Wholetimethough Presents “Melamilk”

Hey, y’all. I know it’s been a while since the wild adventures of our Lord Queen and trust that I am not done. I’ve been following pop culture like you have and Jay Z has done too many things that I have yet to make fun of him for. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to get my shit in a bag so it’s together, focusing on my craft and paying dues. I’ve been working on various writings and trying to get folks to let me write for them to no avail, yet I have yet to feel defeated. Tonight I’d like to show one of the reasons why.

A while ago, I was reading one of my dad’s hotep pseudo-science books about melanin and I was entertained. It talked about how melanin made black people almost superhuman while white people’s lack thereof is what makes them so bizarre and dangerous. I began to wonder what would be the consequences of white people trying to harness the power of such mysterious energy, but in a modern context. The results of my imagination are beneath me. I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

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Melamilk 

March 3rd
Melissa figured it would be a regular, boring day at the First Letter Theater, but her best friend Orchid is always set on changing that with her Internet videos. They worked in an office with off white walls, 3 cubicles and a desk in the back for their manager Linda. Linda was always off somewhere smoking or laughing with other higher ups, so her bestie was free to leave her cubicle and bring entertainment. The 3rd cubicle was for Kim, the only white girl in telemarketing. She was nosy as shit. 

On this day, Melissa looked at her phone in disbelief. Orchid told her to search Melamilk and wouldn’t explain what it was and, for some reason, it was the last thing she expected: milk made from melanin. Orchid always found some wild shit on the Internet, but this isn’t from a twitter account with a misspelled name; this was on the Biology Journal website. 
“So you see it?”, her friend Orchid said as she stood over Melissa and tried to see the phone, “this is crossing the line”. Melissa ran her thumb up her phone’s screen slowly, letting her mind digest what she was reading. A laboratory was researching a way to make a melanin based energy drink. 
A Harvard university student named Michael Yancey had allegedly found a way to “milk” melanin and use it as a nutritional supplement. He was a nerdy looking black guy with a neat goatee but a haggard hairline. “He got a shape-up like a sellout”, Melissa thought to herself. He learned how to farm melanocytes to produce a copious amount of melanin. 
Michael read about all of the useful properties and he realized it could be used to help those “in need”. “A lot of black people, including myself at one point, didn’t even know how much melanin helps us on a physiological level” he told the science website. “Once I learned how to encourage melanocytes to produce melanin away from the body,I felt it was only right to use it to help people”. Melissa rolled her eyes and thought he means “White people”.

She looked at Orchid, relaxing her wrist and letting the article fall away from her sight. “So they’re making black people’s skin drinkable so they can stop getting sunburn, basically?” 

Orchid leaned over her shoulder. “More than that. Did you even read the article? They trying to strengthen immune systems and increase muscle energy or some shit.”
Melissa rolled her eyes and looked back at her phone. The next paragraph in the article explained how Yancey found that adding eumelanin to a milk-based solution he developed enhanced its antioxidant properties. The Melamilk would be absorbed into the stomach, causing the special melanocytes to spread to the skin through the bloodstream. When asked if Melamilk was unsafe, he replied “Not at all. I still would not recommend drinking too much, though.”

Melissa was nonplussed. “But there’s already food with melanin in it so why is this stuff special? Is he getting it from living creatures or something?” 

“Nigga probably suck it out his ass with a syringe and shit” Orchid bends over and pretends to stick a needle in her butt. “Oooooh, wait til white people taste THIS ass”. Melissa covers her mouth as she laughs at her co-worker turned best friend. 

“Would you like some more booty juice, massa?” Orchid starts twerking and sticking her tongue out. Melissa laughs before a white guy’s voice cuts through. 

“Whoooooa, am I interrupting something?” 
Mark peeked through the doorway, an intrigued smirk across his face. Mark was an average height white guy (he would say “I’m Italian and Armenian,  thank you”, only for Orchid to reply “so you white with herbs and cheeses?”) with brown hair and a 5 o clock shadow. He worked in the box office, but he came up to bother them regularly. He’d say everybody else sucked, but he just didn’t want to admit he preferred black girls. “Or can I join in?” He said through coffee stained teeth. 
Orchid turned around and put her booty against the counter “You most certainly can not. This is a girl’s only club.”
“Well,what if I say identify as a woman, now?” 

