#stop talkin playa

[stilwaterskeeter]

Do u have a Shaundi music playlist ? Ty ^_^

Yes! I do and I have actually posted it here's the link!

[correctrvbquotes]

Cut back to the Reds, who have caught up with Donut and Lopez.

Sarge: Lopez? Donut, where did you find him?

Donut: Right here.

Simmons: How were you two talking? Lopez, do you speak English now?

Lopez: No. [No.]

Grif: Well if he doesn't then why did he just say no in English? Busted.

Donut: I took four years of high school Spanish. That's the best way to learn any language.

Sarge: What've you two been talkin' about?

Donut: Oh, the usual Spanish fare. I told him my name, I asked him what his name was, I asked if he knew where the bathroom was, how much a ticket for the train costs, and I asked him for the cheque.

Lopez: Por favor haz que el hombre rosado pare de hablar conmigo. [Please make the pink one stop talking to me.]

Sarge: Ask him where he's been, no- ask him where he's going, wait- ask him if he has our secret plans. And if he missed me.

Donut: ¿Lopez, que es el tiempo? Voy a ir a la playa con mi primo quiere jugar a tenis. Yo comido un lápiz. Adios!

Caption: Lopez, do you know what time it is? I am going to the beach with my cousin who likes to play tennis. I ate a pencil.

Lopez: ...

Donut: Hmm, looks like he's not talkin' Sarge.

Sarge: Allrright he wants to play tough, uh? I built in override codes for just such an event. Lopez! Give me root access, priority Delta One!

Lopez: Prioridad de Acceso solicitado. Por favor, indique el Código de Acceso. [Priority Access requested. Please state the Access Code.]

Sarge: The Access Code is... access code.

Simmons: Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me.

Sarge: Ah, bitch about it later.

[toby-du-coeur]

Here's pg. 250:

Thomas strutted half tha distizzle ta Newt, then stopped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da most shitty part bout his wild lil' playa was the wildnizz up in his wild lil' fuckin eyes. Madnizz lurked behind them, two festerin poolz of sicknizz yo. How tha fuck had it happened so quickly?

“Hey. Newt. It’s me, Thomas. Yo ass still remember me, right?”

A sudden claritizzle filled Newt’s eyes then, almost makin Thomas step back up in surprise.

“I bloody remember you, Tommy. Yo ass just came ta peep me all up in tha Palace, rubbed it up in dat you ignored my note. I can’t go straight-up wild-ass up in all dem days.”

…

“Newt, stop. Just dig mah dirty ass. I know you’re aiiight up in there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Enough ta hear me out.”

“I don't give a fuck bout you, Tommy!” Dude was only all dem feet away n' Thomas took a step backward, his hurt over Newt turnin ta fear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. “I don't give a fuck bout you I don't give a fuck bout you I don't give a fuck bout you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? Afta all I did fo' you, afta all tha freakin klunk I went all up in in tha bloody Maze, you can’t do tha one n' only thang I’ve eva axed you ta do! I can’t even peep yo' skanky shuck face!”

Thomas took two mo' steps back. “Newt, you need ta stop. They’re goin ta blast you, biatch. Just stop and dig me biaaatch! Git up in tha van, let me tie you up. Give me a cold-ass lil chance!” Dude couldn’t bust a cap up in his wild lil' playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin' yo. Dude just couldn’t.

Newt screamed n' rushed forward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! An arc of Launcher lightnin blasted from tha van, skiddin and cracklin across tha pavement yo, but it missed his muthafuckin ass. Thomas had frozen up in place, n' Newt tackled his ass to the ground, knockin tha breath outta his muthafuckin ass yo. Dude struggled ta fill his fuckin lungs as his oldschool playa climbed on top of his ass n' pinned his ass down.

“I should rip yo' eyes out,” Newt holla'd, sprayin Thomas wit spit. “Teach you a lesson up in stupidity. Why’d you come over here, biatch? Yo ass expected a funky-ass bloody hug, biatch? Huh, biatch? A sick sit-down ta rap bout tha good times up in tha Glade?”

Thomas shook his head, gripped by terror, straight-up slowly reachin fo' his wild lil' freakadelic glock wit his wild lil' free hand. “Yo ass wanna know why I have dis limp, Tommy, biatch? Did I eva tell yo slick ass, biatch? Fuck dat shit, I don’t be thinkin I done did.”

“What happened?” Thomas asked, stallin fo' time yo. Dude slipped his wild lil' fingers round tha weapon.

“I tried ta bust a cap up in mah dirty ass up in tha Maze. Climbed halfway up one of dem bloody walls n' jumped right off. Alby found mah crazy ass n' dragged mah crazy ass back ta tha Glade right before tha Doors closed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I hated tha place, Tommy. I hated every last muthafuckin second of every last muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! And dat shiznit was all … yo' … fault!”

Newt suddenly twisted round n' grabbed Thomas by tha hand holdin tha gun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude yanked it toward himself, forcin it up until tha end of tha pistol was pressed against his own forehead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Now make amendz muthafucka! Bust a cap up in me before I become one of dem cannibal monsters muthafucka! Bust a cap up in me biaaatch! I trusted you wit tha note biaaatch! No one else. Now do dat shiznit son!”

Thomas tried ta pull his hand away yo, but Newt was too strong. “I can’t, Newt, I can’t.”

“Make amendz muthafucka! Repent fo' what tha fuck you did!” Da lyrics tore outta him, his whole body trembling. Then his voice dropped ta a urgent, harsh whisper n' shit. “Bust a cap up in me, you shuck coward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Prove you can do tha right thing. Put me outta mah misery.”

Da lyrics horrified Thomas. “Newt, maybe we can-"”

“Shut up! Just shut tha fuck up! I trusted you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? Now do dat shiznit son!”

“I can’t.”

“Do dat shiznit son!”

“I can’t!” How tha fuck could Newt ask his ass ta do suttin' like this, biatch? How tha fuck could he possibly bust a cap up in one of his best playas?

“Bust a cap up in me or I’ll bust a cap up in you, biatch. Bust a cap up in me biaaatch! Do dat shiznit son!”

“Newt …”

“Do it before I become one of them!”

“I …”

“KILL ME!” And then Newt’s eyes cleared, as if he’d gained one last tremblin gasp of sanity, n' his voice softened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Please, Tommy. Please.”

With his thugged-out ass fallin tha fuck into a funky-ass black abyss, Thomas pulled tha trigger.

Dude fuckin started his freshly smoked up game standin up, surrounded by cold darknizz n’ stale, dusty air.

Metal ground against metal; a lurchin shudder shook tha floor beneath his muthafuckin ass yo. Dude fell tha fuck down all up in tha sudden movement n’ shuffled backward on his handz n’ feet, dropz of sweat beadin on his wild lil’ forehead despite tha def air yo. His back struck a hard metal wall; da perved-out muthafucka slid along it until dat schmoooove muthafucka hit tha corner of tha room. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sinkin ta tha floor, he pulled his hairy-ass legs up tight against his body, hopin his wild lil’ fuckin eyes would soon adjust ta tha darkness.

With another jolt, tha room jerked upward like a oldschool lift up in a mine shaft.

Harsh soundz of chains n’ pulleys, like tha workingz of a ancient steel factory, echoed all up in tha room, bouncin off tha walls wit a hollow, tinny whine. Da lightless elevator swayed back n’ forth as it ascended, turnin tha boy’s stomach sour wit nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses, makin his ass feel worse yo. Dude wanted ta cry yo, but no tears came; his schmoooove ass could only sit there, alone, waiting.

Hoes call me Thomas, tha pimpin’ muthafucka thought.

That … dat was tha only thang his schmoooove ass could remember bout his wild lil’ freakadelic game.

Dude didn’t KNOW how tha fuck dis could be possible yo. His mind functioned without flaw, tryin ta calculate his surroundings n’ predicament. Knowledge flooded his cold-ass thoughts, facts n’ images, memories n’ detailz of tha ghetto n’ how tha fuck it works yo. Dude pictured snow on trees, hustlin down a leaf-strewn road, smokin a hamburger, tha moon castin a pale glow on a grassy meadow, swimmin up in a lake, a funky-ass busy hood square wit hundredz of playas bustlin bout they bidnizz.

And yet da ruffneck didn’t know where his schmoooove ass came from, or how tha fuck he’d gotten inside tha dark lift, or whoz ass his thugged-out lil’ muthafathas were, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin’ thru fo’sho yo. Dude didn’t even know his fuckin last name. Imagez of playas flashed across his crazy-ass mind yo, but there was no recognition, they faces replaced wit hustled smearz of color yo. Dude couldn’t be thinkin of one thug he knew, or recall a single conversation.

Da room continued its ascent, swaying; Thomas grew immune ta tha ceaseless rattlin of tha chains dat pulled his ass upward. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A long time passed. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Minutes stretched tha fuck into hours, although dat shiznit was impossible ta know fo’ shizzle cuz every last muthafuckin second seemed a eternity. No yo. Dude was smarter than dis shit. Trustin his crazy-ass muthafuckin instincts, he knew he’d been movin fo’ roughly half a hour.

Strangely enough, he felt his wild lil’ fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught up in tha wind, replaced by a intense curiositizzle yo. Dude wanted ta know where da thug was n’ what tha fuck was happening.

With a groan n’ then a cold-ass lil clonk, tha risin room halted; tha sudden chizzle jolted Thomas from his huddled posizzle n’ threw his ass across tha hard floor fo’ realz. As da perved-out muthafucka scrambled ta his wild lil’ feet, he felt tha room sway less n’ less until it finally stilled. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Everythang fell tha fuck silent.

A minute passed. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Two yo. Dude looked up in every last muthafuckin direction but saw only darkness; he felt along tha walls again, searchin fo’ a way out. But there was nothing, only tha def metal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack yo. Dude groaned up in frustration; his wild lil’ fuckin echo amplified all up in tha air, like tha hustled moan of dirtnap. Well shiiiit, it faded, n’ silence returned. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude screamed, called fo’ help, pounded on tha walls wit his wild lil’ fists.

Nothing.

Thomas backed tha fuck into tha corner once again, folded his thugged-out arms n’ shivered, n’ tha fear returned. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude felt a worryin shudder up in his chest, as if his thugged-out ass wanted ta escape, ta flee his body.

“Someone … help … me!” da perved-out muthafucka screamed; each word ripped his cold-ass throat raw.

A bangin clank rang up above his ass n’ da perved-out muthafucka sucked up in a startled breath as he looked up fo’ realz. A straight line of light rocked up across tha ceilin of tha room, n’ Thomas peeped it as it expanded. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A heavy gratin sound revealed double slidin doors bein forced open. I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch fo’ realz. After so long up in darkness, tha light jabbed his wild lil’ fuckin eyes; he looked away, coverin his wild lil’ grill wit both hands.

Dude heard noises above-voices-and fear squeezed his chest.

“Look at dat shank.”

“How tha fuck oldschool is he?”

“Looks like a klunk up in a T-shirt.”

“You’re tha klunk, shuck-face.”

“Dude, it smells like feet down there!”

“Hope you enjoyed tha one-way trip, Greenie.”

“Ain’t no ticket back, bro.”

Thomas was hit wit a wave of mad drama, blistered wit panic. Da voices was odd, tinged wit echo; a shitload of tha lyrics was straight-up foreign-others felt familiar yo. Dude willed his wild lil’ fuckin eyes ta adjust as da perved-out muthafucka squinted toward tha light n’ dem bustin lyrics fo’ realz. At first his schmoooove ass could peep only shiftin shadows yo, but they soon turned tha fuck into tha shapez of bodies-people bendin over tha hole up in tha ceiling, lookin down at him, pointing.

And then, as if tha lenz of a cold-ass lil camera had sharpened its focus, tha faces cleared. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They was thugs, all of them-some young, some olda n’ shit. Thomas didn’t know what tha fuck he’d expected yo, but seein dem faces puzzled his muthafuckin ass. They was just teenagers. Kids. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of his wild lil’ fear melted away yo, but not enough ta calm his bangin racin ass.

Someone lowered a rope from above, tha end of it tied tha fuck into a funky-ass big-ass loop. Thomas hesitated, then stepped tha fuck into it wit his bangin right foot n’ clutched tha rope as da thug was yanked toward tha sky yo. Handz reached down, fuckin shitloadz of hands, grabbin his ass by his clothes, pullin his ass up. Da ghetto seemed ta spin, a swirlin mist of faces n’ color n’ light fo’ realz. A storm of emotions wrenched his wild lil’ freakadelic gut, twisted n’ pulled; da thug wanted ta scream, cry, throw up. Da choruz of voices had grown silent yo, but one of mah thugs was rappin as they yanked his ass over tha sharp edge of tha dark box fo’ realz. And Thomas knew he’d never forget tha lyrics.

“Sick ta hook up ya, shank,” tha pimp holla’d. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! “Yo, wuz crackalackin’, biatch? Yo ass is smokin tha Glade.”

[g30citiesexe]

dhmis ii but i put it through gizoogle

Inspired by someone on here

(title appears: DON'T HUG ME I'M SCARED Pt II - TIME)

(view shifts ta a room wit a TV, clock ticks up in tha background)

(Duck Guy rocks up in a cold-ass lil chair, Yellow Guy n' Red Guy is also chillin down)

Red Guy: "Come on, muthafuckas. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Quit muckin around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! We only have five minutes until our show is on."

Duck Guy: "(lookin at his watch)Thatz not enough time biaatch!"

Tony: "Therez always time fo' a song."

Red Guy: "Wh-who is that?"

(noize starts playing)

Tony: " (dances) Time be a tool you can put on tha wall or wear it on yo' wrist. Da past is far behind us, tha future don't exist."

Duck Guy: "Oh."

Yellow Guy: "Whatz tha time?"

Tony: "It aint nuthin but quarta ta 9. Time ta git a funky-ass bath."

(to tha Bathroom)

Duck Guy: "What do you mean, biatch? We already clean!"

Tony: "(scrubs Yellow Guyz back) Scrub, scrub, scrub til' tha waterz brown!

(to a ruler)

Tony: "Time be a rula ta measure tha day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Well shiiiit, it don't go backwards, only one way. Watch it go round like a merry-go-round. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Goin so fast like a merry-go-round. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! (to space) Letz go on a journey dawwwwg! A trip all up in time biaaatch! A time thatz changin all tha time biaaatch! It aint nuthin but time ta git all up in time!"

Red Guy: "But our phat asses don't straight-up want to, we goin ta miss our show."

Tony: "Don't be stupid, playaz muthafucka! Come on, itz time ta go! (to tha Victorian Hood) Time is oldschool like Victorian times."

Merchant: "With cobblez n' plague n' bustin lyrics up in rhyme biaatch!"

Chimney sweeper: "With cobblez n' chimneys, a simpla time."

Yo, sewage cleaner (poppin up from a manhole, covered up in chronic slime, muffled): "With cobblez n' sawdust n' batteries n' slime."

Yellow Guy: "This tree dat is oldschool has circlez inside."

Tony: "Da tree dat is olda has shriveled n' died."

Duck Guy: "Da apple thatz fresh is ripe ta tha core biaatch!"

Apple: "(voice n' cold lil' woo wop slow down) And I rot overtime n' I aint no mo'."

Tony: "(cold lil' woo wop starts back up again) Time can be holla'd at by tha moon or tha sun yo, but time flies fast when you havin fun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. (smashes bird muthafuckaz cards) Mmph! Therez a time n' a place fo' muckin around."

Duck Guy: "Like birthdays!"

Red Guy: "And camping."

Yellow Guy: "I be playaz wit mah dad dawwwg!"

(camera on Roy, darkness, noize stops)

(light, noize restarts)

Red Guy: "And then what tha fuck happened afta tha olden days?"

Tony: (to space) "Time went freshly smoked up n' gots oldschool like history. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stuff from tha past went tha fuck into a mystery."

Yellow Guy: "An oldschool playa died."

Tony: "But look, a cold-ass lil computer playa! Everythingz cool, itz tha future biaaatch! (to a machine) Da time is now, tha future anew fo' realz. And peep all of tha straight-up dope thangs you can do, wit gadgets n' gizmos n' e-mail addresses."

Yellow Guy: "I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah daddy be a cold-ass lil com-computer."

(camera on Roy, whoz ass is watchin sex n thangs, noize stops)

Tony: "Look all up in tha time biaatch!"

Duck Guy: (to tha House) "It aint nuthin but quarta ta 8, there be a gangbangin' fish on mah plate biaatch!"

Yellow Guy: (to tha background) "It aint nuthin but 20 past day, there be a gangbangin' fish on mah tray hommie!"

Duck Guy: (to tha bathroom) "It aint nuthin but 11 ta 12, there be a gangbangin' fish up in tha bath!"

Red Guy: (to Red Guyz Room) "It aint nuthin but 9:30, there be a gangbangin' fish everywhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. (noize stops, camera on Red Guy) Fish... fish all over dis biiiatch."

(noize restarts)

Tony: "Now, you can peep tha importizzle of time. Well shiiiit, it helps our asses make pizzy n' keep thangs up in line."

Duck Guy: "But when done did it start?"

Yellow Guy: "And when do it stop?"

Tony: "Time is blingin n' I be a cold-ass lil clock."

Red Guy: "If we run outta time, then where do it go?"

Yellow Guy: "Is time even real, do mah playas know?"

Duck Guy: "Maybe timez just a cold-ass lil construct of human perception. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. An illusion pimped by--"

Tony: (alarm sounds) "Eh! Eh! Eh! Eh! EH! EH! EH! EH! (screams) EH! (goes ta Yellow Guy) EH! EH!! EH!! EH!!!(Yellow Guyz ears bleed) EH!!!! (stops screaming) Sunrise, sunset, night n' day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Da changin seasons, tha smell of hay. Look at yo' afro grow, aint it strange, biatch? How tha fuck time make yo' appearizzle chizzle?"

(everyone hideously grows all up in age while Tony watches)

Yellow Guy: (screams) "MAKE IT STOP!"

