Mo' Better Blues Page #2

Your mother wasn't talking about me.

Maybe not.

You're a good brother, Bleek,|but you still don't know what you want.

Guess it's time for confessions|of a modern-day dog, huh?

Well,... like it or not,...|you're a dog.

You are a dog.

You're a good doggy, a nice dog,|but you're a dog nonetheless.

What can l say?|l'm not going to argue the point.

You know how l am.

- With men, it's a dick thing.|- A dick thing?

A D-l-O-K thing.

A D-l-O-K thing.

Hey, Bleek, you're late.

Three minutes.

Probably one of your lady friends|held you up.

- Hi, Mr Gilliam.|- Hello.

Sorry l can't stop. l'm late for school.|Bye-bye.

- What?|- You something else, you know that?

- How's the arm?|- l'm off the disabled list.

You love her?

l like her.

You like her.|What about the others?

l like her, too. l like women.

Just be careful.

Don't bring babies into this world|until you're married.

lf l see another 16-year-old,|black, unwed mother,

pushing a stroller, a baby in one arm,|another on the way,

l don't know what l'll do.

- l hear you.|- l can still smoke 'em.

Come on with it.

That's it, that's it.|That's enough.

l felt a twinge.

Come upstairs.|l'll ice it down for you.

No. l'm going back home.

All right. l'll call you later.

All right.

- Take care of that arm, all right?|- lt's just old age.

- Olarke, what time is it?|- One o'clock pm.

- What does that mean?|- You're practlslng.

That's right.|lt means l'm practising.

lf you know l'm practising|and l don't finish practising till 2:00,

which is another 60 minutes,|why you buzzing my buzzer?

Because l want to see you.

- What is that supposed to mean?|- That means let me up.

- And who are you?|- l'm Clarke.

How many times|do l have to tell you?

l have a certain time|allotted for daily practice.

You know this, yet you|consistently overlook my programme.

l get the times mixed up.

Everything with you|is so damn regulated.

A certain time to do this,|a certain time to do that.

Everything's on a schedule, a timetable.

- Loosen up, tight ass.|- Let me explain something to you.

Life is short, OK?

l need it like this|to get everything done. l like order.

Order's fine, but you're ridiculous.

And what do you want?

l want a man|who knows what he wants. Decisive.

You don't know what you want.

Make up your mind to be a man|and don't be wishy-washy on me.

Hmm.

l know what l want. My music.|Everything else is secondary.

- l knew you would say that.|- Then why'd you ask?

Brother,... if your music|is the be all to end all, as you state,

to ensure that you better|get rid of Giant as your manager.

Olarke, stay out of my business, OK?

Are you screwing him, or what?|He's a horrible manager.

Everybody can see that but you.

Why bring this confusion|into my home?

l'm looking out for your best interest.

Oh.

l see.

- Bleek.|- Mm?

l'm not saying l'm a brain surgeon,|but everybody's a teacher.

People can teach you two things,|what to do and what not to do.

Say something.

Let's make love.

For once, let's be real.

What you and l do|is not ''make love''.

- What would you call it?|- lt's definitely not making love.

- Boning?|- You've been more imaginative.

- You ever heard of the mo' better?|- Mo' what?

Mo' better makes it mo' better.

Mo' better makes it mo' better.

That's what we do. We don't make love|because you don't love me.

But in the meantime,|l'll settle for some of that mo' better.

Yeah. l knew you would.

Step back.

Open your coat.

Take off your clothes.

Ow!

- l'm sorry.|- You bit my lip.

Oh, sh*t. ls it bleeding?|What you laughing at?

- l was playing.|- Don't play with my lips.

l'm sorry.|Jesus Ohrist, l said l'm sorry.

Damn, she done cut my...

You're nuts!

Want me to kiss it|to make it mo' better?

This sh*t ain't funny, man.

l was joking.

All right, l won't ever kiss you again.

That's good.

l make my living with my lips.

l make my living with my lips.

Why don't you clean this place up?|lt's filthy.

Oleanliness is next to godliness, right?

This is the last time l carry you.

l want to play the full schedule today.

Start with the National League.

The Pirates play the Mets|in a doubleheader.

Give me the Pirates in both games.|The Mets need more black ballplayers.

Give me the Reds over the 'stros,

Expos over the Phillies,|Braves over the Dodgers,

Oubs over the Oardinals,|the Giants over the Padres.

ln the American League,|the Yankees over the Tigers,

even though Steinbrenner needs to go.

Brewers over the Red Sox,|Orioles over the Jays.

That's my main man, Frank Robinson.

Yucca, barbecue, Oreo cookies.

lndians over the White Sox,|the Twins over the Mariners,

A's over the Royals,|and Angels over Rangers.

lce cream, tamale, arroz, azucar.|All of that?

All of that.

Give me two O-notes on each game.

- Oan you cover that?|- Just make the bet.

Two O-notes on each?

Two O-notes on each game.|l'm coming back, Petey.

- lt's never over till it's over.

- Will you stop with that?|- l rehearse my luck.

This is my luck.

- What does it look like?|- lt looks good.

The numbers look good.|Numbers never lie.

That's why l like numbers. People|lie from the crib, but not numbers.

Moe, the numbers never lie.

- But human beings?|- Human beings is another story.

You meet some shmendrick.

The guy says ''Yes. No. Maybe''|but you never know, right?

- But not numbers. Three and three?|- Six.

You know what l'm saying?|A guy tells you it's done, right?

But you don't know. He could be|in back doing something to somebody,

and you don't know.

- Seven and seven?|- Fourteen.

- Eight and eight?|- Sixteen.

- Nine and nine?|- Eighteen.

Firm. Ooncrete.|lt's like a solid walk, understand?

That's what a lot of people|don't understand.

They want to give you, you know...|But a number's right there.

- You can see it, right?|- You can't buy trust, right?

l trust my mother sometimes.

Hey! Hey!

Hey, l'm walking here.

l was walking. F*** your mother!

Your mother!

Whoa! Whoa!

Money, back it on up.|No midgets getting in tonight.

l'm sorry.|You know my name is Giant.

- Every night we go over this.|- All right then, no giants allowed.

Come off the giant tip.|You're not a giant.

- Go home and take a nap.|- When are you gonna let the people in?

Lines are good for business,|which you know nothing about.

- ls that Moe and Josh talking?|- Black men can't have a smart thought?

- No, because you're stupid.|- Why is it always the white man?

The black man is God.

l'm sick and tired|of your Five Percenter malarkey.

lt's not Five Percenter.|lt's Five Percent.

Five percent of what?

Five percent of the population|knows what's going on,

the gods of this planet, the original|Asiatic black man from Africa

with knowledge of self,|sent here to teach the 85%

that you're dumb, deaf, and blind.

You're being exploited|by the devilish ten percent.

- Don't cut my wisdom!|- You're talking garbage!

Acknowledge it! People should've|been in long time ago.

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