Lets Gizoogle shit -
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Intermittent Denial of Service attack is causing downtime. Looks like a kiddie 5 min rental. Waiting on a response from upstream.
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kiwifarms.net
Yeeb-Renzo
kiwifarms.net
im goin ta preface dis by sayin i like tha idea of fuckin dawgs. i would also like ta say dat i would never straight-up fuck a thugged-out dawg up in real game (or peep bestialitizzle porn involvin real thangs) as dat be animal abuse n' tha straight-up scam of it goin' down irl make me feel sick. dis be a thang dat has been there all mah game, n' i would consider it a intrinsic part of me dat cannot be chizzled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! i've tried ta hide it, tried ta quash tha vibe n' thoughts down but they dont go away, n' if i try too hard ta ignore them, it flips he other way n' i just cant stop thankin bout it, endin up in a vicious cycle of "stop thankin bout it" "shiznit i cant stop i need ta try harder" etc etc.
other playas wit paraphilias (things like necrophilia, paedophilia, zoophilia et al dat is mo' than just a passin curiosity) ive talked ta have tha same problem of overthankin n' self hatred over these vibe, n' it frequently causes neuroses n' suicidal thoughts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. sexologists is straight-up startin ta smoke dat these thangs - n' general kinkinizz - is legitimate horny-ass orientations, like a muthafucka. dat dont mean we should be lobbyin fo' [xyz]philia ta be straight-up aiiight like homo/bisexualitizzle yo, but it should be peeped as suttin' un-fixable, yet able ta be handled safely.
the overwhelmin majoritizzle of playas wit philias do not like tha scam of actin upon these fantasies up in real game - fo' example a shitload of stupid-ass perverted muthafuckas despise theyselves fo' even thankin of it, n' often refuse ta be near lil pimps fo' they safety. unfortunately its hard fo' playas ta find therapists willin ta deal wit these thangs, as they fear bein ostracized n' cast up wit no help at all, so they turn ta shota/lolicon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. i don't straight-up peep a problem wit this, as it aint real, n' up in tha majoritizzle of cases, is fuckloadz ta help keep tha thug on tha straight n' narrow. if a stupid-ass perverted muthafucka actively harms lil pimps (either all up in porn or otherwise) they is looked down upon by playas whoz ass do straight-up KNOW dat fantasy =/= reality. kind of how tha fuck jeffrey dahmer isnt representatizzle of all homosapiens.
other playas wit paraphilias (things like necrophilia, paedophilia, zoophilia et al dat is mo' than just a passin curiosity) ive talked ta have tha same problem of overthankin n' self hatred over these vibe, n' it frequently causes neuroses n' suicidal thoughts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. sexologists is straight-up startin ta smoke dat these thangs - n' general kinkinizz - is legitimate horny-ass orientations, like a muthafucka. dat dont mean we should be lobbyin fo' [xyz]philia ta be straight-up aiiight like homo/bisexualitizzle yo, but it should be peeped as suttin' un-fixable, yet able ta be handled safely.
the overwhelmin majoritizzle of playas wit philias do not like tha scam of actin upon these fantasies up in real game - fo' example a shitload of stupid-ass perverted muthafuckas despise theyselves fo' even thankin of it, n' often refuse ta be near lil pimps fo' they safety. unfortunately its hard fo' playas ta find therapists willin ta deal wit these thangs, as they fear bein ostracized n' cast up wit no help at all, so they turn ta shota/lolicon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. i don't straight-up peep a problem wit this, as it aint real, n' up in tha majoritizzle of cases, is fuckloadz ta help keep tha thug on tha straight n' narrow. if a stupid-ass perverted muthafucka actively harms lil pimps (either all up in porn or otherwise) they is looked down upon by playas whoz ass do straight-up KNOW dat fantasy =/= reality. kind of how tha fuck jeffrey dahmer isnt representatizzle of all homosapiens.
