*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*
Steve: AW, WHAT THE HELL?
Sgt. Ross: Self-defense. You tried to grab her titty.
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*
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.
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
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.
Bey: I’m having twins
*Neil shrieks and David cries immediately*
Neil: Can I oh my god can I touch your stomach
*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.
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.
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*
David: Oh, you poor soul. Trump was inaugurated.
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