggressive. It has
nothing to do with being
black...but you do work downtown.
For people like you, it's a fact of
life.
WHITE GIRL CRIER
(off-screen)
Hey!
You look up and across the street at the source of the
sound, an attractive redhead in a "Global Heart" t-shirt and
cargo shorts holding a clipboard.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- White woman. Attractive. Analysis:
Explore race relations.
NARRATOR
Oh, you like her, eh? Well, if you
don't mind spending a few minutes
listening to an oral presentation
about starving vegans in 1st world
countries, you may indeed have a
shot.
You stop and wait for her to cross the street.
NARRATOR
Take this time to come up with an
opening line...and remember, resist
the urge to go with the tired...
A SMOOTH OPERATOR, a young black man, is seen nearby talking
to an UNINTERESTED CHICK, an attractive young black woman.
They are waiting to cross the street in the opposite
direction.
SMOOTH OPERATOR
Hey, sexy...
The Uninterested Chick rolls her eyes and walks away in a
random direction off-screen.
NARRATOR
or something more creative but far
less tactful like...
The Smooth Operator is seen yelling after the now-gone
Uninterested Chick.
SMOOTH OPERATOR
BITCH GET BACK HERE AND LEMME HOLLA AT
THEM BUTT-CHEEKS!
He chases her off-screen.
NARRATOR
...the few females those lines
still work on, you likely want
nothing to do with.
The Crier smiles at you from across the street.
NARRATOR
Well, don't just stand
there...greet her!
You are seen to wave. She waves back. The light turns red
and the traffic is seen to stop.
NARRATOR
Well, here she comes...
She then walks across the street directly towards you. She
is then hit by a speeding taxi which rockets around a corner
out of nowhere.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
...and there she goes.
She cartwheels like a rag doll through the air twice,
skidding lightly on the ground a few times like a stone
skipping across water and comes to rest against a hot dog
cart near you on your side of the street. She's a bit
scuffed, but somehow unharmed.
The taxi driver speeds away.
Pedestrians freeze in shock.
You and a few others rush over to where the girl is still
laying against the cart.
WHITE GIRL CRIER
Oww...
A COLLEGE STUDENT, a white kid in a hoodie and shorts
despite the fact that it's winter, comes over to check on
her, smartphone in hand, camera lens aimed at her.
COLLEGE STUDENT
Are you okay!?
WHITE GIRL CRIER
I think so...
COLLEGE STUDENT
Sweet, I got the whole thing! This
shit is going viral!
The College Student snaps another picture with the
smartphone and walks away typing.
COLLEGE STUDENT
(as he walks away)
I'll finally get over 100
followers! Hellz yeah!
The Crier continues to lay dazed on the ground.
A yellow news truck with a Channel 5 logo labeled "WASP, a
division of Yellow Journalism, Inc." materializes on the
scene to cover the breaking news. SCOOP MURDOCH, a field
reporter, leaps from the back of the truck with his camera
crew and runs up to you. 2 cameras and a microphone are
thrust into your face.
MURDOCH
(melodramatically)
This...is Scoop Murdoch on the
scene of a true American tragedy.
Just seconds ago, a young white
woman was critically injured in the
line of duty while working as a
compass-ador for the Global Heart
charity foundation. Here, we have
an eyewitness...
Protagonist is seen through the news camera's point of view.
In the background, a crowd gathers. An ambulance and 2
police cars pull up to rescue the mostly unhurt Crier.
MURDOCH
(cont'd)
...who can give you a firsthand
account of the apocalyptic carnage
that just took place on the streets
of our fair city. Sir, what did you
see?
Murdoch shoves a mic closer into your face and leans in
expectantly along with the crowd which has gathered.
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
At this point, you're likely ready
to offer a coherent, accurate, and
descriptive retelling of the
incident. However, what you may be
unaware of is that most news
outlets rarely report the unadorned
facts. They, like every other form
of media, are in the entertainment
business. What does that mean for
you in your current situation?
Well, finish your account of the
story and find out.
Unfreeze.
MURDOCH
I see. Cut!
Murdoch motions to a crew member with a throat slash, then
extends his hand to you. You shake it.
MURDOCH
All right, thank you for your time.
You turn and take a couple steps toward the train stop, then
notice a LOUD BLACK EYEWITNESS, a scruffy looking street
type, being led through the throng toward the cameras by a
news crew member.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: Male. Loud black eyewitness. Racial
shame imminent.
LOUD BLACK EYEWITNESS
(to crew member)
Hell yeah I saw that shit! Y'all
gon' let a nigga on the news?
Fuckin' right!
You watch as he is led to Murdoch, who listens to the
eywitness's mouth noises with keen interest. The news camera
then turns to the eyewitness. You move closer to hear what's
going on.
LOUD BLACK EYWITNESS
WHAT THE BIDNESS IS? IT'S YOUR BIG
BOY SNAKE DIZZLE ON THE SCENE IN
THIS BITCH...CHECK THIS SHIT OUT
THO, MAN THAT SHIT WAS CRAZY! ON
MOMS, I SAW IT ALL! HABIB COME
FLYIN' ROUND THAT CORNER LIKE
HUNNIT MILES A HOUR, I WAS LIKE
UH-OOOOOOH! SMACK RIGHT INTO THAT
WHITE GIRL! BITCH WENT FLYIN'! CAT
JUST KEPT ON GOING THOUGH! THAT WAS
SOME OLE WILD SHIT, MAN! SOME REAL
CRAZY ASS SHIT! CRAZIEST SHIT I
EVER DONE SEEN, THAT'S MY BIG
FUCKIN' WORD, WORD ON EVERYTHING!
YO, I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT LIKE...
He continues loudly as the news crew looks much more
satisfied with this interview. Some observers find it funny
and make their own recordings.
NARRATOR
See what I meant about
entertainment? Sure, they could
have went with the informative and
pertinent version of events they
asked you for...but what's
entertaining about that? Sad as it
may be, ignorance is
entertaining...the media is
obviously aware of this as well.
LOUD BLACK EYWITNESS
I'M TELLING YOU THAT TOWELHEAD
MOTHERFUCKER WAS GONE AFTER HE HIT
THAT BITCH! THAT'S WHY AIN'T NOBODY
FUCKIN' WITH THEM NOW, YOU SMELL
ME? OH YEAH, I'M STILL ON TV AIN'T
I! SHOUT OUT TO THE WHOLE 36TH
STREET CREW, ALL MY DAWGS, ALL MY
DEAD HOMIES, ALL MY BROTHAS HOLDIN'
IT DOWN UP IN THE PEN...
The Eyewitness continues. More gather to watch the
spectacle.
You start away, then turn back to see the Crier being helped
onto a stretcher under her own power by EMTs and carted off
for unnecessary medical treatment.
NARRATOR
Don't worry about your red-headed
friend. She'll be taken to one of
the 5 hospitals in this area of the
city, likely to be treated and
released. She's lucky she doesn't
live in your neck of the woods...as
I'm sure you've guessed, there are
no hospitals there. They probably
would have had to bring her down
here anyway.
The Eyewitness continues.
NARRATOR
Are you really going to stick
around for this fiasco? Just
go...you have a train to catch.
You walk away towards the eventually visible train stop and
begin to descend the stairs.
Fade out.
SCENE: EXT. MLK BOULEVARD- DAY
You step off the last stair from the train platform onto
MLK. The hood is now more populated, as it is midday. The
residents trudge aimlessly through the dirty snow in various
directions.
NARRATOR
Well here you are. Back in the
hood. Home street home. It's been a
long day...well, in a way...and I'm
betting you just want to go home.
Your stomach is heard to growl. You look down at it.
NARRATOR
Wait, you never got to eat, did
you? All right, correction...you
just want to get some food and go
home. Let's see what there is to
eat around here.
You look across the street and see "Mr. Wang's Imperial
Hunan Chinese Food".
NARRATOR
Maybe some Chinese?
You look closer in the window and see a handwritten sign
reading "Free mouse with all order over $5".
NARRATOR
Maybe not.
You see a BonaFried Chicken restaurant.
NARRATOR
Seriously?!
You look around again and see Burger Spot. You consider for
a second, then start toward it.
NARRATOR
It'll have to do. There's not a lot
of choice around here...the folk
plan these things assume people
that live in areas such as this
will, by and large, only eat
certain foods. Of course, in most
cases they are correct. Many of the
residents of these areas are
adamant against stepping out of
their comfort zone. This is why you
often hear people for some reason
express pride about the fact that
they've never left their own areas.
It's analogous to assigned seating,
except that the people involved
have a choice and decline it.
Anyway, let's go get you fed.
You arrive outside the restaurant. A homeless man appears in
time to hold the door for you, then stick his hand out for
change, expecting payment for his unrequested efforts. You
pass him by and continue in.
SCENE: INT. BURGER SPOT- DAY
The burger spot has a generally dingy look. The floor tiles
are cracked, the walls have un-faded rectangles where
pictures used to hang, and a health inspection sign reading
"pass/fail" with "pass" partially circled hangs on the wall.
As you enter, A local fiend, a young-ish filthy vagrant drug
addict, crosses your path and walks into the bathroom
wearing a shower cap with a crusty bar of soap and an
old-style back scrubbing brush.
You walk up to the counter where a BITCHY CASHIER in a gray
sweatshirt over her McUni and a fabric collar with a
blinking light, is texting away. In the background, a FRY
COOK flips patties and tends to fries.
You stand in front of the register and wait for her to
acknowledge you.
She briefly looks up at you, rolls her eyes, and continues
to text.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Female. Unhappy with minimum-wage job.
Likelihood of confrontation: 43%
She recieves a text back, cackles, and begins to send
another.
You clear your throat.
She looks up from her phone, sucks her teeth, and rolls her
eyes.
BITCHY CASHIER
(with an expulsion of breath)
Welcome to Burger Spot, what you
want?
NARRATOR
Looks like she's got a rude, crude,
fast food attitude...you'd better
order quickly.
You look up at the menu board, which has many variations of
the exact same mediocre burger, all pictured, all different
prices.
