Ethan: DEE-TROIT BASKETBALL. (You'd better agree, or Rip Hamilton will elbow you in the mouth.)

Amir: Another barnburner last night. Celtics are looking like theyre going to be the worst team to make the NBA Finals since... The '99 Knicks?

Ethan: Hey, don't talk about Grandmama like that. That team had Charlie Ward and Dennis Scott. 3-D, baby! You already think the Celtics are really going to make the Finals? The Pistons can't steal a game in Boston?

Amir: The Pistons look they're even boring themselves at this point. How can you be a real fan of this team? Flip Saunders even turned to one of his assistants in the third quarter and asked "Is there anything else on?"

Ethan: I'm not a fan of the Pistons; they bore me, too. But the Celtics aren't exactly a thrill a minute, either. That Cleveland series was unwatchable until Game Seven. Even LeBron seemed to know it; he compared himself to Dominique Wilkins after the series ended. Shouldn't you compare yourself to someone who won a title? There's only limited glory in being the Tom Chambers of your generation.

Amir: The Human Highlight film didn't need to win a title. Who needs rings when you can windmill dunk during a game! Greatest Clipper ever!

Ethan: Did you know Kevin Garnett has a month-old baby? I hope he's super-intense when it comes to fatherhood, dusting baby powder on his hands and then clapping to make a dusty cloud in the baby's face.

Amir: I did not know that. I hope he feeds it by swallowing food, then pounding his chest, yelling until the meal gets regurgitated. Who do you think is favored to win it all, now that we're down to the final four?

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Jim, I really think we should talk. Please stop that for a second! You don't need to ask any more questions to Professor Taber, honestly. Class is supposed to get out in three minutes and no one else is raising their hands. No one. And you understand everything perfectly, I know. How do I know? Jim, you've used me to write down literally every single word that has been spoken in class. These notes are beyond extensive...you even took notes when that chick sitting next to you coughed "LOSER!" when you raised your hand for the eighth time after class had been going for only 10 minutes. Just put me down for a second so we can talk.

I'm tired, Jim. Really tired. You raise me up at least 15 times per class every day, and you take, like, at least 21 credit hours. Who are you trying to impress anyway? Even the professors are sick of you. And meanwhile, I'm falling asleep because no blood is getting to me. Ever hear of gravity, Jim? DO NOT RAISE YOUR HAND! Jesus Christ, man. I'm your hand. I'm not going to call on you when I ask you a rhetorical question. I mean...seriously?

House Painting: It's a pity job. You're pitied more than an armless kid in an Easter egg hunt. No one hires college painters and doesn't expect do redo all the trimmings the following day. Only mothers who have kids in college will ever hire you, because let's face it, you don't care enough to do a good job. But the pay is great--too bad you're too worn out to spend it.

Dad's Office: "Yeah, I was going to work somewhere else, but my Dad got me a job in his office doing some administrative work." What this really means: "So my Dad hired this really nice single mother who couldn't afford to feed her kids, and she was doing a great job, but then he realized I didn't have a summer job so he fired her and put her family out on the street. Realistically, I won't do anything but fetch coffee and ward off seductive glares from Wanda, the buzzardly, post-menopausal accountant with more excess skin than Hurley from Lost after a week in the sauna."