DF: Why the heck is Chuck here? I told him to wait outside.
DW: They ran outta mustard outside so he had to get somethin’ for his hotdogs.
Billy Hunter: Both of you need to leave. Chuck you’re less coherent than a honeybadger who’s mouth is full of pretzels; and Reg, all you talk about is yourself. You shot a bunch of threes and never won anything, so zip it up and get out.
(Both leave)
DS: OK, where were we?
DW: YOU WERE JUST TELLIN US HOW WE’RE GETTIN FUCKED BY YOU FUCKS!
DS: Dwyane, the last thing we proposed was a question of whether or not you watched The Walking Dead.
DW: WHY THE FUCK WOULD I WATCH THAT SHIT! CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHY THERE ARE NO BLACK PEOPLE AND IT’S BASED OUTSIDE OF ATLANTA?!
DF: Maybe, it’s related to the plot somehow Dwyane. Please stop yelling... I find that show enjoyable.
DW: FUCK THAT!
DS: Listen, I don’t write the show....
DW: YA RIGHT DAVID!
BH: Stop it! Stop it! Everyone here can come be reasonable. Let’s not let our egos get in the way.
(Door flies open as a loud Enrique mix blasts from a boom-box)
DW: BRON! Just talkin’ with these bitch-ass bitches. You know?
LBJ: Ya, ya. OK LISTEN UP Y’ALL. For one day only; myself and DJ Pauly D will be at the SweatBox. This Thursday. Get there fuckin’ early if you wanna see the show.
(pulls out a stack of flyers and hands one to everyone at the table)
LBJ: Take one, it pays for cover. Witness me motherfucker.
Paul Pierce: YO, SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING DOUCHEBAGS!
(LeBron throws a smoke bomb on the floor and runs out of the conference room)
DS: Uh, Guys... I didn’t get a flyer..
DW: ITS IN THE MAIL... DAVID!
DF: Jason we’re trying to resolve a lockout.
JK: Back in my day, leagues locked IN players. Boy, those were the days. You could fuck a hooker for a nickel and kill her for less.
DF: Jesus Mr. Kidd that’s not right... I might have to contact the authorities.
DW: HOLY FUCK DUDE YOU BEEN KILLIN JOB KNOBBERS?
JK: Well heck son, in my day, if you didn’t kill them they’d kill you. Ahh yes... Ummm.. ahhh... Huckleberry Fin where was I? OHH yes. The time Woodrow Wilson told me I make shitty margarine...
PP: NO, no you weren’t. You old as hell man. I wish I was your child so I could put you in a home. You know, before you drive your fuckin’ car through an IHOP or some shit.
DS: Guys...
(door opens)
DW: Bosh, that was your wife and she was trying to drive us home. God damn man, I told you to wait in the car didn’t I?
CB: Yeah, but I wanna tell these assholes what’s on my mind dude! YO THE NBA IS FOR PLAYERS TO PLAY, STERN!
DS: Noted, Chris
CB: Hey D, you see LeBron? I though I heard him in here.
DW: Ah... Naw man,,,
CB: Shit, really? Okay, man he like hasn’t texted me back in a month...HAHAH! He’s so funny like that.
DW: Yeah, for sure.
CB: HAHAH MAN! I love that guy! I love you too Dwyane! Do you wanna hit a club dude? Ya! Let’s cause some shit! Let’s like drink... like... SEVEN BEERS... I wanna get, like soooo fuckin crazy bro.
DW: THE FUCK CHRIS I TOLD YOU TO WAIT IN THE CAR!
CB: HAHAH OK DUDE! I’LL MEET YOU THERE! Man I bet BronBron shoots me a text too, what a day!
PP: (holding his face in his hands) eeeeheeeeheeeeheeeeheeee...
DW: WHAT THE FUCK YOU LAUGHIN AT PAUL?
PP: heeeeeeheeeeeeheeeeeeee *gasp* eeeeheeeehheeee
DW: IM GONNA FUCKIN KILL YOU PAUL!
CB: Ya paul, you don’t know us like that.
