Looks like the 'commish', David Stern, has decided to make set things right, and what's good for the NBA is good for Señor Sparkles, and what's good for pops is good for Psychedelic Kimchi, and what's good for Psychedelic Kimchi, is good for us. Glory be to God.
While I am on the topic of our* lord, I've got this skanky, dilapidated bone to pick with Mrs. Jehovah. As stated, it's nothing pressing, nothing revolutionary, but rather a quiet whimper of protest, one designed to ellicit no spectacular response. Nonetheless.
I should be thanking God for, if nothing else, that delightful, fever-induced dream in which Friday the 13th alum Amy Steel made a welcome appearance. I would do so, but gratitude from me comes across like Jack Burton at the White Tiger**, so instead I'll lobby a slight complaint.
I viewed Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade this past weekend, and no, before I go any further, this is not the first time I have viewed the film***. Great film, but I can't help but wonder: What's your deal, God?
Exposition: Near the end of the film, at the Canyon of the Crescent Moon, Indiana Jones must face three trials, the first of which consists of a spinning blade that beheads the unfaithful, as demonstrated by a few unfortunate, initial contestants. Coerced into participation, Doctor Jones enters the fray and, realizing that "The penitent man kneels before God!", successfully avoids the pernicious device. Indiana Jones has satisfied the Almighty, and divine rewards shall be his.
Not so fast, Harrison. Now you've got to dodge a second, vertically eviscerating buzz saw. Kneel through this, bitch.
For those of you who don't recall, Doctor Jones, having solved the first riddle, must then roll forward to avoid being castrated (at the very least) by an additional, utterly superfluous blade. It appears that penitence just isn't satisfactory; God doesn't swing like that.
Again: What's the fucking deal, God****? Just because you give us the occasional glimpse of heaven, does that mean you can jerk Harrison Ford around? He was Bob Falfa!
Low blow, missy. Low blow.
(Would Gautama have thrown a second blade at Ford? I'll leave Mr. T to address such a hypothetical scenario.)
* By our, I mean anyone who smokes crack on daily basis. Welcome to the club!
** Mrs. Sparkles: Here, have some delicious kimchi. / Hati: (scratching head) Well, the cab driver said, well you know, that Casa del Sparkles could meet my kimchi needs. [End awkward attempt at me being extremely grateful]
*** If I am to be internet pimp-slapped by someone for something -anything- written, let it not be for a misunderstanding on that issue.
**** I refuse to blame Spielberg, let alone Lucas, for this travesty of justice. I may blame the -soon to be extinct- new NBA ball (Crystal Pepsi, anyone?) but even that would just be a projection. Shame on you, Jehovah.