Hot Streets (2016) s02e07 Episode Script

Blood Barn

Brice: Coming this Friday to Earth, it's [Echoing.]
Blood Barn, the annual intergalactic cockfighting tournament.
[Chicken clucks.]
That's right.
See the galaxy's top chickens duel to the [Echoing.]
death for intergalactic glory, hosted by me, Brett Brice.
[Soft music.]
I'm actually against the whole thing, but my baby was born with a serious heart condition and if I don't pay the bills, she'll surely [Echoing.]
die.
Blood Barn is sponsored by Intergalactic FDA.
Earth is finally hosting Blood Barn, and after years of humiliation, Earth must win.
We'll finally have the respect of the League of Planets.
This could be big for Hot Streets and for me finally, a seat at the big-boy table.
But Earth's chickens are just food pillows that poop tasty circles.
They can't fight.
That's why you'll be fighting in their place disguised as chickens.
Your mission win Blood Barn.
- I presume you made us beaks.
- Only the finest.
Beaks on, ready to peck.
Where's Jen? I have an extremely important question for her.
I sent her and Chubbie on vacation to Fort Lauderdale.
Fort Lauderdale is heaven.
[sighs.]
Incoming call from Jet Junior.
Jet Junior? Wow.
This must be important.
Jen, I know you're on vacation, but I have an important question only you can answer.
- It's unrelated to Hot Streets.
- Shoot.
Warning this question is pretty deep.
You'll have to put on your mental scuba gear.
Got it.
I'm ready.
Fair warning Your very brain is about to embark on a perilous journey far from the soft sands - of Fort Lauderdale.
- Okay.
[Echoing.]
Jen, why are things the way they are?! - Excuse me? - Why are things the way they are? That is a question.
I mean, I'd I'd have to think about it.
Get me that answer.
[Cellphone beeps.]
Why are things the way they are? - I can do this.
- [Panting.]
Hey! Wuh, wuh.
[Chatter.]
Chicken check-in is right over there.
Do Earth proud and murder those chickens.
Don't worry, Jet.
Just leave the fighting to me.
I'm checking in on behalf of Earth.
We only have one qualifying question.
- Are you a chicken? - No.
I'm sorry.
You can't enter this competition.
Damn.
They got me.
- Are you a chicken? - Yes? Welcome to the competition.
- Well, Branski, you tried your best.
- I blew it.
[Sighs.]
Why are things the way they are? Believe me, I don't know.
I just don't know.
Well, better get to our seats.
Don't want to miss that first drop of blood.
Uh Aah! [Clanking.]
Time to get processed.
Aah! [Whimpering.]
Antibiotics beaks open.
[Groaning.]
- Is this normal? - You must be new.
This is the way all chickens are treated.
They call me Boraxis the Bludgeoner.
Donald French.
I've only ever known this life of blood, so if I win, I'll devote the rest of my new life caring for him.
- A tasty circle? - This tasty circle is my child.
[Clanking.]
You're up, Bludgeoner.
[Cheers and applause.]
[Bones crack.]
[War cry.]
[Grunting.]
The Bludgeoner is the chicken to beat.
I hope French can do this for Hot Street.
I don't know.
I'm kind of rooting for Bludgeoner at this point.
- He's my kind of chicken.
- What about the League of Planets? Let's heat it up, Bludgeoner! Ooh, only the Bludgeoner is left.
Good luck, pal.
- Whoa! - All: [Chanting.]
Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! [Camera shutters clicking.]
Blood! Blood! Blood! It's down to these two chickens.
By the way, I'm not into this reprehensible blood sport.
News flash All animals have the capacity to love, and some even get married.
It's true! [Grunts.]
I'm sorry, my friend, but I must kill you now.
[Grunts.]
Ah! [Cheers and applause.]
[Grunts.]
[Grunts.]
[Music.]
- [Grunts.]
Boraxis.
- What a grisly spectacle.
Nonetheless, congrats to Earth and to Hot Streets.
[Coughs.]
French, take care of, uh, my son.
All: [Chanting.]
Earth! Earth! Earth! Earth! You took a tip to the lip, case closed.
Earth will finally have respect throughout the galaxy - thanks to you.
- Yeah [Chirping.]
Oh, my God.
Don't worry, little Bludgeoner.
I'm going to take you to a farm full of Earth chickens.
[Chirps.]
[Brakes squeal.]
Looks like a pretty nice place.
[Chirping.]
Hello there.
This is going to be your new home.