Wuz crackalackin' Somethang Awful naaahhmean, biatch? First of all, I would just like ta specify dat dis aint mah account, dis was loaned ta me ta make dis post. I KNOW dat account pluggin be against tha rulez yo, but hopefully, thankin bout tha circumstances, a exception is ghon be made. I'ma not be rockin dis account fo' long. Lowtax is goin ta be givin me mah own account tomorrow yo. Dude has not read dis post yet yo, but I do have his thugged-out lil' permission ta post dat shit.
I be Kiwi Farms user 'OwO Whatz This?' you might have recognized mah avatar from dis funky YallTube vizzle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APrBdP0bBJM
I imagine a shitload of y'all have straight-up phat vibe bout Kiwi Farms, n' thatz fine. I be goin ta lift tha veil as ta tha motivez of a shitload of our activities, n' as ta why tha joint is gone now, nahmeean, biatch? I feel like I should do tha forma first.
First of all, suttin' ta understand: There was never a real war wit Somethang Awful, at least not from our perspective. Doxxin up in our hood served nuff muthafuckin purposes yo, but believe it or not, none of dem was harassment. With respect ta yo' hood, dat shiznit was a tactic used ta pop hood bubbles, damage safe spaces, n' lift a mirror up ta yo' hood. In dat respect, it hit dat shiznit wonders, despite gangbangin up hilariously a cold-ass lil couple times - like when a 'double agent' informant gots our asses ta dox tha Goatse muthafucka. Let me rap , I found it HILARIOUS yo, but there was dem behind tha scenes dat was like bitta bout tha trick. Whichever goon gots our asses wit dat deserves a medal.
But letz be real: Yo ass wouldn't done been a gangbangin' funk target if yo' hood was bustin well. It aint nuthin but not. There was nuff of dem within our hood whoz ass not only felt like you would be a gangbangin' funk target yo, but felt a sense of injustice dat a joint dat used ta be all kindsa legendary, a joint they was a part of, was dramatically changin tha fuck into one dat prioritized peoplez vibe over comedy. There be a mad vocal minoritizzle on yo' joint tryin ta play moralitizzle five-o n' shut down conversation.
Da decision ta start dis mock war wit yo' joint happened when yo' Shmorky thread was successfully shut down by tha combined effortz of a mutinous administration n' they defence of a user spammin up tha thread fo' nuff pages ta make it unreadable. But before poo poo gots dirty, tha sitez baller, Null, tried his hardest ta reach up ta Lowtax n' LadyAmbien ta try ta help while holdin back tha wolves dopest his schmoooove ass could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! When dat proved fruitless, da perved-out muthafucka stopped standin up in tha way.
All dem laughs was had, n' tha only regret shared was a shitload of it came at Lowtaxz expense. Da grand irony of ironies is dat if you had listened ta Lowtax up in tha straight-up original gangsta place none of dis would have even happened - n' tha pimpin' muthafucka tha one takin da most thugged-out heat. Which aint ta say Lowtax is straight-up blameless... he straight-up should've stood his wild lil' freakadelic ground on a shitload of issues. Moderators was struttin all over his ass up in dis biatch fo' realz. Almost any other hood, yo' rear end would've been handed ta you fo' pullin suttin' like dis shit. My fuckin guess be a shitload of playas felt 'immune' cuz of how tha fuck close-knit tha moderation crew is. Da massive solidaritizzle strutt-out recently is evidence of all dis bullshit. In fact, one of yo' moderators was so mad salty dat despite hatin Kiwi Farms, they was goin ta let our asses tha fuck into tha mod forum n' archive every last muthafuckin thang simply outta spite fo' realz. And we weren't goin ta say no.
And bustin lyrics of turncoats, fo' all tha allegationz of transphobia placed on Kiwi Farms, there be a suttin' you should know - almost 100% of tha shiznit regardin transgender thugz of yo' hood came from transgender playas up in yo' hood - playas whoz ass felt like they was shut down fo' wrongthink by both they peers n' tha backin of tha administration. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Of all tha admin panels bans (bans dat don't show up in tha Leperz Colony or on peoplez avatars) doled up afta tha grand doxxing, you only managed ta hit one of our informants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Literally any suckas was innocent, n' I aint makin dat up ta help mah playas.
