01x01 - Bad Hang

[bunniefuu]

- Come on--yeah!

- Whoo!
- Whoo!

Hit me twice!

♪ ♪

- Look at these m*therf*ckers.

Man, f*ck this.

I'm not even f*cking supposed
to be at this stupid a*s job.

I got all the f*cking potential
in the world.

Hey, y'all,
I'm finna quit.

I don't want to be
a cafeteria lady no more.

- What are you doing?
That's good furniture!

What's wrong with you?

- Life is what's wrong, n*gga.

I'm sick of serving
string beans

and expired fruit salad.

I want a floor job.

I want to watch
the big spenders

swinging their dicks.

- What?
We're getting floor jobs?

Ooh, I want to be
a chandelier.

You know,
just sitting out there,

hanging over n*gg*s,
judgin'.

- I have to say,
it would be nice

to get a job that doesn't
involve urinal cakes.

- Thank you.
- Or people leaving

their toenails behind.

- Whoo, I want my name
on a damn marquee.

sh*t, I don't know why
my name ain't up there now.

Chris Henson,
Hammond Theater,

with the likes
of Bruce Bruce Bruce.

- Bruce Bruce the comedian?
He's funny.

- He's funny.
- Bro, and I like his suits.

- No, n*gg*s.

Bruce Bruce Bruce.
He's a magician.

He got a g*n.

- Chris, I gotta ask you, man.

What is your show gonna be?
You know what I mean?

What you gonna do?
What, you gonna go on stage

and valet cars?

No, n*gga.
What is your show gonna be?

Being a custodian
without a g*n?

- Okay, I've explained this
to you all many times.

I am not a custodian.

I'm the head
of Custodial Operations

and Services.

- Okay, so you
head doo-doo man.

That's still
a custodian, dog.

Even after Mario eats the star,
that n*gga's still a plumber.

- I think we should be putting
all of our chips

in my big cousin Chris' bag.
- Talk that sh*t, man.

- I don't know what he does.

He don't even know
what he does.

Nobody really knows
what he does.

But he's the best at it.

- Get off his d*ck.

- No, I won't.

- Thanks, cuz.
- No problem.

- Y'all need family like this.

Oh, get--
Okay, yeah.

Make a wish, n*gga.
Make a wish.

- Hmm.

- Hey, listen up,
bunch of ninnies.

I'm trying to come up
with a name

for this new blackjack dealer
I just hired.

He's got a rubber toe.

So I'm thinkin'...

Roberto.

- I don't know.
It seems offensive,

even if I can't tell why.

- Fair enough, ACLU.

Before I head on outta here,

I just wanna let y'all know

that the shipping department's
having a little debrief

down on the loading dock.
Jak?

Care to join?

- Ha ha.
- Come on, man.

- This man gotta work.
- Come on, man!

- ♪ Go to work! ♪

♪ Uh-oh, somebody's
gotta go outside-- ♪

- That hurt.
- Yeah, yo, have fun, cuz.

- All right, Jak,
let's step back here.

Man, I gotta say,
I see real potential in you.

I want to take you
back to my office,

show you some videos I made
on employee procedure,

you know,
see some of my home videos.

Hey, You been doing
real nice work lately,

Sweetie.

Real nice work.

- ♪ La la la la la ♪

♪ Oh oh-oh-oh ♪

♪ La la la la la ♪

♪ Yeah-eah-eah ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Oh yeah-eah-eah ♪

- Man, f*ck this sh*t!

- But can they make
the shrimp Impossible?

- Why?

- No, Chris.
No.

- Bet Tom Cruise could do it.

- I mean, I guess, but...

- So what are you doing?

- I don't know.

- I've been moolested.

Molested. Molested.

Pfftt.

- Like, recently?

- Yeah, like, right now.
Just now.

Horace and me were walking
down the hallway

and he made me feel safe.

Then he grabbed my p*nis
and slid into the darkness

like my thoughts
during alone time.

