michael jordan: legendary cumdumster

Umbreon Dan

Umbreon Dan

is a CAP Contributor Alumnus
many years ago i went to a bulls game with my mother. despite the fact that i owned two xxl bulls jerseys, my mother would not wear one and instead wore a pretty disgusting low-cut top, as if she was 16 years old. after the game my mom made us hang around for a while, hoping to catch a glimpse of the players as they left the uc. jordan and pippen came out of some door after what felt like two hours. my mom ran up to jordan, pulled a fat sharpie out from under her shorts, and asked jordan to sign her breast. i was so embarrassed, all i could do was look at the ground in shame and suck from my large soda. after jordan basically fondled my mother, he said, "hey kid, come here". i waddled over to him and he handed me the sharpie with one hand and took my soda with the other. he takes a tiny gulp, says "have a good night, (BAN ME PLEASE)" (with emphasis on the hard 'r'), and hook shot the still nearly full cup towards a trash can about 10 metres away. he missed by a good ten feet and walked out of the uc laughing maniacally while some poor old mexican woman on the janitorial staff stared at the mess on the floor he just made. to this day, it remains the saddest i have ever seen a person. it was like she had just witnessed the genocide of her entire people before her very eyes.

but the worst part of this whole experience? jordan didn't even autograph my mom's boob. he wrote "CUM DUMSTER" across her chest.
 
I read micheal jackson: legendary cum dumpster. I think I'm dyslexic.

But seriously, hahaha wow. If you punched him, you would probably be sent to jail on account of a hate crime. You know. Cause he's black.
 
that wasn’t the only time i had a run-in with michael jordan. it’s surprising how often you bump into the guy when you have family in the northwest suburbs of chicago. i guess it’s kinda like how everyone out west has their own stephen harper story.

anyway, i had been waiting tables at an olive garden in a town called bloomingdale in illinois for a few weeks while i was there for the summer. bloomingdale doesn’t really seem like the kind of town bursting at the seams with celebrities, but in my few weeks there i had already met one (the guy who did the sub zero motion capture from mortal kombat -- absolutely true story, he was/is a cop in bloomingdale). anyway, i was working a closing shift one night and it got to be around 9:55 pm. i told the hostess, "you should lock the door, it's almost closing time." sure enough, she came and found me in the kitchen a few minutes later and, with a smile, said "you are not going to believe who it is!"

i couldn’t believe my fucking eyes. michael jordan, sitting in the smoking section, smoking a fat cigar with scottie pippen and two other dudes who looked like basketball players i had never seen before. i went up to the table and said "hey michael, how are you doing? you won't remember me, but i actually met you like ten years ago, i was really young." he replies "that’s right (BAN ME PLEASE), i don't remember you. plenty of niggas lose bets to me. now bring us some fuckin' breadsticks and four whiskeys on the rocks befo' it gets ugly in here!"

our restaurant closed at 10 pm, but they stayed until at least 12. the manager didn't want to kick them out, because basically they’re chicago royalty and they had singlehandedly tripled our add-on sales for the day. eventually though, they were ready to leave and when i dropped the bill, michael picked it up for the rest of the table. between the four of them, they managed to tally up a $400 bill -- of which, i was tipped no more than six dollars and twenty-three cents. i was obviously upset; at this point in my life, this guy has now metaphorically rubbed his balls on my face twice. i vented to my manager a bit, said goodnight as she counted cash in her office, and then hit the bathroom on the way out. michael was in there, washing his hands after what i could only imagine was a large, time consuming dump (the bathroom smelling the way it did helped confirmed this theory).

believe it or not, i actually asked him, then and there, why he was such as asshole to me all night. between calling me '(BAN ME PLEASE)', '(BAN ME PLEASE)', and tipping so shitty, he had really begun to grind on me. i was shocked to see that he was actually apologetic. he mumbled something about how he gets "caught up in his image when he's hanging out with his boys", and that he meant no hard feelings. he reached into the front pocket of his sportcoat and pulled out two white pills, and said, "we each take one and we'll be friends". i’m thinking, wow, okay, i'm doing drugs with my friend michael jordan. so we each popped the pill. after i swallowed mine, he reached into his mouth and pulled out the pill i thought he swallowed. suddenly my legs got weak and my head very light. the last thing i remember is him laughing maniacally while he managed to say "night night, (BAN ME PLEASE)"

i woke up a few hours later on the floor of the olive garden bathroom, lying in a pile of (hopefully) my own excrement, with my open wallet resting on my belly. i picked it up and checked it out. everything was intact, save for my tip earnings from last night: my six dollars and twenty-three cents.
 