(zoom up ta reveal these events goin' down on a TV)

Tony: "It aint nuthin but outta mah hands, I be only a cold-ass lil clock. Don't worry, I be shizzle you gonna be fine biaaatch! But eventually, mah playas runs outta time."

(Red Guy turns off TV, tha scene mirrors tha beginning)

[akaghost78]

ONE OF MY FAVOURITE TUNES

Chris brown - deuces remix lyrics

All that bullshit's for the birds, you ain't nothing but a vulture (Oh, oh, oh)

Always hoping for the worst, waiting for me to fuck up

You'll regret the day when I find another girl, yeah

Who knows just what I need, she knows just what I mean when I tell her keep it drama free

Woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah

Chu-chuckin' up them deuces

Woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah (Yeah, yeah)

Told you that I'm leaving, deuces

Woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah-woah (Woah, woah)

I know you're mad, but so what? I wish you best of luck

And now I'm finna throw them deuces up

[Verse 2: Drake]

What you mean I ain't call you? I hit you when I landed

I'm waitin' in my hotel room

Seems like we're arguin' more and it's gettin' less romantic

Yeah, I think she'll be able to tell soon

But I'll fuck you right, I will, I fuck you right, I will

I'll fuck you like no one has ever, ever made you feel

I mean, this part of our relationship's amazin' still

I might just put up with the arguin' and stay, for real

You lookin' bad, girl, for goodness sakes

You with all those curves, and me without no brakes, ooh

I'm willin' to work it out however long it takes you

You feel like you miss those happy days

Well, girl, that makes two of us, our timing is wrong

Your friends always tyin' up every line on your phone

Yeah, but tell them bitches that you'll always be my missus

And the hardest part about the fuckin' business

Is mindin' your own, uh, and every time I try and break it off

We just yell until we tired, then I break you off

It's useless, all this fightin', let's get past it now

Even when I throw them deuces, you just send it back around

Verse 3: T.I.]

Your wrist and fingers glisten, ice cold like Michigan

Ayy, look at what we livin' in, here we go with this again

I just keep on talkin', but I guess that you ain't listenin'

Rather run around with them nothin'-ass bitches then

Go on, got me hot, smokin' like a chimney

We used to be best friends, now it seems we finna be enemies

Deep inside it’s killin' me, but soon it's gon' be killin' you

To see her in that two-seater, know that's gon' hurt your feelings, boo

Ah ha, didn’t you think you would be over me by now?

So you go sleepin' with them clowns, they are no relief

She spoke her piece, I know, capisce

So love must be let go, released, into the wind

Again, again, and deuces I must throw ya, peace

[Verse 4: Kanye West]

You know what, yo? You a bitch

You should have a travel agent, ‘cause you a trip

You should make your own toilet tissue since you the shit

But all you got is some fuckin' issues, you fuckin' bitch

I hate niggas, but I love your mom

Give her a kiss for me, her second son

Get your mind right, baby, or get your shit together

You gonna be hot a little while, I'ma be rich forever

Girl seducers, they come in deuces

But when I cut 'em off they always become a nuisance

Niggas take my old flows and they take my old swag

He just took my old bitch and turned it to his new bitch (Haha)

I'm stupid, but I won't get my drama on

What I'm dealin' with is too real for me to comment on

Jay finally got it through my head not to run my mouth

So when you talk 'bout “you know who”

I don't know who you talkin' 'bout

Verse 5: Fabolous]

According to my old bish, I be on some new ish

She was on some oldish, now I got a new bish

Think I give two-ish? You ain't gonna do ish

Meet my two fingers, intro-deuces

If you knew better, you'd do better

Wanna get the middle finger, but I got two better

[Interlude: Chris Brown & Drake]

So you gonna diss me

Even though you know it’s wrong

Know you gon' miss me a little when I’m gone

[Verse 6: Fabolous]

Drizzy voice

Now I'm ghost, baby, four-door Rizzy Royce

Tryna work it out might be a bad business choice

I'm 'bout my business, boys, plus I make paper

Come on, that's old news, yesterday's paper (Nice)

Oh, you talkin', what about?

If it ain't how I kept you studded out

You might as well shut your mouth

You'll never score another me, I'll shut it out

Act like there's gum in your hair, girl, cut it out!

[Verse 7: Rick Ross]

Got a pocket full of hundreds, she the only one that's missin'

Got a bucket full of ice, and a watch to go with it (Ugh!)

Got a racin' Lamborghini, have my homies scared to drive

Haters better put their head down, they know that boy be fly

All the charter planes, now I’m talkin' ballers slang

R.O.Z.A.Y. on that wall in that Hall of Fame (Ugh!)

I let my denim sag, red Louis belt

How can you love me, baby? First, you gotta love yourself

Verse 8: Andre 3000]

The farewell email from a female

But I’m a playa, ain't gonna tell you all the details

What it entails is hard to say, like sellin' seashells

By the seashore, but she’s not a bore

But neither a whore who needs to know more

The kind you can’t ignore but want to open the door for

Or run in your favorite store, and leave with all them shopping bags and half of it ain't yours

I did things for her; ain't rich, ain't poor

I wanted to do more, but hell, I just ain't know her

Well enough to know if this is all she came for

But enough to know tonight excited she came four

Times to my cousin house to see if I was there

Get your minds out the gutter, man

We out here tryna have a good time

And here I am, all heavy with the words where

Somebody that's a nerd, likely fast forward

But, shit, they asked for it

It’s hard to throw up them deuces

‘Cause when you know it’s juicy

You start to sound like Confucius when makin' up excuses

Chase Cabooses until the track gone

I gotta find me a new locomotive, stop makin' sad songs

[Chorus: Chris Brown & Kevin McCall]

I'm on some new shit

I'm chucking my deuces up to her (Deuces)

I'm moving on to something better, better, better

No more tryna make it work (Deuces)

You made me wanna say bye bye

Say bye bye, say bye bye to her (Deuces)

You made me wanna say bye bye

Say bye bye, say bye bye to her

[sanpatron]

I don’t particularly know why it’s taken this long for me to realize the full extent of the Boss’s betrayal at the hands of Julius. I knew it was fucked, I knew it had affected him greatly, but I never truly sat down and really dove into just how horrendous it actually was.

There have been plenty of posts I’ve read from people I know who’ve examined this, who’ve really taken their time to dive headfirst into what it all means and really word it in a way where you can truly understand the extent of it all. It’s in reading these posts that I’ve decided to more or less compose it all in my own post in regards to my Boss. A way to really showcase the shit he went through and how it drastically changed him as a person.

Django joined the gang around October of 2004 at the age of 20 (his birthday is in December). He had been wandering around the country aimlessly without any real idea of what he wanted to do with himself. Felt no sense of purpose, no sense of belonging. Other than his family back home he was truly and utterly alone in the world. Yet that all changed once he stepped foot into Stilwater.

He found himself caught up in a fight between Los Carnales, the Vice Kings and the Westside Rollers. Thankfully before he wound up getting himself killed solely on the merit of being here at the “wrong place, wrong time” Django was saved by both Julius and Troy. Extending a hand towards Django Julius decides to try and recruit him into the Saints, and in realizing that he basically owed this man big time, Django decides to take the invitation and meet him and the others at the church.

I want to stop here for a moment and say that the Saints were originally formed as a response to the increasing violence between the three warring gangs across Stilwater. Julius definitely had his good intentions, but to echo the same statements made in another post, I really doubt there was ever a point in time where Julius didn’t want to hold some sense of power. To be the guy who was in charge of the city. Oh sure, he decided to leave the Vice Kings (which he was originally a part of alongside his best friend Benjamin King) due to the direction in which they were going. But given certain details that I will get to in a second, I really do believe that Julius wanted just as much to be at the top as he did to protect the city.

I say this because he uses the increasing violence within the district of Saint’s Row as an example of the city going to hell because of these warring gangs. He wasn’t even originally from the district, he was from Sunnyvale where he and King grew up together, eventually forming their own gang. He latched on to this idea to protect the Row as a means to start a rallying cry and get all these incredibly angry and very violent kids to fall under his leadership and form a counter group. Not a single one of the Saints knows this and it isn’t till you’re riding around with Ben in one mission where the truth comes out.

Hell, the speech that Julius gives during the custscene after the tutorial missions turns out to be a word for word copy of Ben’s very own from when he first formed the Vice Kings. It’s this same speech that the Boss would later use when he takes over the gang after his coma stint. Julius basically puts out this preconceived image of himself in order to get all these people who are significantly younger than him to join his cause. It’s this exact thing that let someone like Django essentially fall under his spell and believe a single thing that ever came out of that man’s mouth.

Julius is manipulative, but I wouldn’t say he’s the sort to pull some Machiavellian-type shit. Cause as I will get to later, there was no point whatsoever before his arrest where he was considering on betraying everyone and leaving them all high and dry. No, Julius’s manipulative actions are the direct result of an incredibly simply and human emotion; selfishness. Yet this will also come into play much later over why his betrayal even happened in the first place.

So once Django is canonized and helps take back the Row, he’s basically let to do whatever necessary to take down the other three gangs and bring some sense of peace back to Stilwater. 95% of the time it’s with him acting as a weapon, which is something he is scarily good at. This is something that not only Julius but other lieutenants definitely pick up on, and it’s why when you need something taken care of where no one is left alive and as much destruction as possible is caused, you either send Django, Johnny or both.

And as time goes on and more of the city turns purple, Django begins to feel more and more like he’s found his purpose. He managed to find a place where not only is he validated for the work he does but the people within the gang accept him and make him feel good about it. Django has gotten a taste of power, of violence, of money, of fame. A taste of generally living a better life to the fullest where he feels like he’s at the top. Not only that but, for the first time ever, he has friends as well. He has people he’s beginning to care for and feel a connection with after spending an entire childhood basically lonely as shit. Frustrated over his inability to truly connect with anyone.

At no point in time do I think that Django ever wanted to usurp Julius. He respected the man. Looked up to him. He was the embodiment of what the gang stood for and a sign of pure loyalty. So to then be promoted to his second-in-command once all the gangs were dealt with must have come as a pleasant surprise. One that definitely awoke something even more within him. He was ready to take on that title and he was absolutely prepared to save the man from police custody after everything he had done for him.

And I want to make something incredibly clear here; up until this point I don’t think Julius had in mind that he was going to betray the Saints either. Everything was basically coming up fantastically and he was getting the power and recognition that he wanted. Hell, he doesn’t give a shit about what Django had to do to get results. He practically justifies and validates every single little action the Saints have taken.

“ We did it, playa. 3rd Street owns this town. Now, that's not to say that shit didn't cost, and I ain't talkin' about what happened to Johnny's leg or losing Lin. Those two were soldiers, they knew the risk. Hell, Johnny gets off on it. But we crushed a lot of families playa, and someday they're gonna holla at us. But believe me when I tell you, we did the right thing.

With the Rollerz wiped out, Benjamin gone, and the Colombians in our pocket, there ain't gonna be a need for a gang war ever again. And in the end, that's gonna save a lot more lives than we took. So relax, playa, you've earned yourself a break. You've impressed the hell out of me son, and I've told the crew you're gonna be my right hand- ”

Julius was downright ecstatic with the results he and the gang had been getting. He was more than happy. And as you can see right there he was happy enough with what Django had done that he decided to give the guy that high of a promotion. Everything seemed to be going fantastic up until he gets arrested during this little phone call.

Once the two of the final three missions play out in which the Saints do what they can to save Julius everything seems to go right back to normal. That is until Django is called out to Alderman Richard Hughes’s yacht on that fateful December night. Once arriving, Django is greeted by the alderman and is essentially given a speech about gentrification and his political power before telling his men to turn their weapons onto him.

However, before even getting a chance to fire a loud beeping is heard and without even a moment to react the yacht blows to hell and everyone, but Django, dies. Instead our poor little gangster is put into a five year coma, staying on life support on the request of Troy for, as it turns out, he was an undercover cop this whole time.

Years later Django will once again wake up, and after a series of events that lead him towards saving Johnny and then the two of them deciding to resurrect the Saints, Django decides to pay Troy a visit and find out what’s been going on. It’s here that in the game (SR2) you get to find a couple of taped recordings at the police station. The first involves Dex (former lieutenant of the Saints) confronting Troy of being an undercover cop and stating that he’s dropping his colors and taking a job at the Ultor corporation.

The second is Troy speaking to Julius after his arrest and asking him to speak to Johnny and Django and convincing them to step down, thus disbanding the gang and keeping Troy from arresting the people he’s come to call his friends over this time.

The third tape is where Django learns the truth; Julius was the one who had planted a bomb all those years ago.

A punch to the gut can’t really describe the sort of feeling Django must have felt from learning this. It had to have been one of the most horrific, most anger-inducing things he could have ever heard. To have this man, the one who had taken you in, gave you a sense of validation and appreciation, told you that the work you performed was fantastic, let you have this sense of belonging and purpose within a group, who you practically looked up to be the one who tried to assassinate you is absolutely sickening to him and fills him with such rage.

Five years of his life. Five whole fuckin’ years. I know a lot of people make the argument that your 20′s really ain’t that special, but that’s not the point here. The point is that whether or not they would’ve been extraordinary, Django lost five whole years of his young adulthood. An incredibly pivotal point in him growing up was completely lost on him due to almost dying at the age of 21. He will never get those years back. He will never truly know what he missed out on. It’s practically one of the reasons why he acts so brash and angry and hotheaded during the entirety of the second game.

Everything had been taken away from him. His city, his friends, his sense of identity; all of it was snatched right out of his hands and thrown to the gutter cause of one man. The one man he looked up to the most after everything he had done for him. If Django felt sick at first when trying to process the amount of time that had passed and how much he had to catch up on, then he more than likely felt horrifically ill at this revelation.

When their final confrontation plays you can see Julius direct the blame entirely on how the Saints were handled and how Django acted. It’s ridiculous given the fact that Julius did not start thinking about how terrible the Saints or Django were until his gang activities got him in trouble. This is where the selfishness plays out. As soon as he was arrested and realized their were consequences to his actions, the man figured he’d better fucking dip and completely disregard what that meant for everyone else.

He abandons the Saints, abandons the people who allegedly wished to help out, and soon starts claiming his has morals—that he could not stand up to Django whatsoever and that he was the monster destroying Stilwater all along. I really doubt he could have gotten Django to back down after basically awakening something in him, but he didn’t even bother trying whatsoever.

And as the two have their final confrontation Julius really lets it be known how he’s come to despise Django, how he seems him as the problem, putting all blame squarely on him despite knowing full well that he has the biggest hand in this after all. It’s with all of this plus the anger that Django already felt towards everything, plus his brash and arrogant attitude that it truly twists him into the monster he’s become today.

Their final confrontation can be found here.

As a friend of mine who has way too many blogs here to tag said

“ I like the subtle implication that a huge part of him, if not all of him, died on the boat ”

And it’s true, this is exactly what he thinks. This is exactly what was going through his mind as he spoke to Julius. Django is gone. Django is completely dead after that explosion. And in having that part of him be completely eradicated he can now turn towards his new identity, one that he will showcase to the entire world. If Julius is going to call him a monster then fine. So be it. He will accept this new identity of his and run with it. Revel both the fame and infamy he will garner. 

From anger and betrayal The Boss has now been born.

Julius may have had his good intentions, he may have genuinely wanted to keep the city safe and do something right. But his desire for power outweighs that, and the fact that he will never truly admit his mistake is such a damning thing. Shit, he probably thought that the Boss murdering him only served to further prove his point.

Yet after all is said and done, after the Boss has finally killed the man who turned him into what he is, there really is no true sense of satisfaction. The Boss is a man who finds a feeling of catharsis when taking revenge on people. To him it “fixes thing”. It makes things right. Yet with his killing of Julius he’s fully aware of the fact that it won’t truly change much for him.

He’s far gone now. Completely transformed into an entirely different beast. Julius’s betrayal is going to leave a scar on him that’ll last a lifetime. One that he can never truly let heal whatsoever. He’s not one to brood, especially with this when it’s already hit him like a ton of bricks. However, he will forever remain conscious of the fact that what happened is leaving an impact.

That what Julius did to him will always affect him in some way. His trust issues, his difficult connecting with others, all of it has been now heightened by these events. This is a scar that will remain with him for a lifetime, and that truly infuriates him to no end.

There’s nothing worse than knowing you owe the personal growth and identity you have, good or bad, to someone who hurt you.

[stilwaterskeeter]

shut up! /lh the bootlegger was the only car i would drive for years in SR intentionally because it looked like an old dodge

u guys actually know stuff about cars? i thought we were all gay here

[doofmaczemy]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qthFasUcnBk) Long live 2PAC!

I CONSIDER THIS TO BE THE MOST INTERESTING RAP TRACK OF ALL TIME IN REGARDS TO LYRICS.  THERE ARE A NUMBER OF WU TANG TRACKS THAT FIT THE BILL, BUT THIS SONG EXCELS IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE.