- Yo, that's f*cked up, man.
For real!

Also, why he touch you?

You ain't even
the sexiest n*gga in here, man.

My a*s be sitting
like a man off work, sh*t.

A n*gga not g*y, man,
just competitive.

Sorry for your loss, my n*gga.

- I don't know why
he picked me, I don't.

Maybe he just likes
touching boys.

- But you're not a boy.

None of us are boys.

You're a 27-year-old man.

- Right?
You can't be molested

if you're at the age
where you can sh*t yourself

because your metabolism changed

and you had a White Russian
for the first time.

- The point is I got touched!

- Bro, this is wild.

- This is wild. God.

Horace did a horrific thing.

We need to take this
to our superiors.

- Oh.
You think I should tell?

- No, no, no, no.

I'm saying weshould tell.

- Why is this suddenly
a "we" thing?

- Yeah.

I think the thing
I need right now is--

- What you need
is to use this.

I mean this is--this is--
Jak getting touched

is the perfect opportunity
for all of us.

I mean, think about it.
You want a floor job, right?

Well, I happen to know
that this company

has a clear no-tolerance stance
on sexual harassment.

And, as the functionary leader
of this group...

- Function this d*ck.

- Ha ha. Oh, damn,
that was a good one.

You beat me to that sh*t.

- This is
the perfect opportunity

for me to remind them.

- Look, bro,
the situation is f*cked up.

And it's the type of garbage

that women have to
deal with daily.

But Langston is wrong.
And g*y.

You can't tell anybody.
Ever.

I mean, think about it.

What kind of woman wants a man

with that type of baggage?

Having to wake up at 3 a.m.
to comfort you

on the kitchen floor--
it's gross.

- Okay, Sam, just rub
the boy's back.

- I knew I was a boy. Sam...

I don't want to be like this.

- I don't want you
to be like that.

But ain't no one gonna care
about a grown man

who got touched
and didn't fight back.

- Okay, but
it's this type of logic

that makes men toxic
and repressed.

We need to put
our faith in the system.

- b*tch, what system?

At least four times a day,

a n*gga "accidentally"
brushes up against my a*s,

and I dress like Rev Run.

- Well, a older lady
touched me

when I was just a boy,
and I was not too bummed out,

to say the least.

- I'm sorry, what?

- Oh, the year was 1997.

Scientists had just cloned
a sheep,

and Pamela Anderson only had
one kind of hepatitis.

The first one.

- Ooh, that's my song!

Chris, show Mommy's friends
that little dance you be doing.

- Ooh--ooh, ooh!

- He can dance
his little a*s off.

- Yes, honey,
he most certainly can.

- All right, now, baby.

Me and your Aunt Monica
gotta go to return

some JNCO jeans
she stole from the mall.

Patrice, a dear friend
who I trust endlessly,

is gonna look after you.

You're a wonderful son

and the greatest dancer
to have ever lived in 1997.

Which is today.
We're in 1997.

- You're bad
at telling stories.

- Shut up, n*gga.
I know my past.

Anyway, as soon
as my mom was gone,

Patrice came and sat
next to me.

And just as soon
as that gorilla dunked

from the free-throw line...

Patrice put her hand
on my thigh.

Her head went down,
and she made me say unhh.

Nuh nah, nuh nah.

You feel me?

Mm. Right on my Master P.

- Disgusting.
- Dude, that's f*cked up.

- Yeah, bro,
you were a victim for sure.

No--hell no, I was not.

You're not molested
unless you feel molested.

I had some fruit snacks
in a treat right afterwards.

I'm good.

- This honestly
explains so much.

- Like what?

- Your struggle
with commitment.

- Never love these h*s.

- Your obsession
with '90s lingo.

- Welcome to the '96 Olympics.

- And your inability
to get hard

without a hat on.
- What? Eeeoo--

- No, please don't.

- Eeeooo.
See, it's 'cause you know

I'm gonna get hard.

