Basketball’s Made Of Styrofoam

by thoughtsonthedead



“Coming, Boss.”

“Where are the choices for the NBA halftime show?”

“Right here, sir. We’ve got a short list, but there’s really only one guy to do it.”

“We’re on the same page!”

“Great, Boss. I mean: you think Toronto and basketball, and you think–”


“–Drake. What?”

“Sting. The Bumblebee Man himself.”

“The what? The who?”

“We can’t afford The Who.”

“Sir, I really think you might want to reconsider.”

“Can’t. Already called Sir Gordon.”

“Does he like to be called that?”


“Yeah. Anyway, Boss: I need to make another argument for booking Drake. He is enormously huge right now, and a fan of basketball, and appeals to our demographic, and the game is being held in his hometown.”


“Yes, sir.”

“Like a duck?”


“Not ringing a bell.”

“He’s a very popular rapper, sir. He sings Hotline Bling.”

“Bokchoy Sing?”

“No, sir.”

“Hoplite Block?”


“Lebanese Harold?”

“I feel like you’re doing that on purpose, sir.”

“Well, what the hell does it mean? ‘Hotline Bling?’ I understand the two words separately, but they do not combine two form a third, different concept. Hotling Bling negates Hegelian thought, Jenkins.”

“Don’t know about that, sir.”

“Whatever. Philosophers. Jerk-offs with holes in their socks and underdeveloped pectoral muscles. You ever meet one, you punch him right in the suck.”


“Right in the suck, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir. The game. The booking. Sting.”



“What’s wrong with Sting?”

“Historically, or in this instance?”

“The second thing.”

“The NBA is the youngest-skewing major sport in America. 40% of regular consumers of NBA product are under 35. They don’t know who Sting is.”

“Not even Dream of the Blue Turtles?”

“I don’t know what that is, sir.”

“Do you even know how long Sting fucks for?”

“Why on earth would–”

“Days! Days, Jenkins.”

“Sir, we cannot book Sting. No one cares about Sting.”

“Oh, fine, Jenkins. We can drop Sting.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What are The Eagles doing?”

“Dammit, sir.”