The Lemons Part 36




*Bruno Mars sits on a couch in Beyoncé’s living room between Slaybell and Naomi420 as Beyoncé paces back and forth while holding the twins. Jay Z uses his phone for grown man shit while Solange watches her sister*
Bey: So they’re holding Prince where?
Bruno: Its like a secret missile silo for inhumane experiments. They take music real seriously.
Bruno: Last I heard, they were cloning dead people for some big concert.
Bey: That’s dumb. A zombie concert?
Bruno: Could you imagine how long that would be trending? Shit, I’d pay good good money to see Marvin Gaye’s corpse sing.
Bruno: Condo-in-Manhattan money.
Bey: Please dont reference your songs in front of me.
Solo: How high is the security? Are we talking regular jail or, like, Avengers?
Bruno: Avengers. Are you kidding me? They’re cloning dead people.
Bey: No problem.
Bruno: Yes, problem. You can’t just teleport in and out and kill everybody. They have electromagnetic force fields and other science fiction shit all over the place.
Bey: Then we’ll have to fight those tropes with another trope.
Bey: You will bring us uniforms.
Bruno: Uhhhh
Bey: What, do they know you’re a traitorous, bitch ass nigga already?
Bruno: No, you meanie.
Bruno: But I can’t just waltz in and out with WB uniforms.
Bey: Then do the salsa, nigga, I don’t care. You wanted to help, now help.

Bruno: This what you gotta put up with every day, huh, Jay?
Bey: He doesn’t have to put up with this.
*Slaybell begins twisting Bruno’s ear.*
Bruno: Okay, yeeowch.
Bey: We’re going to free you and let you get what we need. If we find out you’re not getting what we need, I’m chopping off whatever you need.
Bruno: Not my hair, though!
Bey: Okay, that then.
Bey: Naomi, I want you to watch him since Slaybell thinks he’s so funny.
Slaybell: But my Queen–
Bey: Hush. Your presence is more useful to me at this time.
Slaybell: Yes, Supreme Lioness of Texas.
*Bruno stands up and Naomi stands up a split second after. Beyoncé gets in Bruno’s face and squints.*
Bey: Nigga, if you double-cross me, I’m turning you into diced pineapples.
Bruno: I promise I won’t. Being on Beyoncé’s bad side isn’t gonna help me now that I’m R&B.
Bruno: You should look up some better Polynesian stereotypes, though.
Bey: If you don’t hula your ass out my house and get those motherfucking uniforms, b.
*Bruno blows Slaybell a kiss before Naomi jumps on his back. Bruno leaves like he planned on her doing that shit.*
*Beyoncé turns on Jay Z, just to see him laughing at something on his phone. She spits on the phone and her husband wipes it off like its a raindrop*
Bey: So you had nothing to add? You chilling?
Jay: I’m chilling.
Bey: Yo, killing you would actually be a detriment to my career right now.
Jay: I’m glad you realize that.
*Beyoncé kisses him on the forehead*
Bey: Mommy, soon as Bruno gets back, I’ll need you to keep Blue for me.
Mama T: And the twins?
Bey: No, they’re coming with me.
Jay: No.
Bey: I’m not leaving my babies.
Jay: Then I’m coming.
Bey: Oh my God. You’ll be in my way.
Jay: The twins won’t be?
Bey: Why would they be?
Jay: I
Jay: Are you trolling me?

*Beyoncé’s iPhoner walks into the room and displays “Aretha” on the screen it calls a face.*
Bey: I’ll get back to you saying I look like a troll.
*Bey presses the iPhoner’s screen*

Bey: Hi, Aretha.
Aretha: Hey, baby. How are you?
Bey: I’m fine. Are you about to ask me for help with something?
Aretha: I sure am.
Bey: Aretha, I’m in the middle of an emergency. Also, I just had my babies.
Aretha: You know I know that mess. That’s actually what I need help with.
Bey: … My babies?
Aretha: No, my babies.
Bey: Juventud and the tiger?
Aretha: No, heffer, my children im about to have.
Bey: What.
Aretha: Juventud got me pregnant.
Bey: No he didn’t.
Aretha: Yeah he did. He nut in me and gave me triplets.
Bey: Why, though.

Aretha: Cuz I’m looking all good with my slim waist.
Aretha: I want you to host my baby shower.
Bey: No, why did you get pregnant?
Aretha: No, mind your fucking business. Just come make jokes about me being old and giving birth.
Bey: *siiiiiiiiiigh* When is it?
Aretha: This weekend.
Aretha: I’m not paying you.
Bey: I don’t care, Aretha. I really have shit to do.
Bey: Solange can do it.
Solange: Nah, nigga.
Aretha: Solange too high for me. I want you to do it.
Bey: I assure you that what I need to do can’t wait.
Solo: What does “too high for me” mean?
Aretha: Fine. I’ll get Rihanna to do it.
Bey: Sweet.
*Beyoncé turns the iPhoneR around pushes it out of the room*
Solo: I thought she’d didn’t fuck with Rihanna like that. I think she’s bluffing.
Bey: I don’t care. I’m going upstairs to sleep. I haven’t had a chance to rest since I had these babies.
Solo: I’ll take them.
*Solange goes to Rumi but Beyoncé spins around, moving the baby away as her sister stumbles after her.*
Bey: No, the babies sleep when I do. You can focus on being relevant.
Solo: Thank you, bitch.
Bey: Shawn, I’m going to sleep.
Jay: Holla holla holla.
Bey: Come with me.
Jay: But, baby… I’m being relevant, too…
Bey: This is what I get when I ask my husband and father of my children to lay with me?
*a single diamond rolls down Beyoncé’s cheek*
Jay: I’m… I’m coming.

*Steve Harvey, Dave Chappelle and Nate Parker walk into Kanye and Kim’s home as Kim Kardashian closes the door behind them. Steve Harvey puts his hands on his hips and admires the living room.*
Steve: Boy, this some old Jetsons stuff y’all got going on in here. He gon mess around be in debt again.

Kim: lol no we’re fine. He’s in the back in the studio.
*Steve and his compatriots follow Kim through the kitchen and into their living room where a black door stands out on a white wall. Kim opens the door a little and peeks inside. Whatever she’s saying is muffled by the music coming from inside and then the music stops.*
Kim: Kanye says you guys can come in.
*Kim opens the door all the way and Steve walks in cautiously like it’s a project hallway. Dave strolls right in behind Steve and Nate looks around suspiciously*
*Kanye is at the mixing board behind Rick Rubin, nodding his head with a look of deep thought on his face. He turns around and lights up at the sight of Dave Chappelle.*
Kanye: Aw, man, where you been at, Dave?

Dave: Same place you been, nigga. Hiding from black people ever since I said something nice about Trump.

Dave: I’m assuming you talked to the BrotherFather.

Kanye: Of course. We had been speaking ever since I put him in the famous video. We talked about some important stuff, man. He’s so wise.
*Kanye looks at the other two men*
Kanye: Steve. Nate Robinson.
*Steve shakes Kanye’s hand and still looks at him like a nigga he doesn’t think highly of. Nate Parker gets a tight grip on Kanye’s hand and says*
Nate: Its Nate Parker, nigga.
*Everyone looks at Nate Parker like he said he licks feet*
Nate: Ha… Ha ha ha. My nigga.
Dave: What you in here working on, man? I’m trying to hear some of that hot fire.
Kanye: Oh, yeah yeah. Wait, here’s some of my new joint. It’s called “On Me”. I got Future to jump on it with me.

*Kanye turns to Rick Rubin and gives him a nod. Rick returns the nod and presses a button on the boards. The main guitar riff of “War Pigs” by Black Sabbath quietly starts the song, heavily distorted with slight reverb. As the song gets louder, Kanye’s vocals come in.*

Kanye: Know I’m a real nigga cuz I use my real name.

Kanye: yeah, my pink polos kept the Roc a float

Kanye: before me, hey, they didn’t know a rock could float

Kanye: Unh, they didn’t think that I could rock a show.

Kanye: wearing backpacks, Louis V and proper clothes.

Kanye: We getting higher than a rocket go.

Kanye: This coat don’t come out til April but I’ma rock it tho.

Kanye: Woo, if it’s fresh it’s on me.

Kanye: That ass fat, then this dress is on me.

Kanye: She said “Ye, can you get it for me?” haanh?

Kanye:… I guess that neck wasn’t for free

Future: You zimi rolling woo dat muddy oanme yeah

Future: Deezbitches fuggin yeah da nats be oanme yeah

Future: I’m flossinwitdarollie shining oanme

Future: I got dat stick you see me hoalit oanme
*Kanye starts rocking out as the instrumental plays. Rick Rubin nods his head like the song quiet as shit.*
Dave: Awww, nigga, this is tough.

Nate: I like the part about buying hoes stuff.

Steve: I didn’t understand nothing… And I mean nothing… That other dude said.

Nate: Future not for niggas with mustaches like yours.
*Steve’s head jerks back slightly at the appalling comment*
Dave: Did you have to diss Jay, though, man ?

Kanye: He came at me first. Besides, all I said was niggas is lame and I shoulda stuck with Dame.

Steve: I don’t know, man. He out here preaching financial wellness for the black man and you talking about free head.

Steve: If you wasn’t paying for pussy, maybe he wouldn’t have had to give you money and expose you for it. But don’t listen to me, I’m just loved AND respected.

Kanye: Steve, you don’t even know what you’re talking about, fam. Where did you even come from?

