01x02 - Post Nut Promises

[bunniefuu]

- Relax.
- Sam, you got me f*cked up.

- I don't know why
you f*cked up.

Can you calm down? Okay?

It's not that serious.
- It is that f*cking serious.

- No, it's not.
You're new at this.

- So our relationship
is not serious?

- I'm not saying that.
- You lied to me.

- I didn't lie to you.
- You did.

- No, I didn't.
- Now you sure you're okay

with me taking the leftovers?

- You take it, baby.

Eat it for your lunch tomorrow.
- Okay.

I mean, honestly,
I'm not even sure

why you would order jambalaya
at The Fondue Factory.

I mean, I feel like the menu
here is just a list of foods

the chef has kind of heard of,
you know?

- Well, when we get home,

I'm gonna show you something
I kind of heard of.

And there will be
a few animals involved.

- Madam, this is
a family restaurant.

- Oh.

- Will you keep
your voice down?

- Keep my voice down
for what, Sam?

- Because everybody's
looking at us.

- I don't give a f*ck
who's looking at us.

- Why do you have
to be such a b*tch?

- Who the f*ck
you calling a b*tch?

- Oh!
- You got me f*cked up.

- God damn!
- Uh!

- Get your hands off me!

- Oh!
- Ooh.

- I'm f*ck' tired
of your raggedy a*s sh*t.

- That little lady beating the
bald fade off that big lady.

- You sh*t--
- I'll show you

What the--

- Let me go.

- Lang?

- I'ma f*cking k*ll you, b*tch.

Where the f*ck
you think you going?

- Okay,
I'ma be real with you.

The girl getting her a*s
kicked is my friend.

- What?
- And she wouldn't want me

to see her like this.

So we, you and I, we gotta go.

- You don't wanna help her?

- Nah, I think
the wait staff got it.

- Please stop.

You're k*lling her!

- Okay.
Well, now it's something

only "The Steve Wilkos Show"
can solve.

So we are out.

- b*tch, I'ma k*ll you.

♪ ♪

- If I'm eating
a celebrity's poop,

it's gonna be Erykah Badu.

- Mm.
Well, I'll go Winnie Harlow.

Her poops probably comes out
like little marble cakes.

- Ooh!

Like a fancy countertop.
I like that.

- Guys. Guys, stop.
Just stop, okay?

The correct answer
is Emma Watson.

Huh?
She got the little

British rabbit poops.

That's basically a Raisinet.

- Ooh, I do like Raisinets.

- Put that in your pocket,
go to the movies.

- We talking poop?
- Yeah.

- Yo!

- Jesus and Joseph Christ.
Who John Wick-ed you?

- Nina. I don't--whatever.
I don't know.

Um, if I was gonna eat
some celebrity poop though,

it would have to be Lisa Bonet.

Her poops probably come out
clean like a cup of soft serve.

- Dude, is no one--
I'm sorry.

I'm still, like, processing
that Nina's a bad dude.

- b*tch wild, you know?
What you gonna do?

- You good?
- I'm all right.

- Yeah, yeah, yeah,
but Nina though?

An ab*ser?
Man, she always seemed

like the type that, like,
lets abuse go on too long

'cause she has boundary issues.

- Look, I don't know
what to tell y'all, okay?

Things just got
a little out of hand.

Nothing to worry about.
Now if you'll excuse me,

I'm gonna go grab
one of Diane's

yogurt cups
to stick on my eye--

- No, Sam--Sam, don't.

Mm--damn.

- You pus-colored piece
of sh*t.

I knew you were
there last night.

- What?
- It was either

you or Chico DeBarge.

- Okay. Well--well, you--

you didn't get beat up by Nina.

You got beat up
by an Asian lady

who wouldn't stop saying
the N word.

- Whoa, whoa, whoa.
You were there?

And you didn't jump in
and help?

- That part.
- Whoa, whoa, whoa again.

Asian people are saying
the N word now?

Oh, we gotta remaster
all the "Rush Hours."

Jackie, g*n.
"Can't you see I'm hanging

off a chandelier,
doing kung fu, n*gga?"

- I can't believe
you didn't help me.

You watched her pour
a mango margarita on my head.

