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TheHoopsProphet
08-18-2011, 03:54 AM
I observe my surroundings.

In 22 minutes the sun will have set. But for now, its iridescent hue streams across the downtown area, as all of the angled and rigid shadows lethargically traverse from building to building just like the catatonic Los Angelenos that permeates within it. Its blinding glare is more orange than the tangerines BEING SOLD (http://farm1.static.flickr.com/2/2083453_157ffd1ffd_o.jpg) by the hispanic man down the block by the 101 freeway.

Before me is the clusterfawk of a monolith that has been corporately dubbed the STAPLING CENTER (http://i.imgur.com/bAroT.png). A very misleading moniker considering how hard pressed I was to find any paper clips let alone staple together my transcripts.

Regardless, I have two tickets I bought off a scalper who reeked of cologne, to see the visiting New York Knicks play my beloved Lakers. I'm bringing my father with me, as I figure we need to bond closer. Lately, he's had big suspicions on the whereabouts of my sexuality. I haven't had a girlfriend in years, and I'm always bringing guy friends late at night into my room. I don't think the POSTERS (http://i.imgur.com/QMj4x.png)of shirtless Matthew McConaugheys are helping me either. And what better way to bond and prove my distaste for ballsacks then to go to a sporting event?!

"You think Caramel Anthony's playing tonight?"

"Why?" I tells the local patron in front of us, clad in jean shorts and a NICK VAN EXEL (http://i.imgur.com/ehYXh.jpg) jersey.

"He supposedly got a paper cut on his index finger. I bet if Dan Tony plays him tonight, 40's dropping. I'm calling it."

"I wouldn't doubt it. He's going up against GOATsy McGee, Colby Bryant. Captain Crunch Time will definitely drop 40 on him."

"Hahaha, yea maybe. Colby's an old muthatrucka though. I think those days are gone. What's your name brah?"

I slapped him hard across his rugged college-aged face. Then I spit on his Jordan shoes!

"The name's Abraham Lincoln The Third, with my father Abraham Lincoln The Second. And if you disrespect Colby again, its a name you won't forget!" I tells him.

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Pride. Joy. Tradition. Greatness. Cocaine. Large-Silicone Breasts.

These are the words that first strike me when coming into this sanctuary. As for the first time of my 23 years of existence, my foot steps onto the marbled floors of this historical landmark. A building that the greats from Marcus Maddog to Shack O'Neil all the way back to their Minneapolis days of the NBL Jorge Mikans. The Stapling Center has been a cornerstone of sports narratives and an abode for the legends that laid suit.

In fact, since the birth of this franchise, the terms "failure" and "Lakers" have only been used in a sentence twice. Once, which happened about two seconds ago in which I explained to you how they have only been used in a sentence together twice. The other time, when a man by the name of Ashley Schaeffer (http://assets0.ordienetworks.com/tmbs/f4c782111d/fullsize_6.jpg?0cba521e) said one muggy afternoon in the summer of '96, "As a cars salesman, I am an utter failure...but at least my Lakers got Shack!"

Other than Magical Johnson, our drafting history has been sub-par at best. Technically we didn't even draft the greatest player to ever play this game back in '96. And the rest have been potential talent busts and the occasional two-time all-star here and there. But with our oligarchic reign over the league and a little help from our friend Mr. Stern, we have traded garbage for talent to the point where the trade-deadline has become a more stapled tradition in Lakerland than Christmas for us. Don't care for Andy Bynum anymore? We'll just get the greatest center in the league to replace him!

I continue to look around. Faces glowing with anticipation, but never overly zealous, as we have been utterly desensitized by the blinding golden shine of the Conan O'Brian championship trophies. The smell of overnight, slightly old and overpriced hot dogs wafts through our jewish noses that everyone might have noticed if not for the more present smell of the overnight, slightly old vaneenee walking around.

"Hi" says the bright-eyed retail clerk, "what can I get for you? Hail Lakers!"