You look back at the cashier.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Likelihood of confrontation: 59%.
BITCHY CASHIER
I'm waiting...come on, we busy!
You turn to look, and the almost empty interior of the
restaurant is shown.
You turn back, then look from the cashier to the menu board,
back to the cashier. In the background, the Fry Cook flips a
patty, which falls onto the floor.
FRY COOK
Shit!
BITCHY CASHIER
Yo, sir! You taking forever and
shit!
He picks the patty up with 2 fingers, scrapes it on both
sides it with the spatula, shrugs, and throws it back on the
grill.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Likelihood of confrontation: 78%.
BITCHY CAHSIER
YO, HURRY THE FUCK UP! YOU PLAYING
GAMES! NIGGAS IN HERE PLAYING
AROUND AND SHIT! I'M BOUT SICK OF
YOUR SHIT, YOU BOUT NOT TO GET
NOTHING!
FRY COOK
Damn homie, she gettin' at you
hard. That's a fight where I come
from...you gonna take that from
her?
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Female. Unhappy with minimum-wage job.
Likelihood of confrontation: 97, 98, 99%. Arming urban
escalation mode. URBAN ESCLATION MODE ACTIVE.
Internal alarms audible to protagonist sound, screen flashes
red.
You are shown to agressively point at the cashier in
preparation for an angry response.
NARRATOR
Hold it right there!
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
I know, I know...between the
cashier's combative demeanor and
the fry cook's insigation serving
the same purpose in this situation
as tritium serves in a nuclear
warhead, I bet you're about ready
to do this...
SCENE: INT. BURGER SPOT- DREAM SEQUENCE
An alternate version of events. The cashier stands and
continues her tirade. The protagonist is seen in 3rd person.
BITCHY CASHIER
...IN HERE PLAYING AROUND AND SHIT!
I'M BOUT SICK OF YOUR SHIT, YOU
BOUT NOT TO GET--ukgh!
Protagonist roars, then is seen to grab the cashier by the
hair and dash her face into the register 3 times. The FRY
CCOK is frenetically excited about this.
FRY COOK
Oh shit! Oh shit! Somebody finally
did it! Told you you was gonna fuck
with the wrong one one day!
On the third rebound of her head from the register he
punches her in the face so that she falls behind the
counter, then leaps up on it.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Here he go! Here he go...top rope,
baby! Hit that top rope shit, my
dude!
Protagonist slaps his elbow, and performs elbow drop onto
cashier.
FRY COOK
Oooooooooh! That's what I'm talking
about! You my hero, man! You my
hero!
End dream sequence.
SCENE: INT. BURGER SPOT- DAY
Events are still frozen. The Cashier is still in mid-rant,
you are still pointing and the FRY COOK is looking up
watching the scene, fascinated.
NARRATOR
...and if you're asking this
narrator, she richly deserves it.
However, consider this. When you
eventually leave this restaurant,
you get to go home, eat your food,
update your status to let all your
friends know what happened with
that nutty cashier, and forget
about it sooner rather than later.
The Bitchy Cashier is shown wide-mouthed and in mid neck
roll.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Our change-making friend, however,
must remain here until closing,
prepare food for others, update her
status about how much she hates her
minimum-wage job that's really all
she's qualified for, and have the
burdensome knowledge that she will
likely never advance beyond this
burn inside her soul like a blazing
conflagration of lifelong failure.
Isn't that punishment enough?
Besides, this type of thing usually
works itself out.
Unfreeze.
BITCHY CASHIER
I DON'T KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU
POINTING AT, DON'T BE RAISING YOUR
FUCKIN' HAND AT ME!
The Fry Cook continues his audible insigation off-screen.
BITCHY CASHIER
(cont'd)
AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING ELSE
WITH YOUR RUDE ASS, I...
She ontinues as you look over slightly and see SHIFT
MANAGER, a white man wearing a cleanly pressed McUni, an NFL
coach-style microphone headset, and an oversized visor
reading "SHIFT MANAGER", entering from a nearby door to the
back room.
He has heard the entire exchange, and is appalled. As soon
as the Manager makes his appearance, the Fry Cook instantly
stops instigating and busies himself with his work so
quickly, it appears to be a glitch.
BITCHY CASHIER
(cont'd)
YOU AIN'T GON BE UP IN HERE WASTING
A BITCH TIME WHILE--
SHIFT MANAGER
LaQuella! That's enough!
The cashier suddenly falls silent, caught dead-to-rights.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Oh, you done fucked up now...
The shift manager angrily approaches the counter.
SHIFT MANAGER
I heard the whole thing! First you
show up late 3 times this week,
then you don't show up at all
yesterday, now you're in here
cursing out customers? This is a
totally unacceptable pattern of
behavior! You know what? I'm sick
of YOUR shit...you're fired.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Haaaaaa...you fy'd!
NARRATOR
See?
BITCHY CASHIER
What?! What, I...I ain't...man,
fuck this! This cuz I'm black!
SHIFT MANAGER
No it's not. This has nothing to do
with the color of your skin. It's
because you lack the ability to
function like a rational adult
human being.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Yeah, he right. Bitch, you crazy.
BITCHY CASHIER
NO!
The cashier points at you.
BITCHY CASHIER
Nigga this YOUR fault! This some
ole bullshit! Can't believe I got
fired cuz of your dumb ass! If you
ain't come in here acting all
stupid, this shit never woulda
happened!
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Tell 'em why you mad, sis!
BITCHY CASHIER
(to Fry Cook)
Ain't nobody ask you shit, Malik!
Bout tired of you too!
FRY COOK
You mad? You mad! She mad! She
maaaaad! Ha ha ha!
BITCHY CASHIER
Shut the fuck up! This your fault
too, instigating and shit! Y'all
the reason I don't got no job now!
The shift manager folds his arms in disapproval.
SHIFT MANAGER
Now LaQuella. You don't have a job
because you don't have any skills.
You don't have any skills because
you didn't go to school. Don't go
blaming your problems on others.
Please, just leave your name tag,
uniform shirt, and employee
tracking collar in the back, and
kindly leave the premises.
The Cashier puts her hands on her hips and begins to waggle
her neck.
BITCHY CASHIER
Fuck that! You don't tell me what
the fuck to do, white man! My name
is LaQuella Avion Serenity
Chantelle Pikachu Stevens, do I
look like your child to you?
SHIFT MANAGER
I'm not sure, do you know what your
father looks like?
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Ooooooh...
BITCHY CASHIER
No, but... Oh, you got jokes now!
You fuckin' with my paper chase AND
you tryna come at my neck! You know
what, ima fuck you up!
The cashier pulls a razor blade out of her mouth and
prepares to attack.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Aw, damn! Somebody finna get
fileted in this bitch!
She brandishes the weapon with clear malicious intent.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
It ain't the fish sandwiches! Them
motherfuckers is minced!
The manager, panicked, pulls out his flip phone and presses
one button.
The cashier hesitates, confused.
You instantly hear sirens directly outside.
You turn to see the LEAD OFFICER kick in the door of the
restaurant and make his approach to the register. You back
away slightly.
LEAD OFFICER
Is there a white man in danger
here?
SHIFT MANAGER
Right here, officer!
He points at the Cashier.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Oh shit, now the cops here? Oh, I'm
putting this on WorldWideHipHop
toDAY!
You turn back to see the "endangered white man" in question.
In the background, you can see the Fry Cook holding and
aiming the camera of a smartphone, capturing the madness.
SHIFT MANAGER
This...this...animal was going to
attack me! She has a weapon of mass
destruction!
The Cashier drops her razor blade.
SHIFT MANAGER
(cont'd)
I feared for my life!
LEAD OFFICER
That's all we need to hear.
He produces his WALKIE TALKIE.
LEAD OFFICER
Guys, I need backup!
WALKIE-TALKIE
blrhrppshzzarretseowal!
You look back at the door and see 2 more officers rush in.
LEAD OFFICER
Take her down!
They cuff the Cashier, and drag her out on her back kicking
and screaming. The Fry Cook comes out from behind the
counter to get a better angle on the action with his camera,
following closely as his co-worker is dragged out of the
door.
BITCHY CASHIER
THIS AIN'T RIGHT! I AIN'T DO SHIT
TO NOBODY! FUCK THIS! FALSE ARREST!
As she is dragged out, she looks directly at you.
BITCHY CASHIER
(cont'd)
THIS ALL YOUR BITCH ASS FAULT! IMA
GET YOU, FAGGOT! YOU AIN'T SEEN THE
LAST OF LAQUELLA AVION SERENITY
CHANTELLE PIKA--chuh!--
An officer strikes her across the back of the head with a
billy club, knocking her unconscious. They drag her lifeless
body out of the door.
FRY COOK
Daaaaaaamn! She got knocked the
fu--
SHIFT MANAGER
Malik! Not another word! You're
walking on thin ice too, buster.
The Fry Cook returns to his post, muttering and
disappointed.
NARRATOR
Apparently you have seen the last
of her. See what happens when you
let that urban escalation mode get
out of control?
You see the Lead Officer walk behind the counter where the
Shift Manager is still standing.
LEAD OFFICER
Looks like we're about done here.
(to Shift Manager) You okay?
SHIFT MANAGER
I'm just dandy since you fine
officers responded so
quickly...thank you so much!
LEAD OFFICER
Just doing our job...have to keep
the streets clean.
SHIFT MANAGER
I certainly appreciate it. You and
your boys out there care for a meal
on the house? It's the least I can
do...Malik, get our finest here a
boys-in-blue plate special!
The Fry Cook is heard offscreen hawking a loogie.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Hold on, I got you in a minute!
He continues to hawk.
LEAD OFFICER
Not for me, thanks...but maybe next
time you can give me one to take
back to the missus? Last time she
ate here she got diarrhea...lost 15
pounds! She's never looked better!
They both laugh.
SHIFT MANAGER
You got it, officer. Next time for
sure.
LEAD OFFICER
All right. Well, we have to go,
important work to do...writing
tickets, busting people selling
loose cigarettes, pulling certain
people over to make sure they
legally own their luxury cars...you
know, good, solid police work.
