me neither, dawg. pj and sean think is over, nod and shake hands.
malibootay?
'mugging, drive-by shooting, crack deal gone bad'
what about the money? pulls out a smaller envelope.
congrats, my brother. we just booked another gig.
we can handle ourselves. come on, man, it's the ultimate acting challenge.
beats gettin' dunked on by bill gluckman.
my cousin.
really. you're the one always talkin' about improvin' yourself.
in the meantime, how about hooking a brother up with a pepsi and some fries?
deal. now how about those fries? music: an uptempo rap track kicks in as we.  cut to:
we're strapped now, my brother. he sets the box down and begins pulling out guns.
glocks, uzis, tec-9s.  pj takes off the cap to wipe his brow, revealing that his hair has been braided into cornrows.
oh, my hair? shondra just did it. what? you hate it?
don't go there, sean. you're just jealous you didn't think of it first.
that wig, man! i didn't know this was halloween. bring me back some candy! he doubles over, falling on the floor.
nope, you're not convincing me. remember your core character. you're an oppressed black man from the ghetto.
add a 'beeyotch' and i think you're there. music: the music segues from our montage rap beat to mocha's human beat box, as we.  dissolve to:
and i'm about to wet you up if you don't move!
big boy's? what this fool talkin' about?!
yeah. we got your rich gluckman ass now!
your papa's gonna pay or you're gonna pay!
let's get him inside.
oh no you didn't.
uh-oh. you done did it now.
what the hell makes you think you know what's goin' down in the 'hood?!
you think this is a joke, wigga?!
they're pit bulls.
now get ya ass inside.
all that james bond electronic crap can't save you now, fool. sit ya ass down. brad does, and pj duct-tapes his hands behind his back.
we gonna go call yo daddy.
you're indicating.
'i will smoke your dumb wigga ass'? come on.
how about.  number three?
that he'd have to think about it.
he's not sure he wants you back, cuz.
what you doin', fool?
no, dawg, stick to the plan. lay low here at the crib 'til we get the ransom.
and a fifth of henny. anything else?
you jack that shit.
little trick claims he down, can't even swing a gat.
you try to get away, i'ma let you get a little taste of my steel, understand? he holds up his prop gun.
this is gonna be classic.
what are you talking about?
i thought you set it up.
oh damn.
i'm not going in there! you go in there! they continue to argue as we.  cut to:
did he actually do it?
yo, what up with this? pj pulls the receipt off of his 40.
if you jacked this, how come you got a receipt? brad freezes. they both stare at him.
you buying it?
me either.
you think you got mad skills, huh? well, we'll see about dat.
yeah, we gonna see what you represent neeow. we at the club.
you want to prove yourself, this the place to do it. they shove brad into the club, then turn to each other and giggle like school girls.
pay day! they pound and follow brad into the club. cut to:
get yo' ass in there. brad boldly fist-shakes jaw-dropped patrons as he wades through the crowd, ad libbing "whassup?" and "pardon me, homey."
uh.  my boy want young dre next. the mc looks them over.
hey playa.  you got any will smith back there? the mc just looks at him.
let's get the hell out of here. brad looks around as blank faces stare back at him.
word. 'listen, all you rappers, the name's brad gluckman. when on the mic you could say i really suck man!' they burst out laughing. brad just stares ahead, pouting, sick to his stomach.
'cuz b-rad g about to get ill!!! they burst out laughing again as they head for the car.
uhn uhn, ain't happening. by the way, forgot to tell you. we heard from your pops, and guess what? he ain't payin'.
so, i guess that means we got to ice your punk ass.
but we're not done yet.
not possible.
do something.
really? damn.
but we got big a problem here.
come on, man. chill.
that's right, bloodbath, he's very down. as down as they come. suddenly, tec jumps up, yanks brad's door open and shoves a nine in his side.
yeah. we're all being paid to pretend to kidnap bill gluckman's kid.
we didn't say that, brother.
shondra! little help, please.
word.
it was hard core, yo. all these crazy busters was strapped to the nines, and i was like, keepin' the peace, telling the brothers to talk it out, find their common bond.  sean steps in front of pj, speaking directly into camera.
when's this gonna air?
how about a double dog? tom leans in, with a "manager" nametag, whispering angrily:
would you care for a wiener? courtesy of wiener on a bun.