Things that are Bulls:

[x] Michael Jordan
[ ] Daisy the Cow
[x] Papal Pronouncements
[x] Stock Markets of the 90's
[x] This Story
 
it wasn't nearly as bad as this one time when i was in chicago playing at a local blues club with my band. the set was going pretty well until michael jordan walked in.

first of all, everyone's attention immediately turned to him (which is to be expected, but it's never good when you're the one performing). i didn't let it get to me; i just kept on playing. he made his way across the floor and stood up in front of the stage.

i shit you not, keeping a perfect beat with our song, he started shouting names at the beginning of every other bar, followed by '(BAN ME PLEASE)':

"albert king, (BAN ME PLEASE)!"
"bb king, (BAN ME PLEASE)!"
"robert johnson, (BAN ME PLEASE)!"

at this point, everyone in the audience is laughing at us and we have no idea what's going on. he kept going until the end of the song.

"jimi hendrix, (BAN ME PLEASE)!"
"albert collins, (BAN ME PLEASE)!"

you get the point. anyway, we finish the song and i try and salvage the performance by playing it off: "everybody give a warm hand to michael jordan, he gave us a great accompaniment for this song". with everyone screaming and applauding, i look down at him from stage -- he's nodding his head and smiling this huge automatic smile. it almost looked like a natural reaction to applause. i add "even though i have no idea what it was all about" to scattered laughter from the audience. it cut off almost immediately when he raised his voice and, with just one stretch of his leg, got up on stage with me, saying, "oh you have no idea, huh?"

i kind of cowered away because now he's up on stage with me and instead of looking down at him i'm looking way up, and he's holy fucking intimidating. he pushed me out of the way, grabbed the mic, and just calmly and softly said into the mic "fuck the blues". then he turned around, straight up snapped the neck off of my guitar, threw it at my drummer's face, and walked out of the club.

we had to improvise stand-up comedy for the rest of the night. and later that day, the drummer was diagnosed with cancer. fuck michael jordan.
 
not that long ago, i was out golfing with three of my friends, one of whom was in the band, and another was his girlfriend. they like it because it's a group activity that also provides a lot of quiet one-on-one time. i'm not a great golfer, and i'm having a pretty lousy game, but every once in a while i nail a hit that would make tiger woods proud. as we're teeing off on this 400-yard par 4, i felt the driver hit the ball perfectly and heard that beautiful 'chink' sound. i thought we lost it, but then my friend pointed it out, landing on the green, i swear, 10 cm from the hole.

but, as fate would have it, there was fucking michael jordan.

he and somebody were golfing on the hole in front of us. he saw my shot, threw a can (probably a beer) on the ground, and walked onto our green with a putter. i just stared in awe as he putted in my perfect shot. then he reached in, pulled out my ball, and, (he's fucking michael jordan) threw it way up into the air. he just threw it, and we never saw it come down.

we got into our carts to drive up to him, but then two more carts full of huge basketball players swarmed out of the bushes, coming toward us. we bailed the hell out of there.
 
soo basically MJ has insulted your mother, as well as the hard working janitorial staff of the arena, as well as disgracing you with a lowly tip....AAAAAND called you a (BAN ME PLEASE) multiple times and finishing you off with the classic "lets be friends and take pills while i dont actually take mine" technique

its safe to say hes my hero.
 
so in my group of friends, there are a couple of girls who like to party. we know of this great night club that will let anyone in after 2 (before that, it's a gay club) and closes between 4 and 5. they sell drinks to minors and there are lots of gays. what's not to like, right?

so on this particular evening, we decided we would hit this club up, but we didn't have anything to do until it would let us in at 2. we decided to pick up some drinks and waste away the time in the parking lot. at 2, when they let us in, we were already pretty wasted. i wandered off from my group of friends and got picked up by this guy.

it was fucking michael jordan.

i'm not going to lie: we had a good time on the dance floor, the music was great, and the club was bursting with energy that night. i won't go into much detail, but although he didn't take me home, we did some gay shit that night, oh my god.

after a while, i guess he got bored. he swaggered over to my group, put his arms around the two underaged girls, and walked out of the club with them. they got into his car and he drove off. the night was totally ruined. needless to say, i haven't been to that club since.
 
then there was the time we were holding a barbecue to raise funds to preserve the experimental lakes area freshwater research plant. i was one of the volunteers on the grill, making hot dogs, hamburgers, and vegetarian burgers. everything is going fine, people were telling me the food tastes great (even the veggie burgers). out of nowhere, i swear to fucking god, michael jordan saunters over, clearly drunk, doesn't say a word, and just topples the grill. he just pushed it right over. all the food was thrown all over the ground. then he grabs the donations and runs off, yelling "fuck y'all (BAN ME PLEASE)s!"

as if that wasn't bad enough, the guest speaker, a biologist from northern ontario, was knocked out when a falling golf ball nailed him on the head. what the hell is this guy's deal?
 
Amazing, I've had identical experiences to these, but with James Albis.









come back bro we miss you :( :( :(
 
but the absolute kicker was the time i was at a steakhouse with my family on our vacation in florida. he was sitting a few tables away from us, and we stared in awe all evening. since he was with a girl, nobody wanted to pester him, and i was thinking, "there's no way he'll do something dickish in front of her". i was right -- he was acting mature and i didn't hear him say '(BAN ME PLEASE)' the entire night.

finally, he paid their bill, then got up and went to the bathroom. i kind of had to go myself, so i thought i would casually go in and say "what's up" to michael fucking jordan. i open the door and he's in one of the two stalls. i thought to myself: "how funny would it be to take a dump next to michael jordan", so i opened the door, finished my business, and went to wipe.

then i realized the toilet paper was gone.

there was writing on the empty roll. it said "fuck bitches, kill whiteboys -mj"
 
Not all of the championship bulls are assholes. Get this. I was visiting Chicago a few years back because i heard it was a real tourist hotspot. It was a long flight in and I was pretty beat so the first thing I did was grab a coffee from one of the rare corner Starbucks. As I'm walking out I'm fumbling trying to get my wallet back into my pocket with my left hand while my right hand is holding a piping hot mocha-chino-foam-latte. Not paying attention, I bump into another human being. And this guy was fucking huge. As I looked forward all I could see was a coffee stained chest. I slowly tilted my gaze towards the sky and a full foot above my head was the face of former Chicago Bulls superstar center, Luc Longley. This guy was an icon. I begin making an ass out of myself as I grab whatever I can nearby to clean this God's shirt off. As I turn to run for more napkins, he grabs me in a full on metal-claw grip by the shoulder.

He says to me, "Don't worry, little man, it is only a shirt."

Slightly relieved, I ask him how I can possibly make it up to him.

He says he's having a party at his gigantic Chicago high-rise apartment, one fit for a championship center (the party AND the apartment), and he'd love it if I could come. He told me that me spilling coffee on him was probably fate. He also says there'll be Bulls cheerleaders, free super expensive champagne, and Dennis Rodman may make a brief appearance.

So I call up like ten super hot girls I know in the area because Luc tells me we have to keep the ratio something ridiculous or else Rodman won't show. So these girls bring a bunch of friends and next thing you know I'm strolling into Longley's place with 8 girls around each arm (mostly 9s and 10s). First thing Luc does when he sees me is pops his best bottle of champagne and sprays it directly onto each of the girls white tank tops (no bras, SCORE) and then lets me chug the last half of the bottle. I could already tell this was going to be the craziest party I had ever been to.

So about an hour later me and Luc are doing lines off Megan Fox when we hear a knock at the door. Who else could it be except John Stockton and Karl Malone. Luc informs me they're notorious party crashers. They usually come to Bulls parties and ask to stare at the championship rings for a couple hours while solemnly sipping on some whiskey sours. This time they weren't in the mood for that shit though. They came here to prove something. They look at Luc and say, "Luc, we're here for your rings. Two on two, choose your partner."

I'm like holy shit it is on. Luc is like 20 beers deep and has had a variety of hard drugs, but he suddenly puts his game face on and I know he's fucking ready to dominate these pussies. What I didn't expect was for him to turn to me and say, "Bro, are you fucking ready."

I was fucking ready.

There were a couple reporters at the game so if you look it up on espn you'll probably find it. But in case you can't, here's a brief summary of the game: Me and Luc were fucking money. It was over before it started. At one point in the game I crossed up Stockton so hard that he ripped every pair of short shorts he had ever worn. Karl Malone wasn't too pleased about the outcome and next thing you know he's waving a shotgun in the air screaming about how Steve Kerr was a piece of shit. Me and Luc fucking booked it out of there. We ended up in an abandoned alley where we beat up a few people who tried to mug us. We're panting and out of breath and Luc just looks me in the eye for a second before we both start laughing like we've never laughed before. The entire night was so perfect, there was nothing else we could do.

After fifteen minutes or so, the laughter died down and Luc gave me a solemn look. I knew something was a bit off. He looks at me and he says, "JabbaTheGriffin, I know I said don't worry about it, but I may need a bit of money to replace this shirt."

Now this guy just showed me the time of my life so I tell him it's no problem and ask how much he wants.

"About tree fiddy."

It was about that time I noticed that Luc Longley was actually a giant crustacean from the paleolithic era. I said get out of here you old Loch Ness monster! Get your own goddamn money!
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top