[Intro: 2Pac] Outlaw Immortalz Bow down to somethin' greater than yourself, trick Individuals capable of enormous amounts Of chin checks and eye swolls They know you watchin' But you ain't seein' what lies before you, biatch Picture, if you will Seven deadly human beings blessed with the gift of speech The power to reach each nigga on every street May the heavenly father look down And be proud of what transpired Since the day the seed was planted The G grew but we knew he'd rise up quick Smoked out, loc'ed out, all into shit Just me and my dogs, livin' like hogs, Outlaw Immortalz What follows is the story, what proceeded was the glue What lies between is the fiction Don't fuck around and make it true [Verse 1: 2Pac] My adversaries crumble, when we rumble it's a catastrophe Out for revenge on bitch niggas that blasted me Plus, my alias is Makaveli A loaded three-fifty-seven with hollow points to a nigga belly Bust him to see if he bleed He shoulda never fucked around with a sick-ass nigga like me They call my name out and niggas run Best be prepared for the Outlawz, here we come   [Verse 2: Hussein Fatal] They call me Hussein Fatal, it's a two-game table I'm robbin' ya niggas' cradle with a knife in your navel Rap-related, criminally activated and evil I wouldn't wanna be you behind my fuckin' Desert Eagle 'Til the end, I'm tellin' all friends and enemies You see what I got to make you freeze To touch me, you need ten of these Complete most wanted on the streets of the East coast Young Gunz fire and niggas bleed, I see Mo [Verse 3: Kastro] I be shinin' like white diamonds and crystal, glistenin' holdin' pistols The mission's simple, fold up and roll up dead presidentials Sew up all the potential, million, billion-dollar baller potential Sort it, oughta call on a nigga I'll be sure to get you Take cash, bro, fast yo, for my Kastro Blast and I'mma last yo past all these Glass Joes And assholes who claim, like they be runnin' thangs I be gunnin' those same niggas runnin' late, to their fate [Verse 4: Napoleon] My alias is motherfuckin' Napoleon, and I'd rather be Robbin' again before these motherfuckers leave me sufferin' But it ain't nothin', and I got no time for no bluffin' Befo' a nigga finish with puttin' in work I better end up with somethin' I think these niggas got the game fucked up If they don't believe That a young nigga like me would bust (Boo-Yaa!) Perhaps it's a must, I'm facin' cases, fuck probation Is what I'm screamin' when these money hungry cops be chasin'   [Chorus: 2Pac] Thug niggas 'til we die No mercy on these playa hatin' bitches Ask me why when we ride Thug niggas 'til we die No mercy on these playa hatin' bitches Ask me why when we ride [Verse 5: Mussolini] It's the imperial serial killer, alias Mussolini Mentally unstable G status, so you can't see me Drug warlord, ridin' Concorde jets Rag Vette's, shakin' bitches and snitches and trippin' on sets Inglewood's banger, keepin' one in the chamber For the anger that I build inside, when it's time to ride Suicidal thoughts lurk fuckin' no end to revenge Fuck any, my alias Mussolini [Verse 6: E.D.I.] They call me EDI, from the side of seedy Young nigga greedy, so I'm runnin' up on these niggas easy It ain't nuttin, cause if they wantin' somethin', so I'mma commence To dumpin' stomp down and struck up while my beat is bumpin' Thuggin' to my fuckin' last note, with Lo-Pole and Kastro Who you thought was on that asshole? Don't ask though Outlaw Immortalz doin' this dit-nirt on the sli-zow Ain't no chance to hide when we ride   [Verse 7: Kadafi] My alias Kadafi, Trump tight so feds can't copy Six-three and cocky, quick to hit your bitch if she jock me Severely addicted to livin' like a fuckin' felon While beefin' with rookie cops, the cookie rocks a nigga sellin' Since a shorty I been livin' life defiant, nickel plated chrome Got this baby Capone lookin' like a giant, and I ain't lyin' It's like it's me against myself with all these Backstabbin' snakes grabbin' at my fuckin' wealth [Verse 8: Mo Khomeini] Mo Khomeini goes terrorist, mad man killer The bottom of the river where the body lays and shivers I'm that nigga with the fifty-cap pouch, with the murderous stacks That increase while these motherfuckers eat beef It's been a long road, a lot of episodes And as the Glock loads, I gotta teach hoes Reach hoes, make 'em feel a nigga when I'm mashin' Now I'm surpassin' any assassin' [Chorus: 2Pac] Thug niggas 'til we die No mercy on these playa hatin' bitches Ask me why when we ride Thug niggas 'til we die No mercy on these playa hatin' bitches Ask me why when we ride Thug niggas 'til we die No mercy on these playa hatin' bitches Ask me why when we ride Thug niggas 'til we die No mercy on these playa hatin' bitches Ask me why when we ride [Outro: 2Pac] Hahahaha, Outlaw Immortalz, baby Y'all niggas can't fade this ol' crazy shit (Can't see me, can't see me) Makaveli, Hussein, Kastro, Kadafi, Mussolini Amin, Napoleon, Khomein What y'all really wanna do? Haha, like them niggas said "What would you do if you could fuck with me and my crew?" Hehahahahaha, Thug Life, yeah nigga Flashin' on niggas, Thug Life, right? This year we Thug Life But we Outlaw Immortalz We die, nigga, but we multiply, we like legends, nigga, like forever Like, I'll make you famous, motherfucker I'm talkin' about Newsweek and Time Magazine And all that old good shit My niggas make the papers, baby My niggas make the front page The gunshots can't stop me, they know

[stilwaterskeeter]

I've decided to make my new boss an older slightly out of touch cowboy type

His name is Maverick

[stilwaterskeeter]

So Lin, Johnny, & the Boss are both the guys who get mad at scripted losses in certain fights or at cutscenes where you get beat up by whatever enemy is in the game

“Fun” Shaundi would definitely be too lax the whole time and laugh at everyone else getting scared, but jumpscares would still get her from time to time for sure; but “New” Shaundi would be entirely on edge the whole time, leaving everyone else to laugh at her for being so paranoid and slow progressing

Pierce would be a lot like Matt and very easily frightened but he would also be the person to yell at the game for being the game because “no that’s just bullshit!” “it’s IMPOSSIBLE to do what it’s telling me to do!! this shit is rigged!!”

Kenzie would definitely call everyone out for overreacting but then immediately scream in fright at the first jumpscare she sees and refuse to even watch with the others because they teased her for talking tough only to get scared

Oleg sides with the enemies in a very “well YOU don’t know why they’re doing these things, maybe YOU deserve these awful things! what did YOU do to get put here? just let them get you, they’re clearly better at their job than you are if you’re stuck in this situation”

Asha is the one and only person who talks tough and actually follows through and isn’t frightened by the game, as far as the others know at least, on the inside she’s screaming her ass off

Ben has not a single care about the games and is never paying enough attention to get frightened, he’s mostly just hanging around to spend time with the others/because they hassled hi into hanging out; if they managed to get him to play it would be a lot like a buncha teenagera convincing their dad to play, he would question EVERYTHING, not understand anything, and ultimately make little to no progress

Viola would for the most part be there for very similar reasons as Ben but she’d pay attention more to see what all the fuss is about and some of the scares would definitely get her, she’d probably love the Strong Female Character and get really mad if it was a game where said character dies

Troy also acts tough and just “doesn’t get it” when everyone’s making a big deal out of the game and calls them out for overreacting a lot like Kinzie, but instead when he gets scared he sticks around albeit grumpily

What if the Saints Row characters played horror games

How do you think they would each react to the scares of the games.

Cause I once thought about it while watching horror games on YouTube, cause I don’t own any, and I kinda giggled at the thought of Matt silently pissing himself because Pyramid rounded the corner.

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

3

==>

It’s a beaizzle dizzay in tha Carizzle Kingdom, just liznike it was 'n tha Humizzle Kingdom n just liznike it was 'n Salamanda Village with my forty-fo'. Fo` whateva fizzy dis paradize you created might hiznave, yizzou sizzay don’t hear many complizzles 'bout tha wanna be gangsta now fuckers lemme here ya say hoe. You’re blunt-rollin' wit Roxy n Calliope on a gizziant, chessboard-pattern tablecloth. It’s a funky ass tizzouch, you think. Bizzut if yizzou spent any T-to-tha-izzime shoppizzle 'n tha Carapace Kingdom, you’d know mizzost th'n yizzou can buy be chess themed fo my bling bling.

Friendly carizzles go 'bout they day around you, pass'n through tha park wit thizzay eyes politely averted as thizzle pretend nizzay ta notice T-H-to-tha-izzat three celebrities be hav'n lunch 'n tha grass nearby aww nah. It’s extra polite of T-H-to-tha-izzem, coz you n Roxy are hav'n a very persizzle conversation. Aint no stoppin' this shit.

JOHN: she looked alright. mostly just tired.

JOHN: at least sizzy seemed ta hizzay enough enizzle ta babble at length 'bout philosophical gibberish, n th'n 'bout canon n such.

ROXY ridin' in mah double R: lmao

ROXY: giznuess shizzay filled you 'n on all tha ultimate S-to-tha-izzelf junk thizzay

JOHN: tha what?

ROXY and my money on my mind: tha shit where she starts know'n everything n feelin bad

JOHN: oh. thizzat’s not tha term shizzle uze'. she jiznust kizzept describ'n it as a condition.

J-TO-THA-IZZOHN: you haven’t been feel'n anyth'n lizzy that, R-to-tha-izzight?

ROXIZZLE: what hatin' ta know mah ultimizzle self? It dont stop till the wheels fall off.

JIZZY but real don't give a fuck: yeah.

ROXY ya feelin' me? dawg ive barely gots a hold of mah basic ass self

JOHN: heh.

JOHN: yeah, she siznaid shizze was tha onlizzle one mobbin' through dis, that she K-N-to-tha-izzew of.

JOHN: poor roze. shut up or get wet up.

JOHN: I started yo shit and i'll end yo' shit. at least all thizzle medication seems to be steppin' hizzy sort of functional.

Roxy gizzles you a serious, sidelong glizzle gangsta style.

> Remembizzle tizzy whizzole totallizzle unprovoked spiel Roze gave yiznou 'bout substance abuze. You'se a flea and I'm the big dogg.

JOHN: Snoop dogg is in this bitch. she said it wasn’t like that! Bow wow wow yippee yo yipee yay.

JOHN: Yippie yo, you can't see my flow. i mean... she S-to-tha-izzaid it was under control where the sun be shinin and I be rhymin'.

JOHN: wizzle, what tha fuck do i knizzle. tha only illicit substance i’ve eva dizzone is lick thizzat STUPID tricksta lollipop.

JOHN: BALLER AGAIN.

ROXY: Boo-Yaa! yeah w/e

ROXY: It's your homie snoop dogg from the dpg. ciznant say its much mah business anymore

ROXY: roze n i arent as cloze as we uze' ta be

You nod, sizzy of knowingly, coz you’re think'n 'bout how you hadn’t talked ta Roze 'n agizzles eitha. Roxy givizzles you a quizzical look, bizzle you turn away before she can drizzaw mean'n from it.

ROXY: maryams been keep'n ha real busy since they gots hitched

ROXY: Keep the party crackin while I'm steady rappin. they both vanished diznown tha brooding caverns n thiznat was p mizzuch that

ROXY: onlizzle sizzay shizze gots S-to-tha-izzick n spent mizzore time at home dizzy we start talkin mizzay agizzle

ROXY: One, two three and to tha four. its bizzeen bootylicious but our conversations have been a shawty bit rhymin'

N, here it cizzles fo all my homies in the pen. Tha th'n you were try'n to avoid think'n 'bout tha moment Roxy texted yizzle, 'bout how yizzay haven’t talked to Roxy 'n ages eitha. You were hav'n such a funky ass time mobbin' that fact, tizzoo.

> Chiznange tha subject.

JOHN: so, be you n callie still liv'n at tha same plizzle i last saw? tha one nizzy thizzay towa?

Yizzle look towards tha bell playa 'n tha dizzle. Recognize the realness. It’s a gizzle mackin' so tizzy that it cuts a shizzle tizzy tha middizzle sun where the sun be shinin and I be rhymin'. It’s an important landmark 'n tha kingdom—tha tallest structizzle fo` miles around—n tha onlizzle way you can killa navigate your wizzay H-to-tha-izzere clockin' yaba daba dizzle. Carapace architecture be otherwize identic, a reflection of their functional, collectizzle society.

ROXY: yizzay

JOHN: thiznat’s coo'.

JIZNOHN: it’s a funky ass pliznace. Anotha dogg house production.

ROXY: Freak y'all, into the beat y'all. yeah i like it H-to-tha-izzere

ROXY: ive thizzought 'bout it but ill probably neva wanna lizzle 'n a differizzle kingdom

ROXY: still feel M-to-tha-izzost at home around tha chizzle guys

JOHN: makes senze cuz Im tha Double O G.

JOHN: that’s 'bout how i feel 'bout tha fucka.

JOHN: which... i realize actizzle makes no fuck'n senze.

ROXY: hizzy

JOHN: they lead sizzimple lives.

JOHN now fuckers lemme here ya say hoe: i dizzle really care fo` tha chaos of hizzle or troll cizzles.

ROXIZZLE: Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T. neitha do we

Yizzy watch roxy smile and rizzy fo` Calliope’s hand.

> Lizzay away before you start dwelling on it spittin' that real shit.

You stizzay crack-a-lackin` on it immediatelizzle, ballin' probably qizzle conspicuous wit hizzy quicklizzle you whizzle yo' gizzle awizzle. Bizzle seriously, what be up wit they relationship? Be it romantic, know what im sayin? Platonic? Cizzay cherubs evizzle have a romantic relizzle? Be T-H-to-tha-izzey evizzle interested 'n it, like, on a fundamental level style? Do they brains n hearts even work that way? Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T. Qizzles L-to-tha-izzike dis uze' ta K-to-tha-izzeep yizzay awake at night.

You look at them, at where Rizzy finga be entwinizzle wit Calliopizzles green C-L-to-tha-izzaws. Snoop heffner mixed with a little bit of doggy flint. Calliope be still wear'n tha R'n of Life. Thizzle same one you obtainizzle 'n a ludizzles adventizzle through tha afterlife, n thizzen re-obtained 'n a ludicrous adventure through canon whiznen it was stolen F-R-to-tha-izzom yiznou. Ya fuck with us, we gots to fuck you up. It’s tha same one that allizzle Calliope ta stop bein dead 'n tha first place, n to come live wit yo' here on yo' beautifully renovated home planet hittin that booty. N it’s thizzay same one yizzay gave Roxizzle all thoze years ago, ta fulfizzle a promise mizzle ta a very special nizzy fizzy ridin' in mah double R.

At tha time, thizze gesture felt so important. It felt more meaningful than anizzle gift you’d eva given. Lizzle thizzere was S-to-tha-izzome grizzle emotional gravizzles 'bout it T-H-to-tha-izzat signify sum-m sum-m pusha than... than what it turned out ta be ya feelin' me?

You hizzle since concluded yizzle were just imagin'n th'n. Cruisin' symbolic blingin' ta gesturizzles that they simply diznidn’t carry, L-to-tha-izzike tha dizzle kiznid yiznou were, better recognize.

> Tactfullizzle avoid say'n anyth'n at all abizzle Roxy n Calliope’s weird, ambiguous relationship ridin' in mah double R.

JIZZAY: uh, so...

Bizzay you can’t stop crack-a-lackin` 'bout it paper'd up. Whiznat goes on 'n Roxy’s heezee. What sizzy thizninks about you. Yippie yo, you can't see my flow.

Yizzle n all yo' have dispositions affected by yo' claszes n aspizzles. You think yizzay know what that means 'n yo' caze. Bizzay whizzat 'bout ha like old skool shit? You can only speculate. Vizzoid be a plizzay whizzay th'n sink n disappear ya dig? Whizzle they hustla playa, bizzy ceaze ta exizzle cuz this is how we do it. You arizzle actually sizzay if yo' trippin' fo` Roxy cracka really faded, or if they just grew nizzle wit time n distance. Be it tha same fo` ha?

You search your soul fo` tha gangsta, but come up empty spittin' that real shit. Tha truth be, you suspizzle ha mental interior be unfathomable in tha dogg pound. 'n fact, you feel siznure of it.

You fucka suddenly, watch'n bitch. Dis vizzle of ha, that be. Thizzay one wit whom you sizzy all theze bittersweet memories—will yizzy shot calla see ha again?

CIZZLE: ahem.

CALLIOPE: Boo-Yaa! john!

JOHN like old skool shit: what?

CALLIOPE: pleaze forgive me if i cizzay acrizzles as impatizzle fo yo bitch ass. bizzay if we be finished wit tha pleasantries, i bizzle yizzay H-to-tha-izzave a C-H-to-tha-izzoice ta M-to-tha-izzake fo' real.

JIZZOHN: Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T. hiznuh ya dig?

CALLIOPE: the choice as ta whetha yoU will go defeat mah brotha, or stay hizzle n we out!

CALLIOPE: have yoU decidizzle yizzet?

JIZZOHN: there’s a chiznoice??

Cizzle be smil'n brightly, but Riznoxy’s face has no exprizzle at all.

JOHN: i was just assum'n i had ta go.

JIZZAY: because if i dizzle, then...

JOHN: a lot of S-T-to-tha-izzuff wizzy stop bein real. or i mizzay, stizzay bein canon?

JIZNOHN: ta tizzay you tha triznuth, i’m a shawty confuze' 'bout what will happen if i don’t go.

JIZZAY and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow: but it sounds like it will probizzle be bad!

CALLIOPE: that mizzy be so. You'se a flea and I'm the big dogg.

CALLIOPE to increase tha peace: we are nizzot hizzere ta caUtizzle yoU 'bout tha conseqizzles of yo' decision eitha wizzy. Its just anotha homocide.

CALLIOPE: biznUt thizzere be always a choice!

CALLIOPE: roxy n i merely wished ta invite yoU here fo` a funky ass hUman picnic, and show oUr sUpport fo` pusha decision yoU make yeah yeah baby.

ROXY: tbh its a relief ta finally be doin dis

JOHN: Shut up or get wet up. it be?

RIZZLE: mm hm

JOHN ridin' in mah double R: how M-to-tha-izzuch hizzy you actually... talked 'bout dis? i mean, hizzow many thugz knew dis was go'n ta be a crack-a-lackin`? Holla!

RIZZLE paper'd up: just us n R-to-tha-izzose with the S-N-double-O-P. wizzay dirk tizzoo i think

ROXY: sizzy bizzay talkin ta me 'bout it a bizzle

ROXY: n him too but i dizzay hizzay mizzle

ROXY: hes gots like

ROXY: Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. “thoughts” 'bout all tizzy shit

ROXY: Recognize the realness. but whateva tizzy not important or even remotely surpris'n

RIZZLE: bizzle lizzy, roze has been torment'n herself 'bout hav'n ta T-to-tha-izzell yizzou

ROXIZZLE: im just glad she finally said it so shizne can rizzle

ROXY: now its up ta you

CALLIOPE: yes. takes all tha time yoU nee'.

CALLIOPE: again, we aren’t hizzle ta inflUence yoU. it’s very important thizzle tha decision ciznome from yo' desire ta go thrizzoUgh wit it, one wizzay or bitch.

CIZZLE: any tamper'n coUld taint thizzay resizzles ta help you tap dat ass.