SHIFT MANAGER
Yup, sure do! Protect and serve!
Shift Manager salutes.
Lead Officer salutes back.
You watch the Lead Officer exit, then turn back to the Shift
Manager.
Outside, you hear the police cars pull away and the sirens
fade into the distance.
SHIFT MANAGER
I'm sorry you had to see all of
that. I can promise you that this
is not an everyday occurrence here
at Burger Spot.
The LOCAL FIEND who entered the bathroom before now exits,
slightly cleaner.
LOCAL FIEND
(off-screen)
BullSHIT! I done seen it fo' times
since New Years!
You turn to see the fiend standing, still in shower cap and
holding the brush, scratching his crotch with his free hand.
SHIFT MANAGER
(to Fiend)
Hey! You either buy something or
skedaddle right now, mister!
LOCAL FIEND
Man...okay.
He digs in his crotch and produces a sock. Out of it, he
produces a coin.
LOCAL FIEND
Y'all got a quarter menu?
SHIFT MANAGER
What the--no!
The fiend appears to appraoch the register, then stops at a
condiment island and begins to pump one of his pockets full
of mayonnaise.
LOCAL FIEND
Aight, how much is this?
He sticks his finger into the pocket and comes out with a
gob of mayo, which he puts into his mouth, savoring it.
FRY COOK
(off-screen)
Ewwwwww...
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
This may be the point in the
Xperience when you're expecting a
heartfelt, sympathetic examination
of the impact of hard drugs such as
crack-cocaine on the people that
inhabit socioeconomically
disadvantaged neighborhoods such as
this one. You won't get it in this
movie. You see, this particular
crackhead, like many of today, is
relatively young, under 30 years
old. They form an entirely new
generation of hard drug addicts.
This, of course, begs the question:
with the devastating effects of
drugs like this on human physiology
not only well-documented by
science, but observable firsthand
by average people for the past 3
decades...why would anyone in the
present day with the sense they
were born with touch a crack pipe?
There's a reason there are so many
crackhead jokes...they're all true.
Those who fell to the initial
epidemic of the 1980s can claim
ignorance. Anyone who picks up a
crack habit after 2000 is just a
fucking idiot.
Unfreeze.
SHIFT MANAGER
Why, that's disgusting! That's it!
You're done here!
LOCAL FIEND
Fine...I know when I'm not welcome.
I been dragged out of better fast
food joints than this.
He takes a few steps toward the door, then turns back.
LOCAL FIEND
I might be back for breakfast.
Y'all still make that yellow sauce
supposed to go on that Egg-lish
Muffin? It's real tasty...
SHIFT MANAGER
OUT!
You watch the fiend scurry out of the store, then turn back
to the Shift Manager.
SHIFT MANAGER
Anyway, I want you to know that we
here at Burger Spot appreciate your
patronage. Please, accept this free
value meal as a token of our
apologies.
Shift Manager pulls a completed and bagged value meal and
drink from beneath the counter on a tray. The tray is marked
"Complimentary Customer Apology Meal, February".
NARRATOR
Perhaps you should just take the
food and go home before anything
else happens.
You take the food and turn to the exit.
SHIFT MANAGER
(off-screen)
Thank you for choosing Burger Spot!
Please come again! Please?
You open the door and head back out into the street.
Fade out
SCENE: INT. APARTMENT- DAY
You walk through the door, put your food on a table, and
flop down on your couch in front of your TV. You take your
phone out of your pocket and put it on the couch near you.
You turn your TV on.
NARRATOR
I wonder what's on TV?
The BET logo is displayed on a black background continuously
while the announcer speaks.
ANNOUNCER: BET. It's entertainment television for the
black...and black at heart.
NARRATOR
Oh look, it's BET. You've probably
never had the urge to watch it
before...and if you have had the
urge, my condolences...but you're
black today and in need of
entertainment, so why not? If
you're not familiar with it
already, you may not be sure what
to expect from the one channel on
basic cable that purports to be
targeted at African-Americans...but
you'll soon find out.
You turn to your food and begin to unwrap it, then look back
up at the TV. You are shown to eat intermittently as you
watch.
TV
SCENE: INT. INTERVIEW STUDIO- TV
KATHY CRENSHAW, a veteran African-American televison
personality, is conducting an interview with "DA REALEST", a
black gangsta rapper in oversized dress casual wear,
multiple gold chains including one of his own face, visible
tattoos, and a gold grill. They sit opposite each other on
the set, watched by a studio audience.
ANNOUNCER
(voice-over)
We now return to our BET special
event, "Da Realest and The Realist:
Rapping with Duplicity" with your
host, Kathy Crenshaw.
CRENSHAW
Thank you for rejoining us here
today. I'm Kathy Crenshaw, and
we're here with Theolonius
Price-Walker IV
Da Realest is shown to flash a peace sign at the camera.
CRENSHAW
(cont'd)
...better known as "Da Realest",
multi-platinum recording artist for
Crabbe & Barrel records. His
chart-topping hits, "Fuck Books,
Get Money", "Bitch Spread them
Legs", and "Kill Just 'Cuz", have
propelled him to international
superstardom in recent years.
Realest, I want to thank you again
for joining us.
DA REALEST
(almost unintelligibly)
Hail yeah, y'all niggas over here
at BET know His Realness fucks with
y'all real heavy, real heavy,
namsayin? Like he said befo', he
always got time to come up on here
and show a lil love to all his fans
and shit, namsayin?
A GROUPIE in the audience wearing a Da Realest t-shirt and
holding a sign is shown and cries out.
GROUPIE
I love you, Da Realest!
DA REALEST
I luh you too, shawty. Real
recognize real, and ya boy Da
Reeeeeealest only recognize hisself
and those that ride by his side,
namsayin? Real rap, real shit,
namsayin?
CRENSHAW
I...believe so. However, it's
Theolonius we're more interested in
today, as we get a rare opportunity
to get up close and personal with
the man behind the biggest movement
going in hip-hop today. Everybody
knows Da Realest, but we know
relatively little about you,
personally. So, I suppose the big
question is...who ARE you?
GROUPIE
(off-screen)
My future baby daddy and
ex-husband!
DA REALEST
Oh, you know azactly who His
Realness is. He the personification
of real, the hip-hop messiah, the
voice of the streets and the HNIC
in this rap game, namsayin? He the
best that ever done did it, and
fuck all those that came
befo'im...no disrespect to all the
legends that paved the way, but
fuck 'em, namsayin. I'm also your
favorite rapper's favorite rapper's
favorite rapper. I'm--
CRENSHAW
Yes, I heard all of that in your
acceptance speech at the BET
Awards...but who are YOU,
Theolonius?
DA REALEST
Oh...me? Well...
Da Realest removes his detachable gold grill.
DA REALEST
(articulately, with a slight
British accent)
Heavens, nobody ever seems to ask
about me. Whatever do I say? Well,
I was born in a small Connecticut
town to my parents, Stefen and
Maude. Hello mummy!
He waves effeminately at the camera
DA REALEST
I had a fairly standard upbringing,
private school, horseback riding
lessons, the occasional jaunt
around the bay in my father's
50-footer...nothing too out of the
ordinary.
CRENSHAW
I...see. So what led you into
hip-hop?
DA REALEST
Well, during high school I found
that I had quite a knack for
lacrosse, and I was able to obtain
a scholarship to Ivy Hills College
because of it. I picked up somewhat
of an affinity for hip-hop from my
teammates. Of course, once I found
out there were vast sums of money
to be made in making this sort of
music without the necesssity of
traditional musical acumen, in
theory it was simply a matter of
taking courses in English and
communication to improve my mastery
of the language. Once I did that, I
could apply the skills to
mainstream hip-hop.
CRENSHAW
No offense Theo, but I've heard
your material quite a few times
and...I can't say I would have said
the lyrics displayed "a mastery of
language". Here's an example, from
your track "Loony Coon Bounce"...
Crenshaw produces a note card and begins to read from it.
CRENSHAW
"Girl make that ass quake, make me
wanna pounce/you know I can make it
rain even in a drought/I like your
big ole booty and I just had to
announce/girl yo' ass is crazy, do
that loony coon bounce..."
Crenshaw makes a face.
GROUPIE
(off-screen)
I'll bounce this ass for you, Your
Realness! I'll lick your balls
through the hole in your draws!
DA REALEST
(to Groupie)
Heh...why thank you.
DA REALEST
(to Crenshaw)
Indeed, I do recall that one...#1
ringtone a month straight.
CRENSHAW
Right. Congratulations. Anyway, if
I can be honest with you for a
minute, you seem to be an
intelligent man. With your language
degrees, you have all the technical
ability in the world. Now you be
honest with me...is that the best
work of an English major?
DA REALEST
Heh...I know precisely what you're
driving at. You see, initially I
tried to succeed through an
intellectual approach, spending
hours crafting clever,
multi-layered lyrics that could
intimate, inspire, and inform.
Unfortunately, my approach met with
very limited success. There was
simply no market for intelligence
in mainstream rap, or our culture
at large. I evaluated the
situation, and determined that all
the most pouplar artists in the
genre, as well as many of those
that I was introduced to in my
college days, concentrated on 3
general subjects, sex, money, and
drugs. In addition, many of the
most popular songs have simple,
mediocre lyrics supplemented by
bassy, memorable beats and easily
repeated choruses. Very little
relvance, very high marketability.
I had to utterly sacrifice artistic
merit, but in addition to being "Da
Realest", I am also a realist. It
was simply a matter of knowing my
target market. Once I dicovered
these simple formulas and applied
them to my own work, I quickly
gained more fans and spent far less
time doing so. In addition, it
certainly assists my endeavors wit
the fairer sex.
CRENSHAW
Does it? Are you saying that
dumbing yourself down has actually
made you more attractive to women?
DA REALEST
Oh, undoubtedly...and to be quite
frank, until the culture that
created my career shifts on a
fundamental level and intellect is
glorified over image, this is the
way it shall remain.
The audience is shown. Some members are asleep. The Groupie
has a baffled look on her face.
