yo! what's up all you media people?! this is b-rad g, kickin' it real from the 'bu, represizzin'!!! four fine white girls in bikini tops, vinyl shorts and timberlands come out and dance behind brad, shaking everything they've got. reporters move in like vultures.
'y'all gathered here on this special occasion. listen to my pops, he's your west coast liaison' so show up, don't make me throw up.
take out your purse and cough some dough up. my chickens get wit you, if you vote right. and don't worry y'all, cuz my girls is tight. immigration, education, runaway inflation. california ain't flowin' like old constipation. vote bill g on your election ballot. if you don't i'm gonna hit you wit a mallot! get glucked y'all! tom again steps in and blocks brad from view.
yo, pops, that was off the hizzook! i just got you another million votes right dare!
i knew i had to show up in order for you to blow up. so i had captain tony fire up the lear jizzy and booya! i'm in da hizzy, gonna be on the campaign trizzy, 24. seven, you know, kissin' babies and whatnot. pound it!
that's old school. pops, you got to keep your pimp hand strong. cut to:
peep y'all later. i'ma go work on my new campaign rhyme, 'election erection.' it's gonna be large! yo! i'ma start on a new sign.
why you keep callin' me dat?
it's my slave name, a'ight? i told you like fi'ty times.
wassup?
shoot. n.w.a., fool. they broke up a long time ago.
to be the biggest rapper dere ever was! see, i got something to say, and i need the world to hear it. i'm the shiznit. i'll buy y'all cars!
oh, damn.  way back in the day. i've had these beats in my head since i was a little shortie.  dissolve to:
from then on it was hip-hop 24. seven. dissolve to:
nope.
it's o.p.p., bitch! brad exits through french doors, and as we follow him outside naughty by nature's "o.p.p." kicks in.
yo, pops, that hurts my feelings.
don't be hatin'.
what?! oh that's how it is? a'ight then. i'm audi! i need to take a drive.
what's up?
for real?
gladys?
ever feel like you don't belong?
what do you do about it?
yeah, you right.  gladys, when they gonna leave our people alone?
oh no, not again! he gets up and runs out of the room. cut to:
lemme go.
what happened?
why didn't you stop him?
how many did he do?
damn. twelve frapachizzo's. brotha's caffeined out. move aside.
just chill, hadji, we're here to help. what's up?
it's on now! music: public enemy's "fight the power" kicks in as we -- cut to:
yo, fool! we got some hard-core drama 'bout to go down right neow!!
dis is our mall. always was and always will be!
you better be validatin' my parking?
dat's what i'm talkin' 'bout. we get ours! cut to:
i'm thin to win! 'the name is b-rad, not robbie van winkle.  go get my latte nonfat, and don't forget the sprinkle!' they pound and congratulate brad on his brilliance. shondra drops her shades back down and moves in. hadji sees her first. his jaw drops, then he tugs on mocha's shirt, whose jaw drops, then mocha tugs on brad's shirt.
yo, what up, fool? i'm --
girl you fly.
let me get them tig ol' bitties.
yo, krista the barista. put it on my account. get yourself a blueberry scizonne too, girl.
i ain't seen you in here before. where you reside?
the streets.
malibu.  represent. bard throws the "m" sign.
hell yeah. i'm down with the p.c.h. hustlers. and dems over dere.  brad points to three white wannabes in another corner.
the calabasis crabs.  and behind dem.  we pan to another table, where four thug posers sit.
 the palaside pimps.
all day every day. she smiles seductively.
hell yeah, i'm a rhyma on tima.  brad hands her his cd.
i'm holdin' out for power 106. i sent big boy a cd, he just ain't gotten back to me yet.
hold dup? you know big boy?
for rizzill?!
yo. holler at him for me.
now? well, tonight was my seder dinner.
let's bounce.
yo, y'all, this fine dimey is hookin' me up with big boy hisself.
i ain't lyin'! they pound, shake, hug.
start droppin' beats. soon as i sign with biggy, we gonna need some sick tracks.
oh, i can rap about anything.
yeah, lemme kick it freestyle. 'traffic, traffic, lookin' for my chap stick, feelin' kinda carsick, there's a ford maverick' see? dat's a million-dollar song right dare.
i been a playa all my life, girl. and i must say, of all the sisters i been wit', you de finest. so, you got a man?
word. what's that?
oh.
that's genius, girl. damn. you fine and smart too. you gonna blow up huge, no doubt. she's taken aback by his sincerity. she doesn't get much validation from guys.
for real, girl. you like a cross between martha stewart and oprah. i'ma call you mothrah. she gives him a strange look, then notices where they are.
yo. he really should use delivery. suddenly sean pops his head into the car and stares directly at brad. he puts a prop tec 9 in brad's chest and yanks him out of the car.