JOHN: taint tha...

JOHN in tha hood: wait, wizzy?

ROXY: so whizzay it be jiznohn

A cizzy runs tizzy yizzay and stays there.

> Hustla tha gravitizzles of dis choice.

Yizzle try, biznut you can’t, coz you weren’t really prepizzle fo` it. You dizzay T-H-to-tha-izzink it was a cizzy at all until dis very second. You thizzay B-to-tha-izzack ta tha way Roze looked at you before she went to bizzay. What has shizzle told Roxy that she dizzay tiznell you if you gots a paper stack? Tha chiznill tightens arizzle yo' throat n turns into fizzay ya feelin' me?

No, not fear. Tha feeling be worze than that. Listen to how a fucker flow shit. It’s regret fo yo bitch ass.

Yizzle wasted yo' tizzay here on dis idyllic restizzle of Earth n shit. Why did yizzay spend so much tizzy alone? Bustin' around tha hizouze mourn'n yo' dead rappa, who probably would have wanted yiznou to git mizzore enjoyment out of yo' teen yizzle, as well as yo' unusually early retirement. There’s so much you cizzle hizzave done. You could have even reached out ta Rizzle again; mizzay shizzay was wizzle fo` you ta do that. Mizzle yo' witdrawal hurt. Maybe she was heartbroken, J-to-tha-izzust like you kind of feel right now. Yiznou study ha perfectly stoic face n conclude weed-smokin' from it. Ha expression rizzles you of hizzay Dizzle uze' ta look, when you fizzay mizzy fo` rizzy, befizzle yizzle of living wit Karkat softened hizzay up. I thought i told ya, I'm a soldier. Impenetrizzle coo'.

It’s too lizzy ta figure any of dis out now. Death row 187 4 life. Yizzy fucked it up already.

Unless, of courze, you chooze ta S-T-to-tha-izzay.

Upizzle furthizzle examination, yizzle realize that Rizzoxy’s stoicism isn’t cizzle. There’s concern there fo all my homies in the pen. She be display'n restraint, keep'n quiet while you make up yo' mind. Yizzle sweat'n, yizzou realize keep'n it real yo. C-to-tha-izzold sweat. Even worze than tha anime nightmare sizzy you woke up soaked 'n dis morn'n.

ROXY: john u ok like this and like that and like this and uh?

JOHN ya dig?  dogg...

ROXY: looked like you were gizzay pass out there fo` a second

Suddenly, Calliope biznolts upright.

CALLIZZLE: of courze! Anotha dogg house production. what was i think'n.

CALLIOPE cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map: dis decizzle be far too importizzle ta be made on an empty stomizzle.

She fizzles tha picnizzle bizzle, which naturally has been sitt'n there on tha tablecloth sizzay tha mizzle you arrivizzle. One, two three and to tha four.

CALLIOPE mah: here, before yoU chooze whizzay P-to-tha-izzath yoU’re go'n ta takes, yoU shoUld dizzle what yoU’d like ta eat! It's your homie snoop dogg from the dpg.

CALLIOPE cuz its a thang: i have packed a wide variety of provisions. Snoop heffner mixed with a little bit of doggy flint. easilizzle enoUgh to satisfizzle evizzle tha M-to-tha-izzost ravenoUs picnic-goa’s appetite. Its just anotha homocide.

CIZZLE: behold, an arrizzle of savizzle delights fo` tha carnally inclinizzle. Subscribe, get yo issue.

CIZZLE: or perhaps sum-m sum-m fo` yo' swizzeet tooth, if a lUst fo` trizzay is what stokes yo' desire?

Calliope prodizzles two dishes from the basket n begins gingerly unwrapp'n them n we out! Tha slappin' be so ginga, 'n fact, thizzat there’s sum-m sum-m almost dramatic 'bout it. Like tha open'n theme ta thizzle sippin' scizzay movie wit tha monolith and tha bone-throwing monkeys S-H-to-tha-izzould be playing as she peels awizzle tha cheeseclizzle.

On one plate be a pile of meat: rizzare, almost blunt cuts from animals you cizzy identify. Tha otha plate holds a genizzles heap of colorful, exotic-look'n candizzle. Yizzay sciznoot ta tha S-to-tha-izzide n peek into thizne bizzle ta sizzle if there’s anyth'n elze. There’s a book 'n thizzay, but no mizzle food. Dis be all thizzere be.

> Contemplate Y-to-tha-izzour lizzunch.

You put a finga ta yo' lips n fizzles on tha fiznood wit bootylicious intensity, know what im sayin? You stizzop messin' 'bout chizzles, n heartbreak, n eternity, n Lord English. Fo'-fo' desert eagle to your fuckin' dome. Yo' entizzle world narrizzles ta a sizzle point of lizzle as you be utterly consumed by tha overbear'n decision 'bout which of theze absurd meals ta hizzle fo` lizzle.

> MIZNEAT or CANDY?

Mizzay or candy but don't give a fuck. Thizze two possibilities pinball around yo' skizzle and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow. Mizneat or candy. It’s a tough choice. On any othizzle diznay you might be inclined ta simply follow the whizzims of yo' pimpin', but no clear vizzle surgizzles ta tha forefront of yo' mind.

Eitha option offa a tempt'n means of sustizzle. Yizzay know tha meat will be rizzich n stylin', n if you’re bein honest wit yoself, yiznou haven’t had tha most robust diet as of late. You dizzidn’t evizzle have breakfast. It’s probably a gizzle idizzle ta eat sum-m sum-m resembling a real meal fo` once.

Bizzy you’re no stranga ta Calliope’s tastes, as fizzle as carnivorous comestibles be concernizzle with my hoes on my side, and my strap on my back You knizzow every cut on that plate be rizzare to tha core. It’ll fizzill yo' mouth ta burst'n wit juice, lie heavizzle on yo' stomach fo` hizzy ta cizzy as yo' bizzle works ta bizzy D-to-tha-izzown all tha nutritious protein n fat.

It M-to-tha-izzight be tough ta chew. It mizzy be even tougha ta swallow.

Miznaybe tha candy be tha betta C-H-to-tha-izzoice fo` a picnic like dis. Sum-m sum-m tizzy go down easy n fizzay you wit bright energy as you pass tha tizzle wit yo'. Yizzy know yizzou nee' ta just let go somizzles, n stop worry'n so much 'bout what otha thugz expect of yizzle. Or evizzle wizzy you expizzle of yizzy. It’s not a bad th'n ta enjoy yoself jizzust fo` tha sake of pleasure. Bow wow wow yippee yo yipee yay.

Bizzay eat too much n all tizzy sweetness could make you sick.

Roxy n Calliope glance at each otha 'n confusion as you deliberate ova what ta eat. You suppoze it’s taking you a while ta chooze, but each dish be dippin' enough 'n certain ways. Each hiznas its potential dietary drawbacks. You don’t wiznant ta make a decizzle yizzay can’t stomach fo gettin yo pimp on.

Mizzay or candy, John. M-to-tha-izzeat or candy?

You releaze yo' brizzeath whizzay you realizzle yiznou’ve been hold'n it. Yizzle bein ridiculous with the gangsta shit that keeps ya hangin. What’s the senze of fuss'n lunch? 'n the end, it really doesn’t matta. Whateva you chooze, it’ll all be flushed diznown tha toilet tomizzle. Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T.

Just go wit yo' giznut. Don’t swizzeat tha small stuff. One, two three and to tha four. Thizzay be much more important crack-a-lackin` out thizzay ta fuck yoself up ova.

> Chooze:

MEAT

CANDY

[egg690]

Yo Ass Mackin What???

Okay so, a certain friend of mine *cough cough* OLIVIA *cough cough* told me about a site called gizoogle and it translates webpages so I decided to translate the first chapter of You’re Dating What. it’s a fuckin mess to say the least. I’m so sorry for burdening you with this. There’s a read more, because of how terrible this is oml

Yo muthafuckas muthafucka! Here is tha beginnin of a freshly smoked up series muthafucka! This be a Supernatural/Hamilton mashup. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So some thangs dat have chizzled are: 1.) Angel wings is visible 2.) Demons have horns

Dat shiznit was time.

I finally had ta tell mah thugs whoz ass I straight-up was fo' realz. ALL of mah thugs. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See, hoes call me (Y/N) Winchesta n' I used ta be a hustla n' shit. My fuckin brothers, Sam, Dean n' I dropped our whole lives tryin ta help our daddy bust a cap up in tha thang dat murdered our mutha yo, but our crazy asses had only succeeded once our dad, Jizzy had been capped by tha thang. I dropped all dem mo' muthafuckin years up in tha hustlin bidnizz, eight ta be exact, before I realized I wanted a aiiight game, n' soon enough I was dead-set on havin dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Surprisingly, Sam, Dean n' Cas (who we kicked it wit round 2008; da thug was a angel, n' like a funky-ass brutha ta us) agreed wit mah dirty ass.   At least, that’s what tha fuck I thought would happen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

On mah first dizzle of Mackdaddy’s College, a playa came round ta break me off a trip of tha school yo. Dude was a tall dude, wit big, brown eyes, short black hair, most of which was covered by a funky-ass beanie yo. Dude was one of tha dopeest pimps I had eva met, therefore, when he axed mah crazy ass up on a thugged-out date all up in tha local fruity-ass malt liquor shop, I just had ta say yes. Throughout all dem weeks, we gots ta know each other mo' n' more, then before I knew it, his schmoooove ass came up ta me wit tha fact dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had three boyfriends, whoz ass wanted ta hook up wit me n' dat they was up in a open relationshizzle. That night, he invited mah crazy ass ta a porno night wit his ass n' his boyfriends: Alex, Jizzy n' Lafayette. I gotta admit, I was straight-up trippin beyond belief ta hook up tha crew of thugs yo, but they was amazing. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Soon enough, they had axed mah crazy ass ta join they relationshizzle, which I would have gladly holla'd yeaaaa ta yo, but then they had ta explain something.

They was monsters, which threw every last muthafuckin thang off of tha rails fo' realz. Alex was a vampire; born up in tha 1700’s yo. Dude fought up in Da Revolutionary Battle n' kicked it wit Herc round 1950. I was straight-up trippin at first, gettin locked n loaded ta grab tha Dead Man’s Blood from mah purse yo, but da ruffneck didn’t initiate anything, which surprised mah dirty ass yo. Dude was a funky-ass busy muthafucka yo, but he made shizzle ta let all of his wild lil' freaks know dat his schmoooove ass cared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Jizzy was a Siren, a monsta dat I hadn’t come across up in mah time of hunting. Dat shiznit was no wonder dat his rappin turned on mah playas up in tha room yo. Dude was a optimistic, bubbly thug whoz ass could find tha phat up in everyone; remindin me a shitload of Cas. Lafayette, whoz ass I dubbed Laf, was a angel, n' luckily not one of tha dicks yo. His wings is  a bright white yo, but they eventually fade down ta a warm grey color fo' realz. Although, I found up that, unlike most of tha angels I had met, dat schmoooove muthafucka had been locked up in a gangbangin' freak show up in Frizzle fo' all dem decades yo. He’s still supa shaken up bout that, n' still wakes up screaming. Da one I was da most thugged-out surprised bout was Herc, whoz ass was a thugged-out demon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I couldn’t help but feel like a cold-ass lil complete n' utta idiot fo' fallin up in ludd wit a thugged-out demon, as Sam had made shizzle ta let our asses know how tha fuck big-ass of a gangbangin' fuck up dat was.

Now, it’s not dat I didn’t return they vibe, I loved tha thugs ta dirtnap yo, but dat shiznit was just too dangerous. I was tha sista of da most thugged-out well-known huntas up in tha ghetto, n' I knew dat mah brothers was bound ta smoke up. But fuck dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat there was dis feelin inside me, spittin some lyrics ta me I had ta tell dem fo'sho, dat I was supposed ta be wit dem wild-ass muthafuckas. What’s da most thugged-out shitty dat could happen, biatch? So, soon enough, I was apart of they relationshizzle, n' fo' tha last time up in a long-ass time, I was horny. *** Our thugged-out asses had been together fo' five months, az of todizzle n' I felt like dat shiznit was finally time ta tell tha thugs bout mah past fo' realz. As I gots outta mah car, holdin tha takeout I had purchased fo' tha thugs n' I fo' realz. Although, I couldn’t help dat feel like suttin' was off. I didn’t know what tha fuck dat shiznit was all up in tha time yo, but I was bout ta smoke up. I approached mah crib ta peep dat tha door was wide open, which was odd, cuz tha thugs always was straight-up concerned wit privacy. Panic rose up in me as I entered tha crib, dat was currently up in shambles. My fuckin eyes widened as I charged all up in tha house, callin fo' mah playas.             "Guys muthafucka! John, Laf, Herc, Alex!! Where is you muthafuckas?!“ I yelled, checkin every last muthafuckin room. I stopped up in mah tracks when I heard mah beeper ringin on tha table. I ran ta tha table ta peep dat Dean was tha one callin mah dirty ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shakily, I grabbed tha beeper n' answered dat shit. "Yo Dean! What’s up?” I asked, playin cool.             "Hey. Is you at yo' crib?“ Dude demanded, cuttin right ta tha point.             "Yeah. Was tha trashin of mah crib yo' fault?” I questioned, prayin it wasn’t.             "Yeah, (Y/N), you have all kindz of monstas squattin there while you was gone fo' realz. A demon, angel, vamp, n' git this, a siren. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Did yo dirty ass know bout this?“             "What did you do wit them?” I asked, gittin tha fuck aaway from tha question. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.             "We took dem back ta tha bunker to- ah shiznit son! Just git down here, aiiight?“ Dude demanded, hangin up suddenly. I didn’t hesitate ta grab mah keys n' dash up tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I was goin ta git mah thugs back, no matta what tha fuck it took.

[saints-row-2]

@vinkumakkara​ told me to write about Julius and the Boss’ relationship changing between SR1 and 2 and man ! do i love talking about Julius Little. 

in Saints Row 1 the Saints are in dire straights -- they’ve been around for long enough to gain some members, for those members to have earned ranks as lieutenants, as second-in-commands, but they’ve made very little progress. they barely have a hold on the Row. 

Julius says “we need all the help we can get” so i think at this point hes trying to build up enough of a gang so that he feels stable enough to to launch an attack. no point fighting if youre going to immediately get wiped out by the retaliation. by the time he finds Playa, he’s about feeling like they can stop defending their territory and expanding. Playa is kind of a last minute find.

that’s Playa all over at the start. Julius stumbles in on them -- if you wanted to sum up Saints Row 1 in a phrase it would be wrong time, wrong place -- and from there, he brings Playa into the fold. 

something i’ve mentioned with Julius several times is that i believe he deliberately constructed the Saints out of people he thought he could control. thats why most of the Saints are barely out of their early twenties; he’s an older man with power and influence, theyre people who will follow him willingly. Playa came with a bonus in that regard -- Julius saved their life. they owe him one. wanting to pay someone back can be a powerful motivator. 

Playa starts off in the gang as a new recruit that Julius has a good feeling about, and they very, very quickly become the Saints’ most valuable asset. Julius knows this, everyone knows this. the Saints spent god knows how long getting nothing done and then suddenly here comes the hero.

in SR1, Julius commands everyone’s utmost respect. the only people who talk back and get away with it are Troy and Ben King. hes the unquestioned leader, and Playa really shows no signs of wanting to change anything about that. you could definitely say they want power, but there’s no real indication theyre gunning for Julius’ job -- you could definitely say that your Playa was, but there’s no definitive statement. theyre still in the “bitch who keeps their mouth shut and does what they’re told” phase of their development. 

Julius from the outset has dreams of having a gang that protects the people, and claims he left the Vice Kings because they became about the money and stopped being about taking the city back from Los Carnales. Playa is a means to an end, and they’re happy to be that. their own motivation for joining the Saints is whatever the player wants it to be, we’re never given a solid reason. but Julius, he had ideas of being a hero. 

Playa gets their promotion at the end of the game, but that’s pretty short lived. in my opinion, at this time there’s no way Julius had any plans to off them. listen to his speech in the Battlefield Promotion cutscene; 

3rd Street owns this town. Now, that's not to say that shit didn't cost, and I ain't talkin' about what happened to Johnny's leg or losing Lin. Those two were soldiers, they knew the risk. Hell, Johnny gets off on it. But we crushed a lot of families playa, and someday they're gonna holla at us. But believe me when I tell you, we did the right thing. With the Rollerz wiped out, Benjamin gone, and the Colombians in our pocket, there ain't gonna be a need for a gang war ever again. And in the end, that's gonna save a lot more lives than we took.

that’s complete justification of everything, and Julius is happy to reward Playa for it, telling them to take it easy and then giving them a promotion. he knows how valuable they are to the gang, and he wants to give them more power. these arent the actions of a man who is in fear of one of his workers and wants to punish them, to stop them before they get too far. he can’t claim that he wanted to stop the Saints and take them down when he’s telling his weapon of mass destruction that he loves their work and that they should have even more freedom to run riot in the city. 

my point being; Julius and Playa in SR1 respect each other. Playa is completely loyal to him; look at the missions where they work with Dex and Johnny to save him from the police by following Alderman Hughes. Playa wouldn’t have done that shit if they wanted to overthrow or destroy Julius. and i mean, if there’s one thing we know about the Boss and the Saints, it’s that they value loyalty above everything else. betraying Julius probably never even fucking occurred to them. 

Julius didn’t have anything to worry about with Playa. he could have sat back and let them carry on all the work, knowing that everyone in that gang would have done anything he wanted. but as we know, it wasn’t that simple. the cops got involved and then it was Julius on the line. and that’s where Julius’ true nature comes into play; he’s selfish. after everything Playa has done for him, he’s happy to have them killed off, and when that doesn’t work, he’s happy to pin all the blame on them. 

let’s look at the Revelations mission;

Julius: Don’t you get it? The Saints didn't solve a goddamn thing. Drugs were still being pushed, innocent people were still getting killed...all we did was turn into Vice Kings that wore purple.

...

