J.J. Barea Career High 32 Points/11 Assists Full Highlights (12/23/2015)

J.J. Barea awoke to the blare of the hotel room alarm clock. He groggily opened his eyes, his head pounding from the night of hard partying he had just experienced. Despite the annoying alarm’s best efforts, it could not remove Barea’s memories of beautiful ladies and plentiful booze at one of New York’s most exclusive nightclubs. He didn’t pause to think about how nice it was of the bouncers to let a midget Mexican like him in the club in the first place.

“Who said that?” the midget inquired. “I’m not even Mexican, and my height is actually a little above the average for North America.”

Shrugging, he dragged himself out of bed, and pulled on a ratty pair of sweatpants as well as a yellow-stained undershirt, both carefully tailored specifically for him by a specialist in pint-sized clothing.

“Dude, I just picked these up at Walmart. In the adult section, by the way.” the freak who ran away from a circus in Mexico said angrily. “No I didn’t!” he said to no one. “As I said, I’m not from Mexico, but actually from Puerto Rico, and it is an insult to my proud Puerto Rican heritage for you to insinuate that!”

Puerto Rico is not even a real place, but that fact didn’t seem to bother Barea as he continued his morning routine. He began to catch up on his text messages using the world’s tiniest iPhone, created especially for him by Steve Jobs…

“That is a lie. Steve Jobs isn’t even alive any more! This is just a regular iPhone!”

…who had a soft spot in his heart for both Mexicans and people affected with dwarfism. There were several texts from ladies he had met last night, but they all said roughly the same thing: “I don’t want to be seen with a man shorter than me, much less one who is 2 or 3 feet shorter!”

“Nope. Nope.” complained the sombrero-wearing mini-human with Aztec heritage. “You see this one here?” He held the phone up to the ceiling, as if expecting someone to be able to see it. “It says that she’s ready and willing to have a slice of J.J. Barea pie, because I make tons of money and am also really good looking! So take that!”

After spouting these bald-faced lies, Barea went to take a shower. However, once he stepped inside, he found that the knob for the shower was way too high up to even come close to reaching, as it was designed for people of normal height. As a single tear slid down his abnormally small cheek, he gave up, resigned to face yet another day without the cleansing refreshment of a shower.

“I’m actually taking a shower now, and can’t even hear you over the sound of the water.”

What the disgusting malformation from Guadalajara was really hearing was the sound of his tears as he lay naked on the bed, kicked his stumpy legs, and cried, because no one could ever possibly love a pathetic facsimile of a human being such as himself.

“I don’t have to sit here and take this abuse. I’m going straight down to the front desk to complain about the creep who is haunting my hotel room.” He choked out between sobs.

With that, he left, only stopping to put a ludicrously oversized towel around his scrawny taco-filled Mexican-origin body.

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