"Hail Lakers!" I defiantly exchange with him, before moving to our business. "How much for a Lakers foam finger that my father and I can wave around to symbiotically express our loyalties to this franchise during the game?"

"We are currently out of foam fingers. But how about I interest you in the recently stocked (http://lakersstore.com/content/special-edition-shooting-shirt-gold) SPECIAL edition shooting shirt?"

"Why is it special?"

"Well, we currently only have 200 stocked. We may or may not continue the product."

"Okay, how much?"

"70 dollars!"

"What?! 70 dollars?? Is this shooting shirt a shirt that makes a person shoot better?"

"Well, no not-"

"Then is this shooting shirt a type of shirt that will get girlies flocking onto me so hard that I will also need to purchase a bat with it just to swat them all away?"

"I, uh, no."

I slap Bright Eyes across his brace-face to let him know who's boss.

"Then why are you charging me 70 dollars for this?"

"I'm sorry, I- I didn't know. I'm just a worker, I, how about I interest you in an Andy Bynum work-out video for only $19.95 (http://lakersstore.com/content/900202-andrew-bynum-celebrity-sweat-dvd)?"

I slap Bright Eyes across the other side of his beautiful brace-face, just in case he forgot who was boss.

"What am I supposed to do with that! Are you Reese Witherspoon's butt (http://www.healthyoga.com/admin/images/75101reese%20witherspoon%202.bmp)? Because it seems like you just don't know how to quit. C'mon dad, forget the memorabilia. We need that money for eatin!"

"Shut up, faggehti! I know you'll just use that money for hair products you pathetic excuse of a man!"

"But dad, I am a man! Did you not just see me slap sense into that boy?"

"Yea, I bet you liked it, huh."

That bastard! I cried, unable to control it, and only further proving my father right that I am occasionally partial to massaging phallic devices against my sphincter during my heated moments of great self-pleasure.

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Right now, Caramel Anthony is going off in the 4th quarter. Much to the disbelief of my eyes, Caramel is pwning GOATsy McGee making the last 5 shots in a row and 10 of the last 14 points for the team. He's posted colby, shaked and baked, twist and raked, licked and faked, micked and caked, making him like a rag doll. I am prepared to jump off a local bridge. But the knicks are still down 3 points with 2 minutes left thanks to the great defense of andy bynum. I am pretty sure I see pre-cum spot on zipper of Mike Brown's slacks. The score is 99-96. The game is slowing down, and time becomes more palpable then Katy Perry's boobs. Caramel Anthony slowly walks up with the ball as Colby hunches over prepared for him at the three-point line.

Suddenly I see the jumbo-tron go off and the PA system starts making a beat, coaxing the Lakers Nation to recite their passions. But the beat does not coincide with the "D-FENSE blum blum D-FENSE" chant sports fans have come to universally express. Instead I hear a "Ta, ta, tatata......Ta, ta, tatata" and in between those Ta Tas, I hear a synchronized uproar burst from the eating-holes of my fellow nation.

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

Tacos?? What is the meaning of this?! Of course we all want tacos! They are delicious and crunchy! What is their point? Do they not see the game in front of them??

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

Did you not eat before the game? I know the food here is expensive, they charge 7 dollars for rat-infected hot dogs! You should have ate before the game. Let us focus on the game at hand here! Why are all you filthy animals so suddenly hungry?!

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

Caramel Anthony short-clunks a fade-away 16 footer. The ball bounces to Paul Gasol who extends a pass to a transitioning Colby alone at the other end for a quick lay-up. 101-96 Lakers. I give my father a manly high-five as pressure is taken off of the team, but it is amidst a chorus of groans and moans, apparently from a crowd dissatisfied of how quick the score was, bringing the ball immediately back to the Knickerbickers.

Again Caramel brings up the ball. Again the stomach-grumbling bedlam continues.