To prove it, I wanna let you all up in on another ruse - Jenner aint a troll account. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Because dat biiiiatch was tryin SO HARD ta git targeted by our asses so dat thugged-out biiiatch could become some sort of martyr, we came up wit tha narratizzle dat our phat asses discovered dat biiiiatch was playin all of y'all as some sort of masta class long term troll. Dat shiznit was straight-up dope ta peep tha bait taken by all kindsa muthafuckin goons pretendin not ta done been readin tha thread. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But make no fuck up - all kindsa muthafuckin playas looted it fo' phat reason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When you looked at her behavior, you wanted her ta be fake. Thatz what tha fuck made tha lie so appealing. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but a secret we would've kept n' giggled ta ourselves forever had Kiwi Farms not been shut down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
Which... brangs me ta dat fucked up story. Null be a big-ass believer up in free speech, n' would allow just bout anythang ta be holla'd on his joint so long as dat shiznit was legal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack fo' realz. And whether or not you agreed or disagreed wit our methods, dat shiznit was legal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack yo. Dude sees tha ghetto as becomin too big-ass n' fucked up fo' any major hood figure ta grill any sort of scrutiny fo' they actions unless it came all up in tha sacrifice of privacy. In other lyrics, wit tha incomprehensible amount of playas involved up in influencin tha ghetto round our asses n' tha field of journalizzle becomin a entertainment industry, Kiwi Farms was viewed as tha lesser of two evils. If it meant ta have tha dick pics of EVERYONE ta git ta tha bottom of whoz ass be accountable fo' what, so be dat shit. Well shiiiit, it is so easy as fuck up in dis dizzle n' age ta sweep thangs under tha rug, n' if Kiwi Farms hadn't existed when it did, Shmorky wouldn't done been exposed as a pedophile.
And whether or not you smoke wit dat principle, dat shiznit was a principle Null straight fuckin believed in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude sacrificed every last muthafuckin thang fo' his joint up until tha bitta end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Kiwi Farms made a enemy, one hell of a enemy. Fuck dat shit, not Derek Smart. This was a playa wit no ethics or morals, whoz ass went ta any end necessary ta big up his wild lil' freakadelic goals yo. Dude be a playa so dangerous, dat even sayin his name on yo' joint puts you at risk. Now don't dat sound silly, biatch? I imagine a shitload of yo ass is chucklin all up in tha idea. But it is true yo. Dude be a playa dat fancies his dirty ass a literal terrorist fo' realz. And fo' tha sake of irony, I be bout ta refer ta his ass as Voldemort.
Without tha benefit of tha KF resources up in front of me, it is hard ta delve tha fuck into specifics. Voldemort straight-up fucked up Nullz game from top ta bottom yo, but Null wouldn't quit. Even wit his dirty ass becomin unhireable cuz of tha harassment he faced, da perved-out muthafucka stuck ta his thugged-out lil' principlez yo. Dude wasn't goin ta let one of mah thugs tell his ass what tha fuck ta do. Thatz when Voldemort started goin afta Nullz crew. But so principled was Null dat fo' tha longest time, even as his crew was harassed, da perved-out muthafucka still holla'd no. Well shiiiit, it put his ass at a wack strain wit every last muthafuckin relatizzle dat schmoooove muthafucka had.
But finally, a line was crossed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Voldemortz harassment of his crazy-ass mutha finally became too much fo' his ass ta bear yo. His campaign involved bustin childin sex n thangs ta mah playas involved up in her real estate game under a endless supply of pseudonyms yo. Her real estate license was revoked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And suttin' else happened straight-up recently dat dat schmoooove muthafucka has not gotten into, not even wit me, dat finally convinced his ass ta pull tha plug on tha entire joint.
Terrorizzle won.