DA REALEST
Because of the image I portray and
the money I'm able to make doing
so, women that scarcely know my
real name or anything about me are
willing to throw themselves at my
feet purely for the bragging rights
of saying they have done so. Many
don't even ask for money, just the
opportunity to be momentarily
linked to a well-known and affluent
person. They want the taste of
fame, if only literally. Honestly,
it's quite the enticing lifestyle
for as long as one can maintain
it...if you'll pardon the
vulgarity, why do you think one can
scarcely spit out of one's window
without hitting an aspiring rapper
and becoming ensnared in a beef?
A pair of wet panties is thrown onstage.
GROUPIE
(off-screen)
I want to devour you from the waist
down!
CRENSHAW
I see your point. So what you're
saying is if your audience
appreciated your intelligence, you
would expose it more?
DA REALEST
Indubitably.
CRENSHAW
But since they don't...
He snaps his gold teeth back in.
DA REALEST
(resumes unintelligibility)
THEY GETS DA REEEEEALEST, BRUH
BRUH! YEEEEEEAH!
Audience applauds.
The groupie is shown having an apparent orgasm, falling and
striking her head on the floor.
CRENSHAW
I see. Well, we'll step aside for a
few moments, but when we come back,
we'll get more of Da Realest's
perspective on his own career and
the state of hip-hop, its influence
and its fans today.
Da Realest smiles and waves.
The groupie is shown bleeding from the ear due to head
trauma.
Audience applauds.
A few members produce firearms and fire them into the air.
Fade to commercial break.
The BET logo is displayed on a black background continuously
while the announcer speaks.
ANNOUNCER: Coming up next, glorification of fast money and
self-destructive behavior, gratuitous brown ass, Nicki
Minaj, edited low-budget crime movies, reruns of canceled
"black" sitcoms, and Nicki Minaj. Uh...I think we're still
holding on to 106th and Park too. BET: A black mark on
society. We'll be back after these messages.
TV
SCENE: EXT. A CLEAN, SHINY SET RESEMBLING AN URBAN AREA- DAY
A Burger Spot commercial. BRAIDS, AFRO and BALDY,
African-Americans in stereotypical dress and hairstyles, are
shown sitting on a stoop.
BRAIDS
Man, we's out here on the block
cold chillin'...but I's not feeling
the flava!
AFRO
Yeah homebro, I know what you
meanin'. I be needing to feel the
flava sometimes. Plus I's hungry
too!
BALDY
Oh, y'all ain't feeling the flava
AND y'all hungry? Check this here
out.
Baldy reaches behind back, pulls out plate piled high with
dry-looking premade chicken sandwiches. They glow as an
angelic sound plays.
BRAIDS
(in unison with Afro)
New Chicken Chicken Sammiches from
Burger Spot! Oh, snap!
AFRO
Oh, we boutsta feel the flava now!
Ay, I want one!
BRAIDS
Naw, I want it! Give it here!
BALDY
Ay, ay, ay, hollup hollup...it's
nuff Chicken Chicken Sammiches here
for all us.
ALL 3
IT'S GOING DOWN!
All 3 take sandwiches from plate and bite hungrily. They all
laugh and shove each other playfully, far happier than the
average person to be eating fast food. Afro and Braids get
up and square off for a dance battle.
BRAIDS
I's feeling the flava now!
Afro and Braids begin to break dance competitively.
BURGER SPOT ANNOUNCER
Feel the flava of new Chicken
Chicken Sammiches from Burger Spot.
Yeeeeeah BOYYY!
They continue to fool around on-screen.
NARRATOR
Okay, not even I can take this any
more. Watch BET on your own
time...isn't it almost 5? Let's see
what's in the news.
You turn the channel to the news.
TV
SCENE: INT. NEWS STUDIO- DAY
MIKE RICHARDS, a white anchorman, sits as the news theme
ends and the studio camera focuses in.
RICHARDS
Good evening. I'm Mike Richards,
and this is your evening news. Our
top story, today a 19 year old
student of Local Elite University
was struck by a speeding cab driven
by a suspected domestic terrorist
while volunteering with the Global
Heart charity foundation. We take
you to our investigative specialist
Scoop Murdoch, who was on the scene
of this modern American tragedy.
Scoop?
SCENE: EXT. DOWNTOWN- DAY
SCOOP stands with a microphone in the same spot where the
hit-and-run happened earlier.
MURDOCH
Thanks, Mike. I was on the scene of
the very unfortunate event that
took place this afternoon, and
although I was spared the burden
and denied the Pulitzer of
witnessing it firsthand, I was able
to get an account of the
unmitigated horror from a
bystander, who was kind enough to
give us a moment of his time.
The footage of the Loud Black Eyewitness from earlier's
incident is played.
NARRATOR
I won't insult your intelligence by
explaining why they chose not to
use your interview in favor of this
less...poignant one. It should have
been rather obvious when they asked
for one from the shadiest-looking
black man on the street after yours
turned out so well.
MURDOCH
...the girl was taken to Our Lady
of Private Healthcare, where she
was treated and released for minor
scrapes and bruises. I'm sure I
speak for the entire Evening News
team when I say that our thoughts
are with her, and that I wish grim
black death to the bastard that
caused this incalculable suffering
in our fair city. Things like this
just...shouldn't...
Slpit screen with Richards in the studio. Scoop pauses,
choked up. Richards gets misty as well.
MURDOCH
(tearfully)
...I'm sorry. I just...
He clears his throat.
MURDOCH
(breaking up))
For the Evening News, I'm Scoop
Murdoch. Back to you in the studio,
Mike.
Murdoch is shown dropping to his knees and sobbing.
SCENE: INT. NEWS STUDIO- DAY
RICHARDS
(welling up)
Thank you, Scoop. Indeed, all of
the Evening News Team's thoughts
and prayers are sincerely with that
poor, attractive girl. I offer my
deepest sympathies to her family.
We hope she continues to pull
through just fine. Things of that
nature just should never happen in
that neighborhood. In other news,
in less savory areas of the city...
Richards takes a deep breath before quickly reading off
remaining news items in an emotionless monotone.
RICHARDS
3 African American men were gunned
down after a dispute over a card
game. An elderly man was found
duct-taped in his home in the
high-crime zone late last night.
The motive seems to be burglary.
4-year-old Kiara Sims was struck
and killed by a stray bullet in a
shootout involving police. Some
citizens are up in arms, as the
poorly-aimed bullet represents over
2 wasted tax dollars. Tamika
Jackson, a 20 year old mother and
student of Local Community College,
was shot 8 times in a daylight
assault on a city bus. The attack
stemmed from an argument that did
not involve her. She was rushed to
the hospital...and she died. Sucks
for her. Anyway, next we have our
special report on city
schools...are all of our kids
getting a fair shake?
TINA STRONG is shown split-screen with Richards, waiting to
begin her report.
RICHARDS
(cont'd)
We join our field reporter...
Tina reacts with a mix of surprise and disgust, which she
quickly tucks under her professional face.
RICHARDS
(cont'd)
...Tina Strong at Pinnacle Prep for
a closer look. Tina?
SCENE: INT. CLASSROOM- DAY
TINA STRONG, a young black field reporter for the evening
news, sits on a desk in a clean, shiny, and empty classroom,
the scene for her report.
The room is fully appointed. A row of top-of-the-line
computers sits in the back of the classroom. A neat stack of
new textbooks is on each desk. The city can be seen outside
the window in the background.
STRONG
Thanks you, Mike. I'm here at
Pinnacle Prep, a high school here
in the city. It's a little before
class, but that didn't stop this
reporter from trying to get an
education about the state of
schools today. As you may notice,
the average classroom here at
Pinnacle is a far cry from those
common just 5 or 10 minutes away in
other parts of the city.
The computers are shown.
STRONG
(cont'd)
You can see the new shipment of
computers that just arrived at the
beginning of the year and the
current textbooks. For most city
students, forced to use computers
that take floppy discs and use
textbooks that make reference to
"the new, mysterious planet
Neptune", it's nothing short of an
educational fantasy. The fact is,
many of our schools are failing,
and along with them, many of our
children. Pinnacle seems to be the
exception to the rule. It stands in
stark contrast to schools elsewhere
in the city, as test scores and the
graduation rate are holding steady
at high levels over the last 5
years while most others blah blah
blah blah...
Tina continues on the subject semi-audibly.
NARRATOR
Tina is doing a pretty decent job
telling us there's somewhat of an
incongruity with the city's
schools, but there are certain
crucial things she just can't say
on air. You see, Pinnacle Prep is a
public school like any other in the
city, but it's located in the
"nice", or affluent and mostly
white, part of town. Schools
"elsewhere in the city" have high
minority populations and are
located in neighborhoods that few
would live in if they had a choice.
You finish your meal and shoot your bag and wrappers into a
trashcan across the room, then look back at the TV.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Putting aside the unfortunate
realities of their urban
environment, which are a
distraction in and of themselves,
most of these students were, are,
and will be herded into
overpopulated classrooms staffed by
underpaid, indifferent instructors.
They will be given substandard
learning materials and an overall
quality of education shamefully
below that of schools in "better"
areas, and expected to succeed at
the same level as the other, more
priveleged students. It's not
metaphysical...if you give one
person a 6 foot ladder and one
person a 9 foot ladder and tell
them both to scale a 10 foot wall,
guess who will likely climb faster?
Tina can be heard clearly again.
STRONG
...accordingly, Pinnacle Prep is
consistently among the
highest-performing schools in the
state. The question is, how do we
make it so that every school in the
city is up to this gold standard?
It may be a question more important
than any item on a standardized
test.
Split screen with Richards as she prepares to send it back
to the studio.
STRONG
For the Evening News, I'm Tina
Strong. Back to you at WASP
studios.
SCENE: INT. NEWS STUDIO- DAY
RICHARDS
Yeah, whatever. Thanks, I guess.
SFX: News Theme
RICHARDS
(cont'd)
When we return: cell phones,
cancerous or not? The
answer...well, until they change
their minds again. Also, why many
Republicans have softened their
stances somewhat, blaming only half
of our president for the currently
troubled economy. This and more,
coming up after this break.