I think y'all n*gg*s
don't get it,

that's the problem.
So I'm gonna go talk

to some people
that will get it.

The valet guys.

- Chris, don't do this.

- Yeah, Chris,
it's not gonna go--

- Da, da, da, da.
You had your chance.

Now I'm gonna take this story
to somebody

who gonna give it
the respect it deserves.

Talking to three
n*gg*s ain't never got

they d*ck sucked--
that's crazy.

- See, this is
what I'm talking about.

This is why Jak
needs to tell someone.

- Brah. Come on, bro.
Don't start that sh*t again.

He's not doing it.
- No, he-- Look.

Cuba Gooding Jr. spent years
getting called "white-washed,"

and now he yells at white women

with a chicken bucket
on his head.

Hurt people hurt people.
It's like a zombie bite.

- Hurt people hurt people.

Hurt people hurt people.

I don't want to hurt anybody.

I'm just playing, man.

Hey, y'all remember,

I'm gonna see y'all
at my birthday party on Monday.

Come on. Choo choo!

- Come on.
Now he's just showboatin'.

- So, I was a child, right?
But I was, like,

a buff-a*s child.

Like, grown folks walked
up to me all the time, like,

damn, you are clearly
a fully-grown adult man

who owns a lawnmower,

pays full price
for movie tickets,

and got a mortgage,
chores and whatnot.

- Hm. Yeah.

Listen, can you bring
my car around?

Again, it was
the silver Honda Odyssey.

- Oh, yeah, for sure.
- Thank you.

- I don't think you understand
how strong a n*gga was.

Imagine me in a diaper
right now.

- What--
- Look at that.

Is it off the ground?
- What?

- Is it off the ground?

- Maybe like a tiny bit
on that side.

- Oh, n*gga, come on.
Don't lie to me.

- It's barely off the ground.
- That sh*t's hovering.

I mean, she sucked
my d*ck so hard

I thought my toes
switched places, man. I--

- Chris, like I said,
you are loved.

And what happened to you
is very, very sad.

- What?

♪ ♪

- Make me say unhh.

- There you are!

Please, just give me the keys
and tell me where my car is.

- Nuh nah, nuh nah!

- What?

- I said nah, n*gga, nah!

Nah!

- In conclusion, Chauncey,

my client requires
a provisional remedy

for the damage acted
against him

by his overseeing employer.

Malfeasance.

- So somebody brushed up
against you

at the vending machine?
- Nah, not me.

- I'm the infected one, sir.

- Well, n*gga, you the one
that got touched?

- Yes.

- So you let a grown man
grab your d*ck,

and you, as a grown man,
came to report that grown man

to another grown man.

- Uh, I prayed on it first,
but yes.

- Well, wait a minute.
Objection!

My n*gga--my client
will not be victim-shamed

in this court.

I would have believed

y'all said
the girl got touched.

See, she a stud
but she still got some jiggle

under there.

- True.

- This sh*t right here
is just flat out embarrassing.

- Well, embarrassing
as it may be,

I believe section 3, article--

- f*ck section 3, n*gga.
Why you ain't beat his a*s?

- No, no, it doesn't matter
why he didn't beat his a*s.

Okay?
There has to be something

you can do to resolve this.
- Hold on, n*gga,

let me break something down
for you, Serpico.

Okay?

Today's Friday, n*gga.

So I ain't gonna get
to the paperwork on this sh*t

till next week,
and next week

they got new episodes
of "The Masked Singer."

I think Alphonso Ribeiro
is the walrus.

But anyway, you n*gg*s
ain't got no evidence

but the frailty in
this n*gga's eyes right here.

So that mean that
a m*therf*cking investigation

might not start
for three or four months,

and by then we been done
forgot about this sh*t.

So we need to quit
wasting each other's time

and y'all need to step
the f*ck out my office

so I can leave
before I'm supposed to.

- You know what, thank you.

This has been
an absolute treat.

I cannot wait to do this again.

- Well, I haven't enjoyed
this at all!