DW: GET THE FUCK OUT CHRIS!
(Bosh leaves)
DS: Can we get back on track? Why the hell haven’t we locked that door yet either?
BH: Probably because everyone in this room is retarded.
(door busts open)
DF: Oh, hey Kobe.
DS; Mr. Bryant, nice to see you.
PP: Motherfucker smells like an Olive Garden. Now we can get some negotiating done for once before someone else busts into this room?
PP: Man, what the fuck you talking about? You walked in here 45 minutes late. You said your reason was that your Vespa ran out of gas. IM ONTO YOU NASH. YOU CAN’T BE BELOVED FOREVER!
SN: I don’t know what your saying Paul; but I mean yeah, I may have a crippling addiction where I take a few homeless into my home for weeks at a time; and recently gave a couple mill to tornado survivors... but I’m only human. I recycled that Vespa as well.
DF: You are an American hero, Steven.
SN: Canadian, actually Derek.
DW: SHUT UP! GIVE US THE 60% DAVID! Tell’em Kobe!
(Kobe sits silently eating a sandwich)
DS: Mr. Bryant... NICE TO SEE YOU.
(Kobe is still texting and eating)
PP: Kobe, what the fuck are you doing here. You’re just sitting there eating a hogie like an asshole.
Kobe Bryant: I’m sposed to pick up Fish.
DS: Do you have any input Kobe?
(kobe chews sandwich, while looking at his phone)
PP: This is fucked.
SN: Kobe, you rock man!
DS: Mr. Bryant please...
(Kobe puts last bite of sandwich in his mouth, crumples up paper wrapper from sandwich, and throws it across the room into the garbage can)
KB: Kooobeee.
(Kobe walks out of room)
DF: Boom! What a shot!
DS: Um...
JK: MY STARS! I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD MEET OBAMA!
BH: This is completely fucked and we all know it.
DS: Yes Billy, this has gotten out of hand. All of these interruptions are insane. I don’t know if I can...
(the wall explodes into a flying mess of rock and drywall; exposing a hovering helicopter and zip-lining Kevin Garnett soaring through the gaping hole)
(Garnett grabs Steve Nash and pulls him out of the hole in the wall)
SN: AHHH HE’S TAKING MEEEE! I ASSUME THIS IS FOR THE BESTTTTT HE IS JUST TRYING TO HEEEEEEEEELPPP! FEED MY GERBIIIILLLLLL!!
(both Garnett and Nash vanish into the night sky)
PP: Fuck, that’s my bad. I was supposed to make sure KG didn’t kill, extort, or kidnap anyone.
DS: Holy shit... Here’s the deal. 66 games and everyone here stops being certifiably insane for at least five years.
JK: One condition. Bring back the 5-point line.
DW: Fuck that guy is old. DEAL STERN, AS LONG AS FISHER DOESN’T SAY NO. He’s probably gonna cry about it.
DF: (sniffs) Not crying about shit you fucking pussy. I’m just so happy...
PP: Eeeeheeeeeeheeee! This league is so fucked up sometimes.
DS: Just get the fuck out of here before I lose it please.
VC: Eh, you guys settled this huh?
DF: Ya Vince! We did it!
TMac: (slurps from a smoothie) Sup.
VC: Yo, I just needed to get my LeBron flyer for the show on Thursday. But, I don’t really care if I have to pay cover or not.
TMac: Heh, yeah. We don’t even care to walk anymore...Straight pimp golf cart son.
DW: I HATE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!
(David Stern leaves with Billy Hunter shaking their heads)
(Paul Pierce’s phone rings)
PP: Hello?
KG: Got him, it’s time Paul.
PP: When you say “got him” are you referring to how you seemingly kidnapped Steve Nash from out of this conference room? Because I was in the room too, and I saw that.
KG:Then get to the secret meeting spot by sunrise or else he gets it.
(hangs up)
PP: Fuck I gotta call Doc...
DW: That guy is fucking insane dude.
PP: He’s still better than a Bosh though.
DW: Ah fuck, I know.
Enjoy the season everyone!
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