[Chirps.]
- Aah! - Nothing but gizzard in here, no meat.
- Worthless.
- My God [Chickens clucking.]
[Dramatic music.]
This is how you treat chickens? - You're a monster.
- But who eats them? Oh, that's right.
We farmers do the dirty work so all you chicken eaters don't have to.
You think I like killing defenseless chickens, huh? [Deep voice.]
I do! I love it! Aah! [Dramatic music.]
All farmers are like this! [Tires screech.]
[Dialing.]
Someone is asking too many questions.
Why are things the way they are? - Hmm.
- Why?! I have to figure this out! Hey! [Whimpers.]
Why are things the way they are? Leave me alone, Chubbie, you [bleep.]
asshole! I don't know why things are the way they are! Yet.
[Chanting.]
Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Aah! You've been having chicken nightmares all night.
French, do animals like you have feelings? Of course they do.
I love you just as much as you love me.
People don't understand this about critters.
It's our cross to bear.
The world must know, and I'm going to tell them.
[both sigh.]
Both: Why are things the way they are? [All chanting.]
Love! Love! [over PA.]
Chickens feel human love in their hearts love! French, what's all this hooey? We all eat food.
Chicken is food.
I happen to prefer mine very dry.
- Now let's get back to Hot Streets.
- But But nothing.
Nothing you say is going to make me change my mind about eating chicken.
Chickens are tender, Branski, and not how you think.
They're tender in their hearts! Okay.
I'm onboard.
We shouldn't kill chickens.
Chickens are tender.
Chickens are sweet.
Chickens can love.
French, look out! [Gunshot.]
[All screaming.]
[Music.]
- Aah! - Who do you work for? [Gunshot.]
Dang.
Harsh.
They kill their own.
He has a business card.
The FDA? Jet Junior, we have a Hot Streets for you.
That's not how things work here.
The FDA has been condoning chicken brutality for years.
We have to take them down.
- Take down the FDA? - French is right.
Earth is only as strong as our weakest chicken.
You had me at, "French is right," even though I have zero to personally gain from this.
We'll head out soon, but first, I have an extremely pressing matter to check on.
[Cellphone chimes.]
Jen, where's my answer? I I don't think I can do this.
You have to.
In summation, we found food is better going in than coming out.
- Who's in charge here?! - Me.
- Chickens! - What about them? Did you know chickens are pumped full of hormones to accelerate their growth rate by 65%? Many can't even use their legs! They're overpacked into coops and forced into so-called kill cones or even gas chambers.
And they love.
Chickens love like us humans.
- I never - You sent an assassin to shoot French.
Believe me, I don't know anything about that.
There are a lot of things you don't know, Commissioner.
Sometimes, you have to bury the truth to pay the bills.
We did this in the name of profit?! You are fired! From this day forward, Earth will treat chickens with respect.
Thanks, Commissioner.
Looks like we got our justice.
No, this goes higher.
Chickens from every planet must be saved.
The horrors I saw in Blood Barn.
We'll have to take it all the way to the top.
The Intergalactic FDA? - Yes.
- We'll take my shuttle.
[Music.]
All in favor of Humans as the galaxy's next major food source? Don't you think the major food source has a say? Don't shoot! Ha! - Aah! - Commish! [Gunshots.]
Oh! [Gunshots.]
Aye! [Gunshot.]
Oh! [Gunshots, screaming.]
The Commissioner and the Intergalactic FDA are dead.
Who will lead them now? I will, and as long as I'm in charge, chickens of all planets will never be abused, maimed, or eaten again.
Now help me get these bodies into a dumpster.
Hey, French, where you going? These things are heavy.
There's still one loose thread in this yarn ball.
[Door slams open, chickens clucking.]
[Buzzer.]
[Music.]
This just in the surgery worked! My daughter is going to be fine! Just what do you think you're doing? [Music.]
[Deep voice.]
Do it! [Bleep.]
ing do it! Be a man.
I'm not a man.
I'm not like you.
I'm a chicken.
[Chickens clucking.]
Ca-ca craw, ca-ca craw! Now that I run the Intergalactic FDA, I can finally flood the galactic market with my sauce.
It's dirt cheap, and I've had 100 crates of it in my basement for 50 years.
This filthy sauce is going to make this jet filthy rich.
[Cellphone rings.]
I did it, Jet Junior.
I figured out the answer.
You mean, why are things the way they are? That's right.
Well? - They aren't.
- They aren't?! [Glass shatters.]
They aren't.