Kevin DuRANTs Getting Old… Like Kobe Old

You know why we STILL colloquially  refer to dope people in arbitrary clutch moments as “The Real MVP”? THIS IS WHY:

Almost a year to the exact day later, speaking to the very media and spectator audience that praised that heartfelt speech, voted him MVP, and coddled his fledgling superstar public image with the velvet gloves of a french masseuse aaand how does newborn baby K.D. feel about that crew?:

You guys really don’t know (expletive). , I’m only here talking to y’all because I have to…  I really don’t care. Y’all not my friends.

Some context: That quote was after he was asked about the validity of then Head Coach Scott Brooks’ pending dismissal from the perpetually underwhelming OKC Thunder, Durant lead.
Update: Scott Brooks was fired -_-

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For the sake of time, and general apathy  we’ll skip every other DuRANT Kevin has had (get it? coz that’s his name? and he RANTS a bunch?) since those tend to involve everything BUT his notable absence from the  NBA finals with a very capable squad. Let’s look at his reaction to Kobe Bryant’s retirement.

Kobe’s retirement came as a surprise to the few people who didn’t realize he had a 1 year contract left, and the Lakers are clearly gearing for a complete team rebuild in the post Kobe era (a VERY Kobe-centric era that included curbing 3 time champ, Shaq – and wasting Dwight Howard’s further dwindling window of opportunity in potential greatness). The expectation was that Kobe knows he’s still got something left in the tank for one more season, and won’t look like Wizard’s Jordan, Piston’s Iverson, or Celtic’s Shaq. Needless to say, Kobe explicitly made it clear that he doesn’t want a Derek-Jeter-style farewell tour where players and spectators are “lobbing him softballs” (and going easy on him). TRUE COLD-BLOODED MAMBA FASHION. RESPEK.
So as this 2015 season gets rollin, and Kobe’s shooting EVERY POSSIBLE SHOT (not new) but, scoring 4 pts (that happened). Nobody was gonna give old-man-Bryant an “A for effort”. Bryant himself wouldn’t have it any other way. But know who apparently WOULD? That’s right, Count DuRANTula himself:

“He’s a legend, and all I hear is about how bad he’s playing, how bad he’s shooting and it’s time for him to hang it up. You guys (media/spectators) treated one of our legends like $hit, and I didn’t really like it.”

-_- Kevin. GTFOH. Focus on helping Russell Westbrook and matching his relentless efforts. Wouldn’t it be nice to stand a chance in the treacherous Western Conference one more time before this team’s Championship window inevitably shuts? Maybe take a page out of D. Rose’s book, and just quietly collect checks while pitching in when you can on the court. Congrats on your new-found freedom of speech, hopefully they’ve got championship rings in that same lost-and-found box. You don’t have to be a mute, but all your DuRANTS are starting to get old and moot.

Update – Here’s Kobe’s ACTUAL agreeing with this exact post. We know he’s a reader:

 

http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=espn:14271097

Potato Of The Day Episode 51

Yo Banana, you okay dude? You’re not looking good. You’ve got… spots. Like a lot of them. It’s disconcerting. Oh, what’s that? You think you’ve always looked that way? You know I know that’s not true. You don’t need to lie to me. It’s going to be okay. Well, actually it’s not, Banana. Let’s be real with each other right now. Let’s not skirt the subject any longer. You’re dying. You are. I’m sorry. You know you’re my bronana. I didn’t want it to be the case.  But it’s true.

I know it’s hard to hear with you being an inanimate object with no ears and all, but those spots, those grimly grown skin shadows, those moldy marbled marks, are tattooed fingerprints from the Grim Reaper’s hand. Death’s coming for you, Banana. Now, now… shhh… Don’t feel so bad. Death comes for us all.

Sure, there are plenty of ways we could fight Father Time, Banana. We could blend ourselves up into drinks, pasty purees sans decaying skin, stored away from the sweltering summertime countertop. But… honestly, that might SHORTEN your shelf life, dude.  I listen to a lot of hip hop. I know how thirsty hoes are these days. And, being honest here, I’m not really down to get blended. That’s going overboard with the moral support. I guess we could wrap ourselves in bubble wrap, shielding away from polluted oxygen and the rest of the world. You and me together. Bubble Boy and Bubble Banana! But… I don’t really like the feeling of plastic. I like fresh air. So maybe not that. There’s always the freezer? But cryogenics are fucking iffy at best. I don’t trust that dark magic.

This isn’t looking good, Banana. We’re pretty much out of options. Well there is ONE option… You’re not going to like it though.  So, uh, dude, completely hypothetically, how do you feel about euthanasia? Don’t look at me like that Banana! I’m not trying to be crass here, but let’s not let your life go to waste! What do you mean I wouldn’t want to eat something that looks like you? Of course I’d still nibble that nanner ass even with your bubonic spots! That’s for real, Banana. That’s a bro having another bro’s back. There’s nothing wrong with the sweet release of death, especially if it brings ME a little more life. So, like, can I eat you? I know you can’t actually answer that as, again, you’re inanimate. So I’m going to give myself power of attorney here and answer it for you: “K”.

Oh Banana, you always did love a good potassium pun! Rest in digested pieces, my freshly peeled friend.

Potato Of The Day Episode 48

LOL, this apricot has an old man’s butt!

The end.

[Siya’s note: Uh, Ben… We need SIGNIFICANTLY  more than ten words for this post.]

