Let’s play basketball, girls. Watch out for number 21. She’s mean and she’ll whipcrack you with her crazy ass ponytail. If she gets near you, use bilateral mental telepathy to anger her further and drive her foot back in time into a teammate’s crotch. Then, look for a rain shower or possibly a rogue swarm of insects to stagger into, elude another anger ponytail and heave away. Go ahead and heave away. There’s only one spectator. Now this is basketball. There’s nothing wrong with my thumb, even though i can’t straighten it out. I injured myself putting out a fire at my house. My husband set all his clipboards on fire and poured a box of homemade wine on the fire. He thought he was Red Adair.
The last-second shot goes in and the girls celebrate by revealing the widest variety of freak hands ever assembled in one comic strip panel. Crazy tiny finger, amazing meatfists and rubber wristed, high-fiving Stretch Armstrong forearms all in a blender panel including bad hair and broken noses. Panel 2 says Woo Hoo in a psychotic way.
What the fuck is panel 3? What the fuck is it? You have got to be shitting me! Really, you’re going with that? No, really? Okay, it is touching (in its awfulness). These two nitwits share in their delusions. I hope they keep them to themselves.
“Roar,” says Scott Fowler. “You score many points. You so awesome.”
“Yes, I feel special. Special like…a peacock!”
“Huh? That not really work in this context.”
“Look out, special Lady Mudlark. Furious Jeffersonite throw inner tube at you!”
This story is going to be huge. Player’s Dead Younger Brother’s Soul Inhabits Peacock, Inspiring Player and Girlfriend To Shoot Better, Coaches Set Each Other On Fire In Celebration