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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