Dave: Look, man, the BrotherFather ain’t send us here to talk you out of beefing with Hov. We need help with  some shit. Some shit of utmost seriousness.

Kanye: Y’all paying?

Steve: … Wut?

Kanye: Are you paying for my help?

Kanye: I’m not free until I’m free.

Nate: I hear that.

Steve: You niggas about to– Look, man. You close to Beyoncé, okay? Bill Cosby–

Nate: BrotherFather.
*Steve clasps his hands in front of his face*
Steve: We all know he Bill Cosby, Nate. I’m not about to call this man a brotherfather all day. He Bill Cosby. He made Fat Albert, okay? He eat pudding, dog. He drug people. He Bill Cosby.

Steve: As I was saying, Bill Cosby
*Steve looks at Nate*
Steve: want us to hurt feminism or whatever and you close to Beyoncé. He want you to trap her or something.

Kanye: She hasn’t talked to me in like 2 years, fam. And I’m not about to set up the mother of my godchildren.

Steve: She know they your godchildren?

Steve: Like, I ain’t even seen you near the girl.

Kanye: If I didn’t owe the BrotherFather, I wouldn’t be entertaining this.

Dave: Wait, that’s it! Kids!

Dave: Kidnap her kids. It’s classic villain shit.

Nate: We’d never get close enough.

Dave: Hm, if only one of us had a show where kids came on and said dumb shit.
*Everyone looks at Steve*
Steve: Hell nah



The Lemons Part 35








*Lil Mama lays under a bush in a small garden across from the National Brotherhood Coalition in a ghillie suit. She looks through a set of comically large binoculars before feeling a vibration under her chest. She goes down her suit and pulls out an iPhone.*
Lil Mama: Hey, Vi.
Viola: Naitia, are you still at the building Steve went in?
Lil Mama: Yup. One of those fancy vans just pulled up.
Viola: Okay, we’re on our way.
Lil Mama: We?
Viola: I’m with Ava.
Lil Mama: I thought she wasn’t helping?
Viola: Ava asked if you knew where “T no L C” is.
Lil Mama: I really don’t.
Viola: I told you she didn’t know
Viola: We’ll be there shortly. Update us if you see movement.

Lil Mama: I got you.
*Just as Lil Mama puts the phone down, Steve Harvey, Nate Parker and Dave Chappelle walk out of the building and towards the van. Lil Mama goes for her her phone but stops short and reconsiders. She begins to wrestle herself out of the ghillie suit and slides out of it, donning a black catsuit. She jumps up, dusts herself off and runs to the van. She hears the door close and jumps on the back just as it begins to pull off.*
*Lil Mama pulls out her phone and calls Viola*
Viola: Is he moving?
Lil Mama: Yeah. I’m on the van. He got in with Dave Chappelle and the Nat Turner movie dude.
Viola: Nat Turner mo-
Viola: Wait, you’re what?
Lil Mama: I’m on the back of the van.
Viola: Wow. Ava, she jumped on the van.
*Ava laughs in the background*
Viola: Okay. Why?
Lil Mama: Taking initiative. Plus this is good experience for “When Love Kills: the Falicia Blakely Story”
Viola: The what?
Viola: Um, just, uh just send us your location when you stop. I don’t think you should be using the phone while you’re on a moving vehicle.
Lil Mama: But I can multi-task. I’m multi-talented.
Viola: I know you are, baby. Goodbye.
*Viola hangs up the phone*
Ava: She putting us to shame.
Viola: You didn’t even wanna do this shut up
Ava: Where is the animosity coming from?
*Viola sucks her teeth*
Viola: Steve Harvey is with Nate Parker and Dave Chappelle.
Ava: Nate Parker, huh. I had a feeling he was an undercover brother.
Viola: What?
Ava: Its a bathhouse, right? They was in there grabbing dick, right?
Viola: Oh. Oh, that. I was lying. I don’t know what’s in there.
Ava: Woooooooooooooooow let me out.
Viola: No.
Viola: You aren’t the slightest bit curious as to why those are the first two men Steve sees when Donald Trump let’s him out of jail?
Ava: Moreso when I thought he was bicurious.
Ava: Vi. I have award winning documentaries to make.
Viola: What if Nate Parker really on the DL? That doesn’t interest you?
Ava: He a rapist, I don’t care.
Ava: I’m only gonna come because I need to hinder as many male directors as possible.
Viola: I knew that pettiness was in there somewhere.
Ava: Its business. Black male actors? Great. Telling fine black men what to do is overlit. Black male directors? Dickheads. Pompous and usually misogynist.
Ava: Ima take all those niggas jobs.

*Solange paces back in forth in the living room of Beyoncé’s palace before hearing her sister come through the door. Mama T and Blue come into the living room as Beyoncé follows, still chastising her husband.*
Bey: And you didn’t even mention that time you had Memphis Beek sleep in the bed and pretend to be you. You just all “I apologize, I got a daughter now”. Nigga, fuck you.
Bey: And then– Solange, remember that nigga made Memphis Beek sleep in the bed and pretend to be him?
Solange: That shit was insulting.
Bey: I shoulda put my pussy right on his face, too. Like “shmap”.
*Jay walks in to the living room, attempting to maintain his dignity*
Jay: So we gonna act like you innocent? What about Slim Th-
Bey: Our child is in here. You want to argue like this in front of our baby?
Jay: Woooooooo-
Bey: Mom, can you take Blue to the garden.
Jay: – ooooooow. So so so so when I make a point, we just not gonna talk about it?
Bey: We have to find Prince.
Solo: Why you being a jerk, Shawn?
Mama T: Nigga made one song and start acting like he made sacrifices. Lose a baby first.

*Mama T goes to pick up Blue*
Mama T: Come on, baby. Let’s go
Blue: To the studio?
Mama T: What?
Blue: I have an album to record.
Mama T: Ha ha ha if you don’t take your ass in that backyard.
*Jay watches Mama T and Blue leave the living room*
Jay: This why I needed a son. I finally get one and god like “here’s an extra girl, though”.
Bey: What’s one more woman to disappoint though, Shawn?
Jay: I told you I was writing the song though. I told you what I was gonna bring up.
Bey: Nigga, I thought each topic was a song.
Bey: “how I cheated”, “my wife’s grief and distaste for my presence”, “I’m changing for my daughter”. If you putting our business out, do it properly.
Bey: Oh my god, are you making this a single?
Jay: I mean
Bey: I have to push my album up now. Thanks a lot, Jaybo.
Bey: Thanks.
Jay: Your fans should be happy.
Bey: Dont talk about what makes the Hive happy.
*Solange plucks Beyoncé’s ear*
Solo: Where have you been? I called all of your futuristic weird ass phones.
Bey: Madonna was trying to kill me. She dead, though. Slaybell has her head actually.
Bey: I’m putting it with Aaliyah’s.
Solo: I knew you were going to bring that up. You just never not bring it up.
Bey: Its my favorite trophy.
*Jay claps his hands together loudly*
Jay: So… How we gonna find Prince?
*Beyoncé walks over to Jay Z and claps her hands in his face very loudly*
Bey: Dont clap at me, nigga. You wait for my request for you to request attention.
Bey: Now, first…
Bey: We gotta take pictures of me and these babies.
*Beyoncé (who has been holding the twins the whole time) walks into a door next to the kitchen and walks out onto a balcony in New Zealand. She turns around and is wearing, like, a… You saw the picture*
Bey: Okay, take the picture from right there.
*Solange turns the phone sideways and snaps the pic. Beyoncé immediately walks back into the house*
Bey: Send that to me so I can send it to UhOhUhOhUhOhNuhNoNo and she can post it on instagram.

Solo: Okie.
*Beyoncé walks back to the living room and puts the twins in Jay’s arms*
Bey: Now, where were we?
Jay: We–
Bey: I know where we were. The question was rhetorical.

*the front door bursts open and Slaybell and Naomi420 come in. Slaybell has Bruno Mars in a sleeper hold.*
Bey: What is this?
Slaybell: We caught him outside looking at the house and acting like a Memphis pimp.
Bruno: Hawaiian. You ain’t never seen Hawaiian pimping before.
Bey: Naomi, slap his face.
*Naomi slaps Bruno Mars in the face*
Bruno: That’s it? You act like you haven’t held me hostage before.
Bey: Why are you here?
Bruno: I want to help you. Ima changed man, look at the range, ma’am. I’m not even armed.
Bey: You’re still Warner Bros.
Bruno: Im trying to get out of there I’m trying to go to Island Def Jam or LaFace or something.

Bey: So you go from Elvis Presley to Bobby Brown and I’m supposed to just trust you?
Bruno: You want me to snort a couple lines?
Slaybell: *snickers*
*Beyoncé looks at her immediately*
Slaybell: I’m sorry.
Bey: Yes. I want you to snort some cocaine. Get him some cocaine.
Bruno: I have some already.
Bey: I change my mind. Slaybell, take his coke and flush it.
Bruno: Aw, what.
*Bruno looks annoyed as Slaybell runs his pockets and finds his baggies*
Bey: You’ll be clean in my presence if you’re going to help me get Prince back.
Bruno: The whole time?
Bey: The whole time, Moana.

*Lil Mama feels the van slow down and promptly crawls on top of it. The vehicle stops at the bottom of the driveway to a mansion out of a modern design magazine. She hears the side doors of the van open and then close after a few seconds. Voices begin speaking in hushed tones beneath her.*
Steve: So Bill Cosby really been talking to this weirdo? The boy got issues.
Nate: First off, it’s the BrotherFather. Second, we all have issues, Steve. It’s just about making sure they’re harmless.
Dave: How’d that work out for you?

