“What’s up loser. It’s Clint,” Clint Capela said into his phone, smirking at the frustrated sigh of his rival, Dwight Howard. “How’s your summer going?”
“It was going okay until you called. I’m gonna hang up now,” Dwight responded.
“Don’t you want to hear about all the things James has to say about you?” Clint said quickly, eager to keep the former Rockets center on the line.
“He said that we’re gonna win the finals because that bitchboy Dwight isn’t on the team being a bitch all over the place, and then you know what Chris said? You wanna know what he said?” There was no response to this other than silence, so Clint continued, “Chris said that if he had to play with a primadonna bitch like Dwight, he would kill himself. No lie.”
“Okay. I just don’t know how you keep getting my number.”
“I got it from one of your baby mamas here in Houston. Apparently you’re not quite on time with all your child support payments. Oh yeah, that’s right, I forgot to mention, I’m banging one of your baby mamas. So that’s funny too.”
“I don’t know if there’s any pride in that, man.”
Clint could hear his teammates making plans to go out to celebrate, so he decided to wrap up the call. “Listen up loser, me and my best friends Chris and James are gonna go party now, and then we’re going to go win the finals. Everybody here hates you and they always did. I’m a total beast. I made KAT lick my booty hole. Suck it.”
Before Dwight could get in another word, Clint ended the call, smugly thinking of how jealous Dwight must be about one of his own baby mamas getting banged by his rival.