“I’d say ‘show me your pussy'”

“Ah, see. . . I’m still looking for one of those”

“I hope you find one, Spaghetti Kardashian”

“Ah, a portmanteau of stereotypes. You’re like a modern day Mo’nique.”

Melissa laughed at the exchange, suddenly wondering if Mark would be the type to drink Melamilk. “Mark”, Melissa called out “Would you be interested in this?” 
Melissa placed the phone in Mark’s hand and he squinted. “Melanin Milk? Like the stuff in people’s skin?” 

“Yes”, Melissa replied. “They want to make our skin into Red Bull.”

“Sounds gross” 

“Beg your pardon?” Orchid interjected. 

“No, not gross. Like, you know, drinking people’s skin. Black people’s skin isn’t gross.” 

“Good save, Mark. Good save.” Orchid pat him on the back then picked up her juice and drank some.

“It says here the guy says it makes you a better dancer. Ha, I’d buy boxes of this shit if it did that.”

“Don’t joke like that.” Orchid replied. “You would really drink that?” 

“I mean, if it’s not harming anyone, right? It’s not like I’d be getting cornrolls or something. Start saying stuff like ‘yo, yo what’s up, dawg? The heezy off the sheezy my n-wordizzle.”

Orchid raises her eyebrow. “So that’s how we sound to you?” 

“No, no, I was making fun of how old white people think you guys talk. You know, they still use slang from like 2002. Come on, you know I be. . . I be on the new shit. Smoking that gas. With the draco.”

Orchid covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Do you hear this man?” 

Melissa chimed in, “I don’t know, I mean, white people do need help. You guys get skin cancer from sunlight and stuff.”
“and that fucking sucks, dude. The article says that’s one of the main uses for it.” Mark tries to hand the phone to Orchid, but she declines with her glare. “So not be in the sun so much?” she says. “I don’t know, this just seems weird to me.”
Mark sighs. “So I guess people are going to protest this, huh?” 

Melissa and Orchid gave Mark a look that made his hair stand on end. “It was a. . . It’s a genuine questiokay I’ll talk to you guys later.” Mark slides out of the room as Orchid shakes her head.

“See, here we go. Now white people finna piss on our face and tell us they’re Drake.”
“. . .  I thought it was ‘tell me it’s raining’?”
“I guess, but I wouldn’t mind if Drake pissed on my face”

Melissa laughs so hard that a tear rolls down her cheek. She begins to shove Orchid playfully with one hand. “Oh my God, bitch, get away from me”. 

March 29th

“HOE” Orchid bursts into the telemarketing office and charges towards Melissa. “They really gonna make it! They got caucasian testimonies!” 

Melissa spun her chair from her desk to see what Orchid was yelling about. Kim, the redhead in the next cubicle, peaked her nosy ass head up to see why Melissa responded to being called a hoe. 

“You are super loud.” Melissa said with her 6-inch voice. 

“Yo, look at this. Look.” Orchid handed her phone to Melissa assertively. Melissa turned the phone right-side up to see a video of what looked like Rachel Dolezal with a sew-in. The woman began talking about how much healthier she’s been feeling. 

“It’s like eating bee pollen every hour. I’ve been drinking Melamilk with every meal and I’ve just felt more awake. Or should I say ‘woke’? Hahaha.” Melissa’s grip on the phone tightened, causing a faint cracking noise. 

“No, you don’t break my phone, I break my phone” Orchid reached but Melissa smacked her hand away. The woman continued her goofy testimony. 

“I’ve been able to move more gracefully. It’s like my skin is, I don’t know, like alive? I can feel my heartbeat! Like, you think I sound crazy”

“No,not at all” a man off camera said.”Have you experienced any side effects?” The woman laughed. “Besides a sudden addiction to Luther Vandross? Haha, no. I’ve just felt more vibrant. This is better than any energy drink. Like, wow, if black people always felt like this, no wonder they made it through slavery.”

