Sterg's phone call brought back a ton of good memories when the 4 of us use to play in 3 on 3 tournaments quite frequently.
Jimmy T ran the point. Jimmy was a 5'5 chinese guy who couldn't shoot to save his life, but he had these motherfucking calves like watermellons and if he ever caught you under the basket, you were getting dunked on, punk... and it would be nasty. Jimmy T could put you on a poster however you wanted. You felt like seeing a leaner? No problem. Here you go - PLAAOW - how you like me now?
You wanted a tomahawk? Watch me'na. Ka-BOOM. In yo' mouf. I've even seen Jimmy T hit a 360 with power on a 9 and a half foot rim. Un-fuckin-believable. Anyway, when Jimmy would throw one down on top of his defender's head in a game, the crowd would go nuts. You could see the hootchie mamas already start to line up from the neighbouring courts hoping to seduce our point guard and, through any means necessary, procure his ejaculate in a plastic zip-lock bag they could keep in a freezer, in order to later impregnate themselves in case Jimmy ever came into money.
You know, if he wanted to, Jimmy T, right after one of his game-time dunks, could've stood underneath the destroyed basket and rightfully have requested a blowjob from either me, Sterg or Mally. And to tell you the truth, after watching him dunk, the only appropriate answer would've been "do you want us to suck your balls, as well, Jimmy?"