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

Things That Scare Me: Alarm Clocks

In cynical celebration of our favorite death celebrating season, we’re going all out on fear based topics this month. Every day, Ben will present one thing that scares him, ranging from the anxious and annoying to the deadly and doomed. This is… Things That Scare Me.

Groundhog Day | YouTube

There’s one noise, one piercing sound, that I fear above all the rest. I fear it more than the sickening sound of that neighborly owl tearing into a fresh rodent, a meal that always seems to take place in my backyard. I fear it more than the booming sound of an unexpected explosion, prank fireworks or overloaded transformer boxes. I fear it more than the sound of a child crying, a helpless wail. I fear that sound more than any of that crap combined. That sound? My godforsaken, piece of shit alarm clock.

I understand that the objective function of an alarm clock is to wake someone up. I get it. It’s inherently startling. I COMPREHEND THE CONCEPT, GUYS. But every single time my asshole alarm decides to unleash the fury of a thousand decibels of unfiltered siren into my ear, I FREAK the fuck out. I can’t help it! My alarm, no matter what time I fall asleep, no matter what day of the week, no matter what time it’s set to go off, will always go all *WARNING YOU’RE IN A SINKING SUBMARINE* during my deepest, most peaceful moment of REM sleep. EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.

Well, okay, that used to be true at least. See, my fear of the alarm (or maybe just my fear of waking up in general. Jobs, am I right?) has created an embedded state of anxiety that occurs in the morning hours of bedrest. So now instead of getting blasted awake by a nuclear meltdown warning, I don’t spend a single second of my 4am-6am sleeping hours in my happy dream place. Nope, now I treat myself to the flopping, frantic turning that accompanies vast, insurmountable fear, inevitably leading to my constant checking of time, an every-fifteen-minute occurrence involving squinted, light-blinded eyes and frustrated sighs. IT’S A REALLY HEALTHY HABIT, YOU GUYS. NO PROBLEMS FROM THAT AT ALL. NOPE. MY WIFE DEFINITELY DOESN’T HATE ME.

I’m so scared of alarm clocks, that I’m now not even being woken up by alarm clocks, but rather by the anxiety of the alarm clock itself. THAT’S TRUE FEAR, YO. And before you get all judgmental (way, way too late, huh?), please know that I know that it’s pathetic. It’s not like spiders or getting buried underground, or any other massively felt fear. And it’s certainly not lethal by any stretch of the imagination. BUT IT IS LOUD AND IT SCARES ME. Or, I guess, it’s silent in the inertia of potential sound energy and still scares me? Or, I guess, it’s it all in my head and still scares me? I don’t know. Now I’m frustrated thinking about my frustration! Whatever. Fuck the flow of time and fuck mornings. Maybe I’m just scared of those.

Fuck 3-5pm On Friday Afternoon

For real, fuck 3-5pm on Friday afternoon. Why does this chunk of time even exist? It’s an actual time prison, crushing down on your false delusions of freedom and hope. Oh hey, you see the weekend out there, so tantalizingly close? Just reach out and touch it. Oh wait, you can’t! Because it’s still the stupid fucking work week so you’re still chained to your stupid fucking desk for some stupid fucking reason. Fuck.

You know how much work has gotten done between 3-5pm on Friday afternoon (I’m talking CUBE work here, not the real work provided by heroes like doctors and plumbers and Happy Hour bartenders)? One. Now, you might say, “Ben, ‘one’ doesn’t seem like an applicable or complete answer to that proposed question. One of what?” To which I say, it’s fucking Friday afternoon between 3-5pm, so one of whatever, dude. One work unit. That’s all that has been done ever in the history of forever. In some dial-up, prehistoric sundial confirmed 3-5pm block of a Friday afternoon, one unit of work was accomplished once, by what I assume was a wide-eyed, newly hired, desperate-to-please intern before they looked up and realized everyone else in the office wasn’t doing jackshit, and abandoned that stupid idea forever. Yes, even misguided overachievers desperate to make a head first impact on the top rung of the corporate ladder don’t do shit on Friday afternoons from 3-5pm. SO WHY ARE WE HERE?

You know how I know work doesn’t get done between 3-5pm on a Friday afternoon? Because you’re reading a blog post titled Fuck 3-5pm On Friday Afternoon. You’re doing that right now. ON A FUCKING FRIDAY AFTERNOON. I was going to write my normal half-assed, week ending Potato Of The Day, but instead I was like yo, it’s Friday afternoon, why the fuck should I do anything? To which you’re probably thinking to yourself, “Truth.”

Anyway, I’ve got two hours til I can waterboard my liver with tequila. That’s nothing on a Monday. But on a Friday? That’s damn near impossible. It’s fucking torture by Friday cubicle. Yet, we always mange to endure that slow strangle of Friday afternoon time, finding trivial novelties to fulfill our meaningless Friday afternoon existences, don’t we? So let’s go do that. That thing that gets us by. I’ll probably go Snapchat some racially charged emojis or look at pictures of head tattoos or some shit. I don’t know. Hell, maybe I can kill eight whole minutes asking everyone for their weekend plans. Again. Fuck 3-5pm on Friday Afternoon. Fuck it long. And fuck it hard.