 Melissa pushes the phone towards Orchid. “Bitch, take the phone before I throw it!” 

“Don’t give it to me, I might throw it too!” Orchid smacks the phone on to Melissa’s desk. 

Melissa looked at Orchid in disbelief. “Orchid, that white woman said she feels like a vibrant slave.”

“She didn’t exactly say that” Nosy ass Kim in the next cubicle looked down on the two women like a chunky-faced, red-haired Cheshire cat. “She said she sees how slaves could’ve survived slavery. It’s like a compliment.”

Orchid’s eye twitched. 

Melissa put on her best phony smile.”Kim, I am triggered. It would help if you didn’t add insult to injury by explaining idiotic statements to me.”

Kim adjusted her glasses. “I apologize. I simply wanted to, ya know, curb any potential misunderstandings.”

Orchid finally spoke up. “Okay, Kim. Thank you, Kim. Great. So, anyways, the article says that after FDA testing and shit, it could be released to the public as soon as August.”

“But who would sell it?” Melissa asked her. 

“Rite-Aid and GNC for one.”

“For two”, Melissa corrected

“Bitch.”

“I’m sorry”

“I feel like black twitter didn’t hear about this yet or something or Charlemagne the God would be talking about it. This like donkey of the d-”

“What? There’s a black twitter? Like a website?” Melissa was genuinely befuddled. 

Orchid rolled her eyes. “No. It’s–you don’t read buzzfeed?”

“I don’t. . . I don’t know what that is.”

“Wow, okay”

Kim peeked her head over the cubicle again. “Actually, Deray said on twitter that he would like to speak to the guy that created it.”

Orchid looked unimpressed “Okay, for what?” 

“I don’t know, Orchid” Kim replied “maybe some people like to have discourse before burning people at the stake.”

“Then he need to have discourse with that man’s barber”

Melissa looked at Kim and then at Orchid before speaking up. “The FDA wouldn’t really authorize this would they?” 

Orchid had her answer “They authorized dick pills that can kill you if you hard for over four hours, so I don’t see why not.”
Kim responded, “It’ll probably be a regular old energy drink and get exposed soon. Maybe all of this melanin talk was some foolishness to boost interest. Once people actually start buying it and realize it’s just chocolate milk with extra vitamins, it’ll be another passing fad”. Kim was making sense, but nobody asked her ass. 

August 23rd 

Melissa has just finished convincing a theatergoer to renew their subscription when Orchid rolled her chair into her cubicle. She rolled uncomfortably close to Melissa, practically putting her chin onto her shoulder. The fact that she put a mint in her mouth, knowing she would do this, slightly vexed Melissa. 

“Melissa. Melissa, the shit sold out immediately, Melissa.”

“I heard. Uh, read.”

“They said it taste good, Melissa.”

“I read.”

“White guys are going to start calling us ‘Melamilk’.”

Melissa’s eyes shot open. She never considered the cultural effects of white people having a melanin drink. They’d give it a goofy street name like “dat milk”. What if Ellen starts drinking it? Can she still fuck with her after that? Oh god, and the YouTube reviews. 

Melissa massaged the right side of her face like she was kneading dough. “What are we going to do, Orchid?” 

“We? What, you finna march? You smoking dicks.”

“No. No, I’m not. This is some really weird shit. This is like, I don’t know, when slaves breastfed the master’s babies or did experiments on us.”

Orchid gave her a “c’mon-son” face. “So what, you gonna infiltrate the factory? You gonna blow up the Melamilk vats?”
A look of surprise developed on Orchid’s face. “Are you batgirl? You like one of those chicks in the Black Panther trailer?” 

“Yo, fuck you.”

Kim and Mark walked into the telemarketing office whispering to each other before seeing Melissa and Orchid. 

They both stopped as if an army sergeant barked at them. 

Mark did that thing white people always do where they suck their lips in. “Yo, what’s up, Melissa? Orchid? Y’all looking on fleek as usual.”

Orchid sighed. “Mark, if you spaced this type of shit out, right-” 

“My bad. I mean. . .my bad. It’s not a slang thing or anything.”