Nate: Nigga, fuck you. I’ll snap your fucking neck, on God.
Steve: Can y’all chill out! God damn, y’all grown ass men! Out here carrying on like some teenagers.
*Steve Harvey walks away grumbling and the other two men follow him. The van begins moving and Lil Mama braces herself before doing a somersault into a sizable bush. She peeks her head out and pulls out binoculars. Through the lenses she can see the three men approach the door, Steve in front. Lil Mama pulls out her phone with her free hand and calls Viola*
*Ava and Viola sit in the parking lot of In N Out burger, passing each other fries and drinks. Viola answers her phone and finishes chewing her burger before answering.*
Viola: Yesh.
Viola: A mansion? A mansion where?
Viola: Uh huh.
Ava: Where she at?
Viola: Shh.
Viola: Wait, who opened the door?
Viola: Get the fuck out of here.
Viola: Stay in the bushes. We’re on the way.
*Viola hangs up the phone and takes another bite of her burger. Ava reaches in Viola’s bag and takes some fries.*
Ava: So what happened?

Viola: You ate your fries too fast.

Ava: Ha.
*a piece of fry flies out of Ava’s mouth. She grabs her medium drink out of the cup holder and begins sipping*
Viola: Oh, yeah, Lil Mama said Kim Kardashian opened the door. They’re at Kanye West’s house.
*Ava spits out her drink.*


The Lemons Part 34


*Matthew Knowles chuckles nervously as he looks between the two mech-armor clad black women that previously guarded his daughter. Beyoncé watches from her husband’s side, approximately 15 yards away*


Matt: So I guess black girl magic is out and black girl technology is in, huh?

Bey: I should slap the shit out you. Shawn, is this your fault?

Jay: Nope. Uh, how did you find us, pops?

Matt: Let’s just say me and TMZ have a mutually beneficial relationship.

Matt: So. Lemme see them.

Bey: No, nigga.

Bey: Stop trying to come near my kids.

Jay: Right now might not be the best ti-

Bey: Stop listening to the rapper. Listen to me.

Bey: No.

Bey: Subdue him please.


*Beyoncé’s armored security proceeds to shoot nets on to Matthew Knowles. The nets begin electrocuting him.*




Bey: *laughter*

Bey: Come on, husband.


*Beyoncé turns around and damn near walks directly into Katy Perry*


Katy: Hi! Oh my God, are these the twins?

Bey: No.

Katy:… These aren’t babies?


*Beyoncé turns around and walks towards her father, who is flat on his stomach and breathing heavily under a blanket of metallic mesh*


*Beyoncé crouches in front of her father. Her upper body hasn’t moved this whole time. She was holding the babies. The whole time.*


Bey: You have something to do with this.

Matt: Katy … She called me… She wants to save her career.

Bey: It was fine before she started pandering. What does this have to do with me?

Katy: Hey! What’s up?


*Katy begins prancing towards Beyoncé and her father*


*One of Beyoncé’s Iron Woman bodyguards walks past Beyoncé and mushes Katy Perry’s face. Katy walks backwards to avoid falling but falls anyway.*


Matt: If you let her take a selfie with the babies, it would be a good look.


*Matt pushes himself up on to his hands and knees*


Bey: Do the electrocution shit again.


*The armored guard that didn’t push Katy Perry presses a button on her wrist. The net lets out a hiss and a snap and Matt lays back down*


Matt: Okay, okay. I got you.

Bey: Tell her to talk to Deray again. I am leaving.

Matt: But she’s caught in that infinite loop of trying to prove she’s not racist. Your babies are strong enough to get her out.

Bey: Suck my whole nuts, daddy.


*Beyoncé turns and walks away from Matthew. Katy Perry extends a hand for Beyoncé to help her up, but Beyoncé moves around it like it was begging for money*


Katy: That’s right, you’re holding babies. Right.


Bey: Shawn, we’re going to regroup and figure out how to get Michael and Prince.

Jay: Okay, but I want you to hear something.

Bey: What could I possibly want to hear right now? I’ve been holding babies for like twenty minutes.

Bey: Play it in the car.

Jay: Sure.


*Beyoncé walks over to her mama’s Benz and gets in the back. Jay follows suit. Mama T begins walking to the drive side door with her phone to her ear*


Mama T: No, Solange, she didn’t help Katy Perry up. She didn’t even help Michelle up that one time. We about to leave. You gonna meet us at the house?

Mama T: Aight, bye.


*Mama T gets into the car as Blue Ivy gets in next to her daddy*


Bey:… So?

Jay: Just give me a second.


*Jay presses his phone a few times and connects to the stereo via bluetooth. The song “4:44” begins and Jay gives Blue her headphones as Mama T drives off*


*Jay occasionally looks at Beyoncé as he nods his head and mouths a few of the lines. A tear comes out of his eye as the sample fades and the song ends*


Bey: *stares straight ahead*

Jay: …

Bey: Thank you.

Jay: You’re welcome. You’re always welcome.

Bey: Where’s the rest of the album?

Jay: Its done. This is just the song I wanted you to hear first.

Bey: Is the rest of the album about me?

Jay: I mean, in a way

Bey: In what way? Like every song is an apology?

Jay: Nah. But I really poured my heart out, for real, B. I woke up at 4 in the–

Bey: Nigga– hold on–


*Beyoncé turns to the right and hands the twins to herself. She adjusts herself so that she’s on one knee and begins pointing a finger in Jay’s face.*


Bey: Nigga, I made a whole fucking album about what you did to me. You give me a 3 minute song!? I wanna fight.

Jay: Let’s not.

Bey: Dog, you fucked on hoes with my love on you.


Bey: Yo, I cried in the studio over your dumb ass.

Bey: Nigga, oh my god, I coulda whooped Keri Hilson ass, my nigga.

Jay: I–

Bey: Put them paws on her, homie. Washed her ass.

Jay: Baby, we’re healing. You expressed yourself and I expressed myself.

Bey: Yo, how you gonna apologize to all the bitches you hurt on a song in front of the world when I’m your wife, nigga? Let’s fight.

Jay: How you not gonna respect me going public with this? You know how many women are going to look down on me?



Jay: In front of Blue, though?

Bey: In front of?


*Jay looks down at Blue Ivy just to see her watching someone play minecraft on her tablet, headphones loud as shit.*


Jay: Baby, what did I tell-

Bey: Look at me.

Bey: You’ve become arrogant. I forgive you for your infidelity, I handle it with as much poise as I can and you give me a half-assed rap song.

Jay: Half-assed? Yo, I don’t think you know how much hurt I put in this song. I cried–

Bey: HA HA HA SO? You niggas, y’all cry and say “I’m sorry” and think that’s a salve for being trash. It’s insulting, my nigga. You were only on beat like 4 times.

Bey: Put your album out. I don’t care.


Bey: Ima fuck somebody.

Jay: Ha, okay.


*Bey receives the twins back from herself*


Bey: Thank you.

Bey: I appreciate your 2,523rd to 2,34th apology, Shawn, but I’m sure your fans that cheat regularly will more.

Jay: Who you gonna fuck?


*Beyoncé exits the car. Jay looks around like he just realized where he was*


Jay: Yo. You not gonna fuck nobody.


*Jay sees the three generations of Knowles walk towards the house without him and hurries out of the vehicle*



*Ava Duvernay walks out of the skyscraper of movie meetings and kinda sees Viola Davis sitting in her car mean-mugging her. Ava puts her shades down and walks down the street.*


*Ava walks faster as she hears heels clicking behind her, but she knows she can’t outrun Viola in heels. They stole some drawers out of Idris Elba house once and Viola beat her to the car.*


Viola: Look at you, about to start sweating and shit.

Ava: I don’t sweat, bitch. I self-moisturize.

Viola: And where you going so fast? Responsibility still gonna meet you there.

Ava: No its not. I don’t want closure with responsibilities neither. This is a break up.

Ava: That nigga that look like Tupac need a new movie role and his agent pitching a Poetic Justice remake. I told them niggas “only if Zendaya playing Janet”.

Ava: You know, you the only person that don’t let me get what I want. If I didn’t swear off white friends, I swear to Gahd.

Viola: You’d probably be involved in something weirder.

Ava: Fam, I’m pretty sure it’s hella ghosts flying around but you only concerned about Bernie Mac’s.

Viola: Because we caused this, remember?

Viola: Did a bunch of drugs? Had a seance? Kirk Franklin floated around my house?

Ava: Oh, we doing 3 sentence crazy stories?

Ava: Vampire gloves. Ginuwine look-alike. 2005.

Viola: What would make you see reason and help take care of this?

Ava: Hmmmm.

Ava: Money.

Viola: I’m anonymously leaking your sex tape.

Ava: Pah! One, no the fuck you not. Two, it’s not a sex tape. It’s a kink demonstration. If you really want to put Tyrese getting fisted on Bossip, then by all means.

Ava: I can see the headlines now. “Is Tyrese getting his illiterate cakes smashed to smithereens by a strong, black woman?”

Ava: Yes. Yes he is.

Ava: Do you even know where Steve Harvey is? We still gotta get Beyoncé a gift for her babies.

Viola: Is that really more important than exorcising a malevolent spirit?

Ava: Beyoncé just had twins. Do you hear yourself?

Viola: No, I just hear a grown ass woman avoiding the consequences of her actions like a teenager.