- No, I left before that.

And it just didn't seem right

to get involved in
a domestic violence situation.

- Well, it wasn't a domestic
violence situation, bro.

We don't even live together.

It was just regular violence,
you dumbass.

- That doesn't seem right.

- But bro, I'm not just
some random b*tch.

You know me.

I taught you how to put
dryer sheets on the A/C

so that smell would go away.

- That's the homie.
If it was me,

I'd have f*cked the b*tch up.

- Well, you not allowed
to f*ck b*tches up.

- Even in honor
of other b*tches?

- Mm-mm.
Wow.

We have strayed so far
from God's light.

- But she's a homie.
I would want to jump in too,

but I'd be afraid it'd
break out into a threesome.

You know, threesomes turn
into orgies real quick.

Bodies everywhere and everybody
oily and naked and all that.

- More importantly,
why were you

and that mean Asian lady
fighting in the first place?

- I mean, her name's Tiki,
and she's my side b*tch.

- Whoa!
- Oh, my n*gga!

- Oh, my God. Are you--

you're cheating on Nina?

- n*gga,
why are you whispering?

She's not here.

- Because I'm devastated.

She makes you pasta.

- Anyway, in a series
of unfortunate events,

Tiki ended up pregnant.

And now she's trying say
it's my baby.

- Yo, that sh*t is confused...
- My head, my head, my head.

- My brain so hard, bruh,
like--

- I don't know, man.
It kind of all just happened,

you know?

We met at this furniture store.

You know what I mean?

We were both looking
at the same circle bed,

with the little rhinestones
in the headboard.

You know, some sh*t Nina would
never let me buy.

- I'd let you buy that sh*t.

- You're broke, Chris.
- Yes, that's true.

- But me and Tiki like,
hit it off.

She's just so like,
wild, man, and free.

And she paints little Minions
on her fingernails.

Sexy.
- That's nice.

- But why cheat? Right?

Were you--were you unhappy?

Was Nina making you lift stuff?

- It's not even about Nina.

I'm a f*cking cafeteria lady.

Every day starts
with scrambled eggs

and ends
with watching "Four Weddings."

But when I'm with Tiki
and she be arguing

with bank tellers over
overdraft fees--

I feel like Future.

- Damn, we all deserve
to eat p*ssy

with sunglasses on sometimes.

- Exactly.

So when she said
she wanted a baby,

I threw in the bread
for some in vitro.

- Okay, wait.
So you just paid for the baby?

- Mm-hmm.
- Everybody knows the rules.

If it's not your load,
nothing is owed.

- Respectfully, I disagree--

- If it's not your splatter,
it doesn't matter.

If it's not your gravy,
see ya later, lady.

If it's not your juice,

you ain't gotta
read Mother Goose.

- Chris, we got it.

- All right.
- Yeah.

Look, although you didn't
traditionally nut in Tiki,

you did, however,
financially nut in Tiki.

And that makes what grew from
that nut your responsibility.

- Well, I used Nina's
credit card to pay for it,

so according to your logic,
it's Nina's baby.

- Oh, sh*t.
- Jesus Christ!

- Even Future wouldn't do that.

- I mean, it wasn't supposed
to be all this.

Tiki was just supposed
to be a messy getaway.

That's what side pieces
are for.

- Yeah, but did you ever do

non-side piece things with her?

Like rub her back
or listen to her dreams?

- Of course I did.
That's how you get p*ssy.

But that doesn't mean
I'm trying be with her forever.

I gave the b*tch a baby.

I wasn't trying to have a baby
with the b*tch.

- Right.
Like, if I buy a girl a turtle,

I don't have
to keep sending them lettuce

or calling it on its birthday.

- Yeah.

And I met up with her
last night to cool things off.

But then Tiki got all wild
on some "Maury" sh*t.

And now I think she's gonna
blow my whole life up.

I can feel her walls
closing in on me.

- And not her p*ssy walls?

- No, Chris,
not her p*ssy walls.

- Mm.
- What a shame.

- Call to action.
The real culprit here

is the man whose nut made
that baby in the first place.

- I think she got it from,
like,

a sperm bank or something.

- Exactly.
Downloading, downloading.