“So, are y’all having sex? What is this? All this?” Orchid waved her hand around as if she was drawing an invisible cage around Kim and Mark. 

Kim’s face turned rose as she promptly stepped away from Mark. She moved towards Orchid and Melissa as if they were playing a game of “Mother, May I”. 
“No, no not at all. Nothing of the sort.”
Melissa’s eyebrow raised. “So what is it? You guys started being weird immediately.”
Mark stepped forward and was next to Kim again. “You guys have to promise not to be mad at us.”

Melissa stood up from her chair. “You’re drinking Melamilk.”

Kim stepped forward once more. “Melissa, you’re acting like we said we’re on heroin.”
“You’re drinking melanin.”

“Okay!? You act like black people are the only people with melanin! Indian people have melanin, uh, Muslims have melanin–” 

“Wow, okay, stop. So, does it work?”
Mark stepped forward and was next to Kim once more. Orchid stood from her chair and put a hand up in Mark’s direction. “I need both of you to stop moving forward like that. I feel like you’re going to abduct me.”

Kim bowed her head. “I apologize. I apologize for my outburst. That isn’t like me and I know Muslims are different ethnicities.” 

Melissa gave Kim a look of pity. “I don’t care. This is something made from humans. This is like some sort of racist cannibalism.” 

“I think cannibalism is kind of harsh.”

“No! No, it’s not! Why is it that when white people want something, they get it? All the time. You don’t know where this shit is from. You don’t give a fuck. You just want to stop using suntan lotion!”

Kim did that thing where they suck their lips in.  “Well, yo-” 

Melissa practically teleported in front of Kim’s face. “‘Well, Actually’ me again, bitch. Do it.” Kim looked like Nicki Minaj if she turned around and Remy Ma was in her face. Orchid walked over and pushed Melissa back like a gentle offensive lineman. 

“Melissa, you need to chill. You are in outburst territory and this is, like, the number three cause of unemployment for black Americans.”

Melissa glared at Kim and Mark as Orchid turned and walked over to them. “Okay, so you guys aren’t about to go to HR or anything are you? Melissa is very stressed and ya know, she had a visit from Aunt Flo Jo.”

“Nuh uh”, Kim said, “You aren’t even on and you guys have been synced for like a year.”

Orchid was offended. “Wow, okay. We have pussy khaleesi, mother of uterus over here.”

Melissa walked over and did that thing where you suck your lips in. “Kim, Mark, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so emotional over. . . Something political like this.”

Mark sucked his lips in, too. “No, it’s fine. It’s not political, I understand where you’re coming from. A poll on Bossip showed that 88% of black people were against it.”
Orchid made a face like a fart just punched her in the nose. “You read Bossip, Mark? Wow. What?” 

“I mean. . . I like to know what Usher and the housewives of Atlanta are up to.”
Kim stood in front of Mark again. Melissa started to wonder if they were, in fact, fucking. “Look, Melissa. We just want to show you that people that drink this aren’t bad people. I always said I would get up and jog around the track near my house and I did it for once! Like, I got up, drank some Melamilk and bam, I was out the door.”

Kim kissed her own teeth. “I have faith that there’s no weird stuff going on. It’s probably plant-based melanin.”
Melissa looked unamused. “First off, you just solidified my point. Second, I hope so. . . But I doubt it.”

Mark started popping and locking in the background before transitioning into hitting dem folks. Orchid closed her eyes in annoyance. “Mark, what are you doing?” 
“I’m dancing. The Melamilk is giving me more rhythm.”

Orchid opened her eyes. “There’s not even music on, you pale nincompoop.”

September 22nd

Kim walked into the office with her newfound bounce that she discovered at the bottom of Melamilk bottles. Her light red hair had darkened to a scarlet color and became slightly curlier. She hadn’t even changed her regimen and Melissa would be dammed if she was going to offer assistance. Melissa was vexed by this whole thing. 

Kim came over to Melissa’s cubicle and smiled a wide, dumb ass smile. “Do you need me to take anything to the trash for you? Grab anything from the vending machine? Anything?” 

“Nah,” Melissa said without looking from her computer, “I’m fine.”

