Original subtitles

Ah, the racially insensitive party,

a mainstay of primarily white institutions

since time immemorial,

a chance for the majority to celebrate marginalized communities

by reinforcing the very stereotypes that oppress them.

Is that supposed to be Nicki Minaj?

Nicki Mi... hell no.

All right, y'all.

Let's do this.

Lionel Higgins wasn't always a revolutionary.

Don't let the Afro fool you.

In fact, Lionel's made multiple failed attempts

to tame his hair while at Winchester.

Yo, whichever one of y'all sent that nigga to my chair

is foul as fuck, man.

Y'all know I don't cut fags. Ugh!

Nah, nigga.

Waiting for somebody.

It's not that Lionel's afraid of black people...

just those that remind him of the kids from high school.

What the fuck are you supposed to be?

- Geordi La Forge. - Who?

He was the chief engineer on the starship Enterprise D.

- Pause. - You look like a gay figure skater.

Is that a girl's headband over your face, nigga?

It's a visual instrument and sensory organ replacement.

- Geordi's blind. - Oh, so you can't see how gay you look.

Those tight-ass pants.

And thus, being assigned

to Winchester's black residence hall,

Lionel was riddled with the slings and arrows of his past.

"For all those looking to unleash their inner Negro...

from years of oppression,

Pastiche presents 'Dear Black People, '

our 89th annual Hallow's Eve Costume Party."

Jesus.

Despite his lifelong timidity,

his discovery of Pastiche's Dear Black People Party

lit a fire under Lionel's ass

that burned straight through to the coccyx...

Hey, hi. Um...

there's something happening on campus

I think you guys should know about.

The start of his backbone.

Let's do this.

Hell yeah, let's go.

Man, just take that shit off.

Yeah, feel that, you motherfuckin' niggas.

Ah!

Ha!

Everyone back in the house right now!

Drinks down! Back in the house!

And that's how this student journalist

not only broke the news of the party,

but became it, too.

Hey.

You did that shit, man.

Dear white people,

here's a list of acceptable Halloween costumes.

A pirate, slutty nurse,

any of our first 43 presidents.

Top of the list of unacceptable costumes: me.

Winchester couldn't get through 2017 without blackface?

Yo, we got the next Ta-Nehisi Coates in this motherfucker.

Great piece, man.

Thanks.

Welcome to the revolution.

Hey, Lionel, what you doing over there?

I was just...

Over here, man.

...waiting for Troy.

Friday night, Pastiche,

the so-called satirists of Winchester,

decided to host a party.

It was designed to mock this show...

Do we have to listen to this race-baiting drivel

while we eat?

Yo, Troy, you got the campus police to stop the party?

Rare to see a group of cops led by one of us.

Mm, certainly more effective than inciting a riot.

Don't mind James. He's a Republican.

Ah, fiscal conservative.

Oh, that's fancy talk for "fuck poor people."

- Here we go. - What?

I mean, you have a framed picture of Reagan in your dorm room.

You have a framed picture

of Stacey Dash in yours. What's your point?

It's not Stacey Dash. It's Dionne.

Nothing after Clueless matters.

Mm-hmm.

Yo, nobody on this entire campus

has the balls to do what you did, Lionel.

And this article?

The pussy you about to get, my man.

Mm, on this, we can agree.

Nothing pulls pussy around here like prose well penned.

Mm.

And that's the gayest mention of the word "pussy" I've ever heard.

Blow me.

You wish, fag.

You gonna be knee-deep as soon as we do something about all that.

I mean, you know I cut hair.

Yeah.

It's gaining sentience.

- Mmm. - Did I do it right?

Yes.

All right, good.

- Ah. - Mm-hmm.

- Oh, it feels so good. - Yeah.

- Ooh. - Oh.

- Shit. - Ooh.

Oh, fuck, right there.

- There we go, uh-huh. - Yeah, ooh.

Let's pick up some speed.

- Yes! - Okay.

- Yes. - All right, you like it?