If he would've
never nutted in that cup,

then Tiki would never had
that baby.

If Tiki never had that baby,

then Sam never would have
got her a*s beat and banned

from one of America's premiere
homecoming restaurants.

Ispo facto, that means that
that man

is a deadbeat,
a woman beater...

- Yep!
- And is still allowed to go

to The Fondue Factory
when our friend is not!

- f*cking right. Yes.

- I'm going down
to that sperm bank,

and I'ma go find
whose nut it is.

- And I'm going, too,
to talk to somebody

because I'm a customer there,
and I need to figure out

how to check
my account balance online.

- No, whoa, sorry.
Sorry to hold you up.

I know you got a lot going on,
but Chris,

do you think that the sperm
bank works like a regular bank?

- I'm sorry. One second here.

I gotta open this garage
for this numb n*gga.

No.

I can't watch the porn I like
to watch at a regular bank.

You ever seen, like,
three b*tches

on a giraffe just f*cking?

The giraffe's happy but he wet.

You don't know sh*t about sex.

- h*.

- If you f*ck on a giraffe,
it's still bestiality.

- What are you gonna do
about this baby, bro?

- Nothing, n*gga.

- Okay, well, you can't do
nothing, n*gga.

I mean, come on. You gotta--

you gotta think about
that poor, innocent child.

- Whatever.

- Oh, you pregnant?

Oh, I knew you was gonna
flip your jersey back, n*gga.

Let's go.
- Nah, I'm not having no baby,

I'm not meeting no baby, and
I'm not taking care of no baby.

- Oh, you a deadbeat daddy
with t*tties.

I knew I liked you.

- Look, I don't know
all the terms and conditions

of the purchase agreement,
but by all accounts,

you are the father
of that child, yes?

- According to the Stud
Commandments, you're not wrong.

- Great. So as you know,

I've had many stepfathers
in my life.

And I can tell you firsthand,

there are good daddies
and there are bad daddies.

- And are there red daddies

and are there
blue daddies too, m*therf*cker?

- Mm.
- Soft a*s n*gga.

- There are Franks
and there are Lamonts.

Now surprisingly,
you wanna be a Lamont.

Lamont's a deacon.

But Frank,
he sucks your mom's fingers

and tells you he has a taste
for something pink.

- I like that n*gga too.

- The point is
this is a chance for you

to finally do right
by this baby.

I mean, come on.

You guys could become
the perfect co-parents.

It could be like a sitcom.

I'd call it
"Three Moms and a Baby."

- Okay, on the count of three,

we each will show each other
the outfits we chose

for our baby's
first picture day.

One, two, three.

- What's that?

- I wanna dress the baby
like the honorable minister

Louis Farrakhan.

- Aww!

Look at our little
dancing Navy Muslim.

- That's just a bullshit

"rainbows and unicorns"
version of lesbianism.

It would be more like this.

- I cannot believe
that you did that to me.

- Okay, what'd I do? Stop!

- Oh, wait a minute now.

Don't you be yelling
at her like that.

- Anyways.
- Because this is my girl--

- Hey, y'all,

the baby dead.

- Y'all k*lled my
m*therf*cking baby!

- Ain't nobody k*ll your baby.

- You hate me.
You hate me.

- I don't hate you.
- You hate me.

- So you guys yelled
the baby to death?

- Pretty much.

- Been there.

You missed a melon chunk.

- Yeah, get that sh*t.

- The point is you can't keep
running

from your bad decisions, okay?

And it's becoming clear to me

that if we're gonna make
this a good daddy story,

you're gonna need me
to help mediate things

between you and Tiki.

- Wrong.
You don't wanna do that.

It's not gonna go
the way you think.

- Mm-mm. See?

That sounds like Frank talking.

- Look,
you can't just roll up there

talking like a therapist and
think sh*t's gonna be smooth.

You don't know Tiki, okay?

Some b*tches can't
be reasoned with.

- Tiki?
That b*tch crazier than a f*ck,

but she can wash the sh*t
out a car though.

- Now why would she have
washed your car?

- Because I needed the sh*t
waxed and buffed, n*gga.

- Hey! What up?

- Hey, Chris is back.

Someone grab the big cup.

- Girl, stop playing with me.

I'm just a regular man
like everybody else.

You know what I'm saying?
Heavy d*ck, light ba*ls.

No, I don't need
a big cup today.

I'm just here to check on my
safety deposit box, you know?

- I'm sorry, Chris,

but that's not
how sperm banks work.

Once the sperm comes in,

customers aren't allowed
to see it anymore.

- Where is he?

- I don't know.
That's why I'm here.

- Oh. Ooh.

sh*t. Ah, f*ck.

Dude.

I didn't think she was gon'--

I didn't think
it was gonna be--

I didn't mean to do this.

My bad, y'all.

But, you know--

- Let me get this straight.
So--so I can--

so I can--so I can c*m here,

but I can't see
my d*ck juice later?

Then I guess I gotta
close my account

and go take
my business elsewhere. Ha.

- Chris.
- What?

- This isn't a real bank.

That's why you see all
these pictures

of urethras on the walls.

- I thought that was
Georgia O'Queef.

- The only way the sperm leaves

is if it leaves fertilized
inside a lady.

- Hm.

So you're saying that little
baby that white lady holding,

that could be mine?

- Actually, despite your many,

many visits, no one's actually
ever wanted your specimen.

- No--no one?
- No.

- They said that?
- Not a single person.

You're completely baby-free.

- Baby-free. No, that's cool.

That's real cool.
It's cool to be free.

Wait, hold on.
Hold on, Chris.

Come on. You're Chris Henson.

You played football one time
and didn't get hurt.

If they don't wanna
use your nut,

it's because they don't know
the potential of that nut.

Thank you, Lucille.
I appreciate you.

Ladies and gentlemen
of the sperm bank,

it's time to let me c*m
inside of you.

- Sam's scared
to handle her own business,

but don't worry, baby.

I'll take care of her for you.

Uh, I guess I should
introduce myself.

I'm Langston.

I guess
I'm technically your uncle.

Although,
not in the traditional sense.

You don't have
a traditional family.

Lesbians--

- You doing the census?

- No, I'm Sam's friend.

- Uh.

- Um--

- He don't like eating inside.

- That is a thing
some people do.

I've been speaking with Sam

and through mentorship,
she now understands

that she does in fact have
responsibility for your baby.

And--and Sam also understands

that what happened the other
night was simply a mother,

trying to do what's best
for her unconventional family.

And most importantly, Sam would
like to reach an agreement

so that incidents
like what transpired,

never have to happen again.

- Aw, nah, I'ma f*ck that
b*tch up every time I see her.

- Okay, that's not what
you were supposed to say.

- People been
doing me dirty my whole life.

sh*t felt different with Sam.

I introduced her to my psychic.

- Oh, no.

- She really led me on
for real.

All she had to do was treat me
like sh*t from the top,

and I wouldn't even be mad.

But tried to play sisterhood
and intimacy.

So now whenever I see her,
it's on and popping.

- Right, okay. I hear you.

I hear you.

But don't you need help
with the baby?

You don't wanna raise a baby
around domestic violence.

- That wasn't
no domestic violence.

We don't even live together.

- Why does everybody
keep saying that?

- And besides, you don't think
I could provide for my kid?

I'm not some down and out
single mom.

I got a good job,

I only eat hotdogs by choice,

and I mind my damn business.

Unlike you.

Me and my baby good over here.

- But your baby is eating steak
in the sun.

You didn't even cut it up--

Ohh! Ooh!

f*ck you!

♪ ♪

- Gary, Indiana. 12:37 p.m.

A two-timing l*sbian is
accused of fathering a baby

without busting a nut.

But if there's no daddy sauce
in that dildo,

then whose nut was it?

And who's really
getting f*cked?

- 86, 87.

Hundred! Whoo!

That's a lot
of g*dd*mn pushups.

No pushups for fat n*gg*s.

You know what I'm saying?
You like what you see, ladies,

go ahead
and pick c*m number 115913.

Okay? And if you like me,

you can find me
at the same number,

add three more numbers.

You can't even read.
What you doing?

Hey, I also make omelets.
Hold that.

You ever seen a n*gga moonwalk
with his back?