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

WE WANT TA-COS!

TA TA TATATA

I look at my fellow loyalists with pure incredulity. What was once a strong nation of prideful sports enthusiasts has suddenly become a pandora's box of commercialism and guerilla-marketing. I look down at the courtside and see Jack'o Nickels facetiously cheer along to the trivial chant, slowly disemboweling himself, draining all the purple and gold blood that once ran through his varicose veins spill out onto the court. I see Snoop A'Loop roaching a J, salivating at the thought of how good tacos would be right now. I see Jack Box from those classy, 5-star chain restaurants Jack in its Box wrapping his arm around Leonardo DeCampio's shoulders sharing Cuban cigars as the chants play to their ears like classical music.

The game ends with the Lakers winning 108-103. An outcome that will only happen 49 times for the Lakers this season. And much to the prophecies of the Van Exel fan, Caramel dropped 43 points on my beloved Lakers.

"I wanted tacos!" A 12 year old hedonist professes to his mother.

I grabbed him by his collar and pushed him against the wall, "Get out of my sight you little bastard! Come through these quarters again, and I will rape you!"

The pansy started to cry. And his mother yelled for security as they threw me to the ground.

"You've got the wrong man!" I tells them, "I am the true loyalist of Lakers Nation! Don't let that innocent front he's putting up fool you"

I get escorted out of the Stapling Center with my dad, with the purest of sureties that I will not be coming back again, at least not in this lifetime. And for the first time in my life, my loyalties as a Lakers fan have been tested to the brink of contemplating resigning my position as a citizen of the Lakers nation.

I wrapped my arm around my dad's shoulder as we headed back to the car before he told me to get my dirty hands off him, and went home to cry about that some more, before writing up a list of what are the most harrowing qualities in the current state of Lakers Nation. Qualities that are sure to kill off the band-wagon fans, but also perhaps qualities that are not only harrowing enough to kill off the loyalist of Lakers fans, but also perhaps sources for its inevitable demise.
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THINGS THAT IVE REALIZED SUCK ABOUT LIVING IN THE LAKERS UNIVERSE AFTER VISITING THE STAPLING CENTER


1) Jimbo "The Male Bimbo" Buss

For those who don't know who this guy is, you can google his name. The third search suggestion, after Jim+Buss+Lakers and Jim+Buss+Bio is JIM BUSS+IS+A+MORON (http://i.imgur.com/zFkAo.png)

While Jeanie Buss is numbers-crunching in the Lakers office past working hours, you can find Jimbo plodding across C-list parties with past-their-prime whores doused in alcohol, ramming his 4-inch penee into the vaginas of girls he previously convinced he was EVAN STONE (http://i.imgur.com/a24ZM.jpg), who put on a little weight in the off-season.

Other than penetrating drunk girls, his second greatest passion is Andy Bynum. Bynum is certainly a borderline all-star player in the NBA (and unquestionably a DPOY perennial laureate in the top wheelchair basketball leagues), but the unadulterated obsession Jimbo has for this player goes beyond all quantifiable logic. You see, not only is Andy his prized personal draft pick from the 2005 basketballing draft, but Andy is his right-hand partner in their sitcom-worthy adventures of douchbaggery.

While Andy leans back in his black convertable through Santa Monica blasting Kanye West songs, running over ice cream carts for children, flipping off old people for driving too slow, and parking in handicap spaces at local hospitals, Jimbo is clucking his head through downtown LA checking out all the breezies trying to bring back the sunglasses-behind-head-with-an-open-pop-collar-windbreaker look into the social echelons.

While Andy elbows the ribcage of people half his height, Jimbo avoids former Lakershow coach Bill Jackson for a whole year of BJ's last season coaching here.

While Andy claims he just wants to play hard and win then asserts he should be the number one option during this offseason, Jimbo hires Michael Scott Brown as head coach without consulting GOATsy McGee.

