Michael Beasley emerging from the dark with his best rendition of Mr. Manny I Have No Eye-Brows Fraiche. Fraiche.
Ain’t no Battioke…like a Shane Battier Battioke…because a Shane Battioke…don’t stop. Man, am I cliche. As am I borderline retarded for it taking me upwards five read-throughs to realize “Battioke” meant Battier plus Karaoke and not Japanese Steak House meets Art Basel. Shane Battier: You and your Denny’s, and Bud Light, and being conducive of ultimate team building, and Karaoke. Back that azz up, my friend. Oh, and while you’re at it, how about letting Lebron know that shredded jeans are so passé. Literally what are you doing.
On another note, how pissed should we be about Michael Beasley performing “Back Dat Azz Up” sans the volcano of dreads? For if sweet dreams were made of Alonzo Mourning not threatening to beat Michael Beasley to a pulp upon his refusing to cut the mentally ill antics…I’m also going to go out on a limb by saying you cannot not invite Juvenile. Horseshit. Juvenile has been living at Tootsies Cabaret since “Drop That Azz” was never nationally recognized as club brilliance. Which equates to eight years now and running. How was there never a music made for this jam? Throwww that azzzz thisaaawayyyyy
P.S. I’m a fool for Greg Oden, Shane Battier and Ken Jeong
Source–Prior to New York’s victory over the Philadelphia 76ers, Smith spoke with reporters about being benched against the Miami Heat and showed little remorse forShoelacegate, basically pleading innocence: ”He’s [Mike Woodson] been telling me [to grow up] since I got here,” Smith told the media, according to the New York Post‘s Marc Berman. “Honestly, growing up I really don’t understand the true meaning of it. I’ve been misunderstood my whole life. It’s not going to change now.”
And I understand the nature of the $50,000 fine having all to do with the reputation that precedes him. But untying laces was Grade A in-game, “let’s take it back to the blacktop” swindling. The least bit harmful; Tony Kornheiser went as far as to say it was “dangerous.” Suck rope, dude. If you’re going to write a scathing follow-up piece and conclude JR is a spoiled suburbanite turned utter lost cause, then #HitEm as it pertains to JR trending via an instance of strictly basketball related “Rich Kid Asshole, Paint Me as a Villain” (shout out Donald Glover). Like when he went full ass hat and refused to shoot against Boston after Mike Woodson tried coaching him into not posting the most notoriously suck percentages in NBA history. Now that calls for Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne, humiliate you at the stake type shit. Thus, although a retarded public relations move with regards to salvaging one’s brand (I wonder where Creative Arts Agency has been throughout this slew of self-debilitation) and another reason for God to smite JR with Steve Francis Syndrome by age 36, I surprisingly enough applaud the decision to publicly mock the need to “grow up.” Because the Douche of the Last Decade argument has spawned a la the most ridiculous fine ever. And whoever is rocking those 2-Chainz-esque leather astronaut knee pads, good lookin’ out.
Second, through this typhoon of JR Smith admonishment, how has no one paid any mention to his showing up to a Nuggets shoot around the MORNING of a 2010 playoff game blunted to the max? $3,000 worth of Chinese hotel child labor my ass. You know what I’d have done to reincarnate myself as Anthony Carter—the most average to below-average point guard to ever play 20 plus minutes a game in any given season next to Eric Snow–or at least the upper left corner of Sheldon Williams’ gargantuan forehead as means of sniffing an NBA playoff bench? Everything. Quintessential JR Smith further defining himself as the bane of every 5’9, Jewish Man’s delusional NBA self. I’m sure if James Dolan had let basketball operations research 400 other similar occurrences instead of valuing JR strictly on the premise of social media impressions, the Knicks wouldn’t be held at the three year, $18 million immovable mercy of professional sports’ most ratchet “adult.”
Lastly, JR Smith is about to turn WorldStarHipHop’s roof a flame. Not one person in that organization wanting him thereplusvengeance for fallen brother Chris Smithplus caring more about his Instagram following than shooting pull-up jumpers at a historically terrible rate plus just not giving a motherfuck equals blow up of epic proportions on the horizon. Meaning the angry black Knicks fan that went viral and JR will joust at mid-court like never A Knight’s Tale before two weeks prior to the trade deadline.
Team Take Over in this bitch. Even though I’m one of seven from deep prior to and amidst shooting some of the more suck percentages in NBA history. Scratch that, THE worst percentages in NBA history…RAIN MAN. Pardon me…WEED MAN! Wait, what’s that, dude? My fault, b, I thought we was down two? Oh. my. god. Fireable offense 378 for JR Smith? Beyond unbearably mind boggling. As the saying goes, you can’t shoulder the ire of an organization, play like an ass hat, have your cake and eat it too. I think this honestly might be the first time in my life I feel terrible for Knicks fans. Play two Western Conference elite well enough to garner some viable momentum only to see JR Smith fuck a bunch of faithful strangers in the ass. #HitEm, Walter Sobchak.
“He’s our guy. If he’s 1-for-15 or 1-for-20, we want him with the ball with five seconds on the clock.”–Paul Pierce
Awesome game winner, awesome celebration, awesome sigh of relief from a year of absolute catastrophe. Hey, Joe Johnson might dribble himself senseless in mid post isolations and demonstrate the most embarrassing of blow by ability for $21.5 million at 32 years of ages. But I’ll tell ya what. When it comes to seven seconds or less, that motherfucker has got IT. Behind the back pull back step through over all outstretched Ibaka Flaka? C’mon, Joe. C’MON, JOE!
By the way, Paul Pierce was tremendous tonight. 6 of 18, who gives a shit. All grit, all balls, all omni-presence. My g played the fucking four spot for what was almost the entire game for christ sakes. I REPEAT: MY G–with 15 years of career mileage—BELLIED UP AT THE FOUR SPOT. A matter of months until we (the Boston Celtics) bring Pierce back at mid-level exception. Young Boy Gorgeous altruism meets Paul Pierce veteran savvy meets proper career burial? Why not. Forever and Always, brother #HitEm