Fade to commercial break
SCENE: EXT. A FOUNTAIN- DAY
A GAMBLER, a skinny black man in a suit jacket and jeans,
wades around in the shallow fountain outside of a casino,
scraping up loose change where he can. He looks up at the
camera as if surprised.
GAMBLER
Oh, damn! I ain't even see y'all
there! You might wonder what I'm
doing in this fountain.
He picks up another coin.
GAMBLER
Well you know how it is...I was in
there, playing blackjack, feeding
the slots, having a good ole time.
I would have been in there all day,
except for one thing...a brotha ran
out of paper.
He scoops up another coin.
GAMBLER
Anyways, I wasn't trying to leave
until I won enough money for that
new pair of gators I had my eye
on...but the ATM said my funds was
insolent or something like
that...so I'm out here trying to
scrape up some change to get back
in the game, feel me?
He scoops up yet another coin and holds it up.
GAMBLER
Check it out, a gold dollar!
Heh...I don't have a gambling
problem...I got a money problem.
He smiles and strolls back toward the casino, dripping and
jingling.
SUPER: Gambling money you don't have? Call 1-800-DUMB-ASS.
SFX: Yawn
You lay back on the couch and stare at the ceiling.
SCENE: INT. APARTMENT- DAY
NARRATOR
Got a bit to think about after your
first day watching TV as a black
man, eh? For the first time, you
see from a black perspective that
you can't really blame your boss or
most anyone else for assuming any
of the things they do about
African-Americans, since that's
really all they show of us on TV.
You blink 3 times, each longer than the last.
NARRATOR
Destitute, immoral,
chicken-addicted, overly flashy
dancing monkeys. Living
caricatures. Afterthoughts thrown
in for diversity's sake...at least,
if you watch too much TV.
Your eyes close.
NARRATOR
However, I think you've done enough
of that for today though. You look
a little tired after that day of
yours...as a matter of fact, it's
part of your Xperience. Often,
after eating, black people will
doze off into a light recovery
slumber known as "the itis", which
has it's roots as an ancient
survival mechanism blah blah
blah...
Narrator trails off as you drift off.
Fade out
SCENE: INT. APARTMENT- NIGHT
You wake up from your nap. The sun has gone down. In the
background, the TV drones.
NARRATOR
Enjoy that nap? Good. You were out
for a while.
While still on your back, you pick up your smartphone and
see the time on the lock screen. It is 10:47. You unlock
your phone and also see 3 missed calls and a text.
You check your call log and see that The Office has called
you twice during the afternoon. You delete these
indifferently, then see a 3rd missed call and text from your
friend DAMON.
TEXT MESSAGE
DAMON (10:14pm)
Yo whats good it's D. What you getting into 2nite? HMU.
NARRATOR
Go ahead, be a good friend and call
him back.
You return his call.
The phone rings 4 times.
Damon's voicemail activates. It's 30 seconds of a popular
hip-hop song.
NARRATOR
That song you hear is your friend's
voicemail. For whatever reason,
many black people do not enjoy
being recorded. Whether it's
recording a voicemail greeting or
actually leaving a message, it
appears that a large percentage of
Negroes are simply opposed to the
recording of their own voices
unaccompanied by music. Don't
bother leaving a message...just
hang up. He'll call you back.
You hang up.
15 seconds later, Damon calls back. His voice is only
intermittently audible over the bass-heavy music, laughter,
and general revelry of a party clearly going on in the
background.
DAMON
(over phone)
Yo what's going...bruh? Man,
I...for like an hour! ...need to
bring that ass down here...down
here, homie--bitch, watch my
shoes!!...first of the month, the
hoes is OUT, ya feel me? ...down
here tryna get my dick wet...pull
bitches like a leash! ...come
through and--yo, you home already,
big dawg? That's what's up, that's
what's up...stay up out here!--we
going all the way in tonight! I
gotta go but...know you
comin'...call...you on your way,
aight?
Damon hangs up.
NARRATOR
Didn't quite catch that? Don't
worry, that's what I'm here for.
You see, many black people are
notorious for being unaware that
ambient noise can severely
overpower a human speaking voice,
especially over the phone. Instead
of temporarily leaving the area for
a more conversation-friendly
environment, they will often opt to
challenge the cacophony with their
own voice. This is a battle that is
valiantly fought, but usually lost.
Anyway, in short, Damon just wanted
to let you know that there are
wine, women, and sport to be had
down the bar over on the Boulevard.
Well? Didn't you hear me? What are
you waiting for? Get your black ass
down there!
You get up, turn on the light, and walk toward your closet.
You reach out for an item of clothing.
Fade out
SCENE: EXT. MLK BOULEVARD- NIGHT
You are walking towards a bar with a sign reading "Local
Hood Bar". A large bouncer stands at the door. A drug addict
stands outside with his bike tied to a nearby parking meter,
scratching himself and mumbling under his breath. A line
forms outside of the bar filled with hood denizens who talk
excitedly.
NARRATOR
Here you are...the hood bar. It's
usually a hole in the wall that is
usually more suitable for getting a
stab wound than a drink in on a
Friday night, but today is not just
any Friday...it's the first of the
month. Everybody who's anybody and
plenty of nobodies will be here
spending money they don't have.
Behind you, HOODRATS 1 and 2, the same ones from this
morning, are having a loud conversation that can be heard
for blocks. You glance at them periodically. This visibly
annoys others in line.
HOODRAT 1
Girl, this feel so good! I ain't
been out for real since I dropped
the baby! I need a break! I'm bout
to get emergency-room wasted in
this motherfucker! HaHA!
You glance in their direction.
HOODRAT 2
Yeah, bitch, you been hiding and
shit...need to come out and shake
your ass with your girl some more,
have a good time, live while you
alive, run this town, fuck the
haters, you know?
HOODRAT 1
Yeah girl, that's why a bitch out
here now...and it's the first of
the moooonth, heeeey! I know niggas
is in here with money, ima fuck
around and find J'Kindle a new
daddy tonight!
HOODRAT 2
What happened to Tyrone? Wasn't he
doing right by you and your baby?
HOODRAT 1
Girl, fuck that deadbeat ass nigga.
You know he had the nerve to leave
me and only leave me with enough
money to take care of his kid? What
about the others? What about my
hair? What about my car note? What
about my FarmVille? Them upgrade
cards cost. He make good money at
his job, he should be paying that
good child support. Fuck that,
nigga...you gon pay. I can't stand
a deadbeat.
HOODRAT 2
I hear that, girl! So who you leave
J'Kindle with? I know it had to be
hell finding a babysitter on the
1st.
HOODRAT 1
I know, right? Everybody wanna act
like they got something to do
today...I just left him with my
oldest, he be aight. He almost 8
months now, he gotta man up
sometime.
HOODRAT 2
You left him with Alize? Ooh, you
smart for that, now you ain't gotta
pay nobody. How old is she now?
HOODRAT 1
She turn 6 in April.
Freeze frame.
NARRATOR
One of the most basic and
widespread failures of our people,
the one which leads to most of the
others you have seen today, lies in
the substandard parenting so
prevalent today. Between 60% of
black women having children by 2 or
more different men, which is 3
times the national average, and a
contingent of completely absent
fathers that dwarfs the rates found
in any other group of people, the
average African-American child has
somewhere around 0.84 full-time
parents. Factor in Mother of the
Year candidates such as the ones
behind you, and you have prime
breeding conditions for lost
generations. J'Kindle and Alize,
who were raised by people like this
and will grow up and attend schools
like P.S. 666, likely will never
have a chance. With the future of
our race in the hands of people
like this, is it any wonder many of
us have gone so far astray?
Unfreeze.
HOODRAT 1
(cont'd)
...She growing up real fast too,
got a little boyfriend and
everything, I told her little fresh
ass not to bring me no kids til she
at least 13.
HOODRAT 2
I know that's right!
Both cackle. Others show more signs of annoyance.
The talkers then notice you are eavesdropping on their
overly-loud conversation. They both look at you angrily.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: Stank attitudes dectected.
Confrontation imminent.
HOODRAT 2
Damn, can we help you?!
HOODRAT 1
All up in my mouth while a bitch
talking...some people don't got no
respect for the people around them!
Stay the fuck out my personal ass
business! Can't believe the nerve
of some people!
They continue to berate you at a decreased volume.
NARRATOR
Uh-oh...got caught earhustling.
Does it matter to them that the
whole block heard and the only way
more people could have heard their
conversation was if they had made
it into a podcast? No, not at all.
Just do your best to ignore them.
You've got better things to worry
about tonight. Just look away and
keep it moving. Oh, and they're
sure to try provoking you to
violence even after they've gotten
what they wanted for some reason.
Be prepared for yet another
challenge of composure...and
please, avoid doing this...
SCENE: EXT. MLK BOULEVARD- NIGHT DREAM SEQUENCE
HOODRATS 1 and 2 continue to squawk away. Protagonist is
seen in 3rd person enduring the abuse.
HOODRAT 2
Mm-hmm...that boy all up in your
business.
HOODRAT 1
I'm saying though, a bitch can't
get no privacy and shit?
He turns away to mind his own business.
HOODRAT 2
Oh, look, now he hurt. Fuck his
ass, ain't like nobody was talking
to him.
Protagonist clenches his fists.
HOODRAT 2
Ooh, he mad now! He mad! He mad!
What you gonna do, bitch?
HOODRAT 1
Look at that fuck boy, thinkin' he
tough and shit. He better be lucky
I'm saved now or I'd fu--
Protagonist's fist is seen to come from offscreen and hit
her in the face. She crumples to the ground and drools out a
few teeth. Hoodrat 2 gets in a fighting stance.
HOODRAT 2
I KNOW you ain't just hit my girl!
That's it, nigga, I'm bout to--
Protagonist kicks Hoodrat 2 in chest, then grabs the prone
girl by both legs, puts them under his arms, swings her
around 3 times, and uses the momentum to throw her into a
flapped trashcan, which closes behind her.
Protagonist is shown smiling as people behind him applaud.
He turns to him and bows.
