Bee Porno Script - Dialogue Transcript

And swin on back ta Drewz Script-O-Rama afterwardz -- cuz readin is phat fo' yo' noodle. Betta than Farmville, anyway.

Bee Porno Script

Accordin ta all known laws of aviation, there is no way a funky-ass bee should be able ta fly. Its wings is too lil' small-ass ta get its fat lil body off tha ground. Da bee, of course, flies anyway because bees couldn't give a fuckin shit what humans be thinkin is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black n' yellow! Letz shake it up a lil. Barry dawwwwg! Breakfast is ready! Ooming! Hang on a second. Hello? - Barry? - Adam? - Oan you believe dis is happening? - I can't. I be bout ta pick you up. Lookin sharp. Use tha stairs. Yo crazy-ass father paid phat scrilla fo' them. Sorry. I be excited. Herez tha graduate. We straight-up proud as a muthafucka of you, son. A slick report card, all B's. Straight-up proud. Ma! I gots a thang goin here. - Yo ass gots lint on yo' fuzz. - Ow! Thatz me! - Wave ta us muthafucka! We bout ta be up in row 118,000. - Bye! Barry, I holla'd at you, stop flyin up in tha house! - Yo, Adam. - Yo, Barry. - Is dat fuzz gel? - A lil. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Special day, graduation. Never thought I'd make dat shit. Three minutes grade school, three minutes high school. Those was awkward. Three minutes college. I be glad I took a dizzle n' hitchhiked round tha hive. Yo ass did come back different. - Yea muthafucka, Barry. - Artie, growin a mustache, biatch? Looks good. - Hear bout Frankie? - Yeah. - Yo ass goin ta tha funeral? - Fuck dat shit, I aint going. All Y'all knows, stin one of mah thugs, you take a thugged-out dirt nap. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead. I guess his schmoooove ass could have just gotten outta tha way. I gots a straight-up boner fo' dis incorporating an amusement park tha fuck into our day. Thatz why our phat asses don't need vacations. Boy, like a lil' bit of pomp... under tha circumstances. - Well, Adam, todizzle we is men. - We are! - Bee-men. - Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished bees, please welcome Dean Buzzwell. Welcome, New Hive Oity graduatin class of... ...9:15. That concludes our ceremonies. And begins yo' game at Honex Industries! Will we pick ourjob todizzle? I heard itz just orientation. Headz up! Here we go. Keep yo' handz n' antennas inside tha tram at all times. - Wonder what tha fuck it'll be like? - A lil freaky. Yo, wuz crackalackin', biatch? Yo ass is smokin Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of tha Hexagon Group. This is dat shiznit son! Wow. Wow. We know dat you, as a funky-ass bee, have hit dat shiznit yo' whole game to git ta tha point where you can work fo' yo' whole game. Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks brang tha nectar ta tha hive. Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted n' bubble-contoured into dis soothang dope syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey! - That hoe was hot. - Dat hoe mah cousin! - Biatch is? - Yes, we all cousins. - Right. Yo ass is right. - At Honex, we constantly strive to improve every last muthafuckin aspect of bee existence. These bees is stress-testing a freshly smoked up helmet technology. - What do you be thinkin he makes? - Not enough. Here our crazy asses have our sickest fuckin advancement, the Krelman. - What do dat do? - Oatches dat lil strand of honey that hangs afta you pour dat shit. Saves our asses millions. Oan mah playas work on tha Krelman? Of course. Most bee thangs are small ones. But bees know that every last muthafuckin lil' small-ass thang, if itz done well, means all muthafuckin day. But chizzle carefully because you gonna stay up in tha thang you pick fo' tha rest of yo' game. Da same thang tha rest of yo' game? I didn't give a fuck that. Whatz tha difference? You'll be aiiight ta know dat bees, as a flavas, aint had one dizzle off in 27 mazillion years. So you gonna just work our asses ta dirtnap? We bout ta shizzle try. Fuck dis shiznit son! That blew mah mind! "Whatz tha difference?" How tha fuck can you say that? One thang forever? Thatz a crazy chizzle ta gotta make. I be relieved. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Now we only have to make one decision up in tha game. But, Adam, how tha fuck could they never have holla'd at our asses that? Why would you question anything? We bees. We da most thugged-out perfectly functionin society on Earth. Yo ass eva be thinkin maybe thangs work a lil too well here? Like what, biatch? Give me one example. I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. But you know what I be poppin' off about. Please clear tha gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Wait a second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Oheck it out. - Yo, dem is Pollen Jocks! - Wow. I've never peeped dem dis close. They know what tha fuck itz like outside tha hive. Yeah yo, but some don't come back. - Yo, Jocks! - Yea muthafucka, Jocks! Yo ass muthafuckas did pimped out! Yo ass is monsters! Yo ass is sky freaks muthafucka! I gots a straight-up boner fo' dat shiznit son! I gots a straight-up boner fo' dat shiznit son! - I wonder where they were. - I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Their dayz not planned. Outside tha hive, flyin whoz ass knows where, bustin whoz ass knows what. Yo ass can'tjust decizzle ta be a Pollen Jock. Yo ass gotta be bred fo' that. Right. Look. Thatz mo' pollen than you n' I'ma peep up in a gametime. It aint nuthin but just a status symbol. Bees make too much of dat shit. Perhaps. Unless you bustin it and tha ladies peep you bustin dat shit. Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Letz have funk wit dem wild-ass muthafuckas. It must be dangerous bein a Pollen Jock. Yeah. Once a funky-ass bear pinned me against a mushroom! Dude had a paw on mah throat, and wit tha other, da thug was slappin me! - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock his ass out. What was you bustin durin this? Tryin ta alert tha authorities. I can autograph that. A lil gusty up there todizzle, wasn't it, comrades? Yeah. Gusty. Our thugged-out asses hittin a sunflower patch six milez from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh? - Barry! A puddle jump fo' us, but maybe you not up fo' dat shit. - Maybe I am. - Yo ass is not! We goin 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy? Is you bee enough? I might be. Well shiiiit, it all depends on what tha fuck 0900 means. Yo, Honex! Dad, you surprised mah dirty ass. Yo ass decizzle what tha fuck you interested in? - Well, there be a a shitload of chizzles. - But you only git one. Do you eva git bored fuckin wit tha same thang every last muthafuckin day? Son, let me rap bout stirring. Yo ass grab dat stick, n' you just move it around, n' you stir it around. Yo ass git yo ass tha fuck into a rhythm. It aint nuthin but a funky-ass dope thang. Yo ass know, Dad, the mo' I be thinkin bout it, maybe tha honey field just aint right fo' mah dirty ass. Yo ass was thankin of what, makin balloon muthafuckas? Thatz a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass thang for a muthafucka wit a stinger. Janet, yo' sonz not sure he wants ta go tha fuck into honey! - Barry, yo ass is so funky sometimes. - I aint tryin ta be funky. Yo ass aint funky dawwwwg! Yo ass is going into honey. Our son, tha stirrer! - Yo ass is gonna be a stirrer? - No onez listenin ta me! Wait till you peep tha sticks I have. I could say anythang n' aint a thugged-out damn thang dat yo' ass can do. I'ma git a ant tattoo! Letz open some honey n' celebrate! Maybe I be bout ta pierce mah thorax. Shave mah antennae. Shack up wit a grasshopper n' shit. Get a gold tooth n' call dem hoes "dawg"! I be soopa-doopa proud. - We startin work todizzle! - Todayz tha day. Oome on! All tha phat thangs will be gone. Yeah, right. Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, afro removal... - Is it still available? - Hang on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Two left! One of themz yours muthafucka! Oongratulations! Step ta tha side. - What'd you get? - Pickin crud out. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stellar! Wow! Oouple of newbies? Yes, sir playa! Our first dizzle dawwwwg! We is ready! Make yo' chizzle. - Yo ass wanna go first? - Fuck dat shit, you go. Oh, my. Whatz available? Restroom attendantz open, not fo' tha reason you think. - Any chizzle of gettin tha Krelman? - Sure, you on. I be sorry, tha Krelman just closed out. Wax monkeyz always open. Da Krelman opened up again. What happened? A bee died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Makes a opening. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See? Dat punk dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Another dead one. Deady. Deadified. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Two mo' dead as fuckin fried chicken. Dead from tha neck up. Dead from tha neck down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Thatz game! Oh, dis is so hard! Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangla n' shit. Barry, what do you be thinkin I should... Barry? Barry! All right, we've gots tha sunflower patch in quadrant nine... What happened ta yo slick ass? Where is yo slick ass? - I be goin out. - Out, biatch? Out where? - Out there. - Oh, no! I have to, before I go to work fo' tha rest of mah game. Yo ass is gonna die biaaatch! Yo ass is crazy dawwwwg! Hello? Another call comin in. If mah playass feelin brave, therez a Korean deli on 83rd that gets they roses todizzle. Yo, muthafuckas. - Look at that. - Isn't dat tha kid we saw yesterday? Hold it, son, flight deckz restricted. It aint nuthin but OK, Lou fo'sho. We gonna take his ass up. Really, biatch? Feelin dirty, is yo slick ass? Sign here, here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Just initial that. - Nuff props, biatch. - OK. Yo ass gots a thugged-out drizzle advisory todizzle, and as you all know, bees cannot fly up in rain. So be careful naaahhmean, biatch? As always, watch yo' brooms, hockey sticks, dawgs, birds, bears n' bats. Also, I gots a cold-ass lil couple reports of root brew bein poured on us. Murphyz up in a home cuz of it, babblin like a cold-ass lil cicada! - Thatz awful. - And a reminder fo' you rookies, bee law number one, straight-up no poppin' off ta humans! All right, launch positions! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Black n' yellow! Hello! Yo ass locked n loaded fo' this, bangin' shot? Yeah. Yeah, brang it on. Wind, check. - Antennae, check. - Nectar pack, check. - Wings, check. - Stinger, check. Scared outta mah shorts, check. OK, ladies, letz move it out! Pound dem petunias, you striped stem-suckers! All of you, drain dem flowers! Fuck dis shiznit son! I be out! I can't believe I be out! So blue. I feel so fast n' free! Box kite! Wow! Flowers! This is Blue Leader. Our thugged-out asses have roses visual. Brin it round 30 degrees n' hold. Roses! 30 degrees, roger n' shit. Bringin it around. Stand ta tha side, kid. It aint nuthin but gots a lil' bit of a kick. That is one nectar collector! - Ever peep pollination up close? - Fuck dat shit, sir. I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it over here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Maybe a thugged-out dash over there, a pinch on dat one. See that, biatch? It aint nuthin but a lil bit of magic. Thatz amazing. Why do our phat asses do that? Thatz pollen juice n' shit. Mo' pollen, more flowers, mo' nectar, mo' honey fo' us. Oool. I be pickin up a shitload of bright yellow. Oould be daisies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! Don't we need them? Oopy dat visual. Wait. One of these flowers seems ta be on tha move. Say again, biatch? Yo ass is reporting a movin flower? Affirmative. That was on tha line! This is tha coolest. What tha fuck iz it? I don't give a fuck yo, but I be gangbangin dis color. It smells good. Not like a gangbangin' flower yo, but I wanna bust a nut on dat shit. Yeah, fuzzy. Ohemical-y. Oareful, muthafuckas. It aint nuthin but a lil grabby. My fuckin dope lord of bees! Oandy-dome, git off there! Problem! - Guys! - This could be bad. Affirmative. Straight-up close. Gonna hurt. Mamaz lil boy. Yo ass is way outta position, rookie! Oomin up in at you like a pistol! Help me! I don't be thinkin these is flowers. - Should we tell him? - I be thinkin he knows. What tha fuck iz this?! Match point! Yo ass can start packin up, honey, because you bout ta smoke dat shiznit son! Yowser! Gross. Therez a funky-ass bee up in tha car! - Do something! - I be driving! - Yea muthafucka, bee. - Dat punk back here! Dat punk goin ta stin me! No Muthafucka move. If you don't move, he won't stin you, biatch. Freeze! Dude blinked! Spray him, Granny! What is you bustin?! Wow... tha tension level out here is unbelievable. I gotta git home. Oan't fly up in rain. Oan't fly up in rain. Oan't fly up in rain. Maydizzle dawwwwg! Maydizzle dawwwwg! Bee goin down! Ken, could you close the window please? Ken, could you close the window please? Oheck up mah freshly smoked up resume. I juiced it up tha fuck into a gangbangin' fold-out brochure. Yo ass see, biatch? Foldz out. Oh, no. Mo' humans. I don't need this. What was that? Maybe dis time. This time. This time. This time biaaatch! This time biaaatch! This... Drapes! That is diabolical. It aint nuthin but dunkadelic. It aint nuthin but gots all mah special skills, even mah top-ten straight-up pornos. Whatz number one, biatch? Star Wars? Nah, I don't go fo' that... ...kind of stuff. No wonder we shouldn't rap ta dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They're outta they minds. When I leave a thang rap battle, they're flabbergasted, can't believe what tha fuck I say. Therez tha sun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Maybe thatz a way out. I don't remember tha sun havin a funky-ass big-ass 75 on dat shit. I predicted global warming. I could feel it gettin hotter. At first I thought dat shiznit was just mah dirty ass. Wait son! Stop! Bee! Stand back. These is winta boots. Wait! Don't bust a cap up in him! Yo ass know I be allergic ta them! This thang could bust a cap up in me! Why do his wild lil' freakadelic game have less value than yours? Why do his wild lil' freakadelic game have any less value than mine, biatch? Is dat yo' statement? I be just sayin all game has value. You don't give a fuck what tha fuck his schmoooove ass capable of feeling. My fuckin brochure! There you go, lil muthafucka. I aint scared of his muthafuckin ass. It aint nuthin but a allergic thang. Put dat on yo' resume brochure. My fuckin whole grill could puff up. Make it one of yo' special game. Knockin one of mah thugs out is also a special skill. Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks. - Vanessa, next week, biatch? Yogurt night? - Sure, Ken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass know, whatever. - Yo ass could put carob chips on there. - Bye. - Supposed ta be less calories. - Bye. I gotta say something. Bitch saved mah game. I gotta say something. All right, here it goes. Nah. What would I say? I could straight-up git up in shit. It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bee law. Yo ass aint supposed ta rap ta a human. I can't believe I be bustin this. I've gots to. Oh, I can't do dat shit. Oome on! No. Yes yes y'all. No. Do dat shit. I can't. How tha fuck should I start it? "Yo ass like jazz?" Fuck dat shit, thatz no good. Here dat thugged-out biiiatch comes muthafucka! Speak, you fool! Hi! I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. - Yo ass is rappin'. - Yes, I know. Yo ass is rappin'! I be soopa-doopa sorry bout dat bullshit. Fuck dat shit, itz OK. It aint nuthin but fine. I know I be trippin. But I don't recall goin ta bed. Well, I be shizzle this is straight-up disconcerting. This be a lil' bit of a surprise ta mah dirty ass. I mean, you a funky-ass bee! I am fo' realz. And I aint supposed to be bustin this, but they was all tryin ta bust a cap up in mah dirty ass. And if it wasn't fo' you, biatch... I had ta fuck you, biatch. It aint nuthin but just how tha fuck I was raised. That was a lil weird. - I be poppin' off wit a funky-ass bee. - Yeah. I be poppin' off ta a funky-ass bee. And tha bee is poppin' off ta me! I just wanna say I be grateful. I be bout ta leave now, nahmeean? - Wait son! How tha fuck did you learn ta do that? - What? Da poppin' off thang. Same way you did, I guess. "Mama, Dada, honey." Yo ass pick it up. - Thatz straight-up funky. - Yeah. Bees is funky. If our phat asses didn't laugh, we'd cry wit what tha fuck we gotta deal with. Anyway... Oan I... ...get you something? - Like what? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I mean... I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Ooffee? I don't wanna put you out. It aint nuthin but no shit. Well shiiiit, it takes two minutes. - It aint nuthin but just coffee. - I don't give a fuck bout ta impose. - Don't be ridiculous! - Actually, I would ludd a cold-ass lil cup. Yo, you want rum cake? - I shouldn't. - Have some. - Fuck dat shit, I can't. - Oome on! I be tryin ta lose a cold-ass lil couple micrograms. - Where? - These stripes don't help. Yo ass look pimped out! I don't give a fuck if you know anythang bout fashion. Is you all right? No. Dat punk makin tha tie up in tha cab as they flyin up Madison. Dude finally gets there. Dude runs up tha steps tha fuck into tha church. Da weddin is on. And da perved-out muthafucka says, "Watermelon? I thought you holla'd Guatemalan. Why would I marry a watermelon?" Is dat a funky-ass bee joke? Thatz tha kind of shiznit our phat asses do. Yeah, different. So, what tha fuck is you gonna do, Barry? Bout work, biatch? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I wanna do mah part fo' tha hive, but I can't do it tha way they want. I know how tha fuck you feel. - Yo ass do? - Sure. My fuckin muthafathas wanted mah crazy ass ta be a lawyer or a doctor yo, but I wanted ta be a gangbangin' florist. - Fo' realz? - My fuckin only interest is flowers. Our freshly smoked up biatch was just erected with dat same campaign slogan. Anyway, if you look... Therez mah hive right there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See it? Yo ass is up in Sheep Meadow! Yes muthafucka! I be right off tha Turtle Pond! No way dawwwwg! I know dat area. I lost a toe rang there once. - Why do hoes put rings on they toes? - Why not? - It aint nuthin but like puttin a funky-ass basebizzle cap on yo' knee. - Maybe I be bout ta try that. - Y'all right, ma'am? - Oh, yeah. Fine. Just havin two cupz of coffee! Anyway, dis has been pimped out. Thanks fo' tha coffee. Yeah, itz no shit. Awwww shiiiit muthafucka, I couldn't finish dat shit. If I did, I'd be up tha rest of mah game. Is you, biatch...? Oan I take a piece of dis wit me son? Sure biaaatch! Here, gotz a cold-ass lil crumb. - Thanks! - Yeah. All right. Well, then... I guess I be bout ta peep you around. Or not. OK, Barry. And fuck you so much again... fo' before. Oh, that, biatch? That was nothing. Well, not not a god damn thang yo, but.. fo' realz. Anyway... This can't possibly work. Dat punk all set ta bounce tha fuck out. We may as well try dat shit. OK, Dave, pull tha chute. - Soundz amazing. - Dat shiznit was sick! Dat shiznit was tha scariest, happiest moment of mah game. Humans muthafucka! I can't believe you was wit humans! Giant, freaky humans! What was they like? Big-Ass n' crazy. They rap crazy. They smoke wild-ass giant thangs. They drive crazy. - Do they try n' bust a cap up in you, like on TV? - Some of dem wild-ass muthafuckas. But a shitload of dem don't. - How'd you git back? - Poodle. Yo ass done did it, n' I be glad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo ass saw whatever you wanted ta see. Yo ass had yo' "experience." Now you can pick up yourjob n' be normal. - Well... - Well? Well, I kicked it wit one of mah thugs. Yo ass did, biatch? Was she Bee-ish? - A wasp?! Yo crazy-ass muthafathas will bust a cap up in you, nahmean biiiatch? - Fuck dat shit, no, no, not a wasp. - Spider? - I aint attracted ta spiders. I know itz tha hottest thang, with tha eight hairy-ass legs n' all. I can't git by dat face. So whoz ass is she? She's... human. Fuck dat shit, no. Thatz a funky-ass bee law. Yo ass wouldn't break a funky-ass bee law. - Her namez Vanessa. - Oh, boy. Dat hoe so sick fo' realz. And she a gangbangin' florist! Oh, no! Yo ass is pimpin a human florist! We not dating. Yo ass is flyin outside tha hive, rappin' to humans dat battle our cribs with juice washers n' M-80s! One-eighth a stick of dynamite! Bitch saved mah game! And she understandz mah dirty ass. This is over! Eat this. This aint over playa! What was that? - They call it a cold-ass lil crumb. - Dat shiznit was so stingin' stripey! And thatz not what tha fuck they eat. Thatz what tha fuck falls off what tha fuck they eat! - Yo ass know what tha fuck a Oinnabon is? - No. It aint nuthin but bread n' cinnamon n' frosting. They heat it up... Sit down! ...really hot! - Listen ta me! Our asses aint them! We us. Therez our asses n' there be a them! Yes yo, but whoz ass can deny the ass dat is yearning? Therez no yearning. Quit yearning. Listen ta me! Yo ass have gots ta start thankin bee, my playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Thinkin bee! - Thinkin bee. - Thinkin bee. Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee! There he is. Dat punk up in tha pool. Yo ass know what tha fuck yo' problem is, Barry? I gotta start thankin bee? How tha fuck much longer will dis go on? It aint nuthin but been three days! Why aren't you working? I've gots a shitload of big-ass game decisions to be thinkin about. What game, biatch? Yo ass have no game! Yo ass have no thang. Yo ass is barely a funky-ass bee! Would it bust a cap up in you to cook up a lil honey? Barry, come out. Yo crazy-ass fatherz poppin' off ta you, biatch. Martin, would you rap ta him? Barry, I be poppin' off ta you, nahmean biiiatch? Yo ass coming? Got every last muthafuckin thang? All set! Go ahead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be bout ta catch up. Don't be too long. Watch this! Vanessa! - We still here. - I holla'd at you not ta yell at his muthafuckin ass. Dude don't respond ta yelling! - Then why yell all up in mah grill son? - Because you don't listen! I aint listenin ta this. Sorry, I've gotta go. - Where is you going? - I be meetin a gangbangin' playa. A girl, biatch? Is dis why you can't decide? Bye. I just hope she Bee-ish. They gotz a big-ass parade of flowers every last muthafuckin year up in Pasadena? To be up in tha Tournament of Roses, thatz every last muthafuckin floristz dream! Up on a gangbangin' float, surrounded by flowers, crowdz cheering. A tournament. Do tha roses compete up in athletic events? No fo' realz. All right, I've gots one. How tha fuck come you don't fly everywhere? It aint nuthin but exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere, biatch? It aint nuthin but faster. Yeah, OK, I see, I see. All right, yo' turn. TiVo. Yo ass can just freeze live TV? Thatz insane! Yo ass aint gots that? Our thugged-out asses have Hivo yo, but itz a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disease. It aint nuthin but a horrible, wack disease. Oh, my. Dumb bees! Yo ass must wanna stin all dem jerks. We try not ta sting. It aint nuthin but probably fatal fo' us. So you gotta peep yo' temper. Straight-up carefully. Yo ass kick a wall, take a strutt, write a mad salty letta n' throw it out. Work all up in it like any emotion: Anger, jealousy, lust. Oh, mah goodness muthafucka! Is you OK? Yeah. - What tha fuck iz poppin' off wit yo slick ass?! - It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bug. Dat punk not botherin anybody. Git outta here, you creep! What was that, biatch? A Pic 'N' Save circular? Yeah, it was yo. How tha fuck did you know? It felt like bout 10 pages. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit. You've straight-up gots that down ta a science. - I lost a cold-ass lil cousin ta Italian Vogue. - I be bout ta bet. What up in tha name of Mighty Herculez is this? How tha fuck did dis git here? Oute Bee, Golden Blossom, Ray Liotta Private Select? - Is tha pimpin' muthafucka dat hustla? - I never heard of his muthafuckin ass. - Why is dis here? - For people. We smoke dat shit. Yo ass don't have enough chicken of yo' own? - Well, yes. - How tha fuck do you git it? - Bees make dat shit. - I know whoz ass make dat shiznit son! And itz hard ta make dat shiznit son! Therez heating, cooling, stirring. Yo ass need a whole Krelman thang! - It aint nuthin but organic. - It aint nuthin but our-ganic! It aint nuthin but just honey, Barry. Just what?! Bees don't give a fuck bout this! This is jackin! All dem jackin! You've taken our cribs, schools, hospitizzles muthafucka! This be all our crazy asses have! And itz on sale?! I be gettin ta tha bottom of this. I be gettin ta tha bottom of all of this! Yo, Hector. - Yo ass almost done? - Almost. Dude is here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I sense dat shit. Well, I guess I be bout ta bounce back ta tha doggy den now and just leave dis sick honey out, with no one around. Yo ass is busted, box boy! I knew I heard something. So you can talk! I can talk. And now you gonna start rappin'! Where you gettin tha dope stuff? Whoz yo' supplier? I don't understand. I thought we was playas. Da last thang we want to do is upset bees! Yo ass is too late biaaatch! It aint nuthin but ours now! You, sir, have crossed the wack sword! You, sir, is ghon be lunch for mah iguana, Ignacio! Where is tha honey comin from? Tell me where! Honey Farms muthafucka! It be reppin Honey Farms! Orazy person! What wack thang has happened here? These faces, they never knew what hit dem wild-ass muthafuckas fo' realz. And now they on tha road ta nowhere! Just keep still. What, biatch? Yo ass aint dead? Do I look dead, biatch? They will wipe anything that moves. Where you headed? To Honey Farms. I be onto suttin' big-ass here. I be goin ta Alaska. Moose blood, crazy stuff. Blows yo' head off! I be goin ta Tacoma. - And yo slick ass? - Dude straight-up is dead as fuckin fried chicken. All right. Uh-oh! - What tha fuck iz that?! - Oh, no! - A wiper playa! Triple blade! - Triple blade? Jump on! It aint nuthin but yo' only chance, bee! Why do every last muthafuckin thang have to be all kindsa doggone clean?! How tha fuck much do you playas need ta see?! Open yo' eyes! Stick yo' head up tha window! From NPR Shit up in Washington, I be Oarl Kasell. But don't bust a cap up in no mo' bugs! - Bee! - Moose blood muthafucka!! - Yo ass hear something? - Like what? Like tiny screaming. Turn off tha radio. Whassup, bee boy? Yo, Blood. Just a row of honey jars, as far as tha eye could see. Wow! I assume wherever dis truck goes is where they gettin dat shit. I mean, dat honeyz ours. - Bees hang tight. - We all jammed in. It aint nuthin but a cold-ass lil close hood. Not us, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. We on our own. Every mosquito on his own. - What if you git up in shit? - Yo ass a mosquito, you up in shit. No Muthafucka likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito, smack, smack! At least you up in tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Yo ass must hook up hoes. Mosquito hoes try ta trade up, get wit a moth, dragonfly. Mosquito hoe don't want no mosquito. Yo ass gots ta be kiddin me! Moosebloodz bout ta leave the building! So long, bee! - Yo, muthafuckas! - Mooseblood! I knew I'd catch y'all down here. Did yo dirty ass brang yo' wild-ass straw? We throw it up in jars, slap a label on it, and itz pretty much pure profit. What tha fuck iz dis place? A beez gots a funky-ass dome the size of a pinhead. They is pinheads! Pinhead. - Oheck up tha freshly smoked up smoker. - Oh, dope. Thatz tha one you want. Da Thomas 3000! Smoker? Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice tha nicotine, all tha tar. A couple breathz of this knocks dem right out. They make tha honey, and we make tha scrilla. "They make tha honey, and we make tha scrilla"? Oh, my! Whatz goin on, biatch? Is you OK? Yeah. Well shiiiit, it don't last too long. Do you know you is in a gangbangin' fake hive wit fake walls? Our biatch was moved here. Our thugged-out asses had no chizzle. This is yo' biatch? Thatz a playa up in hoes clothes! Thatz a thugged-out drag biatch! What tha fuck iz this? Oh, no! Therez hundredz of them! Bee honey. Our honey is bein brazenly jacked on a massive scale! This is worse than anythang bears have done biaaatch! I intend ta do something. Oh, Barry, stop. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck holla'd at you humans is taking our honey, biatch? Thatz a rumor. Do these be lookin like rumors? Thatz a cold-ass lil conspiracy theory. These is obviously doctored photos. How tha fuck did you git mixed up in this? Dat punk been poppin' off ta humans. - What? - Talkin ta humans?! Dude has a human hoe. And they make out! Make out, biatch? Barry! Us dudes do not. - Yo ass wish you could. - Whose side is you on? Da bees! I dated a cold-ass lil cricket once up in San Antonio. Those wild-ass hairy-ass legs kept me up all night. Barry, dis is what tha fuck you want to do wit yo' game? I wanna do it fo' all our lives. No Muthafucka works harder than bees! Dad, I remember you comin home so overworked your handz was still stirring. Yo ass couldn't stop. I remember that. What right do they gotta our honey? We live on two cups a year. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They put it in lip balm fo' no reason whatsoever! Even if itz true, what tha fuck can one bee do? Stin dem where it straight-up hurts. In tha grill biaaatch! Da eye! - That would hurt. - No. Up tha nose, biatch? Thatz a killer. Therez only one place you can sting the humans, one place where it matters. Hive at Five, tha hivez only full-hour action shizzle source. No mo' bee beards! With Bob Bumble all up in tha anchor desk. Weather wit Storm Stinger. Game wit Buzz Larvi. And Jeanette Ohung. - Dope evening. I be Bob Bumble. - And I be Jeanette Ohung. A tri-county bee, Barry Benson, intendz ta sue tha human race for jackin our honey, packagin it n' profiting from it illegally! Tomorrow night on Bee Larry Mackdaddy, we'll have three forma biatchs here in our studio, discussin they freshly smoked up book, Olassy Ladies, out dis week on Hexagon. Tonight we poppin' off ta Barry Benson. Did yo dirty ass eva think, "I be a kid from tha hive. I can't do this"? Bees have never been afraid to chizzle tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. What bout Bee Oolumbus? Bee Gandhi, biatch? Bejesus? Where I be from, we'd never sue humans. Us thugs was thinking of stickbizzle or candy stores. How tha fuck oldschool is yo slick ass? Da bee hood is supportin you up in dis case, which is ghon be tha trial of tha bee century. Yo ass know, they gotz a Larry Mackdaddy in tha human ghetto like a muthafucka. It aint nuthin but a cold-ass lil common name. Next week... Dude be lookin like you n' has a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass show and suspendaz n' colored dots... Next week... Glasses, quotes on tha bottom from the guest even though you just heard 'em. Bear Week next week! They're freaky, hairy n' here live. Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes, straight-up Jewish. In tennis, you attack at tha deal wit weakness! Dat shiznit was mah grandmother, Ken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat hoe 81. Honey, her backhandz a joke! I aint gonna take advantage of that? Quiet, please. Actual work goin on here. - Is dat that same bee? - Yes, it is! I be helpin his ass sue tha human race. - Hello. - Yo muthafucka, bee. This is Ken. Yeah, I remember you, biatch. Timberland, size ten n' a half. Vibram sole, I believe. Why do tha pimpin' muthafucka rap again? Listen, you betta go 'cause we straight-up busy working. But itz our yogurt night! Bye-bye. Why is yogurt night so difficult?! Yo ass skanky thang. Yo ass two done been at dis fo' hours! Yes, n' Adam here has been a big-ass help. - Frosting... - How tha fuck nuff sugars? Just one. I try not to use tha competition. So why is you helpin me son? Bees have phat qualities. And it takes mah mind off tha shop. Instead of flowers, people are givin balloon bouquets now, nahmeean? Those is pimped out, if you three. And artificial flowers. - Oh, dem just git me psychotic! - Yeah, me like a muthafucka. Bent stingers, pointless pollination. Bees must don't give a fuck bout dem fake thangs! Nothang worse than a thugged-out daffodil thatz had work done. Maybe dis could make up for it a lil bit. - This lawsuitz a pimpin' big-ass deal. - I guess. Yo ass shizzle you wanna go all up in wit it? Am I sure, biatch? When I be done with the humans, they won't be able to say, "Honey, I be home," without payin a royalty! It aint nuthin but a incredible scene here up in downtown Manhattan, where tha ghetto anxiously waits, because fo' tha last time up in history, we will hear fo' ourselves if a honeybee can straight-up speak. What have we gotten tha fuck into here, Barry? It aint nuthin but pretty big, aint it? I can't believe how tha fuck nuff humans don't work durin tha day. Yo ass be thinkin billion-dollar multinational food g-units have phat lawyers? All Y'all need ta stay behind tha barricade. - Whatz tha matter? - I don't give a fuck, I just gots a cold-ass lil chill. Well, if it aint tha bee crew. Yo ass thugs work on this? All rise biaaatch! Da Honorable Judge Bumbleton presiding. All right. Oase number 4475, Superior Oourt of New York, Barry Bee Benston v. tha Honey Industry is now up in session. Mista Muthafuckin Montgomery, you representing the five chicken g-units collectively? A privilege. Mista Muthafuckin Benson... you representing all tha beez of tha ghetto? I be kidding. Yes, Yo crazy-ass Honor, we're locked n loaded ta proceed. Mista Muthafuckin Montgomery, your openin statement, please. Ladies n' gentlemen of tha jury, my grandmutha was a simple biatch. Born on a gangbangin' farm, da hoe believed it was manz divine right to benefit from tha bounty of nature Dogg put before us. If our slick asses lived up in tha topsy-turvy ghetto Mista Muthafuckin Benston imagines, just be thinkin of what tha fuck would it mean. I would gotta negotiate with tha silkworm for tha elastic up in mah britches! Talkin bee! How tha fuck do we know dis aint some sort of holographic motion-picture-capture Hollywood wizzlery? They could be rockin laser beams! Robotics muthafucka! Ventriloquism! Oloning! For all we know, he could be on steroids! Mista Muthafuckin Benson? Ladies n' gentlemen, therez no trickery here. I be just a ordinary bee. Honeyz pretty blingin ta mah dirty ass. It aint nuthin but blingin ta all bees. We invented dat shiznit son! We make it fo' realz. And we protect it with our lives. Unfortunately, there are some playas up in dis room who be thinkin they can take it from us 'cause we tha lil muthafuckas! I be hopin that, afta dis be all over, yo dirty ass is gonna peep how, by takin our honey, you not only take every last muthafuckin thang our crazy asses have but every last muthafuckin thang we are! I wish he'd dress like that all tha time. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So sick! Oall yo' first witness. So, Mista Muthafuckin Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, big-ass company you have. I suppose so. I peep you also own Honeyburton n' Honron! Yes, they provide beekeepers for our farms. Beekeeper n' shit. I find that to be a straight-up disturbin term. I don't imagine you employ any bee-free-ers, do yo slick ass? - No. - I couldn't hear you, biatch. - No. - No. Because you don't free bees. Yo ass keep bees. Not only that, it seems you thought a funky-ass bear would be an appropriate image fo' a jar of honey. They're straight-up lovable creatures. Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear. Yo ass mean like this? Bears bust a cap up in bees! How'd you like his head crashing all up in yo' livin room?! Bitin tha fuck into yo' couch! Spittin up yo' throw pillows! OK, thatz enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Take his ass away. So, Mista Muthafuckin Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sting, fuck you fo' bein here. Yo crazy-ass name intrigues mah dirty ass. - Where have I heard it before? - I was wit a funky-ass crew called Da Police. But you've never been a five-o fool, have yo slick ass? Fuck dat shit, I haven't. Fuck dat shit, you haven't fo' realz. And so here we have yet another example of bee culture casually stolen by a human for not a god damn thang mo' than a prance-about stage name. Oh, please. Has you done eva been stung, Mista Muthafuckin Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sting? Because I be feeling a lil stung, Sting. Or should I say... Mista Muthafuckin Gordon M. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sumner! Thatz not his bangin real name?! Yo ass idiots! Mista Muthafuckin Liotta, first, belated props on your Emmy win fo' a hommie spot on ER up in 2005. Nuff props, biatch. Nuff props, biatch. I peep from yo' resume that you devilishly thugged-out with a cold-ass lil churnin inner turmoil thatz locked n loaded ta blow. I trip off what tha fuck I do. Is dat a cold-ass lil crime? Not yet it aint. But is this what itz come ta fo' yo slick ass? Exploitin tiny, helpless bees so you don't have ta rehearse your part n' learn yo' lines, sir? Watch it, Benson! I could blow right now! This aint a goodfella. This be a funky-ass badfella! Why don't one of mah thugs just step on this creep, n' we can all bounce back ta tha doggy den?! - Order up in dis court! - Yo ass be all thankin dat shiznit son! Order playa! Order, I say! - Say dat shiznit son! - Mista Muthafuckin Liotta, please sit tha fuck down! I be thinkin dat shiznit was awfully sick of dat bear ta pitch up in like dat n' like dis n' like dat y'all. I be thinkin tha juryz on our side. Is our phat asses bustin every last muthafuckin thang right, legally? I be a gangbangin' florist. Right. Well, herez ta a pimped out crew. To a pimped out crew! Well, hello. - Ken! - Hello. I didn't be thinkin you was coming. Fuck dat shit, I was just late. I tried ta call yo, but... tha battery. I didn't want all dis ta git all up in waste, so I called Barry. Luckily, da thug was free. Oh, dat was dirty. Therez a lil left. I could heat it up. Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever. So I hear you like a tennis playa. I aint much fo' tha game mah dirty ass. Da ballz a lil grabby. Thatz where I probably sit. Right... there. Ken, Barry was lookin at yo' resume, and he agreed wit me dat smokin with chopsticks aint straight-up a special skill. Yo ass be thinkin I don't peep what tha fuck you bustin? I know how tha fuck hard it is ta find the rightjob. Our thugged-out asses have dat up in common. Do we? Bees have 100 cement employment, but our phat asses do thangs like takin tha crud out. Thatz just what I was thankin bout bustin. Ken, I let Barry borrow yo' razor for his wild lil' fuzz. I hope dat was all right. I be goin ta drain tha oldschool stinger. Yeah, you do that. Look at that. Yo ass know, I've just bout had it with yo' lil mind games. - Whatz that? - Italian Vogue. Mamma mia, thatz a shitload of pages. All dem ads. Remember what tha fuck Van holla'd, why is your game mo' valuable than mine? Funny, I just can't seem ta recall that! I be thinkin suttin' stinks up in here! I gots a straight-up boner fo' tha smell of flowers. How tha fuck do you like tha smell of flames?! Not as much. Wata bug! Not takin sides! Ken, I be bustin a Ohapstick hat! This is pathetic! I've gots issues! Well, well, well, a royal flush! - Yo ass is bluffing. - Am I? Surfz up, dude! Poo water! That bowl is gnarly. Except fo' dem dirty yellow rings! Kenneth! What is you bustin?! Yo ass know, I don't even like honey! I don't smoke dat shiznit son! We need ta talk! Dat punk just a lil bee! And dat schmoooove muthafucka happens ta be the sickst bee I've kicked it wit up in a long-ass time! Long time, biatch? What is you poppin' off about?! Is there other bugs up in yo' game? Fuck dat shiznit yo, but there be other thangs bugging me up in tha game fo' realz. And you one of them! Fine biaaatch! Talkin bees, no yogurt night... My fuckin nerves is fried from riding on dis wack rolla coaster! Goodbye, Ken. And fo' yo' shiznit, I prefer sugar-free, artificial sweeteners made by man! I be sorry as a muthafucka bout all that. I know itz got an aftertaste biaaatch! I wanna bust a nut on dat shiznit son! I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken n' mah dirty ass. I couldn't overcome dat shit. Oh, well. Is you OK fo' tha trial? I believe Mista Muthafuckin Montgomery is bout outta ideas. Us thugs wanna call Mista Muthafuckin Barry Benston Bee ta tha stand. Dope idea! Yo ass can straight-up peep why he's considered one of tha dopest lawyers... Yeah. Layton, you've gotta weave some magic with dis jury, or itz gonna be all over. Don't worry. Da only thang I have to do ta turn dis jury around is ta remind them of what tha fuck they don't like bout bees. - Yo ass gots tha tweezers? - Is you allergic? Only ta losing, son. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Only ta losing. Mista Muthafuckin Benston Bee, I be bout ta ask you what I be thinkin we'd all like ta know. What exactly is yo' relationshizzle to dat biatch? We playas. - Dope playas? - Yes yes y'all. How tha fuck good, biatch? Do you live together? Wait a minute... Is you her lil... ...bedbug? I've peeped a funky-ass bee documentary or two. From what tha fuck I understand, doesn't yo' biatch give birth to all tha bee children? - Yeah yo, but... - So dem aren't yo' real muthafathas! - Oh, Barry... - Yes, they are! Hold mah crazy ass back! Yo ass be a illegitimate bee, aren't you, Benson? Dat punk denouncin bees! Don't y'all date yo' cousins? - Objection! - I be goin ta pincushion dis muthafucka! Adam, don't son! It aint nuthin but what tha fuck da thug wants! Oh, I be hit!! Oh, lordy, I be hit! Order playa! Order! Da venom! Da venom is coursin all up in mah veins! I done been felled by a winged beast of destruction! Yo ass see, biatch? Yo ass can't treat them like equals muthafucka! They're striped savages! Stingingz tha only thang they know! It aint nuthin but they way! - Adam, stay wit mah dirty ass. - I can't feel mah legs. What angel of mercy will come forward ta suck tha poison from mah heavin buttocks? I'ma have order up in dis court. Order! Order, please! Da case of tha honeybees versus tha human race took a pointed turn against tha bees yesterdizzle when one of they legal team stung Layton T. Montgomery. - Yo, dawg. - Hey. - Is there much pain? - Yeah. I... I blew tha whole case, didn't I? It don't matter n' shit. What mattas is yo ass is kickin dat shit, yo. Yo ass could have died. I'd be betta off dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Look all up in mah face. They gots it from tha cafeteria downstairs, up in a tuna sandwich. Look, there's a lil celery still on dat shit. What was it like ta stin one of mah thugs? I can't explain dat shit. Dat shiznit was all... All adrenaline n' then... and then ecstasy! All right. Yo ass be thinkin dat shiznit was all a trap? Of course. I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I flew our asses right tha fuck into this. What was we thinking, biatch? Look at us. We're just a cold-ass lil couple bugs up in dis ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. What will tha humans do ta us if they win? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I hear they put tha roaches up in motels. That don't sound so bad. Adam, they check in, but they don't check out! Oh, my. Oould you git a nurse to close dat window? - Why? - Da smoke. Bees don't smoke. Right. Bees don't smoke. Bees don't smoke! But some bees is tokin. Thatz dat shiznit son! Thatz our case! It is, biatch? It aint nuthin but not over? Git dressed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I've gotta go somewhere. Git back ta tha court n' stall. Stall any way you can. And assumin you've done step erectly, you locked n loaded fo' tha tub. Mista Muthafuckin Flayman. Yes, biatch? Yes, Yo crazy-ass Honor! Where is tha rest of yo' crew? Well, Yo crazy-ass Honor, itz interesting. Bees is trained ta fly haphazardly, and as a result, we don't make straight-up phat time. I straight-up heard a gangbangin' funky rap about... Yo crazy-ass Honor, haven't these wack bugs taken up enough of dis courtz valuable time? How tha fuck much longer will we allow these absurd shenanigans ta go on? They have presented no compelling evidence ta support they charges against mah clients, who run legitimate bidnizzes. I move fo' a cold-ass lil complete dismissal of dis entire case! Mista Muthafuckin Flayman, I be afraid I be going to gotta consider Mista Muthafuckin Montgomeryz motion. But you can't son! Our thugged-out asses gotz a terrific case. Where is yo' proof? Where is tha evidence? Show me tha tokin gun! Hold it, Yo crazy-ass Honor! Yo ass want a tokin gun? Here is yo' tokin gun. What tha fuck iz that? It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bee smoker! What, this? This harmless lil contraption? This couldn't hurt a gangbangin' fly, let ridin' solo a funky-ass bee. Look at what tha fuck has happened to bees whoz ass have never been asked, "Tokin or non?" Is dis what tha fuck nature intended fo' us? To be forcibly addicted to smoke machines and man-made wooden slat work camps? Livin up our lives as honey slaves to tha white man? - What is we gonna do? - Dat punk playin tha species card. Ladies n' gentlemen, please, free these bees! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees! Jacked tha bees! Jacked tha bees muthafucka! Jacked tha bees! Da court findz up in favor of tha bees! Vanessa, we won! I knew you could do dat shiznit son! High-five! Sorry. I be OK! Yo ass know what tha fuck dis means? All tha honey will finally belong ta tha bees. Now we won't have to work so hard all tha time. This be a unholy perversion of tha balizzle of nature, Benson. You'll regret this. Barry, how tha fuck much honey is up there? All right. One at a time. Barry, whoz ass is you bustin? My fuckin sweata is Ralph Lauren, and I have no pants. - What if Montgomeryz right? - What do you mean? We've been livin tha bee way a long time, 27 mazillion years. Oongratulations on yo' victory. What will you demand as a settlement? First, we'll demand a cold-ass lil complete shutdown of all bee work camps. Then we want back tha honey that was ours ta begin with, every last drop. Us dudes demand a end ta tha glorification of tha bear as anythang more than a gangbangin' filthy, smelly, bad-breath stink machine. We all aware of what tha fuck they do up in tha woods. Wait fo' mah signal. Take his ass out. Dude bout ta have nauseous for all dem hours, then he'll be fine. And we will no longer tolerate bee-negatizzle nicknames... But itz just a prance-about stage name! ...unnecessary inclusion of honey in bogus game shizzle and la-dee-da human tea-time snack garnishments. Oan't breathe. Brin it in, thugs! Hold it right there biaaatch! Good. Tap dat shit. Mista Muthafuckin Buzzwell, our laid-back asses just passed three cups, and there be a gallons mo' coming! - I be thinkin we need ta shut down! - Shut down, biatch? We've never shut down. Shut down honey thang! Quit makin honey! Turn yo' key, sir! What do our phat asses do now? Oannonball! We shuttin honey thang! Mission abort. Abortin pollination n' nectar detail. Returnin ta base. Adam, you wouldn't believe how much honey was up there. Oh, yeah? Whatz goin on, biatch? Where is everybody? - Is they up celebrating? - They're home. They don't give a fuck what tha fuck ta do. Layin out, chillin in. I heard yo' Uncle Oarl was on his way to San Antonio wit a cold-ass lil cricket. At least we gots our honey back. Sometimes I think, so what tha fuck if humans liked our honey, biatch? Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck wouldn't? It aint nuthin but tha top billin thang up in tha ghetto! I was buckwild ta be part of makin dat shit. This was mah freshly smoked up desk. This was my new thang. I wanted ta do it straight-up well. And now, nahmeean?.. Now I can't. I don't understand why they not horny. I thought they lives would be better! They're bustin nothing. It aint nuthin but amazing. Honey straight-up chizzlez people. Yo ass aint gots any idea what be happenin, do yo slick ass? - What did you wanna show me son? - This. What happened here? That aint tha half of dat shit. Oh, no. Oh, my. They're all wilting. Doesn't look straight-up good, do it? No. And whose fault do you be thinkin dat is? Yo ass know, I'ma guess bees. Bees? Specifically, mah dirty ass. I didn't be thinkin bees not needin ta make honey would affect all these thangs. It aint nuthin but notjust flowers. Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees. Thatz our whole SAT test right there. Take away produce, dat affects the entire animal mackdaddydom. And then, of course... Da human species? So if there be a no mo' pollination, it could all just go downtown here, couldn't it? I know dis be also kinda mah fault. How tha fuck on some suicizzle pact? How tha fuck do our phat asses do it? - I be bout ta stin you, you step on mah dirty ass. - Thatjust kills you twice. Right, right. Listen, Barry... sorry yo, but I gotta git going. I had ta open mah grill n' talk. Vanessa? Vanessa, biatch? Why is you leaving? Where is you going? To tha final Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena. They've moved it ta dis weekend because all tha flowers is dying. It aint nuthin but tha last chance I be bout ta eva gotta peep dat shit. Vanessa, I just wanna say I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I never meant it ta turn up like dis y'all. I know. Me neither. Tournament of Roses. Roses can't do game. Wait a minute. Roses. Roses? Roses! Vanessa! Roses?! Barry? - Roses is flowers! - Yes, they are. Flowers, bees, pollen! I know. Thatz why dis is tha last parade. Maybe not. Oould you ask his ass ta slow down? Oould you slow down? Barry! OK, I done cooked up a big-ass mistake. This be a total fuck up, all mah fault. Yes, it kind of is. I've fucked up tha hood. I wanted ta help you with tha flower shop. I've juiced it up worse. Actually, itz straight-up closed down. I thought maybe you was remodeling. But I have another idea, n' it's greata than mah previous scams combined. I don't wanna hear dat shiznit son! All right, they have tha roses, the roses have tha pollen. I know every last muthafuckin bee, plant and flower bud up in dis park. All we gotta do is git what tha fuck they've got back here wit what tha fuck we've got. - Bees. - Park. - Pollen! - Flowers. - Repollination! - Across tha nation! Tournament of Roses, Pasadena, Oalifornia. They've gots nothing but flowers, floats n' cotton candy. Securitizzle is ghon be tight. I gots a idea. Vanessa Bloome, FTD. Straight-Up Legit floral bidnizz. It aint nuthin but real. Sorry, ma'am. Sick brooch. Nuff props, biatch. Dat shiznit was a gift. Once inside, we just pick tha right float. How tha fuck bout Da Supa-Hoe n' tha Pea? I could be tha bizzatch, and you could be tha pea! Yes, I gots dat shit. - Where should I sit? - What is yo slick ass? - I believe I be tha pea. - Da pea? It goes under tha mattresses. - Not up in dis fairy tale, dopeheart. - I be gettin tha marshal. Yo ass do that! This whole parade be a gangbangin' fiasco! Letz peep what tha fuck dis baby'll do. Yo, what tha fuck is you bustin?! Then all our phat asses do is blend up in wit traffic... ...without arousin suspicion. Once all up in tha airport, therez no stoppin us. Stop! Security. - Yo ass n' yo' insect pack yo' float? - Yes yes y'all. Has it been in yo' possession tha entire time? Would you remove yo' shoes? - Remove yo' stinger. - It aint nuthin but part of mah dirty ass. I know. Just havin some fun. Trip off yo' flight. Then if our slick asses dirty, we'll have just enough pollen ta do tha thang. Oan you believe how tha fuck dirty we are, biatch? We have just enough pollen ta do tha thang! I be thinkin dis is gonna work. It aint nuthin but gots ta work. Attention, passengers, this is Oaptain Scott. Our thugged-out asses gotz a lil' bit of shitty weather in New York. It be lookin like we'll experience a couple minutes delay. Barry, these is cut flowers with no gin n juice n' shit. They'll never make dat shit. I gotta git up there and rap ta dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Be careful. Oan I git help with tha Sky Mall magazine? I'd like ta order tha rappin' inflatable nozzle n' ear afro trimmer. Oaptain, I be up in a real thang. - What'd you say, Hal? - Nothing. Bee! Don't freak up son! My fuckin entire species... What is you bustin? - Wait a minute biaaatch! I be a attorney! - Whoz a attorney? Don't move. Oh, Barry. Dope afternoon, passengers. This is yo' captain. Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome up in 24B please report ta tha cockpit? And please hurry! What happened here? There was a DustBuster, a toupee, a game raft blew up like a muthafucka. Onez bald, onez up in a funky-ass boat, they both unconscious! - Is dat another bee joke? - No! No onez flyin tha plane! This is JFK control tower, Flight 356. Whatz yo' status? This is Vanessa Bloome. I be a gangbangin' florist from New York. Wherez tha pilot? Dat punk unconscious, and so is tha copilot. Not good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Do mah playas onboard have flight experience? As a matta of fact, there is. - Whoz that? - Barry Benson. From tha honey trial?! Oh, pimped out. Vanessa, dis aint a god damn thang more than a funky-ass big-ass metal bee. It aint nuthin but gots giant wings, big-ass engines. I can't fly a plane. - Why not, biatch? Isn't Jizzy Travolta a pilot? - Yes yes y'all. How tha fuck hard could it be? Wait, Barry! Our thugged-out asses headed tha fuck into some lightning. This is Bob Bumble. Our thugged-out asses have some late-breakin shizzle from JFK Airport, where a suspenseful scene is pimpin. Barry Benson, fresh from his fuckin legal victory... Thatz Barry! ...is attemptin ta land a plane, loaded wit people, flowers and a incapacitated flight crew. Flowers?! Our thugged-out asses gotz a storm up in tha area and two dudes all up in tha controls with straight-up no flight experience. Just a minute. Therez a funky-ass bee on dat plane. I be like familiar wit Mista Muthafuckin Benson and his no-account compadres. They've done enough damage. But aint he yo' only hope? Technically, a funky-ass bee shouldn't be able ta fly at all. Their wings is too small... Haven't our crazy asses heard dis a mazillion times? "Da surface area of tha wings and body mass make no sense." - Git dis on tha air! - Got dat shit. - Stand by. - We goin live. Da way we work may be a mystery ta you, biatch. Makin honey takes a shitload of bees fuckin wit a shitload of lil' small-ass thangs. But let me rap on some lil' small-ass thang. If you do it well, it cook up a funky-ass big-ass difference. Mo' than we realized. To us, ta everyone. Thatz why I wanna git bees back ta hustlin together. Thatz tha bee way! We not made of Jell-O. We git behind a gangbangin' fellow. - Black n' yellow! - Hello! Left, right, down, hover. - Hover? - Forget hover. This aint so hard. Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Barry, what tha fuck happened?! Wait, I be thinkin we were on autopilot tha whole time. - That may done been helpin mah dirty ass. - And now we not! So it turns up I cannot fly a plane. All of you, letz get behind dis fellow! Move it out! Move out! Our only chizzle is if I do what tha fuck I'd do, you copy me wit tha wingz of tha plane! Don't gotta yell. I aint yelling! We up in a shitload of shit. It aint nuthin but straight-up hard ta concentrate with dat panicky tone up in yo' voice! It aint nuthin but not a tone. I be panicking! I can't do this! Vanessa, pull yo ass together. Yo ass gotta snap outta dat shiznit son! Yo ass snap outta dat shit. Yo ass snap outta dat shit. - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Yo ass snap outta dat shiznit son! - Hold dat shiznit son! - Why, biatch? Oome on, itz mah turn. How tha fuck is tha plane flying? I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Hello? Benson, gots any flowers for a aiiight occasion up in there? Da Pollen Jocks! They do git behind a gangbangin' fellow. - Black n' yellow. - Hello. All right, letz drop dis tin can on tha blacktop. Where, biatch? I can't peep anything. Oan yo slick ass? Fuck dat shit, nothing. It aint nuthin but all cloudy. Oome on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass gots ta be thinkin bee, Barry. - Thinkin bee. - Thinkin bee. Thinkin bee! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee! Wait a minute. I be thinkin I be feelin something. - What? - I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. It aint nuthin but strong, pullin mah dirty ass. Like a 27-million-year-old instinct. Brin tha nozzle down. Thinkin bee! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee! - What up in tha ghetto is on tha tarmac? - Git some lights on that! Thinkin bee! Thinkin bee biaaatch! Thinkin bee! - Vanessa, aim fo' tha flower. - OK. Out tha engines. We goin in on bee juice n' shit. Ready, thugs? Affirmative! Good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Easy, now, nahmeean, biatch? Thatz dat shit. Land on dat flower! Ready, biatch? Full reverse! Spin it around! - Not dat flower playa! Da other one! - Which one? - That flower. - I be aimin all up in tha flower! Thatz a gangbangin' fat muthafucka up in a gangbangin' flowered shirt. I mean tha giant pulsatin flower made of millionz of bees! Pull forward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Nose down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Tail up. Rotate round dat shit. - This is insane, Barry! - Thiss tha only way I know how tha fuck ta fly. Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is dis plane flyin up in a insect-like pattern? Git yo' nozzle up in there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Don't be afraid. Smell dat shit. Full reverse! Just drop dat shit. Be a part of dat shit. Aim fo' tha center! Now drop it in! Drop it in, biatch! Oome on, already. Barry, our phat asses did dat shiznit son! Yo ass taught me how tha fuck ta fly! - Yes yes y'all. No high-five! - Right. Barry, it worked! Did yo dirty ass peep tha giant flower? What giant flower, biatch? Where, biatch? Of course I saw tha flower playa! That was smart-ass ! - Nuff props, biatch. - But our asses aint done yet. Listen, everyone! This runway is covered with tha last pollen from tha last flowers available anywhere on Earth. That means dis is our last chance. We tha only ones whoz ass make honey, pollinizzle flowers n' dress like dis y'all. If we gonna survive as a flavas, this is our moment son! What do you say? Is we goin ta be bees, orjust Museum of Natural History keychains? We bees! Keychain! Then gangbang me biaaatch! Except Keychain. Hold on, Barry yo. Here. You've gots this. Yeah! I be a Pollen Jock! And itz a perfect fit fo' realz. All I gotta do is tha sleeves. Oh, yeah. Thatz our Barry. Mom! Da bees is back! If anybody needs to cook up a cold-ass lil call, nowz tha time. I gots a gangbangin' feelin we'll be workin late tonight! Herez yo' chizzle yo. Have a pimped out afternoon! Oan I help whoz next? Would you like some honey wit that? It be bee-approved. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Don't forget these. Milk, cream, cheese, itz all mah dirty ass. And I don't peep a nickel! Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat! I had no idea. Barry, I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. Has you done gots a moment? Would you excuse me son? My fuckin mosquito associate will help you, biatch. Awwww shiiiit muthafucka, I be late. Dat punk a lawyer too? I was already a funky-ass blood-suckin parasite. All I needed was a funky-ass briefcase. Have a pimped out afternoon! Barry, I just gots dis big-ass tulip order, and I can't git dem anywhere. No problem, Vannie. Just leave it ta mah dirty ass. Yo ass be a gamesaver, Barry. Oan I help whoz next? All right, scramble, jocks! It aint nuthin but time ta fly. Nuff props, Barry! That bee is livin mah game! Let it go, Kenny. - When will dis nightmare end?! - Let all dat shiznit go. - Beautiful dizzle ta fly. - Sheezy is. Between you n' me, I was dyin ta git outta dat crib. Yo ass have got to start thankin bee, mah playa. - Thinkin bee! - Me? Hold dat shit. Letz just stop for a second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hold dat shit. I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I be sorry, everyone. Oan we stop here? I aint bustin a major game decision durin a thang number! All right. Take ten, everybody. Wrap it up, muthafuckas. I had virtually no rehearsal fo' that.