Yes. Yes!

Fuck, you got me so hard, baby.

- Right there. - Right there.

- Ooh, shit. - Yes.

- Give it to Daddy. - Yes.

- Fuck me! Fuck me! - Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck me. Mmm.

Okay, what do we got here, folks? Uh, let's see.

Kim, your think piece on think pieces about think pieces?

Brills. I died.

Isaac, your analysis on the morality of fine dining

at the Bechet House was incredibly fair, yet eye-opening.

The lead came a tad late, though...

something I have never been accused of, by the way.

This is a tax-exempt institution

spending money on fresh croissants

when it should go to poor students.

We need to know that at the top.

And, Lionel, our cover boy.

I want to highlight one passage.

"While endless depictions of white men in particular exist,

there aren't that many versions of us in the culture.

Culture has a powerful way

of telling people what they can and can't be.

For people of color, the options are rather limited."

Who can tell me what's wrong here?

It's not hard news.

Right.

It reads at times like an opinion piece.

Well... why'd you put it on the cover?

It's the biggest story of the day.

Doesn't mean it's well written.

Otherwise, great job.

Love the picture, Peter.

Who, what, when, where, why and how.

You got two out of six.

And it's superficial. It just reads like,

"Pastiche, bad. Black kids, good."

To be fair, "Pastiche, bad. Black kids, good."

Come on. This isn't a frat.

These are smart kids. Why would they do this?

You asked me to cover race relations at Armstrong-Parker.

This is what they are.

At Armstrong-Parker, not for Armstrong-Parker.

This paper's for everyone at Winchester,

not just your friends, okay?

"Friends" is optimistic.

- Where are the intersections? - Intersections?

You're not just a black man. You're a gay black man.

Homophobic incidents at AP

are as common as they are among the Pastiche staff.

Where's the conflict of these identities represented?

I'm sorry.

Gay?

Oh. I'm sorry. Are you straight?

I really don't subscribe to those kinds of labels.

Labels keep people in Florida from drinking Windex.

Personally, I'm a Mexican-Italian

gay verse top otter pup.

Individually I know what those words mean.

Let me guess. You're in the "crush on your straight roommate" phase?

No.

How can you hope to arrive at a truth when you can't find your own?

Trust me.

Find your label.

Matter of fact,

what are you doing tomorrow night?

Writing better stories?

The theater kids are throwing some kind of speakeasy thing.

A bunch of free spirits who don't believe in labels.

You should come, drink some Windex.

Oh, um...

This isn't like a date or...

No.

Right. Right.

No, 'cause...

I have a thing, but I'll think about it.

Pastiche are the bad guys here.

- We should go after them. - For what?

Their editor is Kurt Fletcher, son of the president.

Nothing is going to happen to him or Pastiche.

In the real world, kids are getting shot by cops

for being black.

Just a follow-up question.

You don't seem to be that interested in going after Pastiche.

Why is that?

I just...

I think we have a bigger opportunity here.

Can we talk about this later?

Hey. How's it going?

Oh, I'm okay.

- Actually... - Cool. Cool.

You're Troy's roommate, right?

Do you know if he's dating anyone?

I mean, has he said anything?

I really just keep to myself.

So he doesn't talk about who he's dating.

You be sure to let me know if he does.

- Okay. - Thanks, sweets.

You're the best. Heart you forevs.

Yeah. Mmm, right there.

- You gonna vote for Troy? - Oh, yes.

- You gonna vote for Troy? - Yeah.

- All right, baby. - Yes.

I wasn't ready.

- Now I am. Oh, shit. - Mmm, right there.

Give it to me. Harder, yeah!

- Just like that! - Harder.

- Uh-huh! - Mmm, you like that?

- Oh! Shit! - I know you like that.

You love that, baby, don't you?

I'm ready.

Give it to me there.

- Oh, baby. Oh, shit. - Mmm, yeah.

- You gonna vote for Troy. - I'll vote for you.

Does it feel good? Did you cum?

'Cause I'm about to cum.

