Bunny Interviews LeBron
The following conversation is true:
Lebron James: Hi, Bunny. Nice to meet you finally. I’m a huge fan of your work.
Bunny Stardust: Yea, well, I wish I could say the same, you asshole.
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Bunny Interviews LeBronAlthough his popularity and overall approval rating has been at an all-time low, the NBA sporting world and the pop-culture obsessed mass media just cannot seem to get enough of Lebron James. Be it positive or negative, James is still a much sought after public figure, making interviews difficult to attain. So hard was it to get a half-hour sit down with the Miami Heat star, that I, your friend and most humble narrator, had to go to extreme lengths for the privilege, for the sake of legitimate, public interest: 40 members of the press were shipped out nearly 100 miles off the coast of India and pushed overboard in shark-infested waters. The last survivor was granted access to speak with the King.
The following conversation is true: Lebron James: Hi, Bunny. Nice to meet you finally. I’m a huge fan of your work. Bunny Stardust: Yea, well, I wish I could say the same, you asshole.
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TRUST USOn the 9th of November, 2010, I found myself at what is now the Wells Fargo Center, bulls-eye center, third tier, my head spinning from a half case of Labatt Blue and an 8th of pot, entirely overtaken by visions of dancing hammers and fighting flowers, Pink’s oppressive Mother and his abusive schoolmaster, and the proverbial Wall being built, brick by brick.
The Dumbest Fashion Trend In The Entire World. Ever. During the winter of 2009, I walked into my senior English class, about ready to sit through some stupid, bullshit lecture about nothing that anyone would ever care about, anticipating the weekend and the madness that would soon ensue. I was to the point in my academic life where schoolwork not only took a backseat in the automobile of the important, but it was barely even on the road anymore. As I feverishly looked at my cell phone, monitoring the clock with every change of minute, I looked once to my left, and then once more to my right, creating fabricated life stories of my classmates: This dweeb in the second row looks like he’s into show tunes and wedgies. That broad over in the corner was probably the popular, sexy girl in high school, until that story surfaced about her 6th period dump that flooded the ladies’ room. That cool dude looks like he just smoked a jaybone. Jealous. Then I looked at the d-bag with long, stringy blond hair, who always wore a bike helmet to class and referenced “going green” and saving the world, one ecosystem at a time. He infuriated me. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name, but it was probably something along the lines of Jonathan or Lawrence—ya know, something that could be easily abbreviated but would be repeatedly corrected if done so. Dude was a ween. He once told me to cover my mouth, even though I totally did, when sneezing because the Swine Flu is a killer. Total zero.
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