Ava: The nigga not even malevolent! Give them a video vixen and they set for life.

Ava: Can you please stop making me walk so fast?

Viola: This is fast to you?


*Ava stops and slumps over in defeat*


Ava: Fine. You know where Steve Harvey is?

Viola: No, but Lil Mama does.

Ava: What?

Viola: Lil Mama has been following Steve since he-who-shan’t-be-named got him out of the precinct.

Viola: He’s at a strip mall museum.

Ava: Sounds like a secret bathhouse.

Ava: Bernie like bussy?

Viola:… Yup.

Ava: The fuck outta here. I’m in.




*George, David and Prince lay in a disjointed triangle in the middle of a public park, still wearing their captivity pajamas. George slowly opens his eyes and pushes himself up so that he’s leaning on his elbows. The first thing he notices is the sky having waaaay more stars in it then usual, especially for what looks like sunset. The stars seemed to slowly sway and dance in a greenish blue sea that was faded behind the warm orange of the evening sky*


Prince: Huh. The sky reminds me of a dream I had.


*George looks over to see Prince still laying on his back with his hands behind his head*


George: On vacation are we?

???: Excuse me, are y’all okay? You look like you escaped from a sleepover.


*George and Prince look up to see a petite, baby-faced black girl of light complexion wearing a white blouse and black pencil skirt. David looks up from his face-down resting position and jolts awake*


George: You look… familiar…

Prince: Well give me a fine stepdaughter and call me Morgan Freeman.

David: She looks familiar because that’s definitely Left Eye from TLC.

Left Eye: Who?


*wamp wamp, what it do*

The Lemons Part 33

I apologize for my erratic posting schedule, but I’m not gonna lie to you: I was abducted by aliens. Which is code for “I am a problematic procrastinator”. However, from this point forth, I will be posting the Lemons every two weeks. So Wednesday, July 5th, is when the next Lemons will be up. It never said Monday, July 1st. That wasn’t even a real date.

Praise be to the most high for the successful delivery of healthy twin babies that made finishing this chapter way easier.






Bernie: (Bill Cosby running a cult?)

Steve: (You couldn’t tell?)

Steve: So, um, are you like the brother of fathers or the father of brothers because I’m confused over here.

Bill Brotherfather: I am he who is him. I am the father and the brother. The grandfather and the forefather. I am strength in numbers though that number is one.


*Bill Cosby slowly pushes himself up from his chair, snatches the cane by his desk and begins walking around it towards Steve Harvey*


Dave: Bill, look–

Bill: Hush. I will get to you.

Bill: Steve. I hear you’re trying to buy NBC.

Steve: That’s a bold-faced lie, Bill Cosby. I don’t want no damn TV network.

Bill: But you might as well, the way you hosting all these shows. If you have no interest in it, then why are you here?

Steve: Well, see, Donald Trump sent me–

Bill: Donald Trump!? You some sort of Uncle Tom errand boy? I knew that Family Feud gig was fishy.

Steve: Actually, Drew Carey put me down wit-

Dave: Aw, man, you took the dick money.

Steve: The what-now?

Dave: No black man gets this far without taking the dick money. They show you a mountain of cash, say it’s yours, put their dick in it and tell you to get it.

Dave: How you think Kevin Hart got 8 movies out at the same time? His money got dick skin cells on it. That’s how.

Dave: Chocolate droppa my ass. Chocolate floppa dick in his mouth.

Bill: Stop all this homosexual jibber-jabber.

Bill: So what does Donald Trump want from the National Brotherhood Coalition exactly?

Steve: I don’t know, dismantling feminism or wha-

Bill: Dismantling feminism, eh?



*Bill Cosby coughs into his left hand*


Bill: And then what? Dismantling the black man? What do we get out of this?


*Steve leans back on the Brotherfather’s desk. Nate Parker raises an eyebrow.*


Steve: Trump wants to help the black community and he wants men to be men again. You put 2 and 2 together, and he’s helping the black male community be men again. Now, fellas: What is empowering black women more than ever right now?

Nate: False rape accusations

Bill: What Nate said.

Dave: Beyoncé.


*Steve points at Dave Chappelle*


Steve: This man gets it. Beyoncé Knowles.

Bill: Hm.

Nate: Dave is right.

Dave: Look, every time she puts out a song, suddenly every woman powerful. She telling girls they run the world and that niggas gotta put a ring on it. Fuck all that.

Dave: It Beyoncé keeps putting out “Don’t Fuck Your Man” theme songs, humanity will be facing extinction. I don’t wanna be extinct, nigga!

Dave: I say give Trump a chance again.

Nate: But you just took it back.

Dave: That was for white people. They really don’t fuck with that nigga right now and I kinda like making money again, Nat Turner.

Bill: So what does the President want us to do?


*Steve does a birdman hand rub and smiles while looking at the group of iconic black men and Nate Parker*


Steve: . . . I don’t know, man. I’m lost.


*Madonna jumps down from the overturned truck just to catch an uppercut from Jiggaman. She falls backwards, hitting her elbow on the driver side tire. Beyoncé walks up behind Jay-Z and peeks around his shoulder.*


Madonna: Wow, I thought you would hit like a man. Now, Sean Penn. Tha-

Jay: If you come near my family, I’ma do that shit again, don’t fuck with me.


*Madonna rolls on to her stomach, pushes herself up on all fours and slowly tries to plant her right foot.*


Madonna: When I turn around, you’re so fucked.


*Beyoncé’s iPhone Napalm tesseracts to her ear*


Bey: Hello?

Solo: What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?


*Jay cautiously walks over to Madonna just to flinch backwards when a gunshot goes off. Madonna falls to her side and groans like that lady that was squashing grapes with her feet and fell out the bucket. Like, she was like “oou, oou, oou” like a seal*


BeckyWithTheGrayHair: Stop making that noise or I’ll shoot you again.

Jay: Yo, did you murder Madonna?

Becky: That bullet was so rubber. I’m not going to kill someone in front of our queen while she’s pregnant. Are you nuts?


*Becky runs over to Beyoncé’s side and prostrates before her*


Becky: Please forgive me. I’m a horrible double agent, I am.

Bey: Yeah, you are.

Becky: This is all my fault.

Bey: Most of it, yeah.

Becky: I love you so much, you are glowing. You are more perfect every day.

Bey: Thank you. Now pick your gun back up.

Becky: Yes, gracious Goddess of Progress.


*Becky grabs her weapon and immediately points it at Madonna again. She sees Madonna’s foot slide around the corner and snickers.*


Becky: And where do you think you’re going?


*Becky leans against the bottom of the truck’s front bumper and then turns the corner to see Slaybell stabbing the shit out of Madonna*


Slaybell: And you thought!


Slaybell: You would crawl in my direction!


Slaybell: And LIVE!?






Becky: Slaybell.




Becky: Slaybell.




Becky: You big, tall, pleather body suit, butt surgery bitch.


*Slaybell darts her head up*


Slaybell: Aaaand how long were you holding that in?

Becky: Since I met you, now stop stabbing her.


*Slaybell looks down at Madonna’s frequently impaled corpse. Madonna’s hands are down her pants.*


Slaybell: I don’t remember doing this.

Jay: Aw, man, what.


*Jay and Bey come around the corner to survey the carnage*


Bey: lol oh shit. They killed Madonna, baby.

Jay: I. . . Yeah. . .

Slaybell: I apologize. I lost control.

Bey: Nah, this is flame emojis.

Jay: So we just gonna leave her here in the open near Neil Patrick Harris’ house?

Becky: Way ahead of you.


*Beckywiththegrayhair begins dragging Madonna’s body on to a puddle of gasoline and pulls out a zippo lighter.*


Becky: My Matriarch and Friend, you must move.

Bey: No, I wanna see.


*Jay and Slaybell grab Beyoncé under her left and right arms respectively and lift her away from Becky and Madonna’s body*


Becky: That should be far enough.


*Becky flicks her zipp one last time and drops it on the edge of the puddle. The gasoline lights before Becky even starts running. Becky reaches the others by the time it engulfs Madonna’s super old body*


Becky: I was *gasp* figuring *deep inhale* It would blow up-




Bey: Slaybell, I’d like to keep that.

Slaybell: Yes, Creator of Dance Choreography.


*Slaybell jogs off towards the head*


Jay: Where are we going to put that?

Bey: The same place I put Aaliyah’s.

Jay: . . .

Jay: I’m ready to go like a motherfucker.


*A blue Corvette screeches to a stop behind Beyoncé and company. Naomi420 hops out of the passenger side*


Naomi420: Queen Lord, please take my seat.

Jay: So you just gonna leave me?

Bey: Yes, nigga, I’m in labor.

Jay: Wait, what? Wait.

Jay: What!?

Bey: It started when I was fighting Madonna, before Slaybell roundhouse kicked her.

Bey: If I would’ve said something, she would’ve gone easy on me.

Jay: But she knew you were pregnant.

Bey: If you had a uterus, you would understand.

Jay: No. I understand that you fucking wild.


*Beyoncé walks over to the door and looks inside to see BlueTammy at the driver seat*


BlueTammy: Get in, not-loser. We’re going. . . Babying?

Bey: Anywhere but here. I need a break from these dummies before we plan how to find Prince.

Bey: Not you, Slaybell.

Bey: Not you, Naomi.

Bey: Not you, Becky.

Bey: Not you, corpses.


*Jay-Z raises his hands and looks towards the sky as if he was frozen in time while asking god “Why?”*


Bey: You’re the dummy.