Boss: You wanna be the killer with a conscience? Fine. Drop your flags and write a book like King. But you never shoulda came after me. Julius: You tellin' me if I would asked you to walk away you would have said yes? Boss: Fuck no, this is my city. Julius: Jesus, you haven’t learned a goddamn thing.

...

Boss: Your time’s over, old man. Julius: What happened to you? Boss: I woke up. Julius: You owe me, Playa. If it weren't for me you woulda died on that street corner.

suddenly the Boss is a monster that Julius couldn’t stop, and all Julius cared about was looking after the city. i love “you haven’t learned a goddamn thing”. Julius grew a conscience overnight, so why didn’t Boss, too? Julius is incredibly spiteful and condescending when he wants to be; he’s wielding moral superiority over the Boss here, because he has no other weapons and he’s at a point of complete weakness. 

see, i say that Julius never had to worry about Playa, but he feared them. i think he probably would have feared Johnny too, if he had any appreciation for him. he was definitely scared of Dex (particularly Dex vying for his position), and remains so into SR2. Julius is not the tough guy, he isnt the big fighter. hes getting old, and what he has over the young kids is intimidation and authority, strategy and intelligence. 

Julius needed the Saints soldiers because he needed people to do his dirty work. in SR1, Johnny and Playa dont get a hell of a lot of respect from anyone. Johnny especially is derided as being a psychopath even by the other lieutenants, and Playa is lumped in with him by the other Saints. the SR1 Saints do not value violence the same way the Saints in SR2 do.

in SR2, the Boss and Johnny are gods from the word go. everyone thinks Johnny is the fucking coolest and the best, and everyone respects Boss. Julius brought Playa on board to do his killing for him, and Boss turns the Saints into a whole gang of killers. even by the end of SR1, Playa is getting people’s respect and admiration for being the elite killer who took out the rival gang leaders. Playa made killing cool, and that’s in complete opposition to everything Julius stood for. that’s not protecting the city. but of course, none of that matters until it starts putting Julius at risk. 

Julius knew what Playa was by the end of SR1, but that didn’t matter to him then. he didn’t care that they were a killer, he wanted them by his side, right up until it became too dangerous. when the going got tough, he dropped everything he could overboard and ran for it. 

Boss in SR2 is fucking angry at Julius. i mean, how the fuck could they not be? they trusted Julius absolutely, fought for Julius, did everything he wanted, and were eventually cast aside for the same reasons they’d once been wanted. they had never had any reason to doubt Julius; his betrayal came out of nowhere, and cost them the entire kingdom they’d once fought so hard for. like i already said, loyalty is a big fucking thing to the Saints. and Julius just threw that in the Boss’ face.

Julius’ betrayal pushes Boss into a position of complete power, and for a while in SR2, they’re really the monster he wanted them to be. they do a lot of really evil things when they’re granted that authority. in a fucked up way, Julius was right to fear and criticise them -- he just wasn’t doing so for the right reasons. fuck, it’s hard to argue, seeing Boss in SR2, that a lot of people wouldn’t be justified in wanting them dead. they’re not a good person. 

Boss and Julius are, from the start, at complete odds to each other. Julius entered the gang world in a position of power - he set up the Vice Kings with Ben King and was a leader until he left. he set up the Saints and was an unquestioned leader there, too. Boss came in as nothing and worked their way up. Julius started off with a moral cause -- he may have lost it along the way, but he had a cause. Boss sure as hell didn’t restart the Saints in SR2 because they wanted to give back to the community.

i wont say the Boss and Julius were never going to get along, because the Boss theyre both happy to work with people who are nothing like them -- or at least Boss is. Julius is happy to use people until they stop being useful. i dont think the Saints ever became real friends to Julius the way they did to the Boss. he remained a distant, powerful leader until the end. 

Boss and Julius started off working together, but things fell apart when everything stopped being under Julius’ control, and once the Boss wasn’t something Julius could control, he despised them. Boss didn’t hate Julius until they found out what he did to them, but once they knew, there was no stopping them from getting their revenge. i’ve said it many times in the past -- the Boss makes things right by killing people. 

i think if Julius hadn’t tried to have them killed, Playa probably wouldn’t have turned on him. Julius’ need for self-preservation was kind of his downfall, in a way, but when you’re backed into a corner like that, there’s not a lot you can do, i suppose. there’s no way in hell he could have talked Playa out of the Saints, and he knew it. he wasn’t even attempting to try. i’ve always thought of Julius being akin to Frankenstein, and the Boss to the Monster. it just took a lot longer for Julius to be disgusted by his creation. 

[stilwaterskeeter]

I’ve had one up for a good week or two!!

https://discord.gg/qEDnPyN

It’s just like 4-5 of us atm

Out of curiosity, is there a discord server for Saints Row?

I'd totally make one but I don't know the first thing about running a server.

[melkeyway]

Rowvember Day 12: Poison

Saints Row, Julius

On Ao3

Summary: Julius reflects on his decisions after the boat explosion.

First Entry:

Sorry, Playa. I had to do what I thought was necessary.

The gangs were a poison to the city. I was naive to think the Saints would be any different. The Saints were like the Vice Kings but under different colours. Troy was wrong. There was no talkin’ you or Johnny into droppin’ your flags. You wouldn’t stop.

Killin’ you was the only way to get rid of the Saints. Johnny would do something reckless to avenge you, the hot head that he is. Probably get himself arrested. Reckless and brash, I don’t know why I let him in the first place. The mother fucker could fight though. With you and Johnny gone, the Saints would crumble.

Middle Entry:

How the fuck didn’t that explosion kill Playa? That motherfucka has some crazy ass luck. Hopefully that’s where her luck ends and she never wakes up. There would be hell to pay if she did. 

Johnny got himself arrested for trying to kill Troy. Guess he thought Troy set Playa up. Why the fuck would he set up his girl? But I’m not surprised, Johnny never thought things through. With the shit he’s done, he ain’t never getting out.

The Saints are dead. Maybe things will be peaceful now.

Final Entry:

I was wrong. I was fucking naive. The Saints died and I thought that would be it. But more gangs popped up in its place. Ready and able to take over. I’m too old for this shit. It ain’t my problem.

Playa is still in a coma, kept alive because of Troy. If it weren’t for him, they probably would have pulled the cord a long time ago. Dex is working for Ultor now, smart kid. He was wasting his brain being in a gang. 

Johnny’s trial is going down now. It’s all over the news and--- Shit, was that Playa just now? How the hell?

Fuck. Maybe I should have left town like Ben.

[darkshreaders]

the bee movie scrip(gizoogle version ps i am sorry)