Did you cum? I'm about to cum.

- No, not yet. - Oh!

Yeah, yeah, yes! Yeah, yeah, yeah!

Whoo!

Shit, girl.

Oddly specific.

Password?

Sonic 29?

Trust me.

Find your label.

Shit.

Shit. Shit.

Hey.

Forgot something?

Thanks.

I'm Conner.

This is Becca.

Hey.

You're all kinds of cute.

Lionel. Nice to meet you.

I'm gonna head back to the place.

Cool.

Girlfriend?

More of a room mate...

with benefits.

I don't know, though. I mean, don't get me wrong.

I love the ladies, but...

I don't exactly subscribe to heteronormative labels.

You into girls, guys?

It's a theater party.

Gotta ask.

Kind of like you.

Don't really buy into labels.

You should come back to the place.

Drink a few beers.

Why not?

Who are these fuckheads

who don't know anything about the

history of minstrelsy in this country?

- Exactly. - What's this?

Pastiche threw a blackface party over the weekend.

Like Zoe Saldana or Al Jolson?

Like black paint on their faces.

That kind of thing doesn't happen here.

It did, Becca, and our dude Lionel here helped bust it up.

I'm so not that guy either.

I mean, I just couldn't not do something.

White people are the fucking worst.

Right?

What's fucked up is, on one hand, I get it.

I mean, we're all just fucking human beings.

Our skin, our eyes, our fucking genitalia...

it's all a mask, you know?

Don't tell me you gotta go.

No, I'm good.

Good.

You don't mind, do you?

I get super handsy when I smoke.

I, uh, just get cotton mouth

and nightmares.

Hey, so...

Lionel.

Becca and I really dig you.

Cool.

Do you like us, Lionel?

Yeah?

Are you...

up for some fun?

Fun?

Fun.

Anybody ever tell you you look like Wiz Khalifa?

No.

Do you want to fuck me, Lionel?

Oh, yeah.

He wants to fuck you.

How bad do you want to fuck me, Lionel?

Uh, bad.

Oh, shit.

He wants it bad.

Yeah?

You want me, Lionel?

Do you want to taste me?

Yeah, he wants to taste you.

Well, he's just gonna have to earn it, isn't he?

What's he gonna have to do, baby?

I want to see the two of you together.

Oh, shit.

Are you even down with that?

What?

"Are you even down with that?"

Look, you don't need the wingwoman, okay?

You're obviously just into guys.

And you...

I'm not sure what you're getting out of this.

He's right.

Becca. This was your idea.

I said I thought it might be hot

to see you make out with a guy once at a party.

Not multiple guys over the course of two years.

I'm a total fag hag.

No labels, Becca.

That was our rule.

Yeah, without labels, people in Florida would drink fucking Windex.

Becca, come on.

You totally ruined the mood!

She's off her meds.

I'll work this out.

I'm good.

Dude, where were you?

The speakeasy.

Lost my phone. Took a while to find it.

Shit, and you were all by yourself with the theater freaks.

How many white fingers did that poor 'fro have to endure?

Looks mussed.

It's been an interesting night.

So what's the fire?

I knew there was more to the story with the Pastiche party.

Look at this.

The dean's office is privately interviewing students involved.

These are the transcripts from all the interviews.

Okay, you hacked into the dean's office?

That's a thing you can do?

Well, not me.

Some CS major ran a redirected shell script

to analyze the active network interface,

routed all the HTTP traffic to a proxy

and linked it to me.

Makes sense.

He also fancies himself the next Edward Snowden.

He's been trying to get this Italian sausage

since freshman year.

I thought you were Mexican-Italian.

Fine. Tamale. Whatever.

The Pastiche boys apparently canceled the event

after the administration got wind of it.

But then somebody broke into their Facebook account

and sent out an invite anyway.

And we're sure it wasn't one of them?

I'm not.

But I'm hoping the truth is somewhere in these transcripts.

Why would they want to interview Sam?