Jay: I used context clues.

Bey: Because you’re my smart baby!


*Beyoncé blows Jay a kiss before closing the car door. BlueTammy gives everyone a kinda sorta wave and pulls off into the night*


Jay: So, are y’all guarding me or something?

Becky: There’s not enough room in Tammy’s car, obviously. I just called us an Uber.

Jay: Okay, cool.

Becky:. . . Are you gonna call yours?


*Jay looks simultaneously amused and offended*


Jay: Wooooooooow


*An all white Mercedes-Benz SSS- class pulls up, running over a Warner Bros. mercenary in the process. The car parks and out comes Tina Knowles-Lawson. Blue Ivy gets out of the back seat and closes the door.*


Mama T: Where my daughter at before I start spin kicking niggas?


*Slaybell kneels before Beyoncé’s creator*


Slaybell: She has gone into labor, Mother Bee. Tammy is taking her to the proper medical facilities.

Mama T: OH. OH !


*Mama T gets back in the driver seat of the Benz*


Mama T: Are y’all coming? Blue gonna have to sit on somebody lap. Preferably somebody without blood on their clothes.

Jay: I call shotgun.

Slaybell: Beg fucking pardon?

Becky: Wow, how dare you?

Naomi420: No, wait, guys. He’s the reason Beyoncé has babies right now.

Slaybell: . . . Whatever. The princess sits in your lap, though.

Naomi420: Fine.


*Naomi picks up Blue Ivy, whom was wrist deep in a dead soldier’s pocket, and hops in the back of the car. The others follow suit, with Jay getting shotgun.*


Naomi420: Hey, what you got there, girl?

Blue Ivy: A fidget spinner!


*Blue Ivy begins spinning a shuriken on her finger*


Blue Ivy: This is like the one’s ninjas have. Everybody’s going to be super jealous.


*Naomi stops the shuriken and takes it off her finger*


Naomi420: Uh, let’s show this to your mom first.

Blue Ivy: No.


Becky: So do we know which hospital she’ll be at.

Jay: Oh, we shut down the whole floor of the UCLA medical center. Light work.

Becky: I had one of my daughters in a kiddie pool in the basement of a 7-11.

Becky: Me and my husband were ducking the federal government at the time.

Becky: the Reagan Era was something else.

Jay: . . . 7-11s have basements?


*Mama T drives past a police barricade and to the front of the UCLA medical center, just to see Beyoncé holding two bundles between two women wearing Iron Man type mech suits*


*Jay Z jumps out of the car before it stops moving and runs towards Beyoncé*



Jay: Nah, what.

Beyoncé: You took long enough. Come. Look at our babies.

Jay: But it was like five minutes-

Beyoncé: Oh, that’s right, you weren’t here when I teleported into a helicopter. Stop treating me like I’m regular.


*Matthew Knowles peeks over Beyoncé’s right shoulder*


Matt: Aww, my precious grandbabies.


*Beyoncé does a jumping Black Panther front flip and lands next to Jay Z with their offspring*


Matthew: Wow, this is how we’re treating daddies now? Sheesh.




*A Toyota Camry drives past the Harris-Burtka household and comes upon the grizzly scene left by Beyoncé’s squad. The driver picks up his cell phone and makes a call.*

Chris Hemsworth: Hello? Yes, I’m your ride for today. Oh? It’s really impolite to leave and not cancel, ma’am.

Chris: Did you know there are a bunch of dead bodies here?

Chris: You did?

Chris: And you didn’t call the police?

Chris: . . . Ma’am, you don’t sound like a real ass bitch, you sound like my grandma.

The Lemons Part 32






*Ava Duvernay walks back and forth meaningfully in a meeting room with large windows. A herd of white men in suits watch her bounce back and forth between imaginary walls.*


Ava: and the bitch not even tall enough, ergo I’m not casting Rihanna as Storm.

White man in a suit #1: But that’s who people will pay to see. No offense but we can’t sell tickets with India Arie or whatever.

Ava: First off, India Arie is old as fuck. Second, I won’t film this movie with a lead actress that passes the brown paper bag test.

White man in a suit #2: I feel like it would be failing in this case, huh?

Ava: Put that statement back in your dick garage, bruh. Passing the test was being lighter than the bag all the time. Go watch Blackish or some shit.

Ava: Disney just let me direct A Wrinkle In Time and, let me tell you, they won’t be happy if I don’t get what I want. I’m just getting started with you hoes.

White man in a suit #1: Be that as it may, we think that moviegoers–

Ava: White moviegoers.

White man in a suit #1: — would relate more to a young vibrant Sto–

Ava: A light-skinned one. I like how you just gonna talk over me like I’m a bitch.

Ava: Ay, dont turn the other way when I’m blessing you with my attention.

Ava: Y’all out here letting niggas make guardians of the galaxy into a fucking space opera, so I’ll be damned if Storm isn’t going to be a cinematic Erykah Badu album.

White guy in a suit #6: *leans over to white guy in a suit #5* Ayra kabadu?

White guy in a suit #5: Idk just pretend you know

Ava: So are there any African women y’all ain’t cast in Black Panther yet?

White guy in a suit #3: No.

White guy in a suit #5: What about the Chewing Gum chick? Michaela Coela.

Ava: Naaaaaaah. She look too much like a statue you’d see in a rich white person’s house.


*Ava sees her phone vibrating and picks it up off of the back of the intern that she designated as a table*


Ava: Hello?

White guy in a suit #1: Wow


*Ava moves the phone from her ear so fast*


Ava: Beg pardon?

White guy in a suit: *pensive lip tightening*

Ava: Ugh, I hate when y’all do that.


*Ava puts the phone back to her ear*

Ava: Hello?

Viola: What are you doing?

Ava: Prospering.

Viola: Okay. Look, Steve got out. Donald Trump took him out of the police station.

Ava: Okay.

Viola: He has Bernie in him.

Ava: Bitch, no. No. I don’t care. Hold on.


*Ava moves the phone down to her chin*


Ava: Wait.


*Ava walks outside of the room and closes the door*


Ava: I thought I told you I wasn’t fucking with y’all no more. None of y’all.

Viola: Ava, you the one that bought the drugs that led to this.

Ava: Me no care.

Ava: Big shit popping right now and I’m not about to be a Ghostbuster for you hoes noooo more.

Viola: You’re being a child, Ava. We released a paranormal entity.  We are the gatekeepers of this realm now.

Ava: You sound like Octavia with all that nerdy shit.

Ava: I’m a different person now, Vah Vah. I deleted grindr off my phone and everything.

Viola: Grindr is for gay men.

Ava: So am I.

Ava: I swear you can find a bruja to help you with this on the Internet somewhere. Please leave me alone. I am Ava Duvernay.

Viola: Hang up on me if you want. I’ma put my d-


*Ava hangs up the phone and walks back into the office


Ava: Okay, so Storm is going to be plus-sized.

White guy in a suit #3: Oh god

White guy in a suit #5: *snorts a line of coke*. . .. . .  . I’m fucking wit it.

*Viola Davis walks into the office*

Viola: Let’s go right now, Ava.

Ava: Ay yo, how you just walk in my shit an-

White guy in a suit #4: I guess you two very strong, independent, well-spoken ladies don’t need us. How about a lunch break, fellas?

White guy in a suit #5: Like a motherfucker

*The suited white men all get up from the chairs and walk out of the room simulataneously. Ava watches in disbelief.*

Viola: Hi, Ava Duvernay. I’m Viola Davis.

Ava: I knew I shoulda directed Fences. I knew it.


*Prince lays with his eyes open on a barely there mattress in a gray cell. He was granted his silk purple pajama pants with a matching top, because he’d be damned if he was wearing Government Issue crap. The door to the cell suddenly unlocks and a tall Indian woman in a swat uniform walks in*


Guard: Come with me, please.


*Prince rolls his eyes and gets up from his pathetically thin bed*


Prince: Have you ever seen the waters of Geirangerfjord?

Guard: I don’t. . . No, I haven’t.

Prince: Ah. Your eyes just reminded me of them is all.

Guard: Thank you, Mr. Rogers.

Prince: Please, call me “daddy”.

Guard: Heh, no thank you. Walk before I  have to threaten you.

Prince: Indeed.


*The guard makes room for Prince to exit the cell and Prince obliges*


Prince: So Jehovah, right


*Prince proceeds to explain Jehovah God’s intention of restoring Earth to the paradise he intended as they walk down a metallic silver hallway. It’s like some shit out of X-Men*


*The guard stops at an interesting, futuristic looking door. She swipes a card in front of a reflective panel and the door swirls open.*


*Prince walks in behind the guard to see David Bowie and George Michael playing ping pong in green and blue pajamas, respectively. Besides the ping pong table, there is a couch and a very obvious two way mirror. The guard suddenly walks back out and the door swirls shut behind her. Prince walks over to observe the match*


Prince: is this like a tournament or

David: *Returns a serve* No, we’re just knocking some balls around. We’re living legends; we shouldn’t have to ask for a ping pong table.

George: *knocks it back* We’ve been waiting for you, actually. They have some big announcement for us.

Prince: If it’s not about setting us free, I don’t care even a little bit.

Cameron: Then you should care very much.


*Cameron’s voice echoes throughout the room via loudspeaker.*


Cameron: I have good news and bad news.

George: Yay. *aces David*

Cameron: The bad news is that the concert is cancelled. President Trump announced it on twitter and now we must do damage control. He looks crazy now.

Prince: Now?

David: It was a stupid idea anyway.

