So sometimes I have this dream/fantasy that someone tries to break into my house, and I hear him rustling around downstairs. But instead of calling the cops, I quietly creep down the steps and sneak up behind him in the dining room, just as he's rifling through the china (why I have china, I have no fucking idea. Seriously, what's the point of having dishes you use once a year? Hell, I'm generally averse to using anything but red Solo cups, but that's just me).
Anyways, I creep up behind the robber, but I'm unarmed, because guns are for pussies and bats are so 1930's Chicago. No, I'm armed only with what Dark Lord Xenu gave me, which can defeat a gun, knife or Col. Mustard in the study with the candlestick. I immediately put Mr. Robber Man in a Ted Dibiase sleeper hold, and he can't do a fucking thing. I lock in the Million Dollar Dream for just long enough for a little blood to stop flowing to his head, and then I let him drop. Once on the ground, the beating commences.
I start with kicks. Nothing to the body, I go straight for his head. Also, I'm wearing steel-toed boots with spurs on the front. Don't ask me why. Once I've kicked his fucking face in, I drop to mount position and start raining elbows, like Anderson Silva on a motivated day. Each elbow makes dent after dent in his orbital bone until I can finally see his face collapse in on itself. I finish off the job with fists, not finishing until one eyeball (usually the left) pops out of its socket, hanging on by the strand of the retina. Once I've caved in his skull, face and dislodged an eye, I utter one phrase:
"Don't come in to my fucking house again."
So yeah, the Lakers are in our fucking house. Let's leave them with an eyeball hanging.
10:33 1st: Six straight points by KG. Reports of his death may have been greatly exaggerated. By me. Mea culpa and such.
9:15 1st: Is that Luke fucking Walton? Luke Walton? Two minutes into the game? In 2010? I just checked, his playoff averages are 5.4 minutes and 1.2 points per game. And he's already in the game! AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. The Lakers are DOOMED.
6:38 1st: My girlfriend, who is relatively new to basketball - "I don't like those Laker uniforms," followed by a disapproving sneer. I'm like John the Baptist, converting the heathens to Celticstianity. She then saw Derek Fisher and said "look, he has your beard and hair. He's your black twin." I"m not sure how to take that.
5:13 1st: Bullllshit call on Rondo. He's got two fouls, and suddenly my left nut hurts. Thankfully KG is partying like it's 1999. He must've purified himself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka and eaten some pancakes.
End 1st: 25-17 Lakers. How in the fuck are we losing? Oh, right, Bill Kennedy is reffing this game. Two on Perk, two on Rondo, two on Pierce. And why? Kennedy hates Doc Rivers because Rivers allegedy insinuated that he's gay, (seriously) so he proceeds to have forcible gay sex with the Celtics every time he refs to prove that he's not a power bottom. I hope he gets AIDS (not because he's gay, because he sucks at life. I wish straight people AIDS all the time).
10:42 2nd. For. Fucks. Sake. Literally nothing is going right for the C's. If someone in a Celtics uniform tried to scratch their balls right now, they'd probably rip open their sack, nick the vas deferens and die of excessive bleeding.
6:36 2nd: Hey Adam Sandler. Stop wearing a fucking Knicks jersey, you grew up in fucking Manchester. Not Manhattan. Fucking Manch-vegas you douche. Also, you haven't been funny since Billy Madison. Little Nicky was almost as bad as the Chyna sextape.
5:30 2nd: Rondo is apparently loud on the airplane. Pierce isn't loud because he was frozen in an ice block a week ago and hasn't been let out. A Celtics 9-0 run doesn't drop the lead to single digits, so yeah, the game is going great.
3:30 2nd: The girlfriend found some Handi-Snacks in the cabinet. Mmmm Handi-Snacks. I hate cheese, but in elementary school, I used to eat me some fucking Handi-Snacks every day. And no matter how hard you tried, you could NEVER break that red stick. I think it was made out of titanium-grade plastic. If you gave a prisoner a Handi-Snack red spreader stick, he could dig his way out of prison in like 45 minutes.
1:45 2nd: You know how a few years ago Derek Jeter went into the stands in that game against the Red Sox and busted the shit out of his face, and for a second you were like "ya know what? I know I'm supposed to hate that dude, but I sorta have to begrudgingly respect Jeter for that play because the dude goes balls out"? Yeah, Kobe just laid out to save a tipped ball, and, well...um...uh....I don't respect him at all. Kobe can fuck right off.
Halftime: 52-40 Lakers. Pierce and Allen are a combined 1-13 from the field. ONE FOR THIRTEEN. I mean, okay, if one guy has a shitty game, I get it, that's fine, it's workable. But if TWO of your four stars are rocketing Massaman Curry Beef out of their rectums all over their inner thighs and shoes, then you're all sorts of fucked.
9:10 3rd: Pierce hits a three and Allen hits two free throws. Lead is down to seven. I'm feeling hopey....
8:06...aaaand the refs call Pierce's 4th foul and ignore Allen getting clotheslined on the way to the hoop. If this was the WWE, Kane would have chokeslammed all three refs at this point.
5:30 3rd: Allen and Pierce are now a combined 2-20 from the field. 2-20. The refereeing is horrible, but you're not going to win with Allen and Pierce going 2-20.
If I made my own Sprite movie, it wouldn't involve superhero Asian men. Rather, it would involve me drinking a Sprite, calling it some weak ass soda, and then going into diabetic shock while EMT's pour insulin down my gullet. Also, Grant Hill would be involved, because Grant Hill Drinks Sprite.