The Black Xperience Return to

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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"


          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.

                    What do you think of when you think
                    of the word "black"?

          He pauses a beat.

                    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 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

          Narrator snaps his fingers. Camera quickly pans out into

          *Title card*



          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.

                    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.

                    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...


                    "Black Reconnaissance and
                    Observation Heads-Up Display", or
                    "B.R.O.H.U.D.". Go ahead, try yours

          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

                    Yours are relatively new, so they
                    cannot sense 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.

                    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 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


          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.

                    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%.


                    The explanation is simple. You see,
                    people spend considerable time
                    differentiating between large
                    American cities...


          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

                    ...but the truth is they only
                    differ in the landmarks they show
                    on TV, the monuments, stadiums and
                    other Faces of the City. However...


          A short image slideshow of dilapidated urban residential
          areas eerily similar to current city.

                    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

          End Montage

                    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.

                    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.

                    Luckily, your ass, while busted,
                    was unharmed in your fall. The same
                    cannot be said of your ego. Look at
                    the bright least it
                    didn't happen out on MLK.

          You continue to walk until you reach MLK Boulevard.


          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.

                    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.

                    It is a mecca of depreciating
                    items, low-quality consumerism, and
                    dubious dealings, legal and

          Places of business are seen as they are named by the

          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.

                    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.

                    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, 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!

                    Nice work with the oil man...that
                    would have been on you until Labor

          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.

                    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

                              CORNER PREACHER
                    WE MUST THROW OFF THE BONDS OF
                    WORLDLY IGNORANCE...

                              HYPE MAN

                              CORNER PREACHER
                    THE LORD!

                              HYPE MAN

          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 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.

                    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" people often
                    refer to it as "making it do what
                    it do" 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.

                    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.


                    I'm sure he would have given you a
                    ride if he wasn't going the other
           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".

                    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.

                    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.

                    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.


          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.

                    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!"

                    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

          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

                              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.


          "Welcome to GhettoBuxx automated teller system. Please enter
          your PIN Number"

          You enter a number and select "withdrawal".


          "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

                    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

                    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.

                    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

          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.


          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.

                    Here you are in the Big Corner

          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.

                    Unlike its smaller counterparts,
                    they have a larger variety of
                    things people would not buy if they
                    could afford access to better

          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.

                    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.

                    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

                    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.

                    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.

                    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!?

                    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.

                    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


                    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,
                    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

                    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.



                    ...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

          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.

           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.

                    ...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.

                    Your Black Xperience is just
                    beginning, and you can't be
                    late...well, not THAT late...

          Fade out as you reach the door.


          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.

                    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

                              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.

                    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.

                    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.

                    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

          A boy sharpens his knife on the seat in front of him.

          A girl cracks her gum.

                    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

                    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.


                    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" 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

          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".

                    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.

                    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

                    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.

                    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

          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

                              WHITE WOMAN
                         (mumbled, but audible)
                    Would you look at those little

                    Looks like things are heating up
                    around you. You'd better use those
                    black instincts to assess the
                    situation. Always be aware of your

          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'.

                    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.

                    Brad, just let it go!

                              WHITE MAN
                    No! I can't take this malarkey any
                    more! I'm going to do something
                    about it!

                    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
                    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

          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,

                    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".

                    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

          The train pulls into the destination station.

                    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


          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,

          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.

                    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

          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

          Mr. Head reaches out for a street-style handshake.

          SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Alert! Stereotyping detected. Annoyance
          level: 12%.

          Freeze frame.

                    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


          Mr. Head's hand is still seen extended towards you.

                              MR. HEAD
                    Come on, Bro Frazier, give me some

          As you leave him hanging, his face goes from idiotically
          exuberant to slightly worried.

                    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

          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

          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.


                    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.


          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
                    from this city...and...I just

          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

          Protagonist is shown with a look of severe contempt on his

                              MR. HEAD
          , 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,

                    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.

                    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

                    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

          Fade out


          The conference room is populated by hungry co-workers
          sitting around the room waiting for lunch.

                    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

                    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?


                              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.

                    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.

          '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

                              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.

                    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.


          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"!

                    Ah, hilarious internet videos...the
                    opiate of the modern masses. You
                    could use a laugh right about now,
                    right? Go ahead, click's
                    your lunch break.

          You put down your chicken and click the link, which takes
          you to urban pop-culture website The
          link brings you to a still of a video marked "Ghetto
          Pregnant Hoodrat Knife Fight Gone Wild!"