That's some new sh*t.
That's some real new sh*t

right there.

Beneath me lies an army

of vermin
pushing deadbeat daddyhood.

When the accumulated nut
floods the building

and all these sinners drown
in the strange men's pudding,

they'll look up
and they'll say, "Save us."

And I'll look down
and I'll whisper, "Nah."

And they'll say,
"Who said that?"

And I'll say, "Me, Jak."

And they'll say, "Who's Jak?"

And I'll say, "Damn, I
should've introduced myself."

- You wanna see
how the sauce is made?

Like that, like that,
like that.

- I made it inside,

but the real question
still remains.

Who made it inside of Tiki?

What the f*ck?

- I thought
it would make you sleep.

- You gotta put chloroform
on the napkin.

- Oh, sh*t.

Hey, you got any chloroform?
- No.

Damn!

You weird, bruh.

- No, I'm not.

♪ ♪

My God.

Tiki's baby daddy is just
the tip of this nut rag.

- Hear me out.

What if we k*ll Tiki..
- Mm. Mm-hmm.

- And we put the baby
in foster care?

- Ooh, yes.
- You like that?

- Let it get lost in the system

but keep tabs on it
just in case it pops.

- Now we're cooking.

- Hey, there's a bunch
of rowdy-a*s girls out there

telling me it's their
half birthdays some sh*t.

Now they already broke three of
my god damn appletini glasses

and them m*therf*ckers
is plastic.

So, these hoes are determined.

Langston, I'm gonna need you
on cleanup, n*gga.

- All right.

We'll talk about this.

Whoo, the hustle never stops.

- Shut up, b*tch.

- Oh, make it rain!

- For the homies!

- Bye.

- Bye, little girl.

- Where the fly boys at?
- I need to find them.

- Where are they?

- Oh!

- Psst, I got this c*m.

Come on, girl,
come get this c*m.

That count for love?
I count per load of c*m.

- Sorry, I don't have any cash.

- Well, that sounds
like a you problem, huh?

f*ck. Come on, y'all.
Step right up.

Get the seed from a man
who can bench 140.

Easy. Three AP Psych credits.
Bald by choice.

I'm Michael Jordan.
Where'd you even get this from?

- Are you selling drugs
outside of our sperm bank?

- No.

I'm selling sperm
outside of our sperm bank.

- And I am almost certain
that that's ill*gal.

- What's ill*gal is you having
300 gallons of pure Chris cream

just sitting in there,
not being used.

I'm bringing the products
to the streets.

Come on, y'all.
No over-jack fees, huh?

No over jack.
First taste is free.

Hey, you want that
Chris P. Crème, baby?

- Okay, fine, Chris.

We will give you
your sperm back.

Just stop asking patients
to taste it.

- Alright.
- Let's go.

- Chris P. Crème.
Not the donut, but my nut.

- I just need a quick beat
to sort out your samples

but I should have
a box ready for you--

- No one's ever gonna miss
your soccer games!

Or your dance recitals!

Or your one-woman shows
or your colonoscopy ever again!

- What the f*ck are you doing?

- Oh, sh*t.

- Oh, my life savings!

All my nut on the floor now.

All that jacking off.

I can hear them.

I can hear all of them.

I can hear them screaming.

This is what it must
feel like to be God.

- Big problem.
Big, big problem.

Tiki's out there and
she's demanding special ice.

I mean, this b*tch
don't give a f*ck.

- Mm-mm. Not going out there.
I already told you.

I don't negotiate
with t*rrorists.

- Okay, come on.

Okay, whatever.
Look, look at me.

Tiki is a parasite
and the only way for us

to get rid of a parasite

is to introduce that parasite
to a new host.

- Chill out, bro.
Tiki's not a parasite.

She just be acting up
sometimes.

You don't know how to deal
with wild b*tches.

- Okay.
Well, wild b*tches or not.

What I'm saying is the
real solution to our problem

is to find someone who just
wants to be the baby daddy.

- Okay.
- I'll raise the child.

This morning I started
with a whole lot of c*m

and now I have none.

- n*gga, what?
- Hold on.

One second, man.
I think he's gonna get it.