End dream sequence
SCENE: EXT. MLK BOULEVARD, NIGHT
The Hoodrats are still chattering at low volume.
NARRATOR
That wouldn't do anybody much good.
Sure it would be fun and
understandable...but is the bitch
worth jail time? Not that she
doesn't deserve it...but a court of
law will not see it that way. Let
her have her moment, she doesn't
get many. For you, right now, the
best option is to just keep it
moving.
The girls resume full volume.
HOODRAT 1
...like he know me or some shit!
Nuh-uh, that's not how I get down!
You turn toward the front of the line, ending the
interaction.
HOODRAT 1
Yeah, better turn your bitch ass
around!
HOODRAT 2
(off-screen)
You tell him, girl!
They continue. Your fists clench.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D- Confrontation imminent. Urban escalation
mode active!
NARRATOR
Hey! What did we just talk about?
SCENE- INT. A JAIL CELL, DREAM SEQUENCE
Protagonist's face and upper body is seen through bars,
which his hands also hold. Behind him is a darkened cell.
The CELLMATE is unseen behind him.
CELLMATE
(off-screen)
First night, huh? Don't worry, I'll
be gentle.
Cellmate places his large, meaty, and now-visible hands on
your shoulders.
CELLMATE
(off-screen)
I got a 2-man Snuggie I made. After
we get to know each other REAL
good, we can cuddle and talk about
why fools fall in love.
He begins to pull the protagonist down and backwards.
Protagonist screams. The last thing that can be seen is the
protagonist's fingenails scraping the floor as he is dragged
into the darkness.
End Dream Sequence
SCENE- EXT. MLK BOULEVARD, NIGHT
NARRATOR
Is that what you want? Think about
sitting in prison...however hard
that may be with the wrong
cellmate. Wouldn't you feel like a
fool knowing that the only reason
you are there is because some hood
booger called you a few names? Just
let it go.
You turn back toward the front. They eventually quiet down.
You look at the other people in line in front of you. There
are a few people in club attire, an extremely fat girl in
tights, and a few guys in dark hoodies and bulky coats.
GUTTA SLIM, a local drug dealer wearing flashy, expensive
clothing, a floor-length mink, and a "Gutta Slim, Dope Boy"
medallion, walks directly up to the door of the bar,
skipping the line. He is accompanied by a small group of
adoring women and a bodyguard.
You scan Gutta Slim and see a gun in a rhinestone holster.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- GUN! Analysis: Proceed with extreme
caution. Deck-hitting sequence on standby...
NARRATOR
Oh, him? That's narcotic sales
associate extrodinaire Gutta Slim
and his convoy of adoring hoes.
Gutta chats with the bouncer. You stay transfixed on the
clearly visible gun.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Oh, that? Don't worry about that.
He's just a drug dealer. He needs
it for work the way that
construction workers need helmets
or strippers need Wet Wipes. He's
probably off the clock right now,
which means he wants as little
non-narcotic trouble as possible.
That includes not shooting people
for no reason.
Gutta Slim and his party are allowed in unchecked. The line
moves again. You are now almost at the door.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
In most cases, the gun is a
defensive weapon only. Stay in your
lane and you should be fine.
The line moves again. You step up, ready to follow them
inside, and are cut off by the BOUNCER, standing with arms
crossed.
The bouncer's mean, lazy-eyed face is shown. He growls.
NARRATOR
Not so fast. You have to be patted
down first.
BOUNCER
You know what it is. Lift 'em up.
The bouncer pats under your arms, impllied to be
outstretched.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Just can't have too many dangerous
people in a shady bar in a bad
neighborhood.
A sign is shown in the bar window reading "Maximum Armed
Patron Occupancy: 5".
The bouncer produces a tongue depressor and mini flashlight,
then examines the inside of your mouth.
NARRATOR
I know it's kind of awkward...most
of the time, they don't like it any
more than you do.
The bouncer begins to caress your inner thighs.
NARRATOR
Just pretend you're at the airport
and it will be over soon.
BOUNCER
You good. Go head, man.
He steps aside to allow you in the bar.
NARRATOR
Prehaps you've never been in a hood
bar before, but it can't be all
that different from those polished
chrome places with $10 beer, nine
56" flatscreens and sleek backless
barstools that you're likely used
to, right?
You open the door into the dark interior of the bar.
Fade out.
SCENE: INT. LOCAL HOOD BAR- NIGHT
You step in and find the dance floor between the entrance
and the bar. A club song is playing and the party is going.
Assorted people are grinding and gyrating. You pause for a
second to take in the scene.
NARRATOR
Immediately, you should notice that
it's a bit different from the bars
you might see in a better area. The
dim, cramped area is teeming with
life far beyond its capacity.
According to the fire marshal, only
47 people should be here at a time.
There are easily 200.
You take a couple of steps towards the dance floor.
NARRATOR
This is a dance floor. It is
inexplicably placed right in front
of the entrance, so you must first
navigate through a sea of jerking,
popping, locking, dipping bodies to
get to the bar area, where you will
meet Damon.
You see a voluptuous woman proudly shaking her ass.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Female. Fat ass. Jiggle factor 9.3.
Analysis: Damn!
You move around her and continue to make headway. Another
girl is on all fours nearby shaking her own buttocks.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Female. Likely promiscuous. Analysis:
Open in case of emergency.
NARRATOR
As you embark on your journey
across the dance floor, notice that
the music hits you a bit
differently...
The camera bounces in time with the music.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
...and feel how your head nods
almost involuntarily to the bassy
beat.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- an EKG-ish graphic that tracks bass and
beat levels. It is continuously displayed until the song
changes.
NARRATOR
Thanks to your new black instincts.
You realize that you're supposed to
nod or move on beats 1 and 3 and
not 2 and 4...or 1 and 4...or 2.5
and 4.5 or....whatever it is that
dancing white people hear when they
listen to music.
You look down and see your feet 2 stepping to the beat as
well.
NARRATOR
It's not the innate ability to
spin, leap, moonwalk and slide on
one's head usually advertised in
the blackness package, it's just
something referred to as
"rhythm"...and now you have enough
to stay on tempo!
The graphic ends as the song changes. You notice an
attractive female with red and pink hair and a Chinese shop
gold-plated name necklace that introduces her as "Kyonna".
She regards you with interest. A different song plays, and
the strobe light comes on.
NARRATOR
I see you've figured out the
2-step, the only required solo
dance in a black man's repertoire.
Now you have yourself a potential
dance partner. See what you can
find out about her with your black
instincts.
Her necklace is seen in closer detail.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Female. Attractive. Name likely
"Kyonna".
NARRATOR
Elementary, my dear Watson.
She smiles at you, then turns and wiggles her rotund
buttocks in your direction. You look at it.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- !!!
NARRATOR
That's about all you need to know,
right? Go ahead, put some game in
her ear...this could be your
chance!
You take a step in her direction. She backs up the rest of
the way in time to the music. She begins to rub her rotund
buttocks directly in your crotch area.
NARRATOR
Jackpot, right? She has her
backside in your crotch, and
anywhere outside the dance floor
this pretty much counts as
foreplay...but first, look around.
You look around and see every girl on the dance floor doing
the exact same thing with another guy.
NARRATOR
You have just encountered one of
the strangest truths in all of
blackness. Unfortunately, this is
not necessarily a sexual situation
and any insinuation that it is
could result in a loud,
embarrassing confrontation. In
fact, even expressing arousal in
this scenario would be a faux pas.
You look down at her buttocks, still grinding against your
pervic area.
SFX: Slide Whistle
NARRATOR
It doesn't make sense to me either.
She rubs her ass on you to the music in a progressively more
aggressive manner. You feel yourself begin to lose balance.
The perspective wobbles.
NARRATOR
Careful, now. Black people have a
very deeply rooted connection with
bass. As a result, she has become
so consumed by the music she
doesn't realize you've lost most of
your equilibrium and are just
trying to stay on your feet.
She pounds her butt into you more erratically and
forcefully. You begin to tip over...but are held upright by
an unseen force.
NARRATOR
Just as you begin to tip over
backwards, you feel a body press
against your shoulders to hold you
up...
You turn your head slightly to see DAMON standing behind you
back-to-back at an angle to hold your body erect. He smiirks
and gives you an upwards head nod.
NARRATOR
It's your boy Damon, who is now
forming a buttress to keep this
vertical lapdance from going
horizontal. Thank him later. Do
yourself a favor and concentrate on
the task at hand.
She bends over further, takes your hand and places it
slightly below her waist. After a bit more dry-humping, the
song ends. The strobe stops. The song changes. Kyonna simply
walks away, failing to even look in your direction as she
does, to find another guy to press her buttcheeks against.
Damon gives you a handshake/hug greeting.
DAMON
What's good with you, big homie?
Damn it's been a minute since I
seen you. Thought yo' ass wasn't
coming! Come on, dawg, let's get a
drink.
You begin to follow Damon through the throng of dancers,
using him as a lead blocker to cut a navigable swath.
Eventually you and Damon reach the other side and select a
couple of stools at the bar. He regards a passing girl with
interest.
DAMON
Yeah, man, they out tonight ain't
they?
You see a modestly attractive, stylishly dressed black woman
with her friends laughing with a drink in hand.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: Pickup scanning mode
intitiating...6/10.
You see an overweight woman with too much lipstick, half a
shirt and jean tights. Her stomach spills over her
waistband.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: 2/10.
You see NICOLE, very attractive white woman in a fur-trimmed
vest half-zipped , a low-cut shirt exposing her assets,
tight jeans and Uggs.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.: White girl! 9/10.
She notices you looking at her and smiles and waves.
DAMON
L see you over there pickin' a
target. You here on the right night
to do it though. Yeah you know how
it get on the 1st...EVERYBODY show
out. It's like a hood holiday,
'cept it happen every month...
(laughs) Shit, they cut my check
today too. Yo, man you want a
drink? Couple Triple Negro Black
shots, on me, how that sound? Yeah?
Cool, I be back.
Damon slaps the bartop, then goes over to the other end of
the bar to retrieve your drinks.
You look behind the bar and see dozens of Hennessy-esque
bottles labeld "Triple Negro Black". Besides cheap draft
beer and jug wine, it is all the bar serves.
NARRATOR
I'm sure we all wonder why the
beverage must be called that...it's
almost like you're in a movie that
slightly exaggerates a day in a
black man's life for comic effect.
Just as we get dangerously close to
the 4th wall...
You see a shot glass slammed down in front of you, then look
up the arm that slammed it to find Damon's smiling face on
the end of it.
DAMON
Man, what's wrong with you? All
quiet and shit...how you in a bar
on the biggest night of the month
and actin' all antisocial? You need
your ass untightened a lil
bit...drink up, my man.
You both down your shots.
DAMON
Damn! That's that shit! Yo, lemme
get a smoke from you?
You produce the pack you bought earlier, take out 2, hand
him one, and light yours. He has his own lighter.
DAMON
Yeah man, it's been a long ass
week. Good to finally get some time
to kick it with my homeboy. Yo, you
see that new...
Damon's volume decreases, but he continues as the narrator
speaks over him. He laughs, nods intermittently and responds
to your implied conversation as the narrator speaks.
NARRATOR
If you've ever been highly curious
as to what black people talk about
when you're not around, you may be
a bit disappointed as you and Damon
sit and discuss recent events, your
days at work, and have a
coversation about the same sex,
drugs, and entertainment friends of
all colors discuss.
SCENE: INT. LOCAL HOOD BAR- NIGHT
A few minutes later. New drinks and a few empty glasses are
in front of you both, but things are still largely the same.
NARRATOR
However, a few minutes later...
DAMON
Yo, I gotta take a piss...I be back
in a minute.
Damon gets up and heads off for the bathroom.
You look around the bar, and stop over at Gutta Slim's
table. He is still surrounded by his mostly female entourage
and holding a wad of money as he speaks. You can hear
strains of his voice and uproarious laughter from his
hangers-on whenever he speaks.
NARRATOR
Oh, look, it's Gutta Slim again. He
seems to be enjoying himself.
You see a man walk up to Gutta Slim and say something to
him. He nods, then reaches under the table, grabs something,
and shakes the man's hand with the item in it. An exchange
appears to take place. The man appears to thank him and
walks away.
NARRATOR
Don't stare. Black people have a
very strong sense of who's staring
at them...don't you remember what
happened outside?
You look in the opposite direction and see Nicole being
chatted up by some other guy. She doesn't appear to be into
it. She notices you looking at her again and smiles over his
shoulder.
The man sees this and looks around angrily to see what's
more interesting than his pickup lines. He looks in your
direction. You look away and stare directly down into your
drink.
NARRATOR
I didn't say hang your head like a
bitch. That makes you a target. You
can look around, just don't stare.
You look back in Gutta Slim's direction and see another,
similar exchange take place.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Hand to hand. Illegal activity likely.
NARRATOR
Who says you can't mix business and
pleaure?
You look at the girls surrounding him. They are all very
attractive, well-dressed, and wearing expensive jewelry.
They display extreme affection for him.
NARRATOR
Must be nice in his line of work,
right? You may wonder why it is
that his work and status are so
glorified and romanticized in large
portions of the black community,
while those like you, hardworking
everyday people, are shunned,
mocked, and regarded as "boring" by
many black females. To all
appearances, they don't want you,
they want the flashy lifestyle and
gritty image those like Gutta Slim
are afforded through their illegal
activities.
One of the Gutta Girls kisses him on the cheek. Another rubs
his crotch under the table.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
The same lifestyle that claims the
lives and freedom of so many young
black men and that rappers like Da
Realest exploit for their own
profit. Are your people really so
ignorant as to idolize a
media-perpetrated persona type?
Gutta Slim produces a thick wad of bills and hands it to one
of his ladyfriends, who disappears under the table as a
smile spreads across Gutta Slim's face. He "shakes another
hand".
NARRATOR
Yes...and no. The media definitely
deserves some blame, but at the
nexus of this problem is pure
economics...green is multiracial.
All around the bar, other men, first one, then more, seeing
this cause and effect, produce cash from their own persons
and start throwing it around in hopes of achieving similar
results.
Some girls stop what they are doing to retrieve the bills,
knocking over their drinks and falling to the floor in a mad
scramble for the money.
NARRATOR
See? It's an epidemic. Sadly, it
even affects those who are in no
position to portray a well-financed
lifestyle.
A man stands, produces an envelope from his pocket marked
"RENT" filled with bills and begins to throw the money
around.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Sure, it was 3 hours profit for
Gutta Slim and a month's paycheck
for most of these people, but they
give it a shot. It only makes sense
to bait pigeons with bread.
Another man, apparently having thrown enough money, leads 2
girls out of the bar. Bills protrude from their outfits. You
look back toward the bar, lean your head on your hand and
sigh.
NARRATOR
Maybe that really IS the only way
to get a girl's attention around
here...
A drink is slid in front of you. You look up and see NICOLE
sitting in Damon's seat smiling. She is very intoxicated.
NARRATOR
Maybe not.
NICOLE
Hey sexy...I'm Nicole. How you
doing tonight, chocolate drop?
Over her shoulder, you can see Damon coming back from the
bathroom. He notices Nicole in his seat, gives you a
thumbs-up, and busies himself with the attractive female
bartender. You look back at Nicole.
NICOLE
I noticed you noticing me and I
wanted to put you on notice that I
noticed you and your noticing. I've
been watching you across the bar
all night and I just couldn't
contain myself any more.
She touches your arm.
NICOLE
You're sooo hot. You look just like
50 Cent and I looooove him.
She touches your knee, then rubs it.
NICOLE
Can I be honest with you for a
second? Come here.
She motions for you to lean closer. You lean a little
closer.
NICOLE
Come HERE!
She grabs you by the head and places your face very close to
her chest, then whispers in your ear.
NICOLE
(whisepering)
I've always wanted to be with a
black guy.
She giggles, then returns you to your upright position. Your
smartphone buzzes. It's a text from Damon.
TEXT MESSAGE
"Yo man, had to roll. See you doing your thing over there.
Good luck man I get @ u later"
NICOLE
I've heard...
She looks directly at your crotch.
NICOLE
...things...about you guys, you
know?
She smiles lasciviously, then takes another 3 drinks.
NARRATOR
I have a feeling I know precisely
the kind of "things" our horny
white girl friend is talking about.
Reliable hard statistics on the
subject are difficult to come by,
and the odds are you're packing
nothing to complain about. However,
she's expecting a 3rd knee effect
just because you're black...which
is a bit unrealistic to expect from
someone with any paint job.
She begins to slide her hand up your inner thigh and laughs
drunkenly.
NICOLE
I was hoping you could show me what
it's like to feel a big black--
Commotion suddenly breaks out. Nicole looks confused and
over your shoulder. You turn to try and see the source of
the disturbance. Bar patrons scatter in all directions. You
hear a BURLY VOICE boom across the bar.
BURLY VOICE
(off-screen)
Aiyo, bacon in the building! 5-0!
NARRATOR
Yup, it's the po-lice.
Police swarm the bar, screaming and barking orders. Their
flashlights cut through the dimmed bar. You look around and
see Gutta Slim and company gathering themselves for an
imminent departure. They frantically grab all their clothing
and belongings and begin to make for a back exit.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Of course, your black instincts
should have actively detected
possible imminent police activity
like Gutta Slim and company--or
even unconsciously detected it,
like Damon--and gotten a headstart
on your expedited departure, but
you haven't had yours long. They
likely need to be broken in more.
As Gutta Slim passes you on his escape route, he
option-pitches a small object, a sandwich bag containing
white powder and marked "DAT SHIT", in your general
direction, which lands in your drink, upsetting it.
You follow his path until he and his band turns a corner,
presumably escaping. You turn back to see OFFICERS 1 & 2, a
approaching you and Nicole. You look at the bag, then back
at the officers.
NARRATOR
You didn't have anything to do with
this...you'll be fine.
In the background, you can see other patrons of the bar
being yelled at and beaten on the ground by other officers.
A fleeing barfly is shot in the back as he tries to escape.
NARRATOR
SHOULD be fine.
The officers finish their approach and stand near you and
Nicole. Officer 2 stands at a slight distance.
You scan them both.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- (Officer 1) Pig. (Officer 2) Blonde
pig. Further information unnecessary.
OFFICER 1
(to Nicole)
Evening, ma'am.
He tips his hat to her.
NICOLE
(drunkenly)
Hey, officer...you're cute.
He and you then both look at the overturned drink and bag of
white powder, then back at each other. He then points his
weapon directly at you. He picks up the bag, then motions
his partner over.
OFFICER 1
Hey Callahan, come check this out!
Got a live one!
Officer 2 approaches. Officer 1 hands him the bag. Officer 2
smiles and shakes his head.
OFFICER 1
Well, well...what's this we have
here? Looks like a classic
possession case, huh?
NICOLE
(suddenly sober)
It's not mine! I don't know where
it came from! I don't even know
this man! I think he was going to
rape me or something! Please don't
take me to jail, Mr. Big Strong
Ofiicer...I didn't do anything,
honest!
Officer 1 pats her shoulder.
OFFICER 1
Calm down, miss...nice white girl
like you? Everybody knows you had
nothing to do with any of this
typical negro shit. You just get
out of here and go on home, we'll
make sure this scumbag gets taken
care of. You okay to drive?
Nicole thinks for a second, then vomits violently all over
the bartop.
NICOLE
I think so.
OFFICER 1
Good. Go on, get outta here...this
darkie deathtrap is no place for
you.
NICOLE
Thank you Mr. Officer, thank you!
You guys are the best!
She kisses him on the cheek, leaving residue. She then
stands up and falls on her face. Officer 2 helps her up.
OFFICER 2
Gotta watch that first step...it's
a doozy...
NICOLE
It's the other 11 that usually get
me.
All 3 laugh.
OFFICER 1
All right, good night ma'am.
Officer 2 salutes.
NICOLE
Night, boys!
She produces her keys and staggers away toward the front
door, stepping over and around the beatings that are still
taking place all around the bar. You watch her walk out the
door unmolested, then turn back to the cops.
