Dear Celtics/Magic Players…and Lebron…and Others

Dear Dwight Howard’s Elbows:

Please stop fucking my team up!

Dear Vince Carter’s Vagina:

Sorry you are so worn out…stop using Dwight’s Elbows as soap.

Dear Rashard Lewis:

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, stomach virus aka KG is drinking my milkshake, Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Dear Big Baby:

Sorry about calling you Leon Powe a few months ago.  After that shot to the squash last night, I thought I heard you say, “I aint  f*ckin Leon Powe.”

Dear Paul Pierce:

I love you, but would you PLEASE get a shot off at the end of a quarter / game!  95% percent of the time, you struggle to beat the clock as much as I did the first time I tried getting a condom on…24 is apparently a tough age and not enough time to get a shot off.

Dear Lebron:

Why didn’t you confiscate all tape of the Celtics whooping your ass?  Much more embarrasing than barely getting dunked on at a summer camp.

Dear Stan Van Jeremy:

Still love the stachey as much as the physique!

Dear Danny Ainge:

When did we sign this Sheed guy?  How come he has only played the last two playoff series?  Where was he all season?

Dear JZuk/Gerrity:

Way to bring it this season!  Shake and bake, baby!

Dear Wolverine:

Love how you still aren’t dead!  Keep hope and bloggin’ alive!

Dear NBA Players:

Please stop crying after every single call.  I feel like I am watching Old Yeller every time the whistle gets blown.

Dear J J Reddick’s Clamydia:

What’s that blonde’s number that you came from again?  Dam she was smokin’!

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