Fear and Loathing at the NBA Draft
Note: The following entry came from a tape found by yours truly somewhere in downtown Toronto. The voice on said tape sounds a hell of a lot like Toronto Raptors General Manager Rob Babcock. Here it is:

The drugs kicked in mere moments after we were able to cross the boarder into the Land of the Free and the home of the Bush, which come to think of it was a good thing since trying to talk our way past an alert US customs official with delusions of being the first line of defense against terrorists, liberals and homosexuals is a hell of a lot tougher after the kick of drinking the water from Hamilton hits you. Over a hundred years of dumped chemicals hit the body in a rush that prevents blood from entering the brain, an effect that soon leads the helpless drug addict to vomit like a Mormon after a night out with Lindsey Lohan.

Lucky for me Sam was driving the topless 2005 Beetle convertible as I leaned out and threw up the box of timbits Sam and I had shared for breakfast, however my eyes were caught by some shiny flashing lights and for a few seconds I was back in the Vegas strip club where I first saw Richard Peddie getting a lap dance from two 15 year old junkies and cross dresser. I was lucky then, I took a few pictures and what do you know blackmail does work, I think to myself, I am an NBA General Manager. Then I throw up again.

The pretty lights turn out to be from a police hummer, out of which steps the biggest pig Sam and I have ever seen, 7 feet 2 inches and 300 pounds of pork. With Steel City drinking water running through my veins I knew that I had to let Sam do most of the talking, which was good since I hired Sam because he could relate to today's player, which should be an asset when pulled over by Shaq. Or wait did I hire him because I was on ether and thought that he was Shaft?

Shaq: I think your friend is having some problems, you might want to take him to see a doctor.

Sam Mitchell: He's fine, the throwing up is just natural reaction to watching the highlights from last year's Lakers.

Shaq: Well Kobe makes me want to throw up too. Just make sure he doesn't watch too much of Mark Madsen's dancing, that's enough to make anyone sick.

Shaq let us go with a warning, which I guess Sam didn't care for as he began to put back NyQuil like baseball player popping steroids before the Home Run Derby.
"I see him."
"Who?"
"Vince, FUCKING VINCE CARTER."
"Sam there is no one on the road." *sounds of tires screeching*
"Jesus Sam you're going to get us killed and we have the 7th pick!"
"I hate you Vince Carter." *more sounds of tires screeching*

I finally have regained control of Sam, who is now tied up and sitting in the back seat muttering about Vince Carter. I need to make a decision about who to draft, you see we've got the 7th overall pick and I need to top last year's selection. You see nobody cares about the Raptors, so we need to be either really, really good with our picks or really, really stupid, ah fuck it I'll just go on an ether binge and let the chips fall where they may.

*Sound of the Rolling Stones' Jumping Jack Flash in the back ground. Also a man can be heard ranting about Vince Carter*