- Today, people rejected
all my babies

the way Sam is rejecting hers.

It's almost as if me and that
baby are meant to be together.

Like crackheads
and shopping carts

or The-Dream and sunglasses.

Like, what that n*gga eyes
look like?

Point is, I will be the baby
daddy that Sam refuses to be.

- Alright, cool.
That sounds great. Do that.

- Yeah,
I think that could work.

- Yellow citizen,
take me to my queen.

- Okay. Um, it's that way.

- You walk off alone.

- n*gga, you better
not be pregnant.

Ain't no god damn
maternity leave.

You will leave this
m*therf*cker, I guarantee you.

- I'm not pregnant.

- I did it.
I busted all the nuts.

- n*gga.
- Good job, buddy.

- Yeah, yeah, yeah.

- Hey, yo, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.

Get your g*dd*mn a*s up, boy.

Don't be touching--don't be
touching sh*t in here, man.

Hey, n*gga,
you better not touch me.

What the f*ck? Hey.

Get your m*therf*cking--
get your--

Get your damn a*s--

- Come here.

Come here, little n*gga.
Come here!

- All right, Chris.
That lady over there

dressed like
a leather popsicle is Tiki.

- Bye. Bye!
- Get outta here.

- I'm warning you,
she is way scarier

than that tropical name
makes her seem.

- Don't worry about it.
My Almond Joy colored friend.

I got this.

♪ ♪

- ♪ Pretty brown eyes ♪

♪ You know I see you ♪

- Oh. Mm-mm.

- I'll raise the child.

- What?

- Fine then, f*ck you and that
little m*therf*cker

since you wanna go
at it like that.

- Who the f*ck
is you talking to?

Y'all better come get this
Caillou cocoa-bean-headed-a*s

n*gga away from me
before I whoop your a*s.

Boy, bye.

- Please, just let me
see my son, man!

Who gonna teach him
how to ride a bike

only to realize
mid-way through

that I'm really learning
the most?

- Sam, I know you here.

Come out or we're gonna
keep f*cking sh*t up.

We're gonna go table to table

and shout out
everybody's cards.

- Mm-hmm. Starting with these
weak a*s sixes right here.

- Dammit. Dirty dog head b*tch.

- Man, she just playing.

- Yeah. Whoo!

- Okay.
- Ah, ah, ah.

- I ain't going out there, man.

She wants to talk
but I'm not gonna go.

I'm not going cause
she be hitting people--

- Hey, look, bruh.

Ain't nothing wrong
with a side p*ssy.

I'm all about getting
some side p*ssy.

You hear what I'm saying?
I'm trying to f*ck the b*tch

that load up the pop machine
right now.

But you, you need
to get your sh*t together.

Your side p*ssy
coming to your work.

And when your side p*ssy start
coming to your work,

you know what that means?

- She work p*ssy.
- It's work p*ssy.

And I don't work
for nobody p*ssy but my own.

- You're right, man.

I let my messy hoe sh*t
get too messy.

I gotta go clean this sh*t up.

- Damn right.

- Yo, you're like
a father to me, man.

- You're like a son
to me, n*gga.

m*therf*cker been drinking
my god damn Zinfandel.

- Help! Someone please help!

Help!

- Tokandra Chanel Dang,
that's enough.

- Uh-uh.

You don't get to tell me
what's enough.

What you need to do is take
responsibility for your baby.

- You wanted a baby.
So I copped you a baby.

You know damn well we weren't
making no family together.

You knew what the game was.
Stop playing.

- Don't try to act like you
was keeping it all play

when you were sucking
on my titty

and singing Donnell Jones.
- So I like R&B.

- You played games
with my heart.

You're selfish
and you're cruel.

And your little strap
was not even that sturdy

'cause it be slipping off
and sh*t.

- Fine. I'll hold the baby.

- For ten minutes?
- Whatever.

- A'ight, I'm gonna go
get him from the car.

- Bye.

- Mm-hmm.

- Whoa, Sam, Sam, Sam.

Don't give him that.
It got hot sauce in it.

- Doo, doo, doo, doo.
- He eat hot sauce.

- He shouldn't.

It's gonna make him poop weird.

♪ ♪