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