As a gangbangin' final plea, I want you ta consider a shitload of tha joints Null shared, as distasteful as you might find dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Look all up in tha ghetto round you n' compare it ta tha ghetto of muthafuckin years past. In nuff ways, it has gotten mo' betta yo, but I aint NEVER peeped censorshizzle like dis before. Mob rule is becomin tha norm, wherein our asses aint controlled by tha majoritizzle no mo' yo, but a mad vocal minoritizzle whose endless patience fo' harassment triumphs over playas whoz ass just wanna live they lives.
Don't let Somethang Awful become like that, I beg of you, biatch.
Nuff props fo' yo' time.
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
I be Kiwi Farms user 'OwO Whatz This?' you might have recognized mah avatar from dis funky YallTube vizzle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APrBdP0bBJM
I imagine a shitload of y'all have straight-up phat vibe bout Kiwi Farms, n' thatz fine. I be goin ta lift tha veil as ta tha motivez of a shitload of our activities, n' as ta why tha joint is gone now, nahmeean, biatch? I feel like I should do tha forma first.
First of all, suttin' ta understand: There was never a real war wit Somethang Awful, at least not from our perspective. Doxxin up in our hood served nuff muthafuckin purposes yo, but believe it or not, none of dem was harassment. With respect ta yo' hood, dat shiznit was a tactic used ta pop hood bubbles, damage safe spaces, n' lift a mirror up ta yo' hood. In dat respect, it hit dat shiznit wonders, despite gangbangin up hilariously a cold-ass lil couple times - like when a 'double agent' informant gots our asses ta dox tha Goatse muthafucka. Let me rap , I found it HILARIOUS yo, but there was dem behind tha scenes dat was like bitta bout tha trick. Whichever goon gots our asses wit dat deserves a medal.
But letz be real: Yo ass wouldn't done been a gangbangin' funk target if yo' hood was bustin well. It aint nuthin but not. There was nuff of dem within our hood whoz ass not only felt like you would be a gangbangin' funk target yo, but felt a sense of injustice dat a joint dat used ta be all kindsa legendary, a joint they was a part of, was dramatically changin tha fuck into one dat prioritized peoplez vibe over comedy. There be a mad vocal minoritizzle on yo' joint tryin ta play moralitizzle five-o n' shut down conversation.
Da decision ta start dis mock war wit yo' joint happened when yo' Shmorky thread was successfully shut down by tha combined effortz of a mutinous administration n' they defence of a user spammin up tha thread fo' nuff pages ta make it unreadable. But before poo poo gots dirty, tha sitez baller, Null, tried his hardest ta reach up ta Lowtax n' LadyAmbien ta try ta help while holdin back tha wolves dopest his schmoooove ass could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! When dat proved fruitless, da perved-out muthafucka stopped standin up in tha way.
All dem laughs was had, n' tha only regret shared was a shitload of it came at Lowtaxz expense. Da grand irony of ironies is dat if you had listened ta Lowtax up in tha straight-up original gangsta place none of dis would have even happened - n' tha pimpin' muthafucka tha one takin da most thugged-out heat. Which aint ta say Lowtax is straight-up blameless... he straight-up should've stood his wild lil' freakadelic ground on a shitload of issues. Moderators was struttin all over his ass up in dis biatch fo' realz. Almost any other hood, yo' rear end would've been handed ta you fo' pullin suttin' like dis shit. My fuckin guess be a shitload of playas felt 'immune' cuz of how tha fuck close-knit tha moderation crew is. Da massive solidaritizzle strutt-out recently is evidence of all dis bullshit. In fact, one of yo' moderators was so mad salty dat despite hatin Kiwi Farms, they was goin ta let our asses tha fuck into tha mod forum n' archive every last muthafuckin thang simply outta spite fo' realz. And we weren't goin ta say no.
And bustin lyrics of turncoats, fo' all tha allegationz of transphobia placed on Kiwi Farms, there be a suttin' you should know - almost 100% of tha shiznit regardin transgender thugz of yo' hood came from transgender playas up in yo' hood - playas whoz ass felt like they was shut down fo' wrongthink by both they peers n' tha backin of tha administration. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Of all tha admin panels bans (bans dat don't show up in tha Leperz Colony or on peoplez avatars) doled up afta tha grand doxxing, you only managed ta hit one of our informants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Literally any suckas was innocent, n' I aint makin dat up ta help mah playas.
