NBA players: The golden age (part III of III)

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Friday, May 28, 2010 8:51 AM

(If you haven't read parts I and II, you clearly don't understand how a series works. Or how to count to five. Read them, do not pass GO and do not collect $200).


After BP cried himself into a frenzy he quickly resorted to unnaturally large speakers playing unnaturally loud music, listening to his favorite song, "Single Ladies." In that very instance, when the chorus had just started, The doorbell rang. It was so in sync with the music that no one had heard it. On the other side of the door, was a petite woman. Red hair, the waist about as thin as a kinked garden hose. As this finger-thin, thin-fingered lady grew impatient, she realized her right shoe was not tied how she likes it to be tied. She wondered how in the world it got that way in the first place. She untied, then re-tied, then zip-tied and then bought ties. This episode of obsessive compulsive behavior took the exact amount of time for BP's song of choice to get through the verse and the bridge. She rang the doorbell again. At the exact time for the doorbell and the chorus to match up again. She knows that BP is home, how? First clue, the speakers are a lot bigger than a hello kitty alarm clock and just make a little bit less noise. Second, Carrrl left his 1964 Peel Trident parked in front of the mailbox.

 The mailman was infuriated by the way, enough so that he left a really descriptive flyer with very neat images on his windshield. She concluded that the doorbell was broken. So she broke down the 65-foot Victorian cherry wood French doors with her twelve inch stilettos that were suitably colored life-sucking black. She only wore that color. I don't know if it's because of the discount for buying clothes that not even a dead walrus would look upon with satisfaction, or if she honestly wanted to slowly take away all the happiness in the world with her apparel. The door shattered. The pieces flew everywhere, but they landed neatly in the center room as a grand piano. She was good.
"BP, I heard your piggy bank is depleted." the words slithering across the air.
Carrrl, knowing BP for a total of however long it takes to listen to Beyonce's complete album gift set,                responded to Vanth, the young, powerhouse, woman with the very attractive glasses,"I'm sure he doesn't understand, you need to use smaller words."
   She obviously paid no attention to statements that start with vowels. "There is a reason I am here, to make you an offer I can't refuse."
    Carrrl objected, "don't you mean an offer YOU can't refuse?"
    "NO." The rafters shook and BP's long lost pet squirrel was not so lost anymore. It lied on BP's lap, he started to stroke it. "I want you to start doing endorsements," Vanth continued.
    BP thought hard....not about the offer....about the word endorsements. "Jeeves told me you might offer me one of those." He said, as if he just watched a marathon of Walker Texas Ranger. "I accept."
   Carrrl jumped in, broke the coffe table, and said," Don't you want to know what you'll be endorsing first?"
   "No, I think I can make my own decisions. What will I be endorsing?" BP asked.
   Vanth would have almost smiled if she could. "Wonderful, Muhahahaaha!" -awkward pause- "you will be endorsing my new invention! Edible Play-Doh!"
   BP took the job. For the next twenty three years, he filmed commercial after commercial. Was put on billboard after billboard. For an item that was edible, but tasted horrible. It also dried out unreasonably fast, to the point where you have to mix it with pieces of bread. At least that made it taste better.
   Carrrl ended up finding true love! And she is very beautiful.

   I promised to answer one more question. Answer: Yes it is, just ask Carrrl. Oh wait! You can't, he's dead. THE END.

                                           Anthropologically, 
                                                                        Kyle

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