And I think the walrus
is Brandon T. Jackson.

- Told you.
- Brandon T. Jackson.

Who the f*ck is Brandon T--

- You know Brandon T. Jackson!

Don't you dare pretend
not to know his work!

- Oh, God damn
Brandon T. Jackson.

n*gga, I know Joseph Jackson!

f*ck your a*s up
in this b*tch.

Tito Jackson, m*therf*cker.

- Okay, I have
an announcement to make.

After some deep soul-searching,

I've come to the realization
that I have been molested.

Mm. Bummer.

But what it also means
is I have my hook.

Now don't go posting yet,
okay?

I gotta figure out
how to roll this thing out.

- Good.
Now you can tell your mama

so she can beat
that nasty b*tch's a*s.

- But for what?

What happened to me
doesn't make me a victim.

In fact, it makes me
quite the opposite.

- It makes you a tool.

- I'll smack you dark-skinned.

- No, no, no,
don't smack me.

What I'm saying is,

we can use your story

to finally bring light
to these issues

and prove Chauncey wrong.

- Ah, so you're saying
we should make a video.

- No, that's not
what I'm saying.

- But to make a video,
we have to have a spokesman.

Someone Black, strong,
sexy, swole.

Probably got they d*ck sucked
after little league,

practice and the game.

But where would we find
such a man?

With such detail
as I just described--

- Chris.
- Where would we find

this guy? Hmm?
- Chris. Chris.

What about you?

Me?

What a surprise.

I accept your nomination.

I'll be like DeRay McKesson

with the Black Lives Matter
movement.

- That movement
was actually started

by Black women.

- What did Black men do then?

- Re-tweet sometimes?

- Oh, we gotta do
more than that.

We'll tweet first,
then we'll retweet our tweet.

- Mm-hmm, okay.
I like that.

But remember,
I'm gonna be the boss

so we can't be doing
all that cussing.

- I should have socked
him, huh?

- Yeah.
But you didn't.

Now there's only one thing left
you can do.

- Hmm?

Get real f*cked up.

- Brah.

- Sam.

Sam!

Sam!

- Hands!
That's not where hands go!

- Jesus f*cking Christ,
why are you yelling, Nina?

- You said at least once a week
you would try

that aerobics class.

- I be saying sh*t
all the time.

Like, I'll mount
the TV on the wall.

Where is it now?

- Sitting on some Reebok boxes.

- Exactly.

So why do you have
expectations?

- Oh, thank God.

- You got homeless a*s Jak
laying on my clean couch

knowing he be peeing
in the bed.

- Oh, my God,
for the last time Nina,

I didn't pee
in the bed that night.

I was out in the streets

and peed on myself,
then went to bed.

Just 'cause you weren't around
for the conception

of the pee pee
doesn't mean you can judge.

- No, okay,
I'm not debating pee pee.

Sam, get up.
- All right, all right.

- Get up.
- Okay.

- Get up!
- Jeez.

- You're lazy.

- What is wrong with you?
You're too fine

to be so mean.

Come on, like, babe
you're too pretty

to be yelling like that.
- Uh-uh.

Where were you two
at last night?

- The bar, trying to cheer
Jak up.

- Why, what happened?

- Uh...

- The boss pulled him aside

and gave him a little tug
on his junk.

Langston said we had to snitch.
Didn't work.

Anyways, I got him drunk
and made him forget things.

You know O'Brien's
has a patio now?

- You said he was touched
at work?

That is insanely inappropriate.

- Yeah, but I fixed it.

He was doing snow angels
on the pool table by 2 a.m.

He's fine.

- I keep rethinking it,
and I just wish I had just--

- You should have socked
the n*gga.

- And lose his job?

- I'm not even sure
Jak works there.

He just eats
other people's lunches

out of the fridge.

Hold on, hold on.
I'll be right back.

Be right back.
- Nasty n*gga.

You know, the same thing
happened to my friend Ronda.

- Your friend?
You hate Ronda.