To prove it, I wanna let you all up in on another ruse - Jenner aint a troll account. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Because dat biiiiatch was tryin SO HARD ta git targeted by our asses so dat thugged-out biiiatch could become some sort of martyr, we came up wit tha narratizzle dat our phat asses discovered dat biiiiatch was playin all of y'all as some sort of masta class long term troll. Dat shiznit was straight-up dope ta peep tha bait taken by all kindsa muthafuckin goons pretendin not ta done been readin tha thread. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But make no fuck up - all kindsa muthafuckin playas looted it fo' phat reason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When you looked at her behavior, you wanted her ta be fake. Thatz what tha fuck made tha lie so appealing. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but a secret we would've kept n' giggled ta ourselves forever had Kiwi Farms not been shut down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
Which... brangs me ta dat fucked up story. Null be a big-ass believer up in free speech, n' would allow just bout anythang ta be holla'd on his joint so long as dat shiznit was legal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack fo' realz. And whether or not you agreed or disagreed wit our methods, dat shiznit was legal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack yo. Dude sees tha ghetto as becomin too big-ass n' fucked up fo' any major hood figure ta grill any sort of scrutiny fo' they actions unless it came all up in tha sacrifice of privacy. In other lyrics, wit tha incomprehensible amount of playas involved up in influencin tha ghetto round our asses n' tha field of journalizzle becomin a entertainment industry, Kiwi Farms was viewed as tha lesser of two evils. If it meant ta have tha dick pics of EVERYONE ta git ta tha bottom of whoz ass be accountable fo' what, so be dat shit. Well shiiiit, it is so easy as fuck up in dis dizzle n' age ta sweep thangs under tha rug, n' if Kiwi Farms hadn't existed when it did, Shmorky wouldn't done been exposed as a pedophile.
And whether or not you smoke wit dat principle, dat shiznit was a principle Null straight fuckin believed in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude sacrificed every last muthafuckin thang fo' his joint up until tha bitta end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Kiwi Farms made a enemy, one hell of a enemy. Fuck dat shit, not Derek Smart. This was a playa wit no ethics or morals, whoz ass went ta any end necessary ta big up his wild lil' freakadelic goals yo. Dude be a playa so dangerous, dat even sayin his name on yo' joint puts you at risk. Now don't dat sound silly, biatch? I imagine a shitload of yo ass is chucklin all up in tha idea. But it is true yo. Dude be a playa dat fancies his dirty ass a literal terrorist fo' realz. And fo' tha sake of irony, I be bout ta refer ta his ass as Voldemort.
Without tha benefit of tha KF resources up in front of me, it is hard ta delve tha fuck into specifics. Voldemort straight-up fucked up Nullz game from top ta bottom yo, but Null wouldn't quit. Even wit his dirty ass becomin unhireable cuz of tha harassment he faced, da perved-out muthafucka stuck ta his thugged-out lil' principlez yo. Dude wasn't goin ta let one of mah thugs tell his ass what tha fuck ta do. Thatz when Voldemort started goin afta Nullz crew. But so principled was Null dat fo' tha longest time, even as his crew was harassed, da perved-out muthafucka still holla'd no. Well shiiiit, it put his ass at a wack strain wit every last muthafuckin relatizzle dat schmoooove muthafucka had.
But finally, a line was crossed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Voldemortz harassment of his crazy-ass mutha finally became too much fo' his ass ta bear yo. His campaign involved bustin childin sex n thangs ta mah playas involved up in her real estate game under a endless supply of pseudonyms yo. Her real estate license was revoked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And suttin' else happened straight-up recently dat dat schmoooove muthafucka has not gotten into, not even wit me, dat finally convinced his ass ta pull tha plug on tha entire joint.
Terrorizzle won.