Everyone and their mother knows Brown's hiring was meant to coach Bynumite. Not Colby or Pablo. Jimbo is so obsessed with his D-bag partner that he is willing to run this dynasty to the ground in the name of his self-serving half-witted endeavors. Here's whats going to happen:

Pablo or Colby will be traded before Bynum leaves the city of methheads. Yes, it is true my friends. Take ur hands off your penee for just a sec, and think about it. Jimbo has already shown a disinterest to fan-favorites and only goes by the ill-advised whims of his empty head. Michael Scott Brown will begin to not only show his inadequacies to perform as head coach, but will not be able to properly defer to the tantalizing egos on this Lakers team that have already begun to clash even with Bill Jackson at the helm. As LA's loveable village idiot, Jack Nickels once said, "Somethings GOTTA GIVE".

By 2013, Jerrycurl Buss will be lying on his deathbed paying off the nurses at the hospice to give some last efforts for some stroking to his flaccid, shrinking penee, with his pervee-mind already gone full-board senile. Meanwhile Jimbo will have already forgotten about his father, and be licking tequila off the belly-buttons of crack-hos in his office with the Scumbag Seal of Approval award hanging in his tagged-up, confetti-ridden office while blasting LMFAO tunes around dancing drunkies, as Mitch Cupcake is huddeled in the corner with his head between his knees. And him and Andy will be taking Saki bombs celebrating his 129-million dollar 6-year-extension as they sing together 80's songs, "EVERYBODY HAVE FUN TONIGHT, EVERYBODY WANG CHUNG (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoXu6QmxpJE) TONIGHT". And Colby will be playing for the Chicago Bulls winning rings with Jalen Rose. Sheldon Brown will be in the league somewhere boning other people's wives.

Jimbo - "Yo, Andy, bust a move!"
Andy - "I ain't got no footwork though!"
Jimbo - "Thats okay! High Five!"
Andy - "AgHhhhh!!!@%"
Jimbo - "Oh no, what happened??"
Andy - "I think you broke my wrist! I'm out for the season!"
Jimbo - "Who cares, we suck anyway. Lets party!"
Both - "Do the hustle! Dodododo dodododo do, dewdewdewdewdew dewdewdew dewdewdew"

As Jimbo and Andy party it up in all the sketchy parts of LA, he will have single-handedly put the franchise in limbo, championshipless for the next ten years

2) Prices

That fateful day I showed up to the Stapling center on 4/3/11, the average ticket price in the building was a whooping $296. That was nothing. When the M.I.A.'s visited the Stapling Center last Christmas, the average ticket price was tripled that at $893! Let me repeat that to you, EIGHT-HUNDRED AND NINETY -THREE DOLLARS. To see guys basketballing. I think most teenagers would be more happy to find a nice used car or even a Bolivarian prostitute lying under their christmas tree than seeing a couple of tickets to go watch athletes slack off on a Christmas afternoon.

What was the strangest experience I've had at the Stapling Center was the crowd that showed up. I was in the nosebleed section, watching Caramel Anthony's excellent ball-stopping moves through my telescope. I asked the people sitting by me where their telescope was.

"Hey, how can you see the game from here without a telescope?"

"Hmm?" one guy said, putting up his monocle to check me out, "what do you mean?"

"There is a basketballing event going on right now, how are you viewing it?"

"Well, good sir, I had no idea. But frankly, I am more interested in collaborating with my fellow crumpet-enthusiasts on the current politics of our on-going Tea Parties. Can I offer you the distinct honor of sojourning our discussion?"

"What are you talking about, watch the game!"

"Ha! I striking proposition my dearest child, but no devil will ever force me to turn my eyes away from our ancient bottle of Merlot!"

"You're not a Lakers fan?"

"Oh, why of course I am! I even own amhumble, summer home by one down in Oregon. Sometimes I will spend days on my two-story Yacht over that beautiful, crystal clear, tamed lake. My greatest memories have come from that lake! Now, please. Hush hush"

"But I didn't -"

"I said be gone you devil!"

