Get Hard Page #5

You'll be playing tennis

and golf, you know.

- I'm going to be attending San Quentin.

- They're sending you to San Quentin?

Oh.

- What?

- Oh, God!

They f***ing in San Quentin.

- Oh.

- Everybody gets the dick.

I don't want it.

You're not gonna get it.

You'll be in for three months.

I'm gonna be there for 10 years.

Goddamn! Ten years?

- Oh! Oh!

- Why do you say it like that?

It's not as bad as I've heard, is it?

If you heard everybody f***ing, it is.

That's how bad it is.

I didn't hear that part.

They might as well call it

San F***ing, man.

I don't wish that on my worst enemy.

You talking about bad? That's bad.

You should know.

I'm sorry to remind you.

What are you talking about?

Well, the fact that you went to prison.

The fact that I went to prison?

Yes. Look, you did your time.

You paid your debt. And we as society...

...should welcome you back, and we do.

You and I are exactly the same.

Except you can't vote, ever.

Just before I get to another level of

anger, Mr. King, tell me for giggles...

- ...how do you know I went to prison?

- It's simple.

Statistical analysis is what I do.

Here's the deal:

One out of three black men will find

themselves incarcerated during their lifetime.

- Imagine a pizza, okay?

- Okay.

There are three pieces.

Three black pieces.

One of those pieces of pizza will be thrown

in jail at some point during its life.

You know what?

Let me give you my statistical analysis.

You going to San Quentin.

There's 100 percent chance...

...that you're gonna be somebody's b*tch.

Ten years of this:

- You know what that is?

- Mm-mm.

A big-ass black man

on your pale white ass.

You:
"No! I don't want any more!

Stop! That's enough."

Too late. He done tagged the next guy in.

That's like a rabbit.

You don't want him no more...

...so now here comes the guy

that wants to rub your face.

"I like his hair." He's breathing on you.

That's disgusting. But guess what?

You can look forward to 10 years of it!

What if I speak to all the b*tches

and we organize...

...form a union, and we put our feet down

and say, "Enough!"

- There's gotta be more of us than them.

- There's not.

You deserve everything you're getting.

Good luck on survival, sir.

Better luck on handling yourself!

Wait! Wait! Wait! Don't leave.

Don't leave, please. I could use your help.

Help you with what?

Help me to not be someone's b*tch.

You expect me to help you?

I'm supposed to teach you what?

How to prevent this:

- All right, stop.

- You could train me.

You could be the Athena to my Odysseus.

I don't even know

what the f*** that is, man!

I could pay you.

Whatever it takes.

I need $30,000.

- Done.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes