First off, did anyone see Lebron's banger last night? That was straight fucking insanity.
For those of you who missed it, allow me to describe.
LBJ pogo-sticked into the air, as Mo Williams' alley-oop pass soared higher than Snoop Dogg on April 20.
LBJ then floated in the air, thrusting his 6-foot-8, 240-pound frame somewhere between the sky and the hardwood surface, catching Mo's lob and flushing it home in routine fashion.
As witness no. God knows what, I must say it was wowing, otherworldly athleticism. Straight out of a video game. You can't make this up.
I had to wear sunglasses as I watched it all play out. That's how fucking scorching it was to the human eyeball. It was a pure fire hazard for anyone who owns a high definition television. The shit could have burnt right through the screen and set your crib ablaze before Santa Clause can even slither his Oliver Miller-size self down your chimney. It was burning. Burning like Marcus Vick when he supposedly took that young girl to bed.
It was hot like lava-sand, the kind which instigates a second-degree blowtorch on your feet while your bent on a beach in the bahamas. You get the idea.
A dunk of that magnitude engenders dropped jaws the same potent way a shot of Carmen Electra butt naked engenders more wood than a Louisville Slugger.