I couldn't believe it. Where were all the Lakers fans at? I saw a building shoehorned with top hat-wearing fawkfaces, but I didn't see anyone who seemed to even know what basketballing was!

"You, did you ever see Shaq?"
"I don't own a shack you mongrel! I live in a hacienda down by San Diego, don't insult me again!"

"You, are you a fan of Colby?"
"Why, of course! I absolutely adore many of the Japanese delicacies my personal chef makes me at home!"

"You, name just one person, past or present that's played on the Lakers!"
"Hmm....Robert...."
"yes, yes"
"Robert Hor, something"
almost!"
"Robert "Horchata" Bolano!"

None of it made any sense. I saw no-name actors sitting courtside promoting the pilot of a soon-to-be-defunct series. Their bloated faces injected with botox and lip-puffing juices, gazing into the Blackberry abyss (http://cdn.concreteloop.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/86036619_10.jpg) in the palm of their hands, straddling through a continuum with no connection to time, no relation to the human experience, like inanimate objects pinballing their way through cookbook-projects and Hollywood charity events, until eventually they fall between the flippers of age and out of favor in the Hollywood district for the new shiny actors ready to jolt and mindless bounce through the superficial clusterfawk of LA. These genetically cloned TV-Actors all were screaming "Nice hook, Kareem!!" whenever Pablo Gasol went for a sweeping lay-up.

And I couldn't help but wonder, amongst all of these witless elitists who wouldn't no the first thing about P.E.R. let alone what the acronym stood for, how could Buss compromise the integrity of the Lakers fanbase by locking the gates to the local peasants in order to generate a few more bucks from the rich. The only time I'd ever see college-aged kids come by to the game is because they mistook the building for a library considering how quiet it was/ Stapling Center, because of these prices, has become a laughing stock for the rest of the league. How could this championship team play 41 games every year to one of the worst crowds in the league?

How could Lakers fans everywhere remain so loyal to this aristocratic franchise, even though their sexy leader in Buss couldn't give two shyts about them? They are hom adjusting the rabbit ears of their tvs in their rooms just trying to catch any reception of Colby doin' work, while there are Santa Monica-native CEOs sitting courtside trying to decide whether they should text their mistress about how horny they are or catch a glance of Colby going for a game-winner during a playoff game. It disgusts me to be associated with such a careless system! I want to spit on the whole Lakers FO! I want to spit on them, and eat their babies!

And though this current Lakers FO may run the championship-talent and fans into the ground for the next decade, there's one title they for sure won't ever relinquish: Highest average NBA ticket price in the league for what would be the 10th straight season this year.

DURING PABLO "GASOLINE" GASOL DYNASTY -

07-08 - $89.54

08-09 - $93.00

09-10 - $93.25

10-11 - $95.21

Even when 09-10 and 10-11 saw the league average of ticket prices drop, the Lakers continued to go in the upwards trajectory towards the fateful year when people will start considering mortgaging their homes for season tickets, or selling their children through work trafficking to watch the Celtics and Lakers battle in January.

Get ready Lakers fans. If there is a season this year, we will be able to witness and tell our children of our first-hand experiences watching the inauguration of the Lakers demise when they open up the season against the Thunder in November. It looks like the BUSS FAMILY (http://i.imgur.com/akNPR.png) has already prepared!

knightstemplar
08-18-2011, 05:06 AM
wtf
lol

Tanakid777
08-18-2011, 05:34 AM
****ing pure gold

asandhu23
08-18-2011, 05:45 AM
desperate to get banned, aren't you?

COBY KARL
08-18-2011, 07:05 AM
desperate to get banned, aren't you?

No way! TheHoopsProphet isn't going anywhere!

Don't be such a downer

COOLbeans
08-18-2011, 05:19 PM
interesting