“Cool cool!” Kim’s head disappeared around the corner. Melissa couldn’t tell if she just hated how bubbly she was or she hated that she was bubbly because she drank something that was turning her black. 

Orchid walked around Melissa’s cubicle wall and knelt next to her with a look of concern. “So you get the blueprint for the Melamilk factory, Proud Mary?” 

Melissa sucked her teeth and didn’t look away from her computer screen. She had no energy for nonsense today. A part of her wants to feel like this Melamilk thing isn’t a big deal. The stress isn’t worth it and it’s not like they’re using her skin. The other part wants to fight Kim right now for expecting her to respect this. While these conflicting feelings battled within her, she chose to be quiet today. 

“Oh, okay” Orchid said. “You doing the stoic shit today. Gotcha.” Orchid slid back around her cubicle and began typing at her desk. Orchid was getting annoying too. She always had a joke for something but everything wasn’t funny. It’s unfair how some people can be in good spirits no matter what. 

No one bothered Melissa for the next 20 or so minutes, much to her surprise, until the door to the office burst open. She spun around and saw Kim stumbling in with what looked like vomit dripping from her mouth. It oozed to the ground, leaving a mucus like brown trail. “Oh my God, Kim!” Melissa shouted. 

Kim looked at her, her eyes blurry with tears before she heaved again. More of the blackish brown ooze fell out of her mouth and onto the ground. When it made a pile on the floor, it almost looked like living shit. Kim fell to her knees and cried behind the pile. “I don’t know! I don’t know what’s going on! What’s going on!?” 

Melissa was captivated by the goo on the floor. The way the texture made a solid form, it kind of looked like liquid skin. Melissa knelt down next to Kim and rubbed her back. “Is it the Melamilk?” she asked. Kim shook her head sideways. “This was FDA approved. It shouldn’t–” 

“Bitch, are there side effects?” Orchid came seemingly out of nowhere and was next to Kim’s side. Soon as Orchid came over, Kim began vomiting again. Orchid and Melissa jumped back like it was a synchronized effort, Orchid touching Melissa’s arm as they moved backwards. Kim turned around, but the discharge came with her. This time, the goo hung from her mouth like a mucilaginous elephant trunk. It really looked like skin this time. 
Kim grabbed at the grotesque goop and pulled down, but it stretched. It wasn’t trying to leave her mouth. Melissa pushed Orchid behind her and Orchid put her hand over Melissa’s arm. Neither of them had ever seen some shit like this before. The throw-up was sticking to her lips and the inside of her mouth. Kim cried even harder. 

Orchid went around Kim like she was a rabid dog on a leash and practically dived for her work phone. “Muhmihha. P-” Kim dug her fingers in the skin ooze and pulled down. It made a sickening ripping sound, but still left some of the skin goo hanging from her lips. It looked like thick pieces of dry,black glue. “Help me!” she successfully screamed. 

Orchid held the phone to her ear and looked on in terror. “Hello, Richard!? We have an emergency. Call the ambulance and all that shit. What? This is a serious emergency, Richard, don’t tell me not to fucking cuss!” She moved the phone from her ear and said “Richard is calling the police, Kim. You’ll be fine.” Kim began heaving again, as if her body was in disagreement.

This time a trail of the brown, skin-like substance came out of her nose . It was being pushed out, as if her nose was an unfortunate play-doh toy. The pile of goo had solidified and looked like somebody’s grandmother melted in the middle of the room. Melissa and Orchid looked at each other in horror as Kim was hunched over on her knees. 

Melissa was in too much shock to read into what had just transpired. Her co-worker was throwing up black people’s flesh and she would have to explain this to people like it was real. It seems real, but maybe this was a dream. It had to be. Kim had given up and laid on the ground when Richard, the older black security guard ran in. 

“What in blue hell?” Richard exclaimed as soon he came in. Orchid went over to Richard and grabbed his arm. “Her dumbass was drinking that melanin milk shit and now she throwing up skin, Mr. Richard.”