Potato Of The Day Episode 94

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting really sick of this creeping acorn squash season bullshit. I mean, come on. It’s not even September yet. Why the hell are acorn squashes on display? Can’t we let our kids finish going back to school before we put those out? Do we really need to just sweep all the bright red Delicious apples under the rug already? This is madness. NO ONE NEEDS AN ACORN SQUASH IN AUGUST. No one. No, shut up. You don’t need one. I know you don’t. You’re just being a dick.

Think about it. When was the last time you bought an acorn squash? Maybe, what, January? Exactly. Because it’s a fucking WINTER squash. Does it look like winter outside to you right now? If it does, ease off the LSD dude. You’re in too deep. There’s no logical explanation for a winter squash to be rocking the grocery store shelf in late August. The first day of FALL isn’t for another month. Sure, sure, call me a denialist all you want, but I don’t need to be rocking winter seasonal squash when we’re over an entire SEASON away from winter. THAT’S LUNACY!

And it’s not just acorn squash. It’s everything. Halloween candy is in stock now! Because who wouldn’t want to stock their cabinets full of high fructose corn syrup 67 days before they’ll need it? You’ll only be at the store, what, a dozen, a dozen and a half, more times before then! WHAT IF YOU FORGOT?!!!? (Okay, shush, don’t be person who brings up my paper towel problems. It’s not fair to use me against me.) And heaven forbid you don’t have your candy corn ready to rock before Labor Day. WHO COULD BEAR THAT FUCKING TRAVESTY?

This isn’t acorn squash’s fault. Acorn squash didn’t decide to put itself on display in August. In fact, acorn squash has never made a decision in its entire life. That’s because it’s squash, a decidedly non-sentient object. But you know who is sentient? You know who can think? You know who can make decisions? You. Yes, you can. Even you, LSD dude. So when you’re out grocery shopping this week, make the right choice. Don’t give in. Don’t buy an out of season acorn squash. Don’t be an enabler to the creep of acorn squash season. You’re better than that. We all are.

Potato Of The Day Episode 66

Can someone explain to me just when in the hell we started eating pine cones? Is this a new health fad I missed in between blueberry colonic cleanses and calling crazed carnivorous consumption a diet? Like for real, pine cones you guys? What’s next, licking tree bark? Catching those twirling helicopter seeds in your mouth like a trained poodle? MOWING THE LAWN WITH YOUR GODDAMNED TEETH?  Where are we going as a people, huh? What stupid depths of health madness are we succumbing to if we’re willing to do something as stupid as eating pine cones? There’s no possible scientific evidence that pine cones have a health benefit, you guys. They belong in the SOIL, not in our stomachs! Be real, SQUIRRELS don’t even eat those! We’re taking the leftovers of rodents! If suburban rats won’t sniff them, what the hell are we doing munching down those mulch makers? I just… THIS IS ALL VERY CONFUSING AND IT’S STARTING TO PISS ME OFF.

FOR REAL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME HOW IT’S HEALTHY TO RISK A CONIFER GROWTH IN YOUR DIGESTIVE TRACK? ARE YOU PREPARED TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE CLEANING UP LOOSE PINE NEEDLES, SITTING ON SCRATCHY BLANKETS THAT BARELY COVER THE POINTY IRRITATION OF YOUR SHEDDED SPRUCE SPURS? HOW ARE YOU GOING TO FEEL WHEN YOU’VE GOT AN EVERGREEN HEMORRHOID PEAKING OUT MOUNT ANUS? YOU GONNA DECORATE THAT THING WITH STRANDS OF LIGHTS AND HAND-BLOWN GLASS ORNAMENTS? YOU GOING TO MAKE YOUR HEALTHY, HAPPY JUDEO-CHRISTIAN CHILDREN PUT WRAPPED BOXES UNDER YOUR BUTT? HEY DADDY, HERE’S ANOTHER FUCKING TIE YOU DON’T NEED! MOM SAID YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING A LITTLE HAGGARD LATELY SO SHE GOT YOU A CHAINSAW! NOW KIDS, DON’T RUIN THE SURPRISE. TELL ME HOW THAT’S HEALTHY. TELL ME HOW THAT MAKES ONE SHRED OF SENSE. TELL ME HOW THAT’S NOT A CONTINUATION OF THE SPIRALING SHIT CYCLE OF STUPIDITY WE CALL SOCIETY! TELL ME!!!

WHAT? NO, YOU CALM DOWN! I DON’T CARE IF THAT’S NOT… oh… you’re saying that’s not a… OH. Umm, okay. Give me a second here.

Sooo… you guys, we’re going to have to postpone this health craze rant for a minute. I just got word that we’re looking at an ARTICHOKE, not a pine cone. This is… well, frankly this is a little awkward now. An artichoke… yeah, that would… that would make a lot more sense. Because that’s a FOOD, and not an inedible seed pod making up a tree’s reproductive system. Whelp, I think we’re done here. Continue on with, uh, not eating pine cones and such. I’ll be over here taking a deep breath.