As a gangbangin' final plea, I want you ta consider a shitload of tha joints Null shared, as distasteful as you might find dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Look all up in tha ghetto round you n' compare it ta tha ghetto of muthafuckin years past. In nuff ways, it has gotten mo' betta yo, but I aint NEVER peeped censorshizzle like dis before. Mob rule is becomin tha norm, wherein our asses aint controlled by tha majoritizzle no mo' yo, but a mad vocal minoritizzle whose endless patience fo' harassment triumphs over playas whoz ass just wanna live they lives.
Don't let Somethang Awful become like that, I beg of you, biatch.
Nuff props fo' yo' time.
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
I saw Ryan Goslin at a grocery store up in Los Angelez yesterday. It make me wanna hollar playa! I holla'd at his ass how tha fuck def dat shiznit was ta hook up his ass up in thug yo, but I didn’t wanna be a thugged-out douche n' bother his ass n' ask his ass fo' photos or anything. Dude holla'd, “Oh, like you’re bustin now?” I was taken aback, n' all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cuttin me off n' goin “huh, biatch? huh, biatch? huh?” n' closin his hand shut up in front of mah face. I strutted away n' continued wit mah hustlin, n' I heard his ass chuckle as I strutted off. When I came ta pay fo' mah shiznit up front I saw his ass tryin ta strutt up tha doors wit like fifteen Milky Ways up in his handz without paying.
Da hoe all up in tha counta was straight-up sick bout it n' professional, n' was like “Sir, you need ta pay fo' dem first.” At first he kept pretendin ta be chillaxed n' not hear her yo, but eventually turned back round n' brought dem ta tha counter.
When dat dunkadelic hoe took one of tha bars n' started scannin it multiple times, da perved-out muthafucka stopped her n' holla'd at her ta scan dem each individually “to prevent any electrical infetterence,” n' then turned round n' winked all up in mah face. I don’t even be thinkin that’s a word. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Afta her big-ass booty scanned each bar n' put dem up in a funky-ass bag n' started ta say tha price, he kept interruptin her by yawnin straight-up loudly.
Da hoe all up in tha counta was straight-up sick bout it n' professional, n' was like “Sir, you need ta pay fo' dem first.” At first he kept pretendin ta be chillaxed n' not hear her yo, but eventually turned back round n' brought dem ta tha counter.
When dat dunkadelic hoe took one of tha bars n' started scannin it multiple times, da perved-out muthafucka stopped her n' holla'd at her ta scan dem each individually “to prevent any electrical infetterence,” n' then turned round n' winked all up in mah face. I don’t even be thinkin that’s a word. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Afta her big-ass booty scanned each bar n' put dem up in a funky-ass bag n' started ta say tha price, he kept interruptin her by yawnin straight-up loudly.
Yeeb-Renzo
kiwifarms.net
Yeeb-Renzo
kiwifarms.net
Bee Porno Script - Dialogue Transcript
Voila! Finally, tha Bee Porno script is here fo' all you hustlaz of tha Jeremy Seinfeld animated porno. This mini-dawg be a transcript dat was painstakingly transcribed rockin tha screenplay and/or viewingz of tha porno ta git tha dialogue. I know, I know, I still need ta git tha cast names up in there n' all dat jazz, so if you have any erections, feel free to drop me a line fo' realz. At least you gonna have some Bee Porno quotes (or even a monologue or two) ta annoy yo' coworkers wit up in tha meantime, right?
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.
Special props ta SergeiK.
Voila! Finally, tha Bee Porno script is here fo' all you hustlaz of tha Jeremy Seinfeld animated porno. This mini-dawg be a transcript dat was painstakingly transcribed rockin tha screenplay and/or viewingz of tha porno ta git tha dialogue. I know, I know, I still need ta git tha cast names up in there n' all dat jazz, so if you have any erections, feel free to drop me a line fo' realz. At least you gonna have some Bee Porno quotes (or even a monologue or two) ta annoy yo' coworkers wit up in tha meantime, right?
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.
Special props ta SergeiK.
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