Damn it. Okay, that’s fair, but let me explain myself first! I totally wrote more than ten words to start. Initially, I went ahead and brainstormed some names for an apricot with an old man’s butt using weak puns. My favorites were apriBUTT, ASSpricot, and apriCRACK. Then I was all like what if we dig a little deeper and get scientific up in this post? That led me to the solid gold waters of PruANUS armeniaca and Prunus armeniaCAN. Then I was all like, well apricots are basically peaches and that gave me PeaCHEEKes. At that point, WHY NOT TANGERINES? So TUSHYgerines became a really disappointing thing that I wrote on purpose. Then I looked down and got startled because, right at that moment, I was totally jumping the shark.

So I backed it up! I withdrew myself from apripuns (I LIED JUST NOW, DID YOU CATCH THAT? WINK!) and dove into a twisting, long form narrative. I laid out the framework for a harrowing tale of fruit turned monstrosity, a horrid self-devouring entity, an Ouroboros werewolf forever howling at its own moon. But then I realized that entire premise is just a weak mash-up of the zomberry and Uranus posts from earlier in the week. That made me sad. So I took a bite out of that apricot. Then I gagged a little bit because I pictured taking a bite out of an old man’s ass. Then I thought about writing a long, flowing poetic interpretation of cannibalism, but then I realized I’ve already written about cannibalism. So I ate more and more of that apricot, until there was nothing left but the seed. I stared at it for longer than I care to admit, when I was suddenly kicked in my own ass by an apropiphany (Apricot and ephiphany. Yes, I know these are getting weak.) about how that seed sort of looked like snot, BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT’S LITERALLY WHAT I WROTE ABOUT YESTERDAY.

As you can imagine, it’s pretty frustrating to have nothing but terrible, recycled ideas smoldering in your brain. But I try to view myself in the holiest of glowing lights. I’m a narcissist, remember?  So I geared back up and was all ugh, fine, whatever, LET’S DO THIS THING. And promptly cranked out the following post:

LOL, this apricot has an old man’s butt!

The end.

Satisfied?

[Siya’s note: You know what… phuck it. Never mind, GREAT JOB BEN.]

Potato Of The Day Episode 45

Yo, you, over there! Yeah, you! The one with the face. Let me ask you a question. Why the hell aren’t we exploring space yet? Seriously, dude. What’s up with that? We should be out there in the stars, cruising through wormholes, bending space-time, warp driving ourselves to far-off rocks rotating in the great, dark abyss. Think about the things we could find! Think about all the life, the death, the purgatory, hidden away in the shadows of stars. Think about the possibilities. It’s all out there. You know how I know it’s out there? That fruit.

You know what that fruit is right there? That’s a SATURN peach. SATURN. You know, the PLANET? You know, in SPACE? THAT PRETTY MUCH CONFIRMS THAT THIS PEACH IS AN ALIEN SPECIES BIRTHED IN PLANETARY RINGS. Oh sure, I’m admittedly no Prunus perscia expert, so I can’t actually say that it’s legitimately from Saturn, but I’m going to take the colloquial name at face value here and ride with it. A SATURN peach. That’s a hell of a lot more exotic than your lowly Georgia peach. Get out of here with your Earth fruit. I want that intergalactic shit. Then again, I am the kind of guy who’s really into space fruit, I guess. 

Imagine what other foods we could harvest in space…  Mercury pork chops! Pluto (R.I.P. planetary status. Shout out to true believers who still rep hard for the Solar System Nine.) hotcakes! Martian macaroni! Shhhhh. Don’t give me that “macaroni is processed food that’s one hundred percent manmade” naysaying. We don’t know what macaroni does in space. If Saturn shits out peaches, why can’t noodles sprout on Mars?

That SATURN peach was pretty damn delicious. I need more cosmic cooking. Send me all the alien food! Give me Neptune eggnog! Give me Venus waffles! Give me Jupiter hoagies! It’s all delicious. It’s all perfect. It’s all OUT OF THIS WORLD. There’s not a single food item whose celestial counterpart fails in comparison. Not even desserts. Picture how satisfyingly moist and delicious it would be to take a big ole’ chomp into a piping hot brownie straight from the gaseous depths of Uranus!

Yup. This entire post was a whole lot of meaningless build up to a terrible poop joke. It’s Monday. Deal with it.

Kanye’s Bound 2 Illustrated As A Children’s Book

Mr. West is no Mr. Rogers, and has been noted as  “not a fan of books”, and a self-proclaimed “proud non-reader of books”.  That doesn’t mean books aren’t a fan of him. While he would “never want a book’s autograph”, books certainly want a lasting impression of him. So, it was BOUND to happen that this fatal attraction be put together somehow – even if its in the form of a Children’s story (shouts Slick Rick).

Here are some droppings form the chick-script:

Shake Ya Tailfeather

“Have you ever asked your chick for other chickens?”

Lost in the World

POSED TO DROWN

Peep The Illustrator’s site for the complete story

A Short Skit For Fans Of Entourage And Nelly

Ext. Hollywood- Daytime.

E walks down the street head buried into his phone.  Turning the corner, he physically bumps into superstar rapper Nelly.  Nelly has his trademark band-aid on his face.

Nelly
E!  I…

Nelly is interrupted by a car crash on the street behind them.

Nelly
Uh oh!  What’s happening now?!

End Scene.