“Bob, I cannot describe the joy that fills my enormous, broken body that you’ve joined me here at courtside to watch the most exciting sport ever invented by man, woman, or over-educated dog. I quote the philosopher Kurtis Blow when I say ‘I love basketball.'”
“Well, you know: I’m a fan.”
“Do you know where that word comes from? ‘Fan?’ In the olden days, before the advent of conditioned air, the spectators would bring palm fronds or other large foliage to wave at the players in hopes of cooling them down. Of course, since it was the old days, the fronds were also used for the purposes of racism.”
“Sure. Anything’s racist if you hit a minority with it.”
“Listen to the crowd, Bob! The excitement! The anticipation! We find ourselves as members of a proud lineage that stretches back to the Flavian Amphitheater or the Circus Maximus.”
“I was always a Ringling’s man myself.”
“And after the game, we’ll head down into the locker rooms and check out some dong. You’ve never seen dongs like these, Bob.”
“I’ve seen Phil’s.”
“It’s nothing like that. You’re comparing a golf ball to the Death Star. These are world-class athletes with world-class dongs. That’s why the shorts are so baggy nowadays.”
“Ah.”
I like everything about Bobby’s outfit