OFFICER 1
Now, I know this is yours, boy. You
people just can't stay away from
this shit, can ya?
OFFICER 2
"You either sell crack rock or got
a wicked jump shot"...isn't that
what you guys say?
Both officers laugh.
OFFICER 1
Make this easy on yourself,
boy...the truth will set you free.
OFFICER 2
Yeah...you wanna go to jail, or you
wanna go home?
Officer 1 holds the bag directly in your face.
OFFICER 1
We know you've been selling this
shit out of this bar every Friday
for the last 6 months. Come on,
just say it's yours...less
paperwork for us, less jail time
for you.
OFFICER 2
Why are we wasting time negotiating
with this jig?
Officer 2 produces a slip of paper.
OFFICER 2
(cont'd)
He fits the description, an
African-American male between 5'7"
and 6'5" wearing a dark colored
top, blue jeans and boots. Come on,
Sarge, let's just cuff him and dump
him in the paddy with the rest.
OFFICER 1
No, no...let's give him a chance to
explain himself before we do that.
NARRATOR
Now's your chance! Explain that
you're just an innocent bystander
minding his business! Explain that
the first time you saw that bag was
while it was in midair flying
towards you! Tell them that
"description" fit everybody with a
dick at the bar as of 5 minutes
ago! Tell them anything, but just
don't give them any excuse to
say...
OFFICER 2
He's resisting!
Officer 1 pulls his nightstick and cocks his arm back. This
is the last thing you see before a blinding flash of white
light.
SCENE: INT. HOLDING CELL, NIGHT
A holding cell. An digital clock outside the cell can be
seen reading 1:43am. It is a large cell containing a variety
of prisoners. Some prisoners play cards in a corner. A man
sits on a bench in the cell thrusting a knife in between his
spread fingers. TP, a huge, hulking, heavily tattooed career
criminal, sits alone on another bench with his hands clasped
and eyes closed.
NARRATOR
Yup, you're in jail. I bet your
head feels like a billy club hit
it.
You see INMATES 1 and 2 having a discussion. Inmate 1 is
light-skinned, has braids, and wears a black Dickies suit,
Inmate 2 is small, frail, brown-skinned and wears a dark
green sweater, glasses and khakis.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
Well, at least you're not
alone...statistically speaking,
people like you have more of a
chance at ending up here than going
to college...you didn't think you'd
escape The Black Xperience without
a visit here, did you?
You listen in on their conversation.
INMATE 1
Damn bruh! What's up? I ain't seen
you since high school! Never
thought I'd see your square ass in
this place...worst thing you did
back then was break into the
library after hours to study.
He laughs.
INMATE 2
(non-jokingly)
If they didn't chain up all the
books after 3:30, I wouldn't have
had to...
You notice the nearby TP becoming increasingly agitated as
the Inmates speak.
INMATE 1
Uh...yeah, man. Anyway, what you in
for?
INMATE 2
They said I fit the description,
and here I am...
INMATE 1
Word? Me too!
You look around and see others you saw in the bar earlier.
They have wildly varying skin tones, facial features, height
and stature...but are all wearing an outfit that fit the
description provided earlier.
INMATE 1
Man, that's crazy! They can't do
this shit to us...I'm dog ass tired
of this! We got to stand up and--
TP
(off-screen)
AY! If you don't shut that dumb
shit the fuck up, you ain't even
gonna be able to stand up and piss
when I get through with you!
Inmate 1 and the rest of the cell fall silent. All the
players in the card game stop and stare at TP. The man
playing the knife game freezes mid-stab. A man facing the
wall and urinating in the toilet is heard to stop
mid-stream. TP stands to his full 6'8" and his massive
physique can be seen.
SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Lifer. Avoid at all costs.
TP
My name TP...they call me that cuz
I get up in a nigga's ass quick! I
been in here 20 years...got out
last week, and got homesick...so I
STILL run this shit!
He grabs his crotch.
TP
(cont'd)
Now lemme tell all you little
sweethearts how it's gonna go down.
All y'all gonna kill all that noise
cuz I'm trying to observe my day of
rest and reflection and y'all
fuckin' up my meditation! Matter
fact, fuck it...I ain't feeling too
restful or reflective right
now...ima take it out on one of
y'all asses! If I wasn't so tired,
I'd pick a bunk buddy right now.
You look around and see all the other prisoners are
petrified with shock and fear.
TP
Just wait til Monday when they take
us upstate. Ima fuck one of y'all
til you love me. Now ima go to
sleep...and if I get woken up one
more time, somebody gonna be my
dick puppet a little early!
TP returns to his semi-sleeping position. All other
prisoners stay silent, afraid that TP will follow through on
his word.
NARRATOR
Maybe you should just do as he
says...
TP opens an eye, apparently disturbed by the narration.
NARRATOR
Oop.
He closes it.
NARRATOR
(whispering)
Maybe you should just do as he
says...this time. It's late
anyway...why don't you just pick a
spot on the floor and catch a nap.
You pick out an unoccupied spot in the far corner of the
cell away from TP and begin to move towards it. You lay down
facing the wall.
NARRATOR
(cont'd)
I know the view is not spectacular
in either direction, but you'll do
much better sleeping with your back
to the wall...trust me.
You turn over and face the cell. You begin to drift off to
sleep.
NARRATOR
(still whispering)
They say things always look better
in the morning...even though I
doubt the person who said that said
so in jail...
You drift off to sleep.
Fade out.
SCENE: INT. HOLDING CELL- DAY
You wake up with everything still relatively the same,
except that all the prisoners are looking at you
incredulously. Some point and whisper. You see a HOLDING
CELL OFFICER walk by the cell with his DEPUTY.
DEPUTY
...and then what happened, sir?
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
What else could I do? I screamed
"gun", then discharged my firearm
in his direction.
DEPUTY
You shot him? But it was just an
iPhone!
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
You bet your khaki-covered ass I
did...and I'd do it again too. Out
on the beat, you have to make life
or death decisions in a split
second. How was I supposed to know
it was a smartphone and not a
Sig-Sauer? Besides, he could have
had an app for that or something.
DEPUTY
Hmm...I guess that's why you're the
receptionist here now.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
What?! I was PROMOTED to this desk
job for a potential act of valor in
the line of duty! Show some
respect, you young punk...one more
crack like that and you'll be on
Parking Wars.
The deputy stops suddenly and looks directly at you. He
looks puzzled and scratches his head before cutting off the
Officer's tirade.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
I didn't serve 25 years on the
force just to--
DEPUTY
Hey...did they collar anyone that
didn't fit the description in that
sweep last night?
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
What?! Of course not. The
description clearly states: black
male, between 5'8" and 6--
The deputy points at you.
DEPUTY
Sir, that person right there is not
black.
The officer turns distractedly to look at you.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
Not black?! That's preposterous, it
came from the brass, we go get all
the--
He locks his eyes in your direction.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
Jesus crackerjack Christ, you're
right, Braxton! Well? Go get the
key, man! We have a false
imprisonment on our hands!
The deputy scurries away to get the key. The officer presses
his face between the bars and addresses you with sincerity.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
I'm sorry, sir. This has to be some
kind of clerical error. Please
accept our deepest apologies. We'll
have you out of there in a jiffy,
then you can be on your way.
JAILED PROTESTORS 1, 2, and 3 along with other prisoners,
protest loudly. TP is still asleep
JAILED PROTESTOR 1
I'm not black!
JAILED PROTESTOR 2
Yeah, me neither!
JAILED PROTESTOR 3
I'm Grand Cherokee on my baby
mama's side!
A chorus of black disavowment ensues.
TP
All you niggas shut the fuck up!
What I just say last night?!
All fall meek and silent. The deputy returns with the single
key. It is on an oversized ring and has a number of assorted
keychains like a Koosh, a surfboard and a disco ball.
DEPUTY
Here you go, sir!
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
Thank you, Braxton.
He turns to you.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
Okay, sir...let's get you out of
there.
He unlocks the cell. You walk toward the open door. You look
around and see that few other inmates are trying to leave
with you. The officer cocks his service revolver and aims it
at the other inmates.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
The rest of you monkeys stay the
fuck back!
They hold their ground. He produces a whip and cracks it.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
Back! BACK, I say!
The prisoners unhappily cooperate. You exit the cell. The
holding cell officer immediately bearhugs you.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
I just can't tell you how sorry we
are that we made this terrible,
terrible mistake. You're free to
go...just please don't sue us,
please. In fact, let me make this
right.
He produces a "Get Out of Jail Free" card and hands it over
to you.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
Bet you didn't know those really
existed, eh? They do...and they
work, trust me. That should make
things about even. All right sir,
you're free to go.
He gestures towards the exit, represented by a glass door
with an "exit" sign over it bathed in a blinding white light
and a chorus of angels which get louder as you approach. You
begin to walk towards it.
HOLDING CELL OFFICER
(off-screen, behind you)
Good-bye! We love you!
You continue to walk towards the exit.
NARRATOR
Yesterday saw you hassled,
harassed, embarrassed, pandered to,
insulted, patronized, parodied,
trivialized, dehumanized, framed,
accused, assaulted, kidnapped, held
prisoner and almost anally
raped...but today, you get to
return to your own life.
You walk though the door.
Fade to white.
SCENE: INT. A DARK VOID
The narrator again sits in his crackled leather chair, the
only thing visible in the permeating darkness. He is first
seen close up, but gradually pans away into blackness.
NARRATOR
...and just like that, your Black
Xperience is over. Maybe you
learned something. Maybe all your
questions were answered. Maybe you
have more now than ever before.
Maybe you've gained a greater
appreciation of what it can mean to
be black. Maybe you just spent the
whole time laughing at the few
stereotypes that held some measure
of veracity. Whatever your
conclusions, you can count yourself
among those who have sampled the
truth...and that's something that
sticks with you. Though often
marginalized by outsiders, lamented
by insiders, and proudly touted by
eastsiders and westsiders, the
Black Xperience is largely what you
make of it. Now, colored
people....does that answer your
question?
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