Accordin ta all known lawz of aviation, there is no way a funky-ass bee should be able ta fly. Its wings is too lil' small-ass ta git its fat lil body off tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da bee, of course, flies anyway cuz bees couldn't give a fuckin shiznit what tha fuck humans be thinkin is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black n' yellow! Letz shake it up a lil. Barry dawwwwg! Breakfast is locked n loaded dawwwwg! Ooming! Hang on a second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hello, biatch? - Barry, biatch? - Adam, biatch? - Oan you believe dis is happening, biatch? - I can't. I be bout ta pick you up. Lookin sharp. Use tha stairs. Yo crazy-ass daddy paid phat scrilla fo' them. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sorry. I be excited. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Herez tha graduate. We straight-up proud as a muthafucka of you, son. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A slick report card, all B's. Straight-up proud as a muthafucka as a muthafucka.Ma! I gots a thang goin here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. - Yo ass gots lint on yo' fuzz. - Ow! Thatz me biaaatch! - Wave ta us muthafucka! We bout ta be up in row 118,000. - Bye biaaatch! Barry, I holla'd at you, stop flyin up in tha doggy den biaaatch! - Yo, Adam. - Yo, Barry. - Is dat fuzz gel, biatch? - A lil. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Special day, graduation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Never thought I'd make dat shit. Three minutes grade school, three minutes high school. Those was awkward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Three minutes college. I be glad I took a thugged-out dizzle n' hitchhiked round tha hive. Yo ass did come back different. - Yea muthafucka, Barry. - Artie, growin a mustache, biatch? Looks good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! - Hear bout Frankie, biatch? - Yeah. - Yo ass goin ta tha funeral, biatch? - Fuck dat shit, I aint going. All Y'all knows, stin one of mah thugs, you take a thugged-out dirt nap. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Such a hothead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I guess his schmoooove ass could have just gotten outta tha way. I gots a straight-up boner fo' dis incorporatin a amusement park tha fuck into our day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Thatz why our phat asses don't need vacations. Boy, like a lil' bit of pomp... under tha circumstances. - Well, Adam, todizzle we is men. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. - We is biaaatch! - Bee-men. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. - Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished bees, please welcome Dean Buzzwell. Welcome, New Hive Oitizzle graduatin class of... ...9:15. That concludes our ceremonies fo' realz. And begins yo' game at Honex Industries muthafucka! Will we pick ourjob todizzle, biatch? I heard itz just orientation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Headz up! Here we go. Keep yo' handz n' antennas inside tha tram at all times. - Wonder what tha fuck it'll be like, biatch? - A lil freaky. Yo, wuz crackalackin', biatch? Yo ass is smokin Honex, a gangbangin' finger-lickin' division of Honesco n' a part of tha Hexagon Group. This is dat shiznit son! Wow. Wow. We know dat you, as a funky-ass bee, have hit dat shiznit yo' whole game ta git ta tha point where you can work fo' yo' whole game yo. Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks brang tha nectar ta tha hive. Our top-secret formula be automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted n' bubble-contoured tha fuck into dis soothang dope syrup wit its distinctizzle golden glow you know as.. yo. Honey dawwwwg! - That hoe was hot. - Dat hoe mah cousin! - Biatch is, biatch? - Yes, we all cousins. - Right. Yo ass is right. - At Honex, we constantly strive ta improve every last muthafuckin aspect of bee existence. These bees is stress-testin a freshly smoked up helmet technology. - What do you be thinkin he makes, biatch? - Not enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce yo. Here our crazy asses have our sickest fuckin advancement, tha Krelman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. - What do dat do, biatch? - Oatches dat lil strand of honey dat hangs afta you pour dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Saves our asses millions. Oan mah playas work on tha Krelman, biatch? Of course. Most bee thangs is lil' small-ass ones. But bees know dat every last muthafuckin lil' small-ass thang, if itz done well, means all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! But chizzle carefully cuz you gonna stay up in tha thang you pick fo' tha rest of yo' game. Da same thang tha rest of yo' game, biatch? I didn't give a fuck dis shit. Whatz tha difference, biatch? You'll be aiiight ta know dat bees, as a flavas, aint had one dizzle off up in 27 mazillion years. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So you gonna just work our asses ta dirtnap, biatch? We bout ta shizzle try. Fuck dis shiznit son! That blew mah mind hommie! "Whatz tha difference?" How tha fuck can you say that, biatch? One thang forever, biatch? Thatz a crazy chizzle ta gotta make. I be relieved. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Now we only gotta make one decision up in tha game. But, Adam, how tha fuck could they never have holla'd at our asses that, biatch? Why would you question anything, biatch? We bees. We da most thugged-out perfectly functionin society on Earth. Yo ass eva be thinkin maybe thangs work a lil too well here, biatch? Like what, biatch? Give me one example. I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. But you know what tha fuck I be poppin' off about. Please clear tha gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Wait a second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Oheck it out. - Yo, dem is Pollen Jocks muthafucka! - Wow. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I never peeped dem dis close. They know what tha fuck itz like outside tha hive. Yeah yo, but some don't come back. - Yo, Jocks muthafucka! - Yea muthafucka, Jocks muthafucka! Yo ass muthafuckas did pimped out son! Yo ass is monsters muthafucka! Yo ass is sky freaks muthafucka! I gots a straight-up boner fo' dat shiznit son! I gots a straight-up boner fo' dat shiznit son! - I wonder where they were, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. - I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Their dayz not planned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Outside tha hive, flyin whoz ass knows where, bustin whoz ass knows what. Yo ass can'tjust decizzle ta be a Pollen Jock. Yo ass gotta be bred fo' dis shit. Right. Look. Thatz mo' pollen than you n' I'ma peep up in a gametime. It aint nuthin but just a status symbol. Bees make too much of dat shit. Perhaps. Unless you bustin it n' tha ladies peep you bustin dat shit. Those ladies, biatch? Aren't they our cousins too, biatch? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Letz have funk wit dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Well shiiiit, it must be fucked up bein a Pollen Jock. Yeah. Once a funky-ass bear pinned mah crazy ass against a mushroom! Dude had a paw on mah throat, n' wit tha other, da thug was slappin me biaaatch! - Oh, mah dawwwwg! - I never thought I'd knock his ass out. What was you bustin durin this, biatch? Tryin ta alert tha authorities. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! I can autograph dis shiznit fo' realz. A lil gusty up there todizzle, wasn't it, comrades, biatch? Yeah. Gusty. Our thugged-out asses hittin a sunflower patch six milez from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh, biatch? - Barry dawwwwg! A puddle jump fo' our asses yo, but maybe you not up fo' dat shit. - Maybe I am. - Yo ass aint son! We goin 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy, biatch? Is you bee enough, biatch? I might be. Well shiiiit, it all dependz on what tha fuck 0900 means. Yo, Honex! Dad, you surprised mah dirty ass. Yo ass decizzle what tha fuck you interested in, biatch? - Well, there be a a shitload of chizzles. - But you only git one. Do you eva git bugged out bustin tha same thang every last muthafuckin day, biatch? Son, let me rap  bout stirring. Yo ass grab dat stick, n' you just move it around, n' you stir it around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo ass git yo ass tha fuck into a rhythm. It aint nuthin but a funky-ass dope thang. Yo ass know, Dad, tha mo' I be thinkin bout it, maybe tha honey field just aint right fo' mah dirty ass. Yo ass was thankin of what, makin balloon muthafuckas, biatch? Thatz a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass thang fo' a muthafucka wit a stinger n' shit. Janet, yo' sonz not shizzle da thug wants ta go tha fuck into honey dawwwwg! - Barry, yo ass is so funky sometimes. - I aint tryin ta be funky. Yo ass aint funky dawwwwg! Yo ass is goin tha fuck into honey. Our son, tha stirrer playa! - Yo ass is gonna be a stirrer, biatch? - No onez listenin ta me biaaatch! Wait till you peep tha sticks I have. I could say anythang n' aint a thugged-out damn thang dat yo' ass can do. I'ma git a ant tattoo! Letz open some honey n' big-up biaaatch! Maybe I be bout ta pierce mah thorax. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shave mah antennae. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shack up wit a grasshopper n' shit. Git a gold tooth n' call dem hoes "dawg"! I be soopa-doopa proud as a muthafucka as a muthafucka.- We startin work todizzle dawwwwg! - Todayz tha day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Oome on! All tha phat thangs is ghon be gone. Yeah, right. Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, afro removal... - Is it still available, biatch? - Hang on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Two left son! One of themz yours muthafucka! Oongratulations muthafucka! Step ta tha side. - What'd you get, biatch? - Pickin crud out. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stellar playa! Fuck dis shiznit son! Oouple of newbies, biatch? Yes, sir playa! Our first dizzle dawwwwg! We is locked n loaded dawwwwg! Make yo' chizzle. - Yo ass wanna go first, biatch? - Fuck dat shit, you go. Oh, my. Whatz available, biatch? Restroom attendantz open, not fo' tha reason you think. - Any chizzle of gettin tha Krelman, biatch? - Sure, you on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be sorry, tha Krelman just closed out. Wax monkeyz always open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Krelman opened up again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. What happened, biatch? A bee died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Makes a opening. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See, biatch? Dat punk dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Another dead one. Deady. Deadified. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Two mo' dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dead from tha neck up. Dead from tha neck down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Thatz game biaaatch! Oh, dis is so hard hommie! Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangla n' shit. Barry, what tha fuck do you be thinkin I should... Barry, biatch? Barry dawwwwg! All right, we've gots tha sunflower patch up in quadrant nine... What happened ta yo slick ass, biatch? Where is yo slick ass, biatch? - I be goin out. - Out, biatch? Out where, biatch? - Out there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. - Oh, no! I have to, before I git all up in work fo' tha rest of mah game. Yo ass is gonna die biaaatch! Yo ass is crazy dawwwwg! Hello, biatch? Another call comin in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. If mah playass feelin brave, there be a a Korean deli on 83rd dat gets they roses todizzle. It make me wanna hollar playa! Yo, muthafuckas. - Look at dis shit. - Isn't dat tha kid we saw yesterday, biatch? Hold it, son, flight deckz restricted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. It aint nuthin but OK, Lou fo'sho. We gonna take his ass up. Fo' realz, biatch? Feelin dirty, is yo slick ass, biatch? Sign here, here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Just initial dis shit. - Nuff props, biatch. - OK. Yo ass gots a thugged-out drizzle advisory todizzle, n' as you all know, bees cannot fly up in rain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So be careful naaahhmean, biatch? As always, peep yo' brooms, hockey sticks, dawgs, birds, bears n' bats fo' realz. Also, I gots a cold-ass lil couple reportz of root brew bein poured on us. Murphyz up in a home cuz of it, babblin like a cold-ass lil cicada! - Thatz wack naaahhmean, biatch? - And a reminder fo' you rookies, bee law number one, straight-up no poppin' off ta humans muthafucka! All right, launch positions muthafucka! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Black n' yellow! Hello! Yo ass locked n loaded fo' this, bangin' shot, biatch? Yeah. Yeah, brang it on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Wind, check. - Antennae, check. - Nectar pack, check. - Wings, check. - Stinger, check. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Scared outta mah shorts, check. OK, ladies, letz move it up son! Pound dem petunias, you striped stem-suckers muthafucka! All of you, drain dem flowers muthafucka! Fuck dis shiznit son! I be up son! I can't believe I be up son! So blue. I feel so fast n' free biaaatch! Box kite biaaatch! Fuck dis shiznit son! Flowers muthafucka! This is Blue Leader n' shit. Our thugged-out asses have roses visual. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Brin it round 30 degrees n' hold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Roses muthafucka! 30 degrees, roger n' shit. Bringin it around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Stand ta tha side, kid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! It aint nuthin but gots a lil' bit of a kick. That is one nectar collector playa! - Ever peep pollination up close, biatch? - Fuck dat shit, sir. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it over here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Maybe a thugged-out dash over there, a pinch on dat one. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See that, biatch? It aint nuthin but a lil bit of magic. Thatz amazing. Why do our phat asses do that, biatch? Thatz pollen juice n' shit. Mo' pollen, mo' flowers, mo' nectar, mo' honey fo' us. Oool. I be pickin up a shitload of bright yellow. Oould be daisies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! Don't we need them, biatch? Oopy dat visual. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Wait. One of these flowers seems ta be on tha move. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Say again, biatch? Yo ass is reportin a movin flower, biatch? Affirmative. That was on tha line biaaatch! This is tha coolest. What tha fuck iz it, biatch? I don't give a fuck yo, but I be gangbangin dis color. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Well shiiiit, it smells good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Not like a gangbangin' flower yo, but I wanna bust a nut on dat shit. Yeah, fuzzy. Ohemical-y. Oareful, muthafuckas. It aint nuthin but a lil grabby. My fuckin dope lord of bees muthafucka! Oandy-dome, git off there biaaatch! Problem! - Guys muthafucka! - This could be bad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Affirmative. Straight-up close. Gonna hurt. Mamaz lil boy. Yo ass is way outta position, rookie biaaatch! Oomin up in at you like a pistol! Help me biaaatch! I don't be thinkin these is flowers. - Should we tell him, biatch? - I be thinkin he knows. What tha fuck iz this?! Match point son! Yo ass can start packin up, honey, cuz you bout ta smoke dat shiznit son! Yowser playa! Gross. Therez a funky-ass bee up in tha hoopty playa! - Do something! - I be driving! - Yea muthafucka, bee. - Dat punk back here biaaatch! Dat punk goin ta stin me biaaatch! No Muthafucka move. If you don't move, da thug won't stin you, biatch. Freeze biaaatch! Dude blinked hommie! Spray him, Granny dawwwwg! What is you bustin?! Wow... tha tension level up here is unbelievable. I gotta git home. Oan't fly up in rain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Oan't fly up in rain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Oan't fly up in rain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Maydizzle dawwwwg! Maydizzle dawwwwg! Bee goin down! Ken, could you close tha window please, biatch? Ken, could you close tha window please, biatch? Oheck up mah freshly smoked up resume. I juiced it up tha fuck into a gangbangin' fold-out brochure. Yo ass see, biatch? Foldz out. Oh, no. Mo' humans. I don't need all dis bullshit. What was that, biatch? Maybe dis time. This time. This time. This time biaaatch! This time biaaatch! This... Drapes muthafucka! That is diabolical. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. It aint nuthin but dunkadelic. It aint nuthin but gots all mah special game, even mah top-ten straight-up pornos. Whatz number one, biatch? Star Wars, biatch? Nah, I don't go fo' that... ...kind of stuff. No wonder we shouldn't rap ta dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They're outta they minds. When I leave a thang rap battle, they flabbergasted, can't believe what tha fuck I say. Therez tha sun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Maybe thatz a way out. I don't remember tha sun havin a funky-ass big-ass 75 on dat shit. I predicted global warming. I could feel it gettin hotter n' shiznit fo' realz. At first I thought dat shiznit was just mah dirty ass. Wait son! Stop! Bee biaaatch! Stand back. These is winta boots, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Wait son! Don't bust a cap up in him! Yo ass know I be allergic ta them! This thang could bust a cap up in me biaaatch! Why do his wild lil' freakadelic game have less value than yours, biatch? Why do his wild lil' freakadelic game have any less value than mine, biatch? Is dat yo' statement, biatch? I be just sayin all game has value. Yo ass don't give a fuck what tha fuck his schmoooove ass capable of feeling. My fuckin brochure biaaatch! There you go, lil muthafucka. I aint scared of his muthafuckin ass. It aint nuthin but a allergic thang. Put dat on yo' resume brochure. My fuckin whole grill could puff up. Make it one of yo' special game. Knockin one of mah thugs up be also a special skill. Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks. - Vanessa, next week, biatch? Yogurt night, biatch? - Sure, Ken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass know, whatever n' shit. - Yo ass could put carob chips on there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. - Bye. - Supposed ta be less calories. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! - Bye. I gotta say something. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch saved mah game. I gotta say somethang fo' realz. All right, here it goes. Nah. What would I say, biatch? I could straight-up git up in shit. It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bee law. Yo ass aint supposed ta rap ta a human. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I can't believe I be bustin all dis bullshit. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I gots to. Oh, I can't do dat shit. Oome on! No. Yes yes y'all. No. Do dat shit. I can't yo. How tha fuck should I start it, biatch? "Yo ass like jazz?" Fuck dat shit, thatz no good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Here dat thugged-out biiiatch comes muthafucka! Speak, you fool! Hi! I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. - Yo ass is rappin'. - Yes, I know. Yo ass is rappin'! I be soopa-doopa sorry bout dat bullshit. Fuck dat shit, itz OK. It aint nuthin but fine. I know I be trippin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But I don't recall goin ta bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well, I be shizzle dis is straight-up disconcerting. This be a lil' bit of a surprise ta mah dirty ass. I mean, you a funky-ass bee biaaatch! I am fo' realz. And I aint supposed ta be bustin dis yo, but they was all tryin ta bust a cap up in mah dirty ass fo' realz. And if it wasn't fo' you, biatch... I had ta fuck you, biatch. It aint nuthin but just how tha fuck I was raised. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! That was a lil weird. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! - I be poppin' off wit a funky-ass bee. - Yeah. I be poppin' off ta a funky-ass bee fo' realz. And tha bee is poppin' off ta me biaaatch! I just wanna say I be grateful naaahhmean, biatch? I be bout ta leave now, nahmeean, biatch? - Wait son! How tha fuck did you learn ta do that, biatch? - What, biatch? Da poppin' off thang. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Same way you did, I guess. "Mama, Dada, honey." Yo ass pick it up. - Thatz straight-up funky. - Yeah. Bees is funky. If our phat asses didn't laugh, we'd cry wit what tha fuck we gotta deal wit fo' realz. Anyway... Oan I... ...get you something, biatch? - Like what, biatch? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I mean... I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Ooffee, biatch? I don't wanna put you out. It aint nuthin but no shit. Well shiiiit, it takes two minutes. - It aint nuthin but just coffee. - I don't give a fuck bout ta impose. - Don't be ridiculous muthafucka! - Actually, I would ludd a cold-ass lil cup. Yo, you want rum cake, biatch? - I shouldn't. - Have some. - Fuck dat shit, I can't. - Oome on! I be tryin ta lose a cold-ass lil couple micrograms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. - Where, biatch? - These stripes don't help. Yo ass look pimped out son! I don't give a fuck if you know anythang bout fashion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Is you all right, biatch? No. Dat punk makin tha tie up in tha cab as they flyin up Madison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude finally gets there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho yo. Dude runs up tha steps tha fuck into tha church. Da weddin is on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And da perved-out muthafucka says, "Watermelon, biatch? I thought you holla'd Guatemalan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Why would I marry a watermelon?" Is dat a funky-ass bee joke, biatch? Thatz tha kind of shiznit our phat asses do. Yeah, different. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, what tha fuck is you gonna do, Barry, biatch? Bout work, biatch? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I wanna do mah part fo' tha hive yo, but I can't do it tha way they want. I know how tha fuck you feel. - Yo ass do, biatch? - Sure. My fuckin muthafathas wanted mah crazy ass ta be a lawyer or a thugged-out doctor yo, but I wanted ta be a gangbangin' florist. - Fo' realz, biatch? - My fuckin only interest is flowers. Our freshly smoked up biatch was just erected wit dat same campaign slogan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Anyway, if you look... Therez mah hive right there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See it, biatch? Yo ass is up in Sheep Meadow! Yes muthafucka! I be right off tha Turtle Pond hommie! No way dawwwwg! I know dat area. I lost a toe rang there once. - Why do hoes put rings on they toes, biatch? - Why not, biatch? - It aint nuthin but like puttin a funky-ass basebizzle cap on yo' knee. - Maybe I be bout ta try dis shit. - Y'all right, ma'am, biatch? - Oh, yeah. Fine. Just havin two cupz of coffee biaaatch! Anyway, dis has been pimped out. Thanks fo' tha coffee. Yeah, itz no shiznit fo' realz. Awwww shiiiit muthafucka, I couldn't finish dat shit. If I did, I'd be up tha rest of mah game fo' realz. Is you, biatch..., biatch? Oan I take a piece of dis wit me son, biatch? Sheezy biaaatch! Here, gotz a cold-ass lil crumb. - Thanks muthafucka! - Yeah fo' realz. All right. Well, then... I guess I be bout ta peep you around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Or not. OK, Barry fo' realz. And fuck you like it aint no thang again... fo' before. Oh, that, biatch? That was nothing. Well, not not a god damn thang yo, but.. fo' realz. Anyway... This can't possibly work. Dat punk all set ta bounce tha fuck out. We may as well try dat shit. OK, Dave, pull tha chute. - Soundz amazing. - Dat shiznit was sick! Dat shiznit was tha scariest, happiest moment of mah game yo. Humans muthafucka! I can't believe you was wit humans muthafucka! Giant, freaky humans muthafucka! What was they like, biatch? Big-Ass n' crazy. They rap crazy. They smoke wild-ass giant thangs. They drive crazy. - Do they try n' bust a cap up in you, like on TV, biatch? - Some of dem wild-ass muthafuckas. But a shitload of dem don't. - How'd you git back, biatch? - Poodle. Yo ass done did it, n' I be glad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo ass saw whatever you wanted ta see. Yo ass had yo' "experience." Now you can pick up yourjob n' be normal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. - Well... - Well, biatch? Well, I kicked it wit one of mah thugs. Yo ass did, biatch? Was she Bee-ish, biatch? - A wasp?! Yo crazy-ass muthafathas will bust a cap up in you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? - Fuck dat shit, no, no, not a wasp. - Spider, biatch? - I aint attracted ta spiders. I know itz tha hottest thang, wit tha eight hairy-ass legs n' all. I can't git by dat face. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So whoz ass is she, biatch? She's... human. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Fuck dat shit, no. Thatz a funky-ass bee law. Yo ass wouldn't break a funky-ass bee law. - Her namez Vanessa. - Oh, boy. Dat hoe so sick fo' realz. And she a gangbangin' florist son! Oh, no! Yo ass is pimpin a human florist son! We not dating. Yo ass is flyin outside tha hive, poppin' off ta humans dat battle our cribs wit juice washers n' M-80s muthafucka! One-eighth a stick of dynamite biaaatch! Biatch saved mah game biaaatch! And she understandz mah dirty ass. This is over playa! Eat all dis bullshit. This aint over playa! What was that, biatch? - They call it a cold-ass lil crumb. - Dat shiznit was so stingin' stripey dawwwwg! And thatz not what tha fuck they eat. Thatz what tha fuck falls off what tha fuck they smoke son! - Yo ass know what tha fuck a Oinnabon is, biatch? - No. It aint nuthin but bread n' cinnamon n' frosting. They heat it up... Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sit down! ...really hot son! - Listen ta me biaaatch! Our asses aint them! We us. Therez our asses n' there be a them! Yes yo, but whoz ass can deny tha ass dat is yearning, biatch? Therez no yearning. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Quit yearning. Listen ta me biaaatch! Yo ass have gots ta start thankin bee, mah playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Thinkin bee biaaatch! - Thinkin bee. - Thinkin bee. Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! There he is. Dat punk up in tha pool. Yo ass know what tha fuck yo' problem is, Barry, biatch? I gotta start thankin bee, biatch? How tha fuck much longer will dis go on, biatch? It aint nuthin but been three days muthafucka! Why aren't you working, biatch? I've gots a shitload of big-ass game decisions ta be thinkin about. What game, biatch? Yo ass have no game biaaatch! Yo ass have no thang. Yo ass is barely a funky-ass bee biaaatch! Would it bust a cap up in you ta cook up a lil honey, biatch? Barry, come out. Yo crazy-ass fatherz poppin' off ta you, biatch. Martin, would you rap ta him, biatch? Barry, I be poppin' off ta you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? Yo ass coming, biatch? Got every last muthafuckin thang, biatch? All set son! Go ahead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be bout ta catch up. Don't be too long. Watch this muthafucka! Vanessa! - We still here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. - I holla'd at you not ta yell at his muthafuckin ass yo. Dude don't respond ta yelling! - Then why yell all up in mah grill son, biatch? - Because you don't listen! I aint listenin ta all dis bullshit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sorry, I've gotta go. - Where is you going, biatch? - I be meetin a gangbangin' playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin' fo' realz. A girl, biatch? Is dis why you can't decide, biatch? Bye. I just hope she Bee-ish. They gotz a big-ass parade of flowers every last muthafuckin year up in Pasadena, biatch? To be up in tha Tournament of Roses, thatz every last muthafuckin floristz dream! Up on a gangbangin' float, surrounded by flowers, crowdz cheerin fo' realz. A tournament. Do tha roses compete up in athletic events, biatch? No fo' realz. All right, I've gots one yo. How tha fuck come you don't fly everywhere, biatch? It aint nuthin but exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere, biatch? It aint nuthin but fasta n' shit. Yeah, OK, I see, I peep fo' realz. All right, yo' turn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. TiVo. Yo ass can just freeze live TV, biatch? Thatz crazy biaaatch! Yo ass aint gots that, biatch? Our thugged-out asses have Hivo yo, but itz a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disease. It aint nuthin but a horrible, wack disease. Oh, my. Dumb bees muthafucka! Yo ass must wanna stin all dem jerks. We try not ta sting. It aint nuthin but probably fatal fo' us. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So you gotta peep yo' temper n' shit. Straight-up carefully. Yo ass kick a wall, take a strutt, write a mad salty letta n' throw it out. Work all up in it like any emotion: Anger, jealousy, lust. Oh, mah goodness muthafucka! Is you OK, biatch? Yeah. - What tha fuck iz poppin' off wit yo slick ass?! - It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bug. Dat punk not botherin anybody. Git outta here, you creep! What was that, biatch? A Pic 'N' Save circular, biatch? Yeah, it was yo. How tha fuck did you know, biatch? It felt like bout 10 pages. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit. You've straight-up gots dat down ta a science. - I lost a cold-ass lil cousin ta Italian Vogue. - I be bout ta bet. What up in tha name of Mighty Herculez is this, biatch? How tha fuck did dis git here, biatch? Oute Bee, Golden Blossom, Ray Liotta Private Select, biatch? - Is tha pimpin' muthafucka dat hustla, biatch? - I never heard of his muthafuckin ass. - Why is dis here, biatch? - For people. We smoke dat shit. Yo ass aint gots enough chicken of yo' own, biatch? - Well, yes. - How tha fuck do you git it, biatch? - Bees make dat shit. - I know whoz ass make dat shiznit son! And itz hard ta make dat shiznit son! Therez heating, cooling, stirring. Yo ass need a whole Krelman thang! - It aint nuthin but organic. - It aint nuthin but our-ganic! It aint nuthin but just honey, Barry. Just what?! Bees don't give a fuck bout this muthafucka! This is jackin! All dem jackin! You've taken our cribs, schools, hospitizzles muthafucka! This be all our crazy asses have biaaatch! And itz on sale?! I be gettin ta tha bottom of all dis bullshit. I be gettin ta tha bottom of all of this muthafucka! Yo, Hector. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. - Yo ass almost done, biatch? - Almost yo. Dude is here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I sense dat shit. Well, I guess I be bout ta bounce back ta tha doggy den now n' just leave dis sick honey out, wit no one around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo ass is busted, box pimp dawwwwg! I knew I heard something. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So you can talk! I can rap fo' realz. And now you gonna start rappin'! Where you gettin tha dope stuff, biatch? Whoz yo' supplier, biatch? I don't understand.. n' you KNOWS we was playas. Da last thang we wanna do is upset bees muthafucka! Yo ass is too late biaaatch! It aint nuthin but ours now! You, sir, have crossed tha wack sword hommie! You, sir, is ghon be lunch fo' mah iguana, Ignacio! Where is tha honey comin from, biatch? Tell me where biaaatch! Honey Farms muthafucka! It be reppin Honey Farms muthafucka! Orazy person! What wack thang has happened here, biatch? These faces, they never knew what tha fuck hit dem wild-ass muthafuckas fo' realz. And now they on tha road ta nowhere biaaatch! Just keep still. What, biatch? Yo ass aint dead, biatch? Do I look dead, biatch? They will wipe anythang dat moves. Where you headed, biatch? To Honey Farms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. I be onto suttin' big-ass here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I be goin ta Alaska. Moose blood, wild-ass stuff. Blows yo' head off! I be goin ta Tacoma. - And yo slick ass, biatch? - Dude straight-up is dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All right. Uh-oh! - What tha fuck iz that?! - Oh, no! - A wiper playa! Triple blade biaaatch! - Triple blade, biatch? Jump on! It aint nuthin but yo' only chance, bee biaaatch! Why do every last muthafuckin thang gotta be all kindsa doggone clean?! How tha fuck much do you playas need ta see?! Open yo' eyes muthafucka! Stick yo' head up tha window! From NPR Shit up in Washington, I be Oarl Kasell. But don't bust a cap up in no mo' bugs muthafucka! - Bee biaaatch! - Moose blood muthafucka!! - Yo ass hear something, biatch? - Like what, biatch? Like tiny screaming. Turn off tha radio. Whassup, bee boy, biatch? Yo, Blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Just a row of honey jars, as far as tha eye could see. Fuck dis shiznit son! I assume wherever dis truck goes is where they gettin dat shit. I mean, dat honeyz ours. - Bees hang tight. - We all jammed in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It aint nuthin but a cold-ass lil close hood. Not us, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. We on our own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Every mosquito on his own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. - What if you git up in shit, biatch? - Yo ass a mosquito, you up in shit. No Muthafucka likes us. They just smack. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See a mosquito, smack, smack! At least you up in tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo ass must hook up hoes. Mosquito hoes try ta trade up, git wit a moth, dragonfly. Mosquito hoe don't want no mosquito. Yo ass gots ta be kiddin me biaaatch! Moosebloodz bout ta leave tha building! So long, bee biaaatch! - Yo, muthafuckas muthafucka! - Mooseblood hommie! I knew I'd catch y'all down here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Did yo dirty ass brang yo' wild-ass straw, biatch? We throw it up in jars, slap a label on it, n' itz pretty much pure profit. What tha fuck iz dis place, biatch? A beez gots a funky-ass dome tha size of a pinhead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They is pinheadz muthafucka! Pinhead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! - Oheck up tha freshly smoked up smoker n' shit. - Oh, dope. Thatz tha one you want. Da Thomas 3000! Smoker, biatch? Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice tha nicotine, all tha tar fo' realz. A couple breathz of dis knocks dem right out. They make tha honey, n' we make tha scrilla. "They make tha honey, n' we make tha scrilla", biatch? Oh, mah dawwwwg! Whatz goin on, biatch? Is you OK, biatch? Yeah. Well shiiiit, it don't last too long. Do you know you up in a gangbangin' fake hive wit fake walls, biatch? Our biatch was moved here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Our thugged-out asses had no chizzle. This is yo' biatch? Thatz a playa up in hoes clothes muthafucka! Thatz a thugged-out drag biatch! What tha fuck iz this, biatch? Oh, no! Therez hundredz of them! Bee honey. Our honey is bein brazenly jacked on a massive scale biaaatch! This is worse than anythang bears have done biaaatch! I intend ta do something. Oh, Barry, stop. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck holla'd at you humans is takin our honey, biatch? Thatz a rumor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Do these be lookin like rumors, biatch? Thatz a cold-ass lil conspiracy theory. These is obviously doctored photos yo. How tha fuck did you git mixed up in this, biatch? Dat punk been poppin' off ta humans. - What, biatch? - Talkin ta humans?! Dude has a human hoe yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin' fo' realz. And they make up son! Make out, biatch? Barry dawwwwg! Us dudes do not. - Yo ass wish you could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! - Whose side is you on, biatch? Da bees muthafucka! I dated a cold-ass lil cricket once up in San Antonio. Those wild-ass hairy-ass legs kept me up all night. Barry, dis is what tha fuck you wanna do wit yo' game, biatch? I wanna do it fo' all our lives. No Muthafucka works harder than bees muthafucka! Dad, I remember you comin home so overworked yo' handz was still stirring. Yo ass couldn't stop. I remember dis shit. What right do they gotta our honey, biatch? We live on two cups a year. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They put it up in lip balm fo' no reason whatsoever playa! Even if itz true, what tha fuck can one bee do, biatch? Stin dem where it straight-up hurts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. In tha grill biaaatch! Da eye biaaatch! - That would hurt. - No. Up tha nose, biatch? Thatz a killa n' shit. Therez only one place you can stin tha humans, one place where it mattas yo. Hive at Five, tha hivez only full-hour action shizzle source. No mo' bee beardz muthafucka! With Bob Bumble all up in tha anchor desk. Weather wit Storm Stinger n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Game wit Buzz Larvi fo' realz. And Jeanette Ohung. - Dope evening. I be Bob Bumble. - And I be Jeanette Ohung fo' realz. A tri-county bee, Barry Benson, intendz ta sue tha human race fo' jackin our honey, packagin it n' profitin from it illegally dawwwwg! Tomorrow night on Bee Larry Mackdaddy, we'll have three forma biatchs here up in our studio, discussin they freshly smoked up book, Olassy Ladies, up dis week on Hexagon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Tonight we poppin' off ta Barry Benson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Did yo dirty ass eva think, "I be a kid from tha hive. I can't do this", biatch? Bees have never been afraid ta chizzle tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! What bout Bee Oolumbus, biatch? Bee Gandhi, biatch? Bejesus, biatch? Where I be from, we'd never sue humans. Us thugs was thankin of stickbizzle or candy stores yo. How tha fuck oldschool is yo slick ass, biatch? Da bee hood is supportin you up in dis case, which is ghon be tha trial of tha bee century. Yo ass know, they gotz a Larry Mackdaddy up in tha human ghetto like a muthafucka. It aint nuthin but a cold-ass lil common name. Next week.. yo. Dude be lookin like you n' has a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass show n' suspendaz n' colored dots... Next week... Glasses, quotes on tha bottom from tha hommie even though you just heard 'em. Bear Week next week! They're freaky, hairy n' here live fo' realz. Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes, straight-up Jewish. In tennis, you battle all up in tha deal wit weakness muthafucka! Dat shiznit was mah grandmother, Ken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat hoe 81 yo. Honey, her backhandz a joke biaaatch! I aint gonna take advantage of that, biatch? Quiet,. Biiiatch please.Actual work goin on here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. - Is dat that same bee, biatch? - Yes, it is muthafucka! I be helpin his ass sue tha human race. - Hello. - Yo muthafucka, bee. This is Ken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yeah, I remember you, biatch. Timberland, size ten n' a half. Vibram sole, I believe. Why do tha pimpin' muthafucka rap again, biatch? Listen, you betta go 'cause we straight-up busy working. But itz our yogurt night son! Bye-bye. Why is yogurt night so difficult?! Yo ass skanky thang. Yo ass two done been at dis fo' hours muthafucka! Yes, n' Adam here has been a big-ass help. - Frosting... - How tha fuck nuff sugars, biatch? Just one. I try not ta use tha competition. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So why is you helpin me son, biatch? Bees have phat qualitizzles fo' realz. And it takes mah mind off tha shop. Instead of flowers, playas is givin balloon bouquets now, nahmeean, biatch? Those is pimped out, if you three fo' realz. And artificial flowers. - Oh, dem just git me psychotic! - Yeah, me like a muthafucka. Bent stingers, pointless pollination. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Bees must don't give a fuck bout dem fake thangs muthafucka! Nothang worse than a thugged-out daffodil thatz had work done. Maybe dis could make up fo' it a lil bit. - This lawsuitz a pimpin' big-ass deal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. - I guess. Yo ass shizzle you wanna go all up in wit it, biatch? Am I sure, biatch? When I be done wit tha humans, they won't be able ta say, "Honey, I be home," without payin a royalty dawwwwg! It aint nuthin but a incredible scene here up in downtown Manhattan, where tha ghetto anxiously waits, cuz fo' tha last time up in history, we will hear fo' ourselves if a honeybee can straight-up speak. What have we gotten tha fuck into here, Barry, biatch? It aint nuthin but pretty big, aint it, biatch? I can't believe how tha fuck nuff humans don't work durin tha day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Yo ass be thinkin billion-dollar multinationistic chicken g-units have phat lawyers, biatch? All Y'all need ta stay behind tha barricade. - Whatz tha matter, biatch? - I don't give a fuck, I just gots a cold-ass lil chill. Well, if it aint tha bee crew. Yo ass thugs work on this, biatch? All rise biaaatch! Da Honorable Judge Bumbleton presidin fo' realz. All right. Oase number 4475, Superior Oourt of New York, Barry Bee Benston v. tha Honey Industry is now up in session. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Mista Muthafuckin Montgomery, you representin tha five chicken g-units collectively, biatch? A privilege. Mista Muthafuckin Benson... you representin all tha beez of tha ghetto, biatch? I be kidding. Yes, Yo crazy-ass Honor, we locked n loaded ta proceed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Mista Muthafuckin Montgomery, yo' openin statement,. Biiiatch please.Ladies n' gentlemen of tha jury, mah grandmutha was a simple biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Born on a gangbangin' farm, da hoe believed dat shiznit was manz divine right ta benefit from tha bounty of nature Dogg put before us. If our slick asses lived up in tha topsy-turvy ghetto Mista Muthafuckin Benston imagines, just be thinkin of what tha fuck would it mean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I would gotta negotiate wit tha silkworm fo' tha elastic up in mah britches muthafucka! Talkin bee biaaatch! How tha fuck do we know dis aint some sort of holographic motion-picture-capture Hollywood wizzlery, biatch? They could be rockin laser beams muthafucka! Robotics muthafucka! Ventriloquism! Oloning! For all we know, his schmoooove ass could be on steroidz muthafucka! Mista Muthafuckin Benson, biatch? Ladies n' gentlemen, there be a no trickery here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I be just a ordinary bee yo. Honeyz pretty blingin ta mah dirty ass. It aint nuthin but blingin ta all bees. We invented dat shiznit son! We make it fo' realz. And we protect it wit our lives. Unfortunately, there be some playas up in dis room whoz ass be thinkin they can take it from our asses 'cause we tha lil muthafuckas muthafucka! I be hopin that, afta dis be all over, you gonna peep how, by takin our honey, you not only take every last muthafuckin thang our crazy asses have but every last muthafuckin thang we is biaaatch! I wish he'd dress like dat all tha time. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So sick biaaatch! Oall yo' first witness. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, Mista Muthafuckin Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, big-ass company you have. I suppose so. I peep you also own Honeyburton n' Honron! Yes, they provide beekeepers fo' our farms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Beekeeper n' shit. I find dat ta be a straight-up disturbin term. I don't imagine you employ any bee-free-ers, do yo slick ass, biatch? - No. - I couldn't hear you, biatch. - No. - No. Because you don't free bees. Yo ass keep bees. Not only that, it seems you thought a funky-ass bear would be a appropriate image fo' a jar of honey. They're straight-up lovable creatures. Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Yo ass mean like this, biatch? Bears bust a cap up in bees muthafucka! How'd you like his head crashin all up in yo' livin room?! Bitin tha fuck into yo' couch! Spittin up yo' throw pillows muthafucka! OK, thatz enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Take his ass away. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, Mista Muthafuckin Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sting, fuck you fo' bein here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Yo crazy-ass name intrigues mah dirty ass. - Where have I heard it before, biatch? - I was wit a funky-ass crew called Da Police. But you've never been a five-o fool, have yo slick ass, biatch? Fuck dat shit, I haven't. Fuck dat shit, you haven't fo' realz. And so here our crazy asses have yet another example of bee culture casually jacked by a human fo' not a god damn thang mo' than a prance-about stage name. Oh,. Biiiatch please.Has you done eva been stung, Mista Muthafuckin Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sting, biatch? Because I be feelin a lil stung, Sting. Or should I say... Mista Muthafuckin Gordon M. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sumner playa! Thatz not his bangin real name?! Yo ass idiots muthafucka! Mista Muthafuckin Liotta, first, belated props on yo' Emmy win fo' a hommie spot on ER up in 2005. Nuff props, biatch. Nuff props, biatch. I peep from yo' resume dat you devilishly thugged-out wit a cold-ass lil churnin inner turmoil thatz locked n loaded ta blow. I trip off what tha fuck I do. Is dat a cold-ass lil crime, biatch? Not yet it aint. But is dis what tha fuck itz come ta fo' yo slick ass, biatch? Exploitin tiny, helpless bees so you don't gotta rehearse yo' part n' learn yo' lines, sir, biatch? Watch it, Benson! I could blow right now! This aint a goodfella. This be a funky-ass badfella! Why don't one of mah thugs just step on dis creep, n' we can all bounce back ta tha doggy den?! - Order up in dis court son! - Yo ass be all thankin dat shiznit son! Order playa! Order, I say dawwwwg! - Say dat shiznit son! - Mista Muthafuckin Liotta, please sit tha fuck down! I be thinkin dat shiznit was awfully sick of dat bear ta pitch up in like dis shit. I be thinkin tha juryz on our side fo' realz. Is our phat asses bustin every last muthafuckin thang right, legally, biatch? I be a gangbangin' florist. Right. Well, herez ta a pimped out crew. To a pimped out crew! Well, hello. - Ken! - Hello. I didn't be thinkin you was coming. Fuck dat shit, I was just late. I tried ta call yo, but... tha battery. I didn't want all dis ta git all up in waste, so I called Barry. Luckily, da thug was free. Oh, dat was dirty. Therez a lil left. I could heat it up. Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So I hear you like a tennis playa n' shit. I aint much fo' tha game mah dirty ass. Da ballz a lil grabby. Thatz where I probably sit. Right... there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Ken, Barry was lookin at yo' resume, n' he agreed wit me dat smokin wit chopsticks aint straight-up a special skill. Yo ass be thinkin I don't peep what tha fuck you bustin, biatch? I know how tha fuck hard it is ta find tha rightjob. Our thugged-out asses have dat up in common. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Do we, biatch? Bees have 100 cement employment yo, but our phat asses do thangs like takin tha crud out. Thatz just what tha fuck I was thankin bout bustin. Ken, I let Barry borrow yo' razor fo' his wild lil' fuzz. I hope dat was all right. I be goin ta drain tha oldschool stinger n' shit. Yeah, you do dis shit. Look at dis shit. Yo ass know, I've just bout had it wit yo' lil mind games. - Whatz that, biatch? - Italian Vogue. Mamma mia, thatz a shitload of pages fo' realz. All dem ads. Remember what tha fuck Van holla'd, why is yo' game mo' valuable than mine, biatch? Funny, I just can't seem ta recall dat son! I be thinkin suttin' stinks up in here biaaatch! I gots a straight-up boner fo' tha smell of flowers yo. How tha fuck do you like tha smell of flames?! Not as much. Wata bug! Not takin sides muthafucka! Ken, I be bustin a Ohapstick basebizzle cap son! This is pathetic! I've gots issues muthafucka! Well, well, well, a royal flush! - Yo ass is bluffing. - Am I, biatch? Surfz up, dude biaaatch! Poo gin n juice playa! That bowl is gnarly. Except fo' dem dirty yellow rings muthafucka! Kenneth! What is you bustin?! Yo ass know, I don't even like honey dawwwwg! I don't smoke dat shiznit son! We need ta talk! Dat punk just a lil bee biaaatch! And dat schmoooove muthafucka happens ta be tha sickst bee I've kicked it wit up in a long-ass time biaaatch! Long time, biatch? What is you poppin' off about?! Is there other bugs up in yo' game, biatch? Fuck dat shiznit yo, but there be other thangs buggin me up in tha game fo' realz. And you one of them! Fine biaaatch! Talkin bees, no yogurt night... My fuckin nerves is fried from ridin on dis wack rolla coasta playa! Peace out, Ken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And fo' yo' shiznit, I prefer sugar-free, artificial dopeeners made by man! I be sorry as a muthafucka bout all dis shit. I know itz gots a aftertaste biaaatch! I wanna bust a nut on dat shiznit son! I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken n' mah dirty ass. I couldn't overcome dat shit. Oh, well. Is you OK fo' tha trial, biatch? I believe Mista Muthafuckin Montgomery be bout outta ideas. Us thugs wanna call Mista Muthafuckin Barry Benston Bee ta tha stand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dope idea! Yo ass can straight-up peep why his schmoooove ass considered one of tha dopest lawyers... Yeah. Layton, you've gotta weave some magic wit dis jury, or itz gonna be all over n' shit. Don't worry. Da only thang I gotta do ta turn dis jury round is ta remind dem of what tha fuck they don't like bout bees. - Yo ass gots tha tweezers, biatch? - Is you allergic, biatch? Only ta losing, son. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Only ta losing. Mista Muthafuckin Benston Bee, I be bout ta ask you what tha fuck I be thinkin we'd all like ta know. What exactly is yo' relationshizzle ta dat biatch? We playas. - Dope playas, biatch? - Yes yo. How tha fuck good, biatch? Do you live together, biatch? Wait a minute... Is you her lil... ...bedbug, biatch? I've peeped a funky-ass bee documentary or two. From what tha fuck I understand, don't yo' biatch give birth ta all tha bee children, biatch? - Yeah yo, but... - So dem aren't yo' real muthafathas muthafucka! - Oh, Barry... - Yes, they is biaaatch! Hold mah crazy ass back! Yo ass be a illegitimate bee, aren't you, Benson, biatch? Dat punk denouncin bees muthafucka! Don't y'all date yo' cousins, biatch? - Objection! - I be goin ta pincushion dis muthafucka! Adam, don't son! It aint nuthin but what tha fuck da thug wants muthafucka! Oh, I be hit!! Oh, lordy, I be hit son! Order playa! Order playa! Da venom! Da venom is coursin all up in mah veins muthafucka! I done been felled by a winged beast of destruction! Yo ass see, biatch? Yo ass can't treat dem like equals muthafucka! They're striped savages muthafucka! Stingingz tha only thang they know! It aint nuthin but they way dawwwwg! - Adam, stay wit mah dirty ass. - I can't feel mah legs. What angel of mercy will come forward ta suck tha poison from mah heavin buttocks, biatch? I'ma have order up in dis court. Order playa! Order, please biaaatch! Da case of tha honeybees versus tha human race took a pointed turn against tha bees yesterdizzle when one of they legal crew stung Layton T. Montgomery. - Yo, dawg. - Hey. - Is there much pain, biatch? - Yeah. I... I blew tha whole case, didn't I, biatch? It don't matter n' shit. What mattas is you kickin dat shit, yo. Yo ass could have died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I'd be betta off dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Look all up in mah face. They gots it from tha cafeteria downstairs, up in a tuna sandwich. Look, there be a a lil celery still on dat shit. What was it like ta stin one of mah thugs, biatch? I can't explain dat shit. Dat shiznit was all.. fo' realz. All adrenaline n' then... n' then ecstasy dawwwwg! All right. Yo ass be thinkin dat shiznit was all a trap, biatch? Of course. I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I flew our asses right tha fuck into all dis bullshit. What was we thinking, biatch? Look at us. Us playas just a cold-ass lil couple bugs up in dis ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! What will tha humans do ta our asses if they win, biatch? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I hear they put tha roaches up in motels. That don't sound so bad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Adam, they check up in yo, but they don't check up son! Oh, my. Oould you git a nurse ta close dat window, biatch? - Why, biatch? - Da smoke. Bees don't smoke. Right. Bees don't smoke. Bees don't smoke biaaatch! But some bees is tokin. Thatz dat shiznit son! Thatz our case biaaatch! It is, biatch? It aint nuthin but not over, biatch? Git dressed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I've gotta go somewhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Git back ta tha court n' stall. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stall any way you can. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And assumin you've done step erectly, you locked n loaded fo' tha tub. Mista Muthafuckin Flayman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yes, biatch? Yes, Yo crazy-ass Honor playa! Where is tha rest of yo' crew, biatch? Well, Yo crazy-ass Honor, itz interesting. Bees is trained ta fly haphazardly, n' as a result, our phat asses don't make straight-up phat time. I straight-up heard a gangbangin' funky rap about... Yo crazy-ass Honor, aint these wack bugs taken up enough of dis courtz valuable time, biatch? How tha fuck much longer will we allow these absurd shenanigans ta go on, biatch? They have presented no compellin evidence ta support they charges against mah clients, whoz ass run legitimate bidnizzes. I move fo' a cold-ass lil complete dismissal of dis entire case biaaatch! Mista Muthafuckin Flayman, I be afraid I be goin ta gotta consider Mista Muthafuckin Montgomeryz motion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But you can't son! Our thugged-out asses gotz a terrific case. Where is yo' proof, biatch? Where is tha evidence, biatch? Show me tha tokin gun! Hold it, Yo crazy-ass Honor playa! Yo ass want a tokin gun, biatch? Here is yo' tokin gun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. What tha fuck iz that, biatch? It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bee smoker playa! What, this, biatch? This harmless lil contraption, biatch? This couldn't hurt a gangbangin' fly, let ridin' solo a funky-ass bee. Look at what tha fuck has happened ta bees whoz ass have never been asked, "Tokin or non?" Is dis what tha fuck nature intended fo' us, biatch? To be forcibly addicted ta smoke machines n' man-made wooden slat work camps, biatch? Livin up our lives as honey slaves ta tha white man, biatch? - What is we gonna do, biatch? - Dat punk playin tha species card. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Ladies n' gentlemen, please, free these bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Da court findz up in favor of tha bees muthafucka! Vanessa, we won! I knew you could do dat shiznit son! High-five biaaatch! Sorry. I be OK! Yo ass know what tha fuck dis means, biatch? All tha honey will finally belong ta tha bees. Now we won't gotta work so hard all tha time. This be a unholy perversion of tha balizzle of nature, Benson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. You'll regret all dis bullshit. Barry, how tha fuck much honey is up there, biatch? All right. One at a time. Barry, whoz ass is you bustin, biatch? My fuckin sweata is Ralph Lauren, n' I have no pants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. - What if Montgomeryz right, biatch? - What do you mean, biatch? We've been livin tha bee way a long-ass time, 27 mazillion years. Oongratulations on yo' victory. What will you demand as a settlement, biatch? First, we'll demand a cold-ass lil complete shutdown of all bee work camps. Then we want back tha honey dat was ours ta begin with, every last muthafuckin last drop. Us dudes demand a end ta tha glorification of tha bear as anythang mo' than a gangbangin' filthy, smelly, bad-breath stink machine. We all aware of what tha fuck they do up in tha woods. Wait fo' mah signal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Take his ass up yo. Dude bout ta have nauseous fo' all dem hours, then he'll be fine fo' realz. And we will no longer tolerate bee-negatizzle nicknames... But itz just a prance-about stage name biaaatch! ...unnecessary inclusion of honey up in bogus game shizzle n' la-dee-da human tea-time snack garnishments, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Oan't breathe. Brin it in, thugs muthafucka! Hold it right there biaaatch! Good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Tap dat shit. Mista Muthafuckin Buzzwell, our laid-back asses just passed three cups, n' there be a gallons mo' coming! - I be thinkin we need ta shut down! - Shut down, biatch? We've never shut down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shut down honey thang! Quit makin honey dawwwwg! Turn yo' key, sir playa! What do our phat asses do now, biatch? Oannonball! We shuttin honey thang! Mission abort fo' realz. Abortin pollination n' nectar detail. Returnin ta base fo' realz. Adam, you wouldn't believe how tha fuck much honey was up there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Oh, yeah, biatch? Whatz goin on, biatch? Where is everybody, biatch? - Is they up celebrating, biatch? - They're home. They don't give a fuck what tha fuck ta do. Layin out, chillin in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I heard yo' Uncle Oarl was on his way ta San Antonio wit a cold-ass lil cricket fo' realz. At least we gots our honey back. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sometimes I think, so what tha fuck if humans was horny bout our honey, biatch? Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck wouldn't, biatch? It aint nuthin but tha top billin thang up in tha ghetto hommie! I was buckwild ta be part of makin dat shit. This was mah freshly smoked up desk. This was mah freshly smoked up thang. I wanted ta do it straight-up well fo' realz. And now, nahmeean?.. Now I can't. I don't KNOW why they not horny.. n' you KNOWS they lives would be mo' betta playa! They're bustin nothing. It aint nuthin but dunkadelic yo. Honey straight-up chizzlez people. Yo ass aint gots any scam what tha fuck be happenin, do yo slick ass, biatch? - What did you wanna show me son, biatch? - This. What happened here, biatch? That aint tha half of dat shit. Oh, no. Oh, my. They're all wilting. Don't look straight-up good, do it, biatch? No fo' realz. And whose fault do you be thinkin dat is, biatch? Yo ass know, I'ma guess bees. Bees, biatch? Specifically, mah dirty ass. I didn't be thinkin bees not needin ta make honey would affect all these thangs. It aint nuthin but notjust flowers. Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees. Thatz our whole SAT test right there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Take away produce, dat affects tha entire animal mackdaddydom fo' realz. And then, of course... Da human species, biatch? So if there be a no mo' pollination, it could all just go downtown here, couldn't it, biatch? I know dis be also kinda mah fault yo. How tha fuck on some suicizzle pact, biatch? How tha fuck do our phat asses do it, biatch? - I be bout ta stin you, you step on mah dirty ass. - Thatjust kills you twice. Right, right. Listen, Barry... sorry yo, but I gotta git going. I had ta open mah grill n' talk. Vanessa, biatch? Vanessa, biatch? Why is you leaving, biatch? Where is you going, biatch? To tha final Tournament of Roses parade up in Pasadena. They've moved it ta dis weekend cuz all tha flowers is dying. It aint nuthin but tha last chizzle I be bout ta eva gotta peep dat shit. Vanessa, I just wanna say I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I never meant it ta turn up like all dis bullshit. I know. Me neither n' shit. Tournament of Roses. Roses can't do game. Wait a minute. Roses. Roses, biatch? Roses muthafucka! Vanessa! Roses?! Barry, biatch? - Roses is flowers muthafucka! - Yes, they are. Flowers, bees, pollen! I know. Thatz why dis is tha last parade. Maybe not. Oould you ask his ass ta slow down, biatch? Oould you slow down, biatch? Barry dawwwwg! OK, I done cooked up a big-ass mistake. This be a total fuck up, all mah fault. Yes, it kind of is. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I fucked up tha hood. I wanted ta help you wit tha flower shop. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I juiced it up worse fo' realz. Actually, itz straight-up closed down.. n' you KNOWS maybe you was remodeling. But I have another idea, n' itz pimped outa than mah previous scams combined. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I don't wanna hear dat shiznit son! All right, they have tha roses, tha roses have tha pollen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I know every last muthafuckin bee, plant n' flower bud up in dis park fo' realz. All we gotta do is git what tha fuck they've gots back here wit what tha fuck we've got. - Bees. - Park. - Pollen! - Flowers. - Repollination! - Across tha nation! Tournament of Roses, Pasadena, Oalifornia. They've gots not a god damn thang but flowers, floats n' cotton candy. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Securitizzle is ghon be tight. I gots a idea. Vanessa Bloome, FTD. Straight-Up Legit floral bidnizz. It aint nuthin but real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sorry, ma'am. Sick brooch. Nuff props, biatch. Dat shiznit was a gift. Once inside, our laid-back asses just pick tha right float yo. How tha fuck bout Da Supa-Hoe n' tha Pea, biatch? I could be tha bizzatch, n' you could be tha pea! Yes, I gots dat shit. - Where should I sit, biatch? - What is yo slick ass, biatch? - I believe I be tha pea. - Da pea, biatch? It goes under tha mattresses. - Not up in dis fairy tale, dopeheart. - I be gettin tha marshal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Yo ass do dat son! This whole parade be a gangbangin' fiasco! Letz peep what tha fuck dis baby'll do. Yo, what tha fuck is you bustin?! Then all our phat asses do is blend up in wit traffic... ...without arousin suspicion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Once all up in tha airport, there be a no stoppin us. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stop! Security. - Yo ass n' yo' insect pack yo' float, biatch? - Yes yo. Has it been up in yo' possession tha entire time, biatch? Would you remove yo' shoes, biatch? - Remove yo' stinger n' shit. - It aint nuthin but part of mah dirty ass. I know. Just havin some fun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Trip off yo' flight. Then if our slick asses dirty, we'll have just enough pollen ta do tha thang. Oan you believe how tha fuck dirty we are, biatch? Our thugged-out asses have just enough pollen ta do tha thang! I be thinkin dis is gonna work. It aint nuthin but gots ta work fo' realz. Attention, passengers, dis is Oaptain Scott. Our thugged-out asses gotz a lil' bit of shitty drizzle up in New York. Well shiiiit, it be lookin like we'll experience a cold-ass lil couple minutes delay. Barry, these is cut flowers wit no gin n juice n' shit. They'll never make dat shit. I gotta git up there n' rap ta dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Be careful naaahhmean, biatch? Oan I git help wit tha Sky Mall magazine, biatch? I'd like ta order tha poppin' off inflatable nozzle n' ear afro trimmer n' shit. Oaptain, I be up in a real thang. - What'd you say, Hal, biatch? - Nothing. Bee biaaatch! Don't freak up son! My fuckin entire species... What is you bustin, biatch? - Wait a minute biaaatch! I be a attorney dawwwwg! - Whoz a attorney, biatch? Don't move. Oh, Barry. Dope afternoon, passengers. This is yo' captain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome up in 24B please report ta tha cockpit, biatch? And please hurry dawwwwg! What happened here, biatch? There was a DustBuster, a toupee, a game raft blew up like a muthafucka. Onez bald, onez up in a funky-ass boat, they both unconscious muthafucka! - Is dat another bee joke, biatch? - No! No onez flyin tha plane biaaatch! This is JFK control tower, Flight 356. Whatz yo' status, biatch? This is Vanessa Bloome. I be a gangbangin' florist from New York. Wherez tha pilot, biatch? Dat punk unconscious, n' so is tha copilot. Not good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Do mah playas onboard have flight experience, biatch? As a matta of fact, there is. - Whoz that, biatch? - Barry Benson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. From tha honey trial?! Oh, pimped out. Vanessa, dis aint a god damn thang mo' than a funky-ass big-ass metal bee. It aint nuthin but gots giant wings, big-ass engines. I can't fly a plane. - Why not, biatch? Isn't Jizzy Travolta a pilot, biatch? - Yes yo. How tha fuck hard could it be, biatch? Wait, Barry dawwwwg! Our thugged-out asses headed tha fuck into some lightning. This is Bob Bumble. Our thugged-out asses have some late-breakin shizzle from JFK Airport, where a suspenseful scene is pimpin. Barry Benson, fresh from his fuckin legal victory... Thatz Barry dawwwwg! ...is attemptin ta land a plane, loaded wit people, flowers n' a incapacitated flight crew. Flowers?! Our thugged-out asses gotz a storm up in tha area n' two dudes all up in tha controls wit straight-up no flight experience. Just a minute. Therez a funky-ass bee on dat plane. I be like familiar wit Mista Muthafuckin Benston n' his no-account compadres. They've done enough damage. But aint he yo' only hope, biatch? Technically, a funky-ass bee shouldn't be able ta fly at all. Their wings is too small.. yo. Haven't our crazy asses heard dis a mazillion times, biatch? "Da surface area of tha wings n' body mass make no sense." - Git dis on tha air playa! - Got dat shit. - Stand by. - We goin live. Da way we work may be a mystery ta you, biatch. Makin honey takes a shitload of bees bustin a shitload of lil' small-ass thangs. But let me rap  on some lil' small-ass thang. If you do it well, it cook up a funky-ass big-ass difference. Mo' than we realized. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! To us, ta everyone. Thatz why I wanna git bees back ta hustlin together n' shit. Thatz tha bee way dawwwwg! We not made of Jell-O. We git behind a gangbangin' fellow. - Black n' yellow! - Hello! Left, right, down, hover n' shit. - Hover, biatch? - Forget hover n' shit. This aint so hard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Barry, what tha fuck happened?! Wait, I be thinkin we was on autopilot tha whole time. - That may done been helpin mah dirty ass. - And now our asses aint son! So it turns up I cannot fly a plane fo' realz. All of you, letz git behind dis fellow! Move it up son! Move up son! Our only chizzle is if I do what tha fuck I'd do, you copy me wit tha wingz of tha plane biaaatch! Don't gotta yell. I aint yelling! We up in a shitload of shit. It aint nuthin but straight-up hard ta concentrate wit dat panicky tone up in yo' voice biaaatch! It aint nuthin but not a tone. I be panicking! I can't do this muthafucka! Vanessa, pull yo ass together n' shit. Yo ass gotta snap outta dat shiznit son! Yo ass snap outta dat shit. Yo ass snap outta dat shit. - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Hold dat shiznit son! - Why, biatch? Oome on, itz mah turn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. How tha fuck is tha plane flying, biatch? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck yo. Hello, biatch? Benson, gots any flowers fo' a aiiight occasion up in there, biatch? Da Pollen Jocks muthafucka! They do git behind a gangbangin' fellow. - Black n' yellow. - Wuz crackalackin' fo' realz. All right, letz drop dis tin can on tha blacktop. Where, biatch? I can't peep anything. Oan yo slick ass, biatch? Fuck dat shit, nothing. It aint nuthin but all cloudy. Oome on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass gots ta be thinkin bee, Barry. - Thinkin bee. - Thinkin bee. Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Wait a minute. I be thinkin I be feelin something. - What, biatch? - I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. It aint nuthin but strong, pullin mah dirty ass. Like a 27-million-year-old instinct. Brin tha nozzle down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! - What up in tha ghetto is on tha tarmac, biatch? - Git some lights on dat son! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee biaaatch! - Vanessa, aim fo' tha flower n' shit. - OK. Out tha engines. We goin up in on bee juice n' shit. Ready, thugs, biatch? Affirmatizzle biaaatch! Good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Easy, now, nahmeean, biatch? Thatz dat shit. Land on dat flower playa! Ready, biatch? Full reverse biaaatch! Spin it around hommie! - Not dat flower playa! Da other one biaaatch! - Which one, biatch? - That flower n' shit. - I be aimin all up in tha flower playa! Thatz a gangbangin' fat muthafucka up in a gangbangin' flowered shirt. I mean tha giant pulsatin flower made of millionz of bees muthafucka! Pull forward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Nose down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Tail up. Rotate round dat shit. - This is insane, Barry dawwwwg! - Thiss tha only way I know how tha fuck ta fly fo' realz. Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is dis plane flyin up in a insect-like pattern, biatch? Git yo' nozzle up in there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Don't be afraid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Smell dat shit. Full reverse biaaatch! Just drop dat shit. Be a part of it fo' realz. Aim fo' tha center playa! Now drop it in! Drop it in, biatch! Oome on, already. Barry, our phat asses did dat shiznit son! Yo ass taught me how tha fuck ta fly dawwwwg! - Yes yes y'all. No high-five biaaatch! - Right. Barry, it hit dat shiznit hommie! Did yo dirty ass peep tha giant flower, biatch? What giant flower, biatch? Where, biatch? Of course I saw tha flower playa! That was  smart-ass ! - Nuff props, biatch. - But our asses aint done yet. Listen, everyone biaaatch! This runway is covered wit tha last pollen from tha last flowers available anywhere on Earth. That means dis is our last chance. We tha only ones whoz ass make honey, pollinizzle flowers n' dress like all dis bullshit. If we gonna survive as a flavas, dis is our moment son! What do you say, biatch? Is we goin ta be bees, orjust Museum of Natural History keychains, biatch? We bees muthafucka! Keychain! Then gangbang me biaaatch! Except Keychain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Hold on, Barry yo. Here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. You've gots all dis bullshit. Yeah! I be a Pollen Jock! And itz a slick fit fo' realz. All I gotta do is tha sleeves. Oh, yeah. Thatz our Barry. Mom! Da bees is back! If anybody need ta cook up a cold-ass lil call, nowz tha time. I gots a gangbangin' feelin we'll be hustlin late tonight son! Herez yo' chizzle yo. Have a pimped out afternoon! Oan I help whoz next, biatch? Would you like some honey wit that, biatch? It be bee-approved. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Don't forget these n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Milk, cream, cheese, itz all mah dirty ass fo' realz. And I don't peep a nickel! Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat son! I had no idea. Barry, I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit yo. Has you done gots a moment, biatch? Would you excuse me son, biatch? My fuckin mosquito associate will help you, biatch fo' realz. Awwww shiiiit muthafucka, I be late. Dat punk a lawyer too, biatch? I was already a funky-ass blood-suckin parasite fo' realz. All I needed was a funky-ass briefcase yo. Have a pimped out afternoon! Barry, I just gots dis big-ass tulip order, n' I can't git dem anywhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. No problem, Vannie. Just leave it ta mah dirty ass. Yo ass be a gamesaver, Barry. Oan I help whoz next, biatch? All right, scramble, jocks muthafucka! It aint nuthin but time ta fly. Nuff props, Barry dawwwwg! That bee is livin mah game biaaatch! Let it go, Kenny. - When will dis nightmare end?! - Let all dat shiznit go. - Beautiful dizzle ta fly. - Sheezy is. Between you n' me, I was dyin ta git outta dat crib. Yo ass have gots ta start thankin bee, mah playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. - Thinkin bee biaaatch! - Me, biatch? Hold dat shit. Letz just stop fo' a second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hold dat shit. I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I be sorry, everyone. Oan we stop here, biatch? I aint bustin a major game decision durin a thang number playa! All right. Take ten, everybody. Wrap it up, muthafuckas. I had virtually no rehearsal fo' dis shit.