*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*
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*
Viola: What are you doing?
Viola: Okay. Look, Steve got out. Donald Trump took him out of the police station.
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 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.
*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.
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?
*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 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.*