what?!
shondra?!
dis a come-up?!
i think i'm gonna throw up.
does this mean we're not going to big boy's?
kidnapped?!
how you know me?
dang. why you doin' this to a brother?
yours, y'all. i'm down.
i'm sorry. don't be hatin'.
uh.  just this.  brad pulls out another pager, a phone, another phone. sean and pj both pull several more out of his other pockets, as well as his wallet.
oh yeah. i just been kidnapped, carjacked, hands tied behind my back, but other than that, it's all good.
i thought you liked me.
then how come you set me up?
for real?
for real?!
i feel you, girl, me too.
me? but i hate posers! i got a ph.d. -- a poser-hater degree.
i ain't fron'in'.
damn. i am who i say i am. why won't anyone believe me? this is a issue that's been comin' up a lot in my life lately.
huh?
what? straight up?
come on, y'all, quit hatin'. i'm just a rapper, that's it.
i'd like some pringles.
i'm sorry, i'm sorry.  y'all got some duckets, 'cause i'm tapped.
but.
okay, a'ight, i'll do it.
i feel you. brad sticks the prop gun into his pants and gets out. as soon as he's in the store, sean and pj burst into laughter.
yeah, uh, where the old english at?
thank you, sir. brad hurries to the back of the store, and spots a door by the beer cooler. he tries to open it. it's locked. brad looks up to the security mirror and sees that the korean guy is watching him. he moves to the beer cooler and tries to calm down.
namyoho renge kyo, namyoho renge kyo, namyoho renge kyo and whatnot.  it's not working. brad tries a cleansing breath. it doesn't help either. brad gathers up an armful of old english 40s and heads for the front. the korean guy watches him as he walks past the counter toward the door.
naaw, but i'ma help myself to all this o.e., and whatever else i want!
let me axe you something. ever been robbed?
cool. he sets the 40s on the counter, then reaches into his waistband for his gun, and we.  cut to:
my emergency stash. thank you god. he pulls out a hundred and kisses it.
keep the change.
uh, i know this is gonna sound wack, but what i'm about to do is just a joke, so don't shoot me, okay?
that's right! next time i'll bust a cap in yo trick ass!
yeah. i'ma come back later and get some more. brad turns to the guys.
let's dip!
straight up. trick didn't do nothin'.
i stole that too! cut to:
who you callin' boy?
what do you mean, get real?!
okay, a'ight, chill. brad takes a deep sigh, looks them in the eye, and begins to talk like a conservative white guy.
i guess i now know i can never be as cool as you guys. i promise i will never, ever front or act like a thug again, and i'm really really sorry if i offended you.
great, fine. terrific popcorn. scary music kicks in; brad's eyes snap back to the screen. he struggles to contain himself. the music intensifies, we hear footsteps, then a door handle turning, and brad can't hold on any longer. he leaps up, screaming.
run, bitch, ruuuuuuuuuuuuuun!!! he gonna kiiiiiilllllll you! other patrons turn and angrily "shush" brad. sean and pj lock eyes: he failed the test. cut to:
i'm sorry, y'all, but this is just who i am. i'm a rapper straight- up.
no, for real. i can rap about anything. 'bloodbath and tree, hang all day, they real tight, but they ain't gay.  no, they okay'
represent.
finally, a place where i feel at home.
what up, girl?! he gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
i'm fine, but you the finest! she a genius too, man! i'm tellin' you, one she gets set up, mothra gonna blow up like rosie o'donnell's head!
damn, man. don't you know how to treat a lady? that's not nice.
don't be hatin'.
auuuuuuuuu! tec feels everyone looking at him. now is not the time. he releases brad and composes himself.
i'm okay. who was that?
damn shondra, where's the fire at?
you settin' me free?
shondra, i gots to do 'dis. this is my shot. i gotta prove myself. shondra can't argue. brad starts to the stage. a wave of shock, as the crowd realizes who b-rad actually is.
tizzaizzlszzs! everyone is totally confused.
tails.  i want tails. the mc flips and "tails" it is.
nah.  ladies first.
can we start again? i lost my place. taunts and laughs as the beat plays again. brad wags his head, ready to come in strong. he looks down at his notes.  he's sweating so badly his arm is a mess of runny ink. he freezes again.  the crowd is really on him now -- collectively making the "choke" sign.
i'm cool.  i'm cool. brad finally starts up.
