Humboldt High Life

Just trying to get my bearings here, again, so—first thing I better say is: FUCK THE LAKERS.

Second thing I ought to mention is: FUCK THEIR REPLICA.

That’s the Clipjoint, for the hoes who don’t know. Not saying Cowpie Leonidas and PEE BED PISSANT UNLUCKY NUMBER are the same as Mr. Hairplugs and Overstyled Monobrow, but both of those locationless Disney “teams,” without any professional Guard, nor Center, position presence, only have two real dudes (neither of whom know each other much outside of recruitment videos/highlight tapes.) If I had to compulsively wager, I’d probably take the Reggie Shamwow backcourt vs. Bald Headband and J. R. Waiters, however. Or, is Dion Smith really a small Small Forward?

Third thing to cover, before I reach for your last beer, is that I can’t wait for Rondo and Beverly to re-injure themselves for the 13th time this “season” by diving at each other’s ghosts and committing multiple frustration fouls, all at the same time, with costume jewelry and designer face masks swirling up into Hurricane Backspasm.

This should be yet another post altogether, but is the NBA “bubble” now some kind of Lord of the Flies type of Stanford Prison Experiment? NBA radio chatter…Citations needed, but, I think I remember Windhorse Sharania, et al. were talking today—not about how Mav Carter was probably fuming and burning Gucci slipper pacing holes in air-conditioned high-pile carpet over not being invited to the players’ union vs. influencer platformist big meeting to re-restart the NBA—but how not every bald fucker in the League can look forward to a second career as a cartoon voiceover specialist.

But, anyway, will they have Bill Gates’ mini nuke plant power backup in Orlando, in event of imminent natural disaster? Room upgrades for those in the second round of the playoffs consenting to experimental vaccine waivers for their bubble-entering children? Are players allowed more than one new nanny per day coming in?