*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.
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!
*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: STOP THAT
*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*
Nate: WHAT ABOUT IT.
Steve: I heard y’all want to kill it or something, I don’t know.
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*
*The chair slowly spins around, allowing Bill Cosby to scowl at the men disturbing his peace*
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: 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