'you big and rough, you act all tough, i bet in your childhood you never had much love. alert the media, i'm a rap encyclopedia, my shrink says i suffer from a case of gansta-phrenia, i'm tryin' to be meania, i'm feeling much vigor, i'm the "bu's" number one, hardcore niggaa!!!
i'm sorry.  the crowd erupts with outrage and rushes the stage. smash cut to:
wails with terror as he's passed hand-over-hand above the cursing club patrons, toward the exit. four thugs run brad out of the back door, into the.
i just want to go home.
i don't care no more. i got nothin' to live for. go ahead and smoke me. brad gets in the car. sean and pj look at each other -- this isn't what they expected. cut to:
huh?
stuart little?
i ain't never seen no talking rat before. although at the malibu county fair they had a chicken that played tic tac toe. man, i hated losing to that chicken.
i'm a failure.
for real?
so you saying if i put my mind to it i can be whatever i want to be?
i could be a highstylin' pimp?
i could drive a mad '63 el camino with 43-inch gold-plated dubs and a trunk full o' bitches?
and i could be the biggest rapper in the world.
it's worse. everybody's right. my rhymes is weak.
i should've run when you gave me the chance.
but you heard 'em laughing. i ain't nothin' but a busta.
yeah?
like, when the public be all up in your private beach?
thanks, shondra. you know what i was sayin', earlier, in the car, about being a playa and all? well.  i was just foolin'. i never been with a sister before.
except for on the internet.
i think you about the finest girl i ever met in my whole life, and, well, since they gonna ice me in the morning, i was wondering.  could i, kinda like, kiss you? she thinks, smiles, then sits down next to him on the bed. brad sits up and looks at her face in the moonlight.
you're so pretty.
i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm chill. she rolls her eyes and leaves. brad falls back on the bed, a dreamy smile on his face.
totally chill. cut to:
damn.  they been playin' me all along. how could dey do dat? how could she do dat? what-ever. if them fools wanna play, then let's play. he heads for the door, bad-ass and hardcore.
hey! listen up.  brad g is in da hiz, and things gonna start changin' round here!
you feelin' froggy, den leap! sean backs down.
anyone else wanna step?
shut up, ho.
yo, ho, the same ho that gave up that weak-ass kiss five minutes ago in the bedroom.
i'm b-rad g, from 'bu, representin'! what y'all don't realize is that i was tryin' to put my mobbin' days behind me, but rollin' with y'all done re-awoke my inna killa. let's start droppin' bodies! shondra, pj and sean watch, stunned, as brad grabs a prop gun, his car keys and heads out.
i need to take a drive.
today is a good day to die, didn't have to use my a.k.  yey yey!
might as well go out in a blaze of glory. my daddy don't love me, my rhymes is played. i ain't down enough for y'all --
oh, you dat weak fuck from de club. tec can't believe what he's hearing.
got somethin' for me?
ain't that a coinky-dink? i was just talkin' to my homies about just dat.
a'ight, but y'all should change up your style, cuz these jackings is gettin' tired. he heads for tec's car.
yo, bloodbath, if there's one tiny scratch on my ride, i'ma eat y'all's children. shotgun!
god damn that hurts!!! i get out of this i'ma hafta teach y'all some manners!
yeah, yeah, tell me somethin' i don't know!
you heard me, you half-steppin' moist-ass bitch! tec cocks his nine and aims at brad.
oh what, you gonna do me like this? a'ight, then bring it.
man up! put this wannabe out of his misery.
that gat's real, right? then do it or i'll do it myself
punks. gimme dem gats. brad grabs the uzis and rolls out from under the car.
y'all wanna play? let's play! you know who you're dealin' with??? he jumps up on the hood of tec's car and opens fire with both uzis, laying down a withering rain of lead.
i'm b-rad g, from the 'bu, y'all.  king kong ain't got nothin' on me! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
it's safe now, y'all. tec emerges from behind the dumpster. the crew rolls out from under the car, followed by sean and pj. they look at brad in awe. they're impressed.
damn. jus' mtv.
for real? you shouldn't have.
in a box.  right. brad laughs. they all join in, laughing hard as we -- cut to:
yeah, i just got tested positive .  for g.a.m.e.
what?!
damn, why you throwin' salt on my g.a.m.e.?
i ain't goin' nowhere. i'm a i-9 neow, straight-up. peep my tat. brad lifts his shirt and shows her the tattoo on his stomach: i-9 thug.
shut up, shondra! i know y'all set me up, i know it's all fake, de kidnap, de stickup, de whole nizzy.
why'd you play me, huh?
what you need money money?! tch. for?
please. you prob'ly still flippin' me anyway, so --
oh really? well if tec is real then this gat must be real.  brad pulls his nine.
and if this gat is real then the in it have got to be real. caps and seein' how my foot is real, this would really hurt.  then brad aims at his foot and pulls the trigger and blam! he puts a bullet through the toes of his sneaks.
see dat. i just shot myself in the foot and.  it's reaaaaalll! it's totally reaaaaalll!!! brad starts hopping around the room.
i just shot my foot!! i just shot my foot!!!
oh gaawwwd!
but, it's real, shondra, it's all reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal! tec enters, gun in hand.