Mr. Richard looked at Orchid as if she was tripping, which she was. “What I tell you about that cussing? That’s unladylike”. Melissa interjected, “Mr. Richard, did you call the ambulance? She really needs one.”
Richard went and knelt down next to Kim to check her pulse. “I sure did. I know if y’all say something is an emergency, you mean it. So what’s this melanin milk all about.”

“You just said ‘blue hell’, Mr. Richard” Orchid said, making sure her two cents was spent. 

Melissa ignored her. “Somebody made a drink with skin cells that have melanin in them and she was drinking it. I don’t know for sure but that looks like what happens when you drink too much or something.”
Mr. Richard shook his head while he looked at Kim, now unconscious. The vomit provided a smell reminiscent of dumpsters to the air. “White people wild, I tell ya. I saw her looking like Teena Marie this morning and thought she was using different hair product.”

“I told her not to” Melissa responded. “Like, I didn’t think this would happen, but I knew something was wrong about this stuff.”

Orchid chimed in “I wonder if that lady still feels like a happy slave”. 
EMTs came into the office with a stretcher and went over to Kim. One EMT, a short Asian guy, shook his head as he checked Kim’s pulse. “This is like the 6th time this happened this week” he mentioned to no one in particular. “Excuse me?” Melissa and Orchid said in unison. 

“Oh, you guys haven’t heard?” the EMT responded as he checked the inside of Kim’s mouth. “People that drink Melamilk have been throwing up this weird gunk. If they don’t get help, they suffocate on it. The guy that made this stuff is in some deep shit.”

“Yeah, you can’t go around harming white people” Orchid said. 

The medic laughed. “That’s why Michael Jackson’s doctor got in trouble.”

Orchid cackled. 

September 28th

Melissa sat at her desk looking at a YouTube video on crock pot recipes. Things had been pretty uneventful after what happened last week, and uneventful is just what she needed. The day after, random staff had come up and asked for the details before asking how she was doing. She was still stressed about what she saw, having had two nightmares since the occurrence, but it’s not like they cared. 

The first one she had, she was laying on an operating table in a dark room. She struggled and realized that she was restrained and couldn’t move. Before she could scream, random people came out of the darkness. They were of all races and ages, wearing clothing from various time periods. Each of the people pulled out straws and then Kim stepped forth from the crowd, her straw in her hand. 
She stabbed the straw into Melissa’s arm and smiled as she screamed. Then Kim leaned forward and began drinking, the smile still on her face. As Kim drank, the other members of the crowd joined in and stabbed their straws into Melissa’s skin. They all began to drink from her like vampires as she wept and wailed on the surgeon’s table. 

In the second dream, she was at her place of employment. She was typing on her computer when the office door flung open behind her, causing her to spin around. She screamed as loud as when she saw what shambled through the door. It was a monster. A creature made of the stuff that Kim was vomiting. A large brown hulk of melting skin. The monster opened his mouth, and more of what it was made of fell out and on to the floor. 

Melissa was paralyzed as the beast came towards her, it’s feet making a low squishing noise with every step. The skin that dripped on to the floor as it came in dragged behind it and left a trail of faint, brown muck. Melissa tried to move but she couldn’t. The melamilk monster stood before Melissa and grabbed her by the arms. It’s face morphed into Kim’s and smiled before opening its mouth once again. This time it, threw up right on Melissa’s face, forcing her to wake up. 

She slept at Orchid’s last night as a result of her night terrors and ended up  watching the downfall of Melamilk together. Michael Yancey held a press conference at his alma mater to address the issues. He was wearing a lab coat and dress clothes, just like last time. He stood at the podium in front of an academic building, looking like a man ready for the firing squad. 

According to Dr. Yancey, their was a reaction caused by the melanin, stomach tissue and the chemical that essentially made the melanin a vitamin. “We had met the standards set by the FDA, but apparently their were unforeseen circumstances. The melanin begins to solidify with living ti–uh, stomach tissue and it causes an unexpected reaction. We can assure you that we’re doing what we can at the Melamilk labs to take care of this and go back to providing a proper energy drink to every day people.”