                    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 "" is seen in closer detail.

                    "", 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

                              MR. HEAD
                    Yo, what is going on, Bro-Magnon?

          You look up to see him.

                    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.

                    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...


                              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

          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.

                    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,

          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

          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.


          Freeze frame.

                    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...


          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.


                    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.

                    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.

                    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.


          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.

                    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.

                    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

          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.

                    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...

                    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

                              WHITE GIRL CRIER

          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.

                    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

          You stop and wait for her to cross the street.

                    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

                              SMOOTH OPERATOR
                    Hey, sexy...

          The Uninterested Chick rolls her eyes and walks away in a
          random direction off-screen.

                    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.

                    ...the few females those lines
                    still work on, you likely want
                    nothing to do with.

          The Crier smiles at you from across the street.

                    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.

                    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.

                    ...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

          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.

           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.

                    ...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

          Murdoch shoves a mic closer into your face and leans in
          expectantly along with the crowd which has gathered.

          Freeze frame.

                    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.


                    I see. Cut!

          Murdoch motions to a crew member with a throat slash, then
          extends his hand to you. You shake it.


                    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
                    WHITE GIRL! BITCH WENT FLYIN'! CAT
                    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.

                    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
                    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
                    IT DOWN UP IN THE PEN...

          The Eyewitness continues. More gather to watch the

          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.

                    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
                    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.


                    Are you really going to stick
                    around for this fiasco? Just
           have a train to catch.


          You walk away towards the eventually visible train stop and
          begin to descend the stairs.

          Fade out.


          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

                    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.

                    Wait, you never got to eat, did
                    you? All right,
                    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".

                    Maybe some Chinese?

          You look closer in the window and see a handwritten sign
          reading "Free mouse with all order over $5".

                    Maybe not.

          You see a BonaFried Chicken restaurant.


          You look around again and see Burger Spot. You consider for
          a second, then start toward it.

                    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.


          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

          You clear your throat.

          She looks up from her phone, sucks her teeth, and rolls her

                              BITCHY CASHIER
                         (with an expulsion of breath)
                    Welcome to Burger Spot, what you

                    Looks like she's got a rude, crude,
                    fast food'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

          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

                              BITCHY CASHIER
                    Yo, sir! You taking forever and

          He picks the patty up with 2 fingers, scrapes it on both
          sides it with the spatula, shrugs, and throws it back on the

          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

                              FRY COOK
                    Damn homie, she gettin' at you
                    hard. That's a fight where I come
           gonna take that from

          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

          You are shown to agressively point at the cashier in
          preparation for an angry response.

                    Hold it right there!

          Freeze frame.

                    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...


          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
                    Here he go! Here he rope,
                    baby! Hit that top rope shit, my

          Protagonist slaps his elbow, and performs elbow drop onto

                              FRY COOK
                    Oooooooooh! That's what I'm talking
                    about! You my hero, man! You my

          End dream sequence.


          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.

                    ...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

                    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.


                              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
                    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
                    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
                    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're fired.

                              FRY COOK


                              BITCHY CASHIER
                    What?! What, I...I ain',
                    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
                    Yeah, he right. Bitch, you crazy.

                              BITCHY CASHIER

          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

                              FRY COOK
                    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

                              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
                    Aw, damn! Somebody finna get
                    fileted in this bitch!

          She brandishes the weapon with clear malicious intent.

                              FRY COOK
                    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

                              SHIFT MANAGER
                    Right here, officer!

          He points at the Cashier.


                              FRY COOK
                    Oh shit, now the cops here? Oh, I'm
                    putting this on WorldWideHipHop

          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

          The Cashier drops her razor blade.

                              SHIFT MANAGER
                    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!


          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

                              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
                    THIS ALL YOUR BITCH ASS FAULT! IMA
                    GET YOU, FAGGOT! YOU AIN'T SEEN THE
                    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

                              SHIFT MANAGER
                    Malik! Not another word! You're
                    walking on thin ice too, buster.

          The Fry Cook returns to his post, muttering and

                    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
                    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

                              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
                    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

          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
                    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

          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

          Freeze frame.

                    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.



                              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

          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

          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".

                    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
                    Thank you for choosing Burger Spot!
                    Please come again! Please?

          You open the door and head back out into the street.

          Fade out


          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.

                    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.

                    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



          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.