ha ha, tec, my road dawg, yeah, just the man i wanta see.
yo, dawg, love to kick it wit' you and run the whole thizang, but i got some bidness back in the 'bu, li'l somethin' somethin' with big boy and whatnot, so if y'alls don't mind --
wait, tec, lemme explain, 'cause i don't belong here.
please, don't be hatin'. shondra steps in front of brad.
not really. and unless you seriously strapped, you about to be not really okay too. bill turns: six i-9s are aiming guns at he and brad.
hold dup, y'all. before anybody ices anybody i got to say something. no one stops him, so brad turns to his dad.
you really weren't gonna pay my ransom?
what was the plan? send me down here to scare me white?
you've never known how to deal with me 'cause you don't know me, and you never cared to find out. and now that your election's on the line, that's when you take a stand? that's bullshit, pops. look at me, 'cause this is who i am, and if you can't accept that, then i'll walk out that door, never see your sorry-ass again. shondra, tec, all the i-9's and brad's posse slowly turn from brad to bill, completely caught in the moment, waiting for his response.
talk is cheap, pops. prove it.
a'ight, pops, we cool.
tec, before we all go out in a blaze of glory, can i say one last thing?
moch, kick it freestyle. mocha rests the musket in the crook of his arm, and does his human beat box thing as brad begins to rap.
'what's up with all this fightin'? we all should be unitin'! y'all egos need deflatin', gangstas, please, quit all this hatin'.'
a'ight, cool, but all these gats got to go! as brad grabs the missile launcher from hadji.
aaah!!!
i'm cool.  still a little confused maybe. i'm still not exactly sure what was for real and what wasn't.
i can deal with a little more of that reality. they kiss again, then brad breaks it.
wait a minute. you said two things was real. what was the other? shondra smiles as we.  slam to:
damn, you knew big boy the whole time?
peep dis. he hands over a mali-bootay cd.
once you hear my demo, you're gonna want to give me eminem play, dawg!
damn. twenty thousand people, all here to support my pops. he must have charisma.
shondra, girl. i just have to thank you.
you the only one who accepted me for who i really am. you also car jacked me, kidnapped me and tried to turn me white, but i'm gonna let that go. they kiss, tongues and all as bill walks up.
what up?
you mean, be onstage with you?
dang, i'd be honored.
for real, pops?
hey, y'all! i'm here to introduce you to my father, bill gluckman! the big gluck!! a rap beat kicks in as brad goes all out.
we all gather here on this special occasion. to listen to my pops, he's your west coast liaison. a speech from him, dude, is like sex with a hoochi. it's hot and excitin', like shoppin' at gucci! asians, jews, mexicans, too. everybody's votin', yo, it's a cultural stew. once he's in office you'll experience great riches. as a thank you for helpin', you can get wit my bitches! let's get glucked! y'all get glucked! we get glucked! come on everybody put your hands up! bill moves onstage and attempts to dance hip hop style.
immigration, education, and runaway inflation. it got me so stressed i need to start masturbatin'. california ain't flowin' like some ol' constipation. vote for dad or i'll bash your frickin' face in! come on everybody put your hands up!
and if my dad wins this election, he'll grow on y'all like a bad vd infection!! yeeah! we all need a gluckin'! let's all get glucked! go gluck yourself!! brad raises bill's hand up in victory and we freeze.
i helped shondra open up her salon right here in the 'bu.
she styled up all the ladies in malibu so they were stone-cold ghetto fabulous. shondra spins the chair to reveal: bees gluckman with a crazy ghetto hairstyle. she looks like busta rhymes. she checks herself in the mirror.
west coast reprezzizzin'! bill and brad hug. hip hop music kicks in and the entire ballroom turns into one huge dance party. bill raises the roof as he meanders into the celebrating crowd. people of all different races and backgrounds dance together, all having a blast.  hadji grinds on an elderly constituent's ass.  she's into it.
yo, yo, yo.  everyone turns to see brad still at the podium. confusion.
last time i was here, y'all threw my ass out. but now that i haves yo attention, i gots somethin' i gotta say.  and i have to do it the only way i know how.  kick it, moch.
i wrote this one just for you, dad. yeah, yeah. oh yeah. yeah, yeah.  yeah.  i'm sorry, i lost my place again. oh, here we go.  election, erection, i got an infection. my pops, he won, defying all the pre-dections.  sean and pj drop their serving trays; tec and the i-9's dive for brad at the podium; shondra screams, "noooooo".  brad is grabbed and thrown off the stage by the i-9's and is projected out over the audience, where we.  freeze on: brad's terrified face.
what can i say, ain't nothing but a thang.
	110:
damn. these special effects are the bomb! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! the rollin' g's try to respond, but brad's fire is too intense.