Just the other day,
you said you hope

her Scion slides into a lake
with the door slammed shut.

You gave specifics.
- It don't matter.

Anyway, one time
on a work retreat in Toronto,

her team leader invited her up
to do a quick download, right?

Which meant drinks
where he ran his hand

up her g*dd*mn leg.

- No!
- Yeah!

Now, I don't see
how he ain't bleed out

from the splinters
on her prickly sea urchin legs,

but--
- There it is.

- Fu--

- But, it was an abuse
of power nonetheless.

It totally f*cked up
her work and personal life.

It's like a lingering sickness
for her.

- Mm. Is that right?

- Sickness?

- You know, she had to go
to special therapy

where they use gardening
for healing.

Jak needs therapy too.

- All therapy does
is give false solutions.

"Oh, my daddy did this,
my daddy did that."

Everybody's daddy did
something.

You don't need
a white b*tch in a scarf

drinking Earl Gray tea
to tell you

that the world is trash.

- It's not that simple.
It's psychological trauma.

- Here you go,
Iyanla Vanzant'n again.

- I love her.
- I do too, though.

- Yeah, right?
- She is dope.

But, like, everything
doesn't have to be

that dramatic.

People love to make
false equivalencies.

Sometimes you unpack
and it's just bullshit.

- Yeah, but you don't unpack
anything.

You just boxed up his trauma

and poured Hennessy
on top of it.

- Because everything doesn't
need to be unpacked.

Like h*m*.
They think we're g*y

because our uncles touched us
at a party or something.

That's not the case.
Neither one of us was molested.

We're just g*y.
- That's true.

- I popped out the p*ssy
wanting p*ssy, the end!

- All this n*gga philosophy

isn't gonna keep you
from working out.

- Look at you,
caring about

my statistical chances
of high blood pressure.

- And with the way
you eat after 10 p.m.,

it's almost a certainty, boo.
- Oh, well. Give me sugar.

- Hurt people hurt people.

It's like a zombie bite.

- Brah.

- It's like a lingering
sickness.

- God.

No! No! No! No! No! No!

You sink has men in there.
Men!

- The biggest problem

with the phrase
"sexual as*ault"

is it makes you feel all yucky,

like when you found out
why "Martin" ended.

- Oh.
Yeah.

- So what we need to do
is find a way

to take the "sault"
out of "sexual as*ault."

- Hmm.

So you just want it to be
"sexual a*s" then?

- Ooh, that is good.
Write that down.

- Look, Chris,
I don't care how we do it,

I just feel like we need
to do everything we can

to help Black men.

- Damn, Langston,
that's beautiful.

- Then I can get my vengeance
on Chauncey,

that greasy-lipped
moon cricket.

- Yo.

Chill.

- You've been doing
great work, sweetie!

- Who tied you up?

- Uh, Jak.

- What you talking about,
bro?

- Uh, I'm infected.

Like Nina's coworker.

Langston said
hurt people hurt people.

I don't--

I don't want to pass along
this sickness.

I did what any good person
or werewolf

would do in this situation.

- See, now, a normal man
would be confused

by every single word coming out
of your mouth right now.

But me? Nah, I'm prepared.

- Mm-hmm.
Chris is right.

Chris is right.
Look at me.

Hey, we're gonna take care
of this.

Okay?

Chauncey is never gonna hurt
you again.

- It was Horace
that touched me.

- Mm-hmm.
Exactly.

- Huh?

- We got you, big dog.

- We got you.
- Yeah. Gotcha, guy.

- Y'all always keep telling me
what y'all want,

but no one wants to listen
to what I need.

I feel like Odell Beckham.

Everyone just keeps projecting
their sh*t on me.

- Here.

- What do you want me
to do with this?

- Look, my n*gga,
you're obviously going

through some sh*t.

And as a woman, I've been
in similar situations.

But Nina told me
that people use plants

as therapy,
so, I don't know.

Water it,
talk to it, whatever.

