Clint Capela All 213 Dunks Full Highlights (2017-18 Season Dunkilation)

“Any time now. Any time,” Clint Capela muttered to himself as he stared through his binoculars at the beach in the distance.

“You’ve been saying that for hours now,” Tarik Black whined. “He’s not gonna show. Can we leave now? I’m hungry.”

Clint removed the binoculars from his face and gave his teammate an unsympathetic look. “Being hungry is a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem. We’re staying right here. You do want me to help you get another NBA contract, don’t you?”

Unable to argue the point, Tarik resumed his position reclining against the large sand dune they were concealed behind. “Just tell me when this dude shows up, I’m taking a nap,” he said, pulling a beach towel over his face.

Clint put the binoculars back up to his eyes and kept watching the sparsely-occupied beach. Not thirty seconds later, he announced triumphantly, “My hypervigilance has paid dividends yet again. I see him walking across the beach. Let’s give him a few minutes to get comfortable before we ruin his little vacation.”

The two men walked quietly across the beach until they were standing directly behind their “target”, who was wearing sunglasses and appeared to be asleep.

“HEY DWIGHT! HEY DWIGHT!” Clint yelled, kicking sand into his ex-teammate’s face. “DWIGHT! DWIGHT! DWIGHT!” Tarik also began kicking, although with less vigor than his teammate.

Dwight Howard ripped off his sunglasses and jumped to his feet. “Man, what the hell? You want me to kick your—oh. It’s you again.”

“It’s me, Dwight!” Clint said happily as Dwight got resettled on his towel and redonned his sunglasses. “I bet you’re so happy to see me!”

“I was gonna ask how you found out my vacation spot, but I have a feeling I know the answer,” Dwight mused, pausing to spit some sand out of his mouth. “You’re banging yet another one of my baby mamas and you got her to tell you where I usually hang out in the summer.”

Tarik snorted at this, but Clint wasn’t perturbed by the accurate description of his methods. “At first I was just gonna call you, but then I thought, why not deliver my special free-agency song to Dwight in person?” he asked rhetorically.

“Oh no,” Dwight moaned, having already been subjected to one of Clint’s self-compositions.

When Clint’s command of Tarik to “give me a beat” was met with a nonplussed stare, Clint launched into his song without accompaniment.

“♫ Teams are going to offer me the max / I’ll be rolling around in hella fat stacks ♪ / ♫ Playing in a team system is a skill Dwight lacks / He also can’t keep his dingaling in his slacks ♪,” he sang atonally, not really following a coherent melody but not rapping either. Tarik stood to the side looking at the ground and shaking his head.

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw in a rhyme about my back,” Dwight said. “Can you leave now?”

Clint was not done with his song. “♫ Running pick and rolls with Harden all day / Is not how Dwight wanted to play ♪ / ♫ No team will ever want him to stay / When he insists on playing his way ♪!” Clint did an awkward, graceless dance, which mostly consisted of him extending and retracting his arms, as he sang this verse and the next. “♫ Always the target of a trade / Because he was completely overpaid ♪ / ♫ Even worse now, he was waived / Dwight’s career has begun to fade ♪.”

“Bought out, not waived,” Dwight noted. “Are you done?”

“One more verse,” Clint replied. “Tarik, sing this one with me.”

Tarik crossed his arms and continued to stare at the sand. “No.”

“Oh, that’s cool, I guess you don’t need my sparkling recommendations to front offices around the league when you’re looking for your next contract. I bet there are teams in Turkey who could use you.”

“Fine,” Tarik sighed, and the final verse was sung in an arhythmic, out-of-tune racket. Tarik did little more than flatly murmur the words in a monotone. “♫ Everybody in the whole league hates Dwight / And all the fans know they’re right ♪ / ♫ Upon any locker room, he is a blight / Dwight can kiss my ass, all right.♪”

After the song was finished, Clint turned around and pulled down his swim trunks, revealing two very dark butt cheeks. “Kiss it, Dwight! Kiss my ass! I’ve destroyed you!”

“Yo, there are kids around,” Dwight replied, turning his sight away from Clint’s bare rear as he retrieved his phone. “I think I’m gonna call the cops now, tell them about how you assaulted me and now you’re out here indecently exposing yourself.”

“You have no witnesses. Nobody’s even watching us,” Clint retorted, shaking his butt back and forth at Dwight. “Just one kiss. That’s it. One kiss on my ass. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Nine…one…one,” Dwight said to himself, hitting the buttons on his phone.

Clint quickly pulled up his shorts. “I gotta go. Don’t forget, I hate you forever and so does James, he talks about it all the time. Come on, Tarik.” Clint started running back to where his stuff was stashed behind the sand dune.

Tarik hesitated for a second. “Sorry,” he said to Dwight, before also running away.

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