Cameron: . . . Yeah.

Cameron: But the good news is that we still need you.

George: *Aces David again* Yay.

Cameron: You will be our test subjects for experimenting with the afterlife.

David: Oh, come on. I mean, cool, but no. *Gets aced by George once more*

David: Oh bloody hell.

Prince: I’m going outside. Trump is president and my people need me.

Cameron: No no no no no no. No. The world is already used to you guys being dead and so you’re dead. Now you’re going to investigate being dead.

David: How so?

Cameron: I’m glad you asked. We studied Beyoncé’s machine and made an interesting find. It doesn’t work through reanimation; it locates spirit energy.

George: *smacks ping pong ball back to David* lol okay

Cameron: The energy isn’t here, though. It’s somewhere else. Another plane if you will…

David: *returns the ball just to miss the return* I’m listening.

Cameron: The machine creates a small portal that finds the specific energy of an individual. See, you insert an item that gives off the person’s residue. Say, for example, if we wanted to find Prince, we’d put his favorite guitar into the machine. The machine finds you, pulls you back and creates a body using the most advanced 3D printing we’ve ever seen.

Cameron: Like, seriously, she must have been having this studied since “Ring the Alarm”.

Prince: And this has what to do with us, exactly?

Cameron: Well, we studied the machine and learned to create a large portal that leads to the home of the spiritual energy. You guys are going to investigate it for us.

George: Why not use your soldiers?

Cameron: Because we need people here that will protect us from Beyoncé.

Prince: You could just give us and the machine back.

Cameron: Hahahaha. Negative.

David: Well when is this allegedly happening?

Cameron: Now.


*The two way mirror comes up to reveal a wall of metallic liquid. It looks like that shit Busta Rhymes and Janet Jackson were standing in for the “What’s It Gonna Be” video*


Prince: Nope fourty times.

David: Don’t we need equipment or something here?

Prince: It don’t matter. I’m not touching that shit.

Cameron: Go in or we make you go in.


*the door unswirls itself open and a dozen Michael Jacksons flood the room wearing glittering military garb*


*Prince immediately flying kung fu kicks the first Michael in the face, causing him to make a familiar Michael Jackson noise*


*Another Michael charges forward only to catch a knee to the gut from George Michael. George Michael looks back at David Bowie and smirks*


George: This is exactly like that one party at Grace Jones’ house.

David: Exactly like it.

Prince: What? When? Nobody–*gets picked up from behind*–I missed that!

David: *Double axe handles the clone holding Prince in the back of head* I thought she banned you when she found out you were straight?

Prince: *pulls clones hands off of him and side kicks another one* No, because I’m not into pegging.

David: Ah.

George: HELLO


*David and Prince look back to see two Michael Jackson clones holding each of George’s arms. They suddenly toss him into the portal and giggle heartily*


Prince: We don’t have to ge-

David: We have to get him.


*David takes off and jumps into the portal. A few Michael Jackson clones grab Prince’s arms, but he shakes them off as if their hands were dirty*


Prince: Unass me. I’m going, I’m going.


*Prince walks over to the portal and touches the goo. It surprisingly has the texture of water. Prince sticks one leg into the portal, takes a deep breath and then falls in.*

The Lemons Part 31





*Donald Trump’s limousine pulls up in front of an academic looking building with very modern and shiny architecture. Steve Harvey can see statues of various black men ranging from Marcus Garvey to the guy that invented the phrase “where the hoes at?”.*


Steve: I didn’t know there were buildings this black in California.

Donald: This building is gray, what are you talking about?

Steve: I. . . Nothing, man. So this where the NBC meets? At a museum behind a strip mall?

Donald: Its very incognito. No one can find this place. Nobody. I had to send people, very smart people, to get Intel on this place for me.


*a mother and child with matching brown complexions walk out of the building. The young boy is holding ice cream and a balloon shaped liked Nat Turner’s head. The Nat Turner head is smiling and has a few drops of blood on its face.*


Steve: It look like they having a field trip.

Donald: No one bothers these guys, though. Trust me.

Steve:. . . So what you want me to do, Donald?

Donald: I need you to go and talk to them. Tell them they have the President’s support.

Steve: Donald, bruh, I don’t know how much your support is worth to these dudes, man. You got goddamn David Duke sending you birthday invites. You like Obama for Nazis. No disrespect.

Donald: Steve. Steve! You can’t choose who supports you. No, they choose you. I just ignore those guys, they’re very misguided. Motivated but misguided.

Steve: Uh-huh.

Donald: Look, these guys, they respect manliness. What’s manlier than doing what you want to women?

Steve: Excuse me?

Donald: I’m the president, I do what I want. You tell them that President Trump sent you and that it’s imperative. Have them agree to speak to you and treat you as my envoy.

Steve: Envoy? Like a squire? Look, man, I host Miss America. I don’t ne-

Donald: Which I owned.

Steve: Yeah, I just realized what I was saying, man.

Steve: Aight, ima go in here.

Donald: You do that. Let me get my hot tamale back to the white house for debriefing. You feel me?

Steve: Whatever you say, Donald.


*Steve Harvey gets out of the limousine as Trump’s bodyguard holds the door*


Donald: Good boy!

Steve: Wh-


*the door slams and the limo pulls off*


Steve: Man, I can’t believe this.

Bernie: (Sheeeeit, me neither) .

Steve: (Oh, shut up. Shut the hell up.)

Bernie: (How you mad at me? You the one getting in bed with all these white folks.)

Bernie: (Shoot, you sell your soul to devil, don’t be surprised when he collect due.)

Steve: (You dead! Why am I listening to you?)

Bernie: (Because I’m in your head, dummy!)


*Steve Harvey starts doing the stinky leg in pub-*




*Steve holds his leg down and looks around to see who saw him*


Bernie: (You better get some act right. I was pretty cool with being dead, so don’t make me jump off of something, nigga.)

??? : Were you just doing the stinky leg?


*Steve spins around to see Nate Parker walking towards him as the automatic doors to the NBC building*


Steve: Aw, man, Nate Parker! Ay, man, that Nat Turner movie was a good flick, man. Couldn’t believe it wasn’t at the Oscars.

Nate: Thank you, thank you. What was your favorite part?

Steve: Man, when the revolt started? Aw, dog, I damn near she’d a tear or two. They was running towards the camera and I could feel my people’s anger, man. The way you shot that scene and how–

Nate: You didn’t even see it, did you?

Steve:– Look, bro, you told Oprah she couldnt help you with being a pariah, man. I can’t be associating with you when you did what you did.

Nate: Be a black man, is that it?

Steve: What? I’m black, too, man! I’m talking about the rape.

Nate: Don’t say that.

Steve: That you raped somebody? So you didn’t do it?

Nate: I don’t think this negativity is necessary. Ive been trying to stay away from this.

Steve: Man, this what I’m talking about, man. You ju– Look, I’m trying to help y’all.

Nate: No one here wants to be on Family Feud but thanks for asking.

Steve: No, it’s about feminism, dog.


*Nate’s ears twitch and his nostrils flare as a grimace slowly forms on his face*



Steve: I heard y’all want to kill it or something, I don’t know.


*Nate relaxes*


Steve: Donald Trump wants to help. He said he wants black men to be men again.

Nate: Lord knows we need it. Fine. Follow me.


*Nate walks back through the automatic doors and into the gray building. Steve follows suit.*


Bernie: (Who this nigga?)

Steve: (Nate Parker. He made a movie about Nat Turner that got picked up from film festivals.)

Bernie: (Go head! Damn shame I ain’t live to see that, boy. I know white people was tripping)


*Nate walks Steve past the front desk where a voluptuous white woman in a blouse and pencil skirt sits. Nate gives her a friendly nod and Steve waves creepily.*


Steve: (Yeah, see, it came out that him and his friend raped some white chick)

Bernie: (and he still alive?)

Steve: (Well he was on the Penn State wrestling team)

Bernie: (They love them some sexual assault, huh)


*Nate and Steve walk through an exhibit that details the making of Crown Royal bags. Steve looked around in awe as Bernie kept talking in his brain.*


Bernie: (So you telling me a guy that allegedly raped a white girl got to make a movie about a slave uprising and people liked it?)

Steve: (Well people just found out. You know how it go: women say something happen, they won’t shut up, eventually some do-gooder tell everybody at the weakest point of your career.)

Bernie: (I don’t rape women, Steve, so I don’t know how it go. You teaching me something.)

Steve: (Oh, stop that! Stop it!)


*Nate walks through an exhibit about Serena Williams’ ass and walks up to what looks like elevator doors. He pushes his thumb into a small square next to the door and it slides open*


Nate: Please come in.


*Steve gives him a look and then proceeds through the door. He walks into a room that looks like the lobby of a country club. Dave Chappelle is sitting on a white leather sofa next to a set of double doors smoking a cigarette. The doors next to him are engraved with an image of Hannibal defeating Scipio Africanus in battle. Dave looks up and sees Steve.*


Dave: Oh, shit! It’s Mr. Hightower.

Steve: Oh, hey, Romeo. When did you start doing crack? You look bad, man.

Dave: Hey, fuck you. Not everybody running around Hollywood getting titty lifts and mustache shape ups like you.

Steve: Why you even here, David?

Dave: Its none of your business, but I’m here to meet with Brother Father.

Steve: Brother Father?

Nate: The BrotherFather.

Dave: Yeah, the Brother Father.

Steve: I guess that’s who I’m looking for, too. Donald Trump sent me.