                    We now return to our BET special
                    event, "Da Realest and The Realist:
                    Rapping with Duplicity" with your
                    host, Kathy 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.

                    ...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.

                    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,

                    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?

                    My future baby daddy and

                              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' 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--

                    Yes, I heard all of that in your
                    acceptance speech at the BET
                    Awards...but who are YOU,

                              DA REALEST

          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

                    I...see. So what led you into

                              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.

                    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.

                    "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.

                    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.

                    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 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.

                    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.

                    I want to devour you from the waist

                    I see your point. So what you're
                    saying is if your audience
                    appreciated your intelligence, you
                    would expose it more?

                              DA REALEST

                    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.

                    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

          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.



          A Burger Spot commercial. BRAIDS, AFRO and BALDY,
          African-Americans in stereotypical dress and hairstyles, are
          shown sitting on a stoop.

                    Man, we's out here on the block
                    cold chillin'...but I's not feeling
                    the flava!

                    Yeah homebro, I know what you
                    meanin'. I be needing to feel the
                    flava sometimes. Plus I's hungry

                    Oh, y'all ain't feeling the flava
                    AND y'all hungry? Check this here

          Baldy reaches behind back, pulls out plate piled high with
          dry-looking premade chicken sandwiches. They glow as an
          angelic sound plays.

                         (in unison with Afro)
                    New Chicken Chicken Sammiches from
                    Burger Spot! Oh, snap!

                    Oh, we boutsta feel the flava now!
                    Ay, I want one!

                    Naw, I want it! Give it here!

                    Ay, ay, ay, hollup'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.

                    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.

                    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.



          MIKE RICHARDS, a white anchorman, sits as the news theme
          ends and the studio camera focuses in.

                    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 stands with a microphone in the same spot where the
          hit-and-run happened earlier.

                    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.

                    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.

                    ...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

          Slpit screen with Richards in the studio. Scoop pauses,
          choked up. Richards gets misty as well.

                    ...I'm sorry. I just...

          He clears his throat.

                         (breaking up))
                    For the Evening News, I'm Scoop
                    Murdoch. Back to you in the studio,

          Murdoch is shown dropping to his knees and sobbing.


                         (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.


                    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.

                    We join our field reporter...

          Tina reacts with a mix of surprise and disgust, which she
          quickly tucks under her professional face.

                    ...Tina Strong at Pinnacle Prep for
                    a closer look. Tina?


          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.

                    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.

                    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.

                    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.


                    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.

                    ...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

          Split screen with Richards as she prepares to send it back
          to the studio.

                    For the Evening News, I'm Tina
                    Strong. Back to you at WASP


                    Yeah, whatever. Thanks, I guess.

          SFX: News Theme

                    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


          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.

                    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.

                    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.

                    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
           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.

                    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

          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.


                    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.

                    Destitute, immoral,
                    chicken-addicted, overly flashy
                    dancing monkeys. Living
                    caricatures. Afterthoughts thrown
                    in for diversity's least,
                    if you watch too much TV.

          Your eyes close.

                    However, I think you've done enough
                    of that for today though. You look
                    a little tired after that day of
           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

          Narrator trails off as you drift off.

          Fade out


          You wake up from your nap. The sun has gone down. In the
          background, the TV drones.

                    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.

                    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.

                    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

                         (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' on your way,

          Damon hangs up.

                    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


          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

                    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'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,
           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

                              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

                              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.

                    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?



                              HOODRAT 1
                    ...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.

           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...


          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

                              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


          The Hoodrats are still chattering at low volume.

                    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

          The girls resume full volume.

                              HOODRAT 1
           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

                              HOODRAT 1
                    Yeah, better turn your bitch ass

                              HOODRAT 2
                    You tell him, girl!

          They continue. Your fists clench.

          SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D- Confrontation imminent. Urban escalation
          mode active!

                    Hey! What did we just talk about?


          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.

                    First night, huh? Don't worry, I'll
                    be gentle.

          Cellmate places his large, meaty, and now-visible hands on
          your shoulders.

                    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


                    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...

                    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.

                    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.

                    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

          The bouncer's mean, lazy-eyed face is shown. He growls.

                    Not so fast. You have to be patted
                    down first.

                    You know what it is. Lift 'em up.

          The bouncer pats under your arms, impllied to be

                    Just can't have too many dangerous
                    people in a shady bar in a bad

          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.

                    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.

                    Just pretend you're at the airport
                    and it will be over soon.

                    You good. Go head, man.