Miss White,

do you have any idea what kind of unrest

this party has caused on campus?

Why am I even here?

When I heard the words "race" and "scandal,"

somehow you popped into my head.

Now, the Pastiche Facebook account was easy to get into.

Their password was "Pastiche."

Apparently, before the invite was sent out, however,

the password changed.

And nobody could figure out the new password.

So I thought I'd try something.

Five, seven, eight, three, five, two, six,

one, nine, four, six.

I get it.

Eleven numbers.

Just like our student ID numbers.

Just like your student ID number.

It wasn't speeches that turned the tide for civil rights.

It was the anarchists,

willing to provoke the police, get sprayed by hoses...

anything to cause a scene and make press.

That invite,

whoever sent it,

should have been met with derision and outrage.

Instead, 100 people showed up and showed their asses,

and in doing so, showed this supposed post-racial institution

exactly where it's at.

Fuck.

Sam White did it.

Why would she do that?

No one would have found out

about what they were planning if she hadn't.

This party wouldn't have happened at all

if she hadn't thrown it.

She didn't throw it.

She exposed it.

And if we print this, people will completely dismiss

what she's been trying to say.

We can't control what people do with the truth, Lionel.

We can only report it.

- They're gonna hate me. - Get used to it.

You think that stopped the guys who broke the Panama Papers

or reported the abuse of the Catholic church

or the first person to tell that story

about Richard Gere and the gerbil?

We're on the wrong side here.

If you were at that party...

This is a scoop no other paper on campus

would even think about letting you print.

This could be a game changer for The Independent

and a career maker for you.

I only want writers who have the guts to tell the truth,

like Will Smith in that football movie everyone meant to see.

That's why you write, isn't it?

Don't worry. I'm gonna delete the post.

Sam?

Shit.

My editor wants to run with the story as soon as possible.

But...

if someone else breaks it

before we do...

you know?

You'd ruin your own scoop?

I guess I just don't like the idea of telling someone else's truth.

Journalism's gonna be a big challenge for you.

Tell me about it.

I like you, Lionel.

A lot.

Oh, yeah!

Oh, my God.

What's up? You need something?

Yeah, just wanted

to take you up on that haircut.

Oh-ho, shit.

Bet, man, bet. Um, one sec.

Meet me at the bathroom.

Come on in.

Hmm.

Dear white people, wow.

Y'all really trying it.

Felt so rehearsed yet very terribly performed.

That sounds like our theater majors.

Hey, man, what are you, a one, two?

I have no idea what that means.

What, you don't know your setting, man?

How short do you want it?

I don't know.

Well, you gotta know your setting.

Ah, two.

Good place to start.

So what did you do?

Was the chick hot at least?

Troy...

I'm gay.

I don't know why that's so hard for me to say.

I've always known.

Yo, what you say, my man?

Just...

I'm... I'm into guys.

Oh.

- Cool. - Yeah.

Vaginas are, like, art in a museum.

Beautiful to look at, but don't touch.

Yeah, well, agree to disagree.

Now I gotta get these edges super crispy

because you motherfuckers are picky as shit.

I'm not like that.

Nah.

You're an original, man.

Anybody can see that.

- Want to listen to some music? - Sure.

Look. I sent the invite.

I wrote it.

Broke into Pastiche's account and sent it.

It was fascinating to see what was lurking beneath the surface.

All right.

? As my love grows ?

? Many rains and sun shows ?

? As a dream that's full of happiness ?

? Oh, how I long to be yours... ?

? And in any kind of way that you say ?

? I'll be the part that plays... ?

? Your winter's cold ?

? Your sunshine's glow... ?

? That flowers grow in spring ?

? It's not shadow ?

? Yes, this is love ?

? Not just any kind of love ?

? But as beautiful as twinkling stars above ?

? I've never seen such a beautiful love ?

- ? It just can't go wrong ? - ? Can't go wrong ?

? It's good words for any love song ?

? Yes, flowers grow ?

? In spring ?

? And you are my dream ?

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