Dave: Oh, you his butler like Forest Whittaker? Damn, you was just on TV yesterday, nigga.

Nate: Yeah, what is your relationship with Donald Trump anyway?

Steve: we worked together a few times. We basically cowor-

Dave: You were on celebrity apprentice and hosted a Miss America. That nigga is the boss of your life now.

Steve: I don’t know who you think I am, but I was doing comedy when you was in diapers.

Dave: Nigga, we blew up around the same time, what are you talking about?


*A captivating woman of some sort of mixed descent peeks out of the doors with the Hannibal carving*


The Doorwoman: The BrotherFather will see you now.

Steve:. . . All of us? I mea-

Doorwoman: The BrotherFather will see you. Now.


*the door woman goes back into the room, leaving the door open. Steve, Nate and Dave follow her.*


*They walk into a large circular room with a desk at the far end. A brown leather chair of commendable size sits behind the desk. It faces away from the door towards several large flat screen TVs. The walls are adorned with a jaw-dropping amount of photographs and paintings. Various moments in black history made up the images, varying from the tragic to the comical.*


*Steve looked to his left and saw a painting of what looked like Walt Chamberlain in a bed of women. Underneath it was a photograph of Elijah Muhammad rolling a joint. To the right of that photograph was a picture of Kanye West next to Mike Myers. Steve Harvey tried to take in as much as he could before the doorwoman spoke.*


Doorwoman: There are two celebrities and a pariah here to see you, BrotherFather.


*the Doorwoman turns her head at a 6 degree angle*


Doorwoman: Move forward, imbeciles.


Dave: Ma’am, I am Dave Chappelle.


*Nate Parker and Steve Harvey walks toward the desk. Dave looks at the Doorwoman and shakes his head before following them*


*Nate makes it to the desk before the others and places his hands on the edge*


Nate: BrotherFather.


*The chair slowly spins around, allowing Bill Cosby to scowl at the men disturbing his peace*


Steve: Huh?

Bernie: (I want out.)


*Mama T and Blue Ivy float across Tina and Richard Lawson’s pool in matching inflatable couches. Tina holds a mimosa in a wine flute and Blue Ivy holds a bottle of minute maid orange juice*


Mama T: What do you wanna name the babies?

Blue Ivy: Hmmmm. Blue and Ivy.

Mama T: If you ain’t your mama’s child.

Blue Ivy: Mama T.

Mama T: Yes, baby?

Blue Ivy: If you have your own money, why do you use all of Pop Pop Richard’s?

Mama T: Because men don’t need their money since they die faster.

Blue Ivy: They do?

Mama T: Yeah, men are dumb like little monkeys, baby. That’s why they need women to come take care of them and their money.


Mama T: Did you know boys live longer when they’re married?

Blue Ivy: Then I’m not marrying any boys, yuck.

Mama T: That’s the spirit.

Richard: Celestine! Solange is on the phone.

Mama T: But. . . But pool.

Richard: She said it’s important.

Mama T: Uuuuuuggghhh


*Mama T presses her phone screen and her inflatable couch floats towards Richard. Richard leans down and hands Tina the phone.*


Mama T: Yes, baby

Solo: Good morning to you, too, mommy.

Mama T: Yeah, that part.

Solo: Have you talked to Bey?

Mama T: You know we don’t talk on the phone. She just send me screenshots of my instagram and say I’m doing too much.

Mama T: Why you ain’t call her?

Solo: I did. She didn’t answer. I think I’m going to go back.

Mama T: Nah, but don’t. You went from “hipster coffee shop Aaliyah” to people saying you’re last album was better than your sister’s last album with a straight face. You need to focus.

Solo: I can’t focus if my sister’s dead.

Mama T: We’ll go see what she doing.

Solo: Hahaha, no, Mama. I can-

Mama T: Wow, you don’t trust me.

Blue Ivy: I don’t know, Mama T.

Mama T: Why you still here? Don’t you have virtual reality goggles?

Blue Ivy: You have the couch remote!

Solo: Ma, I’m concerned, for real.

Mama T: Yeah, yeah, we bout to do that. Gaaaahlee.

Solo: Thank you, ma. I just wanted to let you know I was worried about my sister.

Mama T: Yes, and you know I love your feelings, baby.

Solo: Lol, whatever, bye.


*Mama T ends the call and then attempts to call her oldest daughter. The line begins to ring, but then it cuts off abruptly. Mama T looks at the phone in shock.*


Mama T: Your mama on some other shit if she think she gonna hang up without even answering the damn phone. Let’s see what she up to.


*Mama T uses the remote to move her floating couch to the edge of the pool. She sticks out her toe until it touches cement and begins moving to dry land.*


Blue: Mama T. Grandm-

Mama T: I told you don’t call me that. I’m getting you, dag.


*Beyoncé’s iPhoneOne sits on a street with two bullets in it. Madonna kicks it across the pavement and into a tree knot*


Madonna: Goooooal!

Madonna: Where did you go Nubian goddess? I got some, uh, tributes for you hahhahaha.


*Madonna continues walking down a road not too far from The Harris-Burka house towards an overturned truck with dead soldiers in front of it. As she slowly moves toward the grisly scene, a hand grabs her foot. She shakes it off and lightly kicks Slaybell in the head.*


Madonna: I like you so don’t make me look at you again, okay?


*Beyoncé sits behind the overturned truck leaning against its roof. Jay makes himself into a human shelter over her head.*


Bey: I could just kill her, for real.

Jay: Not with our babies in your stomach you not.

Madonna: I can just take them out for you. Make it fair.


*Madonna jumps down and

The Lemons Part 30










*Steve Harvey sits in a dim interrogation room, sweating profusely. The walls are gray on the top half and a sickly, doo-doo green on the bottom. A one-sided mirror returns Steve Harvey’s stare as he ponders what the people on the other side plan to do to him*


*A tall black man with a small afro walks into the room. A knowing smirk distorts his 60 year old features as he watches Steve Harvey’s beady, dachshund-like eyes. He calmly takes a seat in the chair across from Steve, blocking the cold gaze of the one-sided mirror.*


Black cop: Tsk tsk tsk. Steve Harvey, you know you fucked up right?

Steve: Look, man–

Black cop: Sergeant Ross.

Steve: Whatever, man. I don’t know what the hell y’all talking about.

Steve: I don’t know who told y’all I was trying to buy NBC but that’s a lie, okay?

Sgt. Ross: Shut your Mr. Potato Head looking ass up. We shoulda known you of all people would take Bill Cosby’s place.

Steve: What? I ain’t tryna be no Bill Cosby, man. Now who is we? Are you talking about white people? You darker than me–

Sgt. Ross: Shut ya dumb ass up.

Sgt. Ross: Try to turn into the black Dr. Phil and win over white people, huh? It works and you start hosting Family Feud and now you the man?

Sgt. Ross: As a rich black man, you know trying to buy NBC is a serious offense.

Steve: I don’t want it! Keep it! What ima do with a damn TV network? I host Miss Universe and I swear that’s enough for me, fella.

Sgt. Ross: Nigga, we going through your phone records now. If we find you even talked to the mother of a cousin of a guy that’s Facebook friends with somebody that work for NBC, you gonna be the Pariah of Comedy.

Sgt. Ross: I’m talking 20 something women of various ethnicities accusing you of assault.

Steve: Come on, now

Sgt. Ross: Some of them gonna say you begged them to shit on your chest

Steve: Now, that’s foul, man. That’s foul. All that over a news network?

Sgt. Ross: I’m telling you right now: This not the tree you wanna climb, Steve. Don’t fuck with me.

Sgt. Ross: This not Booker T Washington High and I’m not Lori Beth Denberg, okay, nigga?

Sgt. Ross: Did the NBC put you up to this?

Steve: The what? The thing I’m trying to buy? Y’all confusing me.

Sgt. Ross: Monica, come in here please.

*a young Latina woman in a grey pantsuit walks in and stands next to the sergeant*


Sgt. Ross: Officer Gutierrez, we have a celebrity playing dumb. He don’t know what the NBC is.

Ofc. Guttierez: Oh, the King of Comedy doesn’t know?

Sgt. Ross: You mind jogging his memory?


*Ofc. Gutierrez walks up to Steve Harvey and slaps him so hard sweat sprays from his mustache*



Sgt. Ross: Self-defense. You tried to grab her titty.

Steve: WHAT?

Ofc. Gutierrez: I feel so violated.

Sgt. Ross: You with the National Brotherhood Coalition, ain’t you?

Steve: Listen, Officer Ross–

Sgt. Ross: Sergeant, pussy boy.

Steve: –I don’t know about no national brotherhoods illuminatis, man. I just wanna make money and have sex with big women.

Ofc. Gutierrez: Nonconsensually

Steve: Woman, are you out of your head?


*a white dude with glasses and a job interview outfit comes into the interrogation room and walks up to Sgt. Ross. He leans down and whispers something into Ross’ ear.*


Sgt. Ross: Get the fuck out of here.

Voice: Steve, grab your things. We’re outta here. These pigs are oinking at the wrong minority.


*Donald Trump walks into the interrogation room with two identical bodyguards that strongly resemble Rob Gronkowski*


Steve: Uhhhhhhhhhh

Sgt. Ross: Mr. President. . .

Trump: Say that one more time.

Sgt. Ross: Mr. President. . .

Trump: Yes, yes, delicious. Tasty. Those are tasty words, I won’t get sick of it, I’m telling you.

Trump: Steve, your president just told you to come on. What are ya doing?

