So the fat barrel of monkey spunk pictured above is leaving the Cleveland Cavaliers via free agency. Who can blame him? LaBron James is out of there, the owner has revealed himself to be the Yosemite Sam of the NBA, and as a wiser man than us once said, "there's nothing to do in that town except masturbate and cry." So fine, Zydrunas, go. Take your career 13.8 ppg to Miami, go live in the Sunshine State until you look like Uncle Fester in blackface. That is if LaBron ever runs out of chores for you to do around the house. No one minds or even cares. Just go. But we beg you, whatever you do, don't do something like this:
Wait, what? You did what? You took out a full page add in the Cleveland Plain Dealer to thank the people of Cleveland? For what, tolerating twelve years of your impression of a big white dude walking into the wind? You're a center not a fucking mime. Why are you so slow? Run! What makes you think anyone cares? Back home you may be the Lithuanian Elvis, but here you're just another reminder why white men shouldn't shave their heads. So we find it dubious that you would think to write a "Dear John" letter to the city of Cleveland after a) you average 1.3 ppg in the playoffs b) the whole team chokes in the playoffs again and c) LeBron goes on ESPN and publicly dries his cock on Cleveland's dress. Hasn't Cleveland suffered enough without getting told it has no chance of ever winning a championship by the white Sinbad?
Let us try and contextualize our contempt with a metaphor. You're a bald, European fuckstick and Cleveland is a busted tranny crack whore you've been shacked up with while trying to finish Junior College (okay so far it's an obvious metaphor). You're kind of a 'tard, and you just can't get your diploma even though it's been like twelve years and that tranny is starting to get creaky and annoyed. This other dude, we'll call him LaBron, has also been putting it to your tranny the last seven years or so. Actually he moved in, and made you sleep at the foot of the bed. He couldn't get his degree either, but heard about this easy night school down south. Now he's down there sending you postcards of this banging chick named Miami, and how that diploma is a sure thing if only you can get your ass down there by September. So what's a bald fuckstick to do? Sit down and talk it out man to tranny like two adults? Disappear? Just pack your shit and go? No. I know, leave the tranny a note. Tell the tranny how much she meant to you all those years. How you appreciated the way she gargled your nuts every June when your report card arrived. How much it meant that she didn't throw your bitch ass out when you begged her to wait one more year. How it isn't you, it's her. How she has nothing left to offer now, and it's just in your best interests to move on. But do it in a way that seems like you're being grateful. She was a loyal tranny, after all. Thanks for the memories!
We think you capture it best in the lines:
"But as I enter the last few years of my career, I felt I owed it to myself and my family to chase my dream of winning an NBA championship."
"I hope you understand."
Well, we hope you understand that we think you should die in a fire, Zydrunas.