          He steps aside to allow you in the bar.

                    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.


          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.


                    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.

                    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.

                    As you embark on your journey
                    across the dance floor, notice that
                    the music hits you a bit

          The camera bounces in time with the music.

                    ...and feel how your head nods
                    almost involuntarily to the bassy

          SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- an EKG-ish graphic that tracks bass and
          beat levels. It is continuously displayed until the song

                    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

                    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.

                    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

          Her necklace is seen in closer detail.

          SUPER: B.R.O.H.U.D.- Female. Attractive. Name likely

                    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.- !!!

                    That's about all you need to know,
                    right? Go ahead, put some game in
                    her ear...this could be your

          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.

                    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.

                    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

                    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.

                    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.

                    Just as you begin to tip over
                    backwards, you feel a body press
                    against your shoulders to hold you

          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.

                    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.

                    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

          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

                    Yeah, man, they out tonight ain't

          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

          You see an overweight woman with too much lipstick, half a
          shirt and jean tights. Her stomach spills over her

          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.

                    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.

                    I'm sure we all wonder why the
                    beverage must be called'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.

                    Man, what's wrong with you? All
                    quiet and 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.

                    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.

                    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.

                    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.


          A few minutes later. New drinks and a few empty glasses are
          in front of you both, but things are still largely the same.

                    However, a few minutes later...

                    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.

                    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.

                    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

          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

                    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.

                    Who says you can't mix business and

          You look at the girls surrounding him. They are all very
          attractive, well-dressed, and wearing expensive jewelry.
          They display extreme affection for him.

                    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

          One of the Gutta Girls kisses him on the cheek. Another rubs
          his crotch under the table.

                    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

                    Yes...and no. The media definitely
                    deserves some blame, but at the
                    nexus of this problem is pure
           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

          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.

                    See? It's an epidemic. Sadly, it
                    even affects those who are in no
                    position to portray a well-financed

          A man stands, produces an envelope from his pocket marked
          "RENT" filled with bills and begins to throw the money

                    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

                    Maybe that really IS the only way
                    to get a girl's attention around

          A drink is slid in front of you. You look up and see NICOLE
          sitting in Damon's seat smiling. She is very intoxicated.

                    Maybe not.

                    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.

                    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.

                    You're sooo hot. You look just like
                    50 Cent and I looooove him.

          She touches your knee, then rubs it.

                    Can I be honest with you for a
                    second? Come here.

          She motions for you to lean closer. You lean a little

                    Come HERE!

          She grabs you by the head and places your face very close to
          her chest, then whispers in your ear.

                    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"

                    I've heard...

          She looks directly at your crotch.

                    ...things...about you guys, you

          She smiles lasciviously, then takes another 3 drinks.

                    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

                    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
                    Aiyo, bacon in the building! 5-0!

                    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.

                    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.

                    You didn't have anything to do with
          '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.

                    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.

                    Hey,'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?


                         (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,

          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.

                    I think so.

                              OFFICER 1
                    Good. Go on, get outta here...this
                    darkie deathtrap is no place for

                    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's
                    a doozy...

                    It's the other 11 that usually get

          All 3 laugh.

                              OFFICER 1
                    All right, good night ma'am.

          Officer 2 salutes.

                    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
           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
                    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.

                    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

                              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


          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.

                    Yup, you're in jail. I bet your
                    head feels like a billy club hit

          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.

                    Well, at least you're not
                    alone...statistically speaking,
                    people like you have more of a
                    chance at ending up here than going
                    to 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
                    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

                              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--

                    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.

                    My name TP...they call me that cuz
                    I get up in a nigga's ass quick! I
                    been in here 20 out
                    last week, and got I
                    STILL run this shit!

          He grabs his crotch.

                    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.

                    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.

                    Maybe you should just do as he

          TP opens an eye, apparently disturbed by the narration.


          He closes it.

                    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.

                    I know the view is not spectacular
                    in either direction, but you'll do
                    much better sleeping with your back
                    to the me.

          You turn over and face the cell. You begin to drift off to

                         (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.


          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.

                    ...and then what happened, sir?

                              HOLDING CELL OFFICER
                    What else could I do? I screamed
                    "gun", then discharged my firearm
                    in his direction.

                    You shot him? But it was just an

                              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.

                    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 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--

                    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.

                    Sir, that person right there is not

          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

          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.

                    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.

                    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


          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

          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.

                    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.


          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.

                    ...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


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