Steve: Um, yeah, here I come.


*Steve stands up and comes toward Trump. Trump eyes down Officer Gutierrez.*


Trump: You. How long have you been a cop?

Ofc. Gutierrez: 3 years, Mr. President.

Trump: You wanna be head of my security. Great pay, amazing pay. The best benefits. You’ll be so healthy you won’t believe it. We’re talking premium health.

Ofc. Gutierrez: Um, wow. I–

Trump: Come with me. Come on, you’ll love it, come on.


*Trump walks out of the interrogation room with a bodyguard in front of him and a bodyguard behind him. Steve Harvey and Ofc. Gutierrez follow the trio. The police officers in the station look on in astonishment as Trump walks out with exactly what he wanted.*


*Trump’s bodyguard opens the door to a limousine as the other bodyguard gets in first. Trump and his company follow suit.*


Trump: So Steve, how are you doing? You look great. Fantastic. Your mustache is as macho as ever.

Steve: Thank you. I’m, uh, doing good, Mr. President.

Trump: Please, call me Donald. You act like we haven’t snorted coke off of the same hookers hahahaha.

Trump: Remember when the hooker shit in the other hooker’s mouth and the guy from 2 Live Crew barfed and left? Hahahaha great times, great times.

Trump: This cop here actually reminds me of one of my favorite call girls.

Trump: Officer Lopez, I’m telling you, you’re gonna love her. She’s my maid now. Stupendous rack. Amazing.


*Ofc. Guttierez chuckles uneasily*


Trump: So Steve, listen, I need you to help me reach out to the black community.

Steve: Well, uh, I don’t know how well that’s gonna go, exactly.

Steve: Black women kinda took over now with this feminism stuff so as you can see, Donald, I had to cross over.

Steve: I tried to give them advice and they turned on me, man. The fellas, they can’t do nothing. They, the women, they hold the coochie hostage, you know?

Trump: Yes, the coochie.

Steve: Yeah, man. It’s a hard time to be a black man.

Trump: See, Steve, that’s where I want to help you out. See, there’s some black guys that are strong. They want to make black men men., they want to make you guys men.

Trump: That feminism stuff is killing the American family. That’s why you and the National Brotherhoods Coalition are going to help me kill it.

Steve: What is this National Brotherhood you keep talking about?

Trump: Wait, you’re not a member? Kanye definitely thought you were.

Steve: I don’t even talk to Kanye, dog.

Trump: I need you to go the NBC and let them know that I have an extremely special mission for them.

Steve: What? To kill feminism? How they even gonna do that? Kill all the women? Y’all can’t do th-

Trump: No, they’re  going to rip it apart limb by limb.

Steve: Okaaaay.

Trump: And the first limb is Beyoncé Knowles-Carter.


*Jay-Z sits on a couch in the Harris-Burtka home between Naomi420 and Slaybell. Beyoncé is gracefully planted on Jay’s lap, listening intently to Neil Patrick Harris speak from the other couch. David Burtka holds Neil’s shoulders like a human blanket.*


Neil: And I studied Krav Maga, but Michael Jackson fights like he dances and it’s so frigging scary.

Neil: He, like did this thing where he spun in place and hit me what had to be like 13 times.

Neil: They were just going at it and it was like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon or something. Like, do you know what Street Fighter is?

Bey: I know what Street Fighter is

David: Beyoncé knows what Street Fighter is, babe.

Neil: I heard her, Davecat.

Neil: Like, they were literally kung-fu fighting. They were fast as lightning. It was a lotta bit–

Bey: Boy, if you don’t get to the point

Neil: Yes, I can be–. . . Yes.

Neil: So the MJ clone beat us up and took Prince’s unconscious body.

Neil: None of this makes sense to me Beyoncé. We had to chloroform the kids.

David: We’re going to tell them it was a dream when they wake up.

Bey: That is. . . it works.

Neil: Can’t argue when you’re chloroformed lol

Jay: Haaa

Bey: Chairs don’t laugh


Neil: Why would Michael Jackson come back to life to take Prince away? How?

Bey: Let me worry about that, Patrick. What you guys should be worried about is what to get me for my baby shower.

Neil: ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod


David: What

Bey: I’m having twins

*Neil shrieks and David cries immediately*

Neil: Can I oh my god can I touch your stomach

Bey: Yes

*Neil touches her stomach*

Neil: Hi most important twins ever holy shit you’re Beyonce and you’re having two babies at the same time.


*Beyoncé stands up from Jay’s lap and Naomi and Slaybell follow suit. Jay stands up but Beyoncé pushes him back down without even looking at him*


Bey: Slaybell, could you stay here for the next few hours just in case Warner Bros. sends Tupac next or something?

Slaybell: Of course, most luminescent goddess.

Bey: Husband, you may stand up.


*Jay looks at her incredulously*


Bey: We’re gonna do this? Prince is kidnapped and you wanna do this?


*Jay stands up*


Bey: Husbands, am I right?

David: You’re always right.

Neil: Totally right.


*Beyoncé kisses Neil and David on the cheeks and leaves the house to return to her horse. Jay and Naomi follow suit.*


David: So, Ms. Slaybell, have you ever played You Don’t Know Jack?

Slaybell: Actually, I have

Neil: *spits out some blood* Awwwwwwwww sookie sookie now.


*Meanwhile, Prince wakes up in a pitch black room. He tries to move, but his wrists are constrained to armrests. He does the same with his ankles to no avail. Prince let’s out an annoyed sigh.*


Prince: Ya know, I thought it was kinda bizarre that “your butt is mine” was your opening line when you saw me. This is taking it over board, Michael.

Prince: My butt is mine and you can’t have it.

???: What are you going on about, Prince?

Prince: George Michael?

George: Yes, unfortunately.

Prince: I thought you for real died.

George: Nope. They tried to kill me, thought they did, I hid out at Katy Perry’s house and then they found me, yeah?

???: At least you had a chance to hide. I was pulled out of my bed.

George: Oh, and David’s here.

Prince: Bowie. So we all just kidnapped and they telling people we dead?

David Bowie: Yes, but they’ve been very hospitable.

Prince: Is anyone not hospitable to you?

David Bowie: Nancy Reagan was a bane to my presence, I tell you what


*The lights flick on, allowing the pop stars to see each other tied to metal chairs. The room they’re in is like something out of Hostel, but much cleaner. They face the only door whichever is blocked by Cameron Strang and Michael Jackson.*


Cameron: I’m glad to see you are awake, gentlemen. We put a lot of effort into getting you guys in the same room. That would cost most people millions hahahaha.

Michael: Heeheeheehee

Prince: What is this? You have a personal Michael Jackson impersonator?

George: Yes, I have to say this imagery has me quite cross.

Cameron: No, this is actually a clone. Cloning technology may not be popular anymore, but it’s improved in leaps and bounds. There are clones walking among us and you wouldn’t even know.

David: I believe you’re talking about Ariana Grande.

Prince: Paha!

Cameron: Cute. This clone is imperfect, as clones tend to be, but we’ll have the real Michael Jackson, soon.

Cameron: We’ve acquired the technology to bring back the dead, and with it, we shall rule the world.

Prince: With Michael Jackson tho

Cameron: I’m surprised you couldn’t tell he was a clone at Neil Patrick Harris’  house. The real Michael would’ve kicked your ass a lot faster.

Prince: Bring that nigga back to life right now.


*Cameron laughs as he walks toward Prince*


Cameron: See, we intend to make America great again.

George: Oh, god. You’re working for Trump.

Cameron: No, Trump is working for us, stupid. The people!

George: You’re bloody mad.

Prince: I’m bloody mad. Y’all talking like he president or something.


*the white men in the room look at Prince*


Prince: What?

David: Oh, you poor soul. Trump was inaugurated.

Prince: What.

Cameron: He’s President Trump now.

Prince: Michael Jackson, kill me.


*The Michael clone starts walking toward Prince but Cameron pushes it backwards*


Cameron: Don’t do that! We need you alive, Nelson.

Prince: Don’t call me that.

Cameron: The machine’s stability hasn’t been confirmed. This Michael Jackson clone is a failsafe in case the machine doesn’t work.

Cameron: You three, however, are going to be our living puppets. A good brainwashing should do.

Prince: 2 woke 4 that.

George: I think my brain’s clean enough.

David: So you had to fake our deaths?

Cameron: Absolutely. We needed to drain as much hope from America as possible. As you can see, people didn’t even want to leave their homes and now we have the greatest president ever.

George: I don’t really think it’s good if your guy wins because enough people didn’t vote.

Cameron: Oh, shut–Shut the fuck up, George Michael.

Prince: Wait, did you brainwash Madonna?

Cameron: Oh, no no no. She’s just fucking nuts.

Cameron: You see, with our newly stolen ReBirth machine, we will be able to bring back the greatest heroes of American Music. Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, James Brown and more. And they’ll all be under our control.

Prince: Why don’t you just kill us now and bring us back to life?

David: Smooth. Just. . . So smooth.

Cameron: We really tried with you and George, but you two just have to have international spy level self-preservation skills for some reason. Since we were able to keep you alive, you’ll be guinea pigs for our new brainwashing technology. And torture technology. We’re going to torture and brainwash you until you like Trump and does what he says, basically.


Cameron: As a result of aaaallll of thiiissss shiiiiit, we’re going to throw the biggest concert in the history of the world.

Cameron: Sponsored by Russia and the Trump administration! Hahahahahahahaahaha

Michael: Heeheehehehee