It's yours.

- Yo.
- Hmm?

- Thanks.

- You're welcome, man.

- Oh!

- Ohh!

- Well, I bought
a big piece of land

up in Muskegon,
so I'm gonna let

all my ferrets out
and see what happens.

Find out who's the most loyal,
you know?

- Enough of that sh*t.

No one cares you're 53
with ferrets.

I have something
un-ferret-related to say.

Male molestation.
What is it?

This pamphlet don't tell you
what it is.

Mm-mm. But I will.

Hyah!

And just how cool it can be
to get molested.

- n*gga, please!

For the last time,
you were molested

and it wasn't cool!

Go see somebody, please!

- Shut the f*ck up, Rocko,
and put your hat back on.

God damn it,
you won't silence me, b*tch.

Where was I? Oh!

With my new motivational video,

I will pick up the slack
where this company has left off

in terms of male molestation.

- You should have taken
your job more seriously, buddy.

- I'll choke the f*ck
out of ya.

- Prepare to have
your eyes opened, b*tches.

♪ That's why I make music ♪

Oh, I did see you there.

People ask me all the time,

"Chris, how'd you become
the man you are today?"

Well, it's because
I got my d*ck sucked

when I was just a boy.

At first I didn't tell
anybody about it

'cause I thought
it was pretty normal.

Then after I got
some nasty reactions,

I realized
that's just not the case.

And look, I don't know why
this happened to me.

Maybe 'cause I was cooler
than everybody else

and probably had
a bigger d*ck, too.

Yeah, some things never change.

But what needs to change
is that all of us

who were touched as boys

realize we are
unbreakable kings.

Let's change the stigma,
my enigmas.

Let's remind the world that

even while we're dressed up
as power rangers on Halloween,

we've still got h*s.

Adult h*s.

Really makes you think, huh?
That's dope.

♪ Adult h*s adult h*s ♪

♪ I don't know how old,
we just know they adult h*s ♪

♪ Adult h*s ♪

♪ h*s, h*s ♪

- Hey!

Heeeeeey!

- Ahh!

- Come on, man.
- No! No!

He touched my d*ck!

He touched my d*ck,
and the only way

to stop this sickness

is to take
his booty as sacrifice.

- Come on, man.
Come on, brother.

- Get off of me!

- I mean, I thought
he was gonna water it

or meditate or some sh*t.

- Honestly, he did
the same sh*t to me

in the men's bathroom.

- What?

- He did that to me
late in the office one night.

- Guys, come on.

Y'all know I was just
"Horacing" around.

- Nasty m*therf*cker.

- Well, well, well.

Welcome to the new era, y'all.

An era where the boys
and men come together and--

- Hey, y'all, Horace left.

- sh*t.
Well, that era ended quickly.

- All right, y'all, listen up.

Horace escaped.

Now, we can't find him,

nor are we willing to look.

Now, security is gonna escort
all the men

down to their cars
for the time being.

- Door-to-door service.
Y'all welcome, n*gg*s.

- Why have you never escorted
the women to their cars?

- In the meantime,

I'll be absorbing
Horace's position,

functioning as manager
and head of HR.

- What?
What? No!

No, when? Who decided this?

- Man, I don't know.
Some rich white n*gga

that makes decisions, man.

You best sit
your tender-d*ck a*s down

now n*gga.
What the f*ck wrong with you?

- His cigarette went--
- He's gonna cry.

He's gonna cry.

- It's not funny.
- Tender-d*ck.

- You're going
to jail, Chauncey.

- I still can't believe
I worked

around this many
molested a*s n*gg*s.

But today turned out
to be a good day.

And I'm glad my boy
got what he needed.

- Thanks dog.
I do feel better, guys.

Yo. Yooo!

Chris, now you gotta find
that Patrice lady

and stick her in the butt
with a bamboo dildo.

- Mm-hmm.

- Or leave a pile of sh*t
on her front porch.

- Okay.

♪ ♪