 A journalist raised her hand and stood up as soon as Dr. Yancey looked at her. “How is Melamilk labs handling the looming class action lawsuit?” Dr. Yancey adjusted his collar and smirked nervously. “There are displeased consumers, as you’d expect after such a debacle. We hope that we can find a way to solve their problems without involving the legal system.” Another journalist raised their hand, but Melissa turned off the TV. 

“Wow, bitch” Orchid said, “Thank you for assuming I was done with the TV”.

“I don’t wanna watch this nigga make excuses. Fuck him.”

“Here I am thinking you’d be happy a bunch of white people got sick off of that stuff.”

“This shouldn’t have been happening in the first place. Now his dumb ass gonna be another black man in jail because he thought he could move like they do. There’s no win in this situation for me.”

“He made a damn black people milk that almost killed some humans but you worried about statistics. Okay, Coretta Thot King.”

Melissa grabbed a pillow and swung it at Orchid with one hand. “Thot that.”

October 1st

Linda walked up behind Melissa at her desk and knocked on Orchid’s wall. Melissa turned around with slight surprise, being that Linda hardly talked to people at their cubicle. Orchid leaned against her cubicle wall with a bored look on her face. 

“I just wanted to thank both of you for your speedy response to Kim’s unfortunate accident. A lot of folks might have just ran out the door. ”

Melissa looked fake shocked. “Kim is one of our team members. I would never abandon her in such a dire moment.”

“Yes.” Orchid added. “Quite dire.”

“How is Kim doing?” Melissa asked? 

“She’s doing well. They pumped her stomach at the hospital and she’ll be out before the weekend.”

Orchid covered her heart with both hands “I am just elated to hear that”.

Linda smiled at Orchid. “Y’all are so caring. That’s why I appreciate the both of you. How about you guys both get the highest commission bonus this week?”

Melissa was real life shocked now. “Wow, Linda, thank you! I appreciate this a lot.”
“Oh, this is the least I could do. I can’t believe that stuff did that. You know the guy that made it is in jail already?” 

“The black doctor?” 

“Yes, girl. They found out they were using skin from corpses from prisons. How bout it?”

Melissa and Orchid both said 

“Wooooooooow” in unison. 

“Yeah, the weird milk he made turned the skin cells into real skin when it hit stomach acid. It was a bunch of science stuff that made my eyes hurt. How bout white people saying he did it on purpose. That guy is done.”

“And no more Melamilk, thank God”, Orchid said. 

Linda laughed. “I guess. Some new company is already putting out some stuff called ‘Sun Elixir'”. 

Melissa did that thing where you suck your lips in. 

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Thank you for reading this! I won’t be leaving this up for long cuz niggas creeping. It will be replaced by a lemons chapter, though, because I appreciate y’all.

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The Lemons Part 36

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*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:
Jay: The twins won’t be?
Bey: Why would they be?
Jay: I
Jay:
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: THESE NIGGAS LAME I SHOULDA STUCK WITH DAME

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

 
*OKAY MOVE ALONG*

The Lemons Part 35

 

 

ARCHIVES

 

 

*********************************

 

*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.*

 
*HOLLA HOLLA HOLLA*

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.*

 

Matt: AH CRAP

Jay: WHOA AY. WHOA WHOA.

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.

Jay:

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?

Bey: YOU KNOW HOW MANY WOMEN LOOK DOWN ON ME ON THE REGULAR?

Bey: SO WHAT? COMING OUT OF THE AIN’T SHIT NIGGA CLOSET GONNA SLOW YOUR PUSSY INTAKE?

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.

Jay:

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.

 

Archives

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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!

*stab*

Slaybell: You would crawl in my direction!

*stab*

Slaybell: And LIVE!?

 

*stab*

 

*stab*

 

Becky: Slaybell.

 

*stab*

 

Becky: Slaybell.

 

*stab*

 

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-

 

*THE VAN EXPLODES, SENDING DEBRIS EVERYWHERE IN A 500 FOOT RADIUS. MADONNA’S HEAD LANDS IN SOME GRASS BY the road and Beyoncé points at it*

 

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.

 

*Faneto*

 

*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

ARCHIVE

 

 

 

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*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

ARCHIVE

 

 

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*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: 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.

 

*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.

Blue:

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