Look man, I know you’re all hyped up about my late-game layup that helped secure another win, but dude. I’m not giving you daps. Stop asking.
I saw you pull that slimy, chewed-up, saliva-riddled piece of plastic out of your sweaty mouth like four seconds before you came over. Don’t you respect me as a teammate? Don’t you care about me?
When we won the title, we high-fived. When we both found out we were All-Stars, we high-fived.
When you sneezed into your hand then offered me a piece of birthday cake, I went to Carvel and bought a new one. It’s only common sense.
We have the playoffs coming up in a few short months, and I straight up don’t want to be sick. Are you jealous of my assist numbers and want me out of the way? Because I’ll share the rock. You know me well enough at this point to know that it’s not about all that.
Seriously, though, remember that time Bogut sneezed into his open hand just before tip-off, and then everyone spent the rest of the week sick AF? We didn’t lose, because we’re boss like that, but we barely beat the 76ers. Philly, dude.
Oh God, coach Kerr just hocked up some phlegm into his fist, and now he’s offering me the Sharpie to draw up an inbounds play.