“Moooooom. Mom! Mom Mom Mom Mom. Mom!”

“What is it, my little DeShawn Stevenson of the Washington Wizards?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“That’s nice, dear. Hello to you, too.”

“… Mom! Moooom Mom Mom MOM! Moooom!”

“What, dear? What?”

“… hi, Mom. Look what I got!”

“Yes, dear. Now why don’t you go off and play basketball with your friends that constantly whip your bottom on the court?”

“… MOM! OH MY GOD MOM MOM MOM! Look what I’m wearing to Game 5 of the playoff series against Cleveland!”

“WHAT? What do… oh, Godda… I am going to beat you within an inch of your playoff life if you don’t march upstairs right now young man and take that ridiculous costume off.”

“And don’t stomp your feet up those stairs or I will tell your father about this.”

*slam!*

“While you’re up there, why don’t you learn a little perimeter defense so you don’t smell liked burned flesh so much?”

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU AND I’M WRITING ABOUT THIS ON MY MYSPACE!”