Monte Morris nudged Jamal Murray, grinning. “Yo, Jamal, those chicks over there are totally checking you out. I think they know you just scored 48, man. And they look like the kind of chicks who would double up on a dude like you.”
Murray rearranged himself in his newly-constructed fort. “Nah man, I think they’re checking you out, you should go over and talk to them, my treat.” he said uninterestedly. “Either that, or they’re checking out my new digs.”
“Yeah, about that…” Monte started. “We’re at the hottest club in the whole Denver area, with the hottest chicks, wearing the freshest clothes, they’ve even got champagne on tap…” he pointed over to where Juancho Hernangomez had his face under a beer tap, appearing to give himself a bath with champagne. “…and all you want to do is order a whole bunch of mozzarella sticks and make a throne out of them?”. He reached over and plucked a fried cheese appetizer from Murray’s armrest and began munching.
Murray sunk into his seat and raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s jealous of my mozzarella sticks.”
“Not really, no. I’m just thinking that you could be seizing your opportunity better. Like, you could have done this any time, you’ve got the money. You didn’t have to wait until you scored 48 to fulfill your dream of a mozzarella stick empire.”
Murray wasn’t listening. “…do you think anyone’s ever played Jenga with mozzarella sticks?”
Morris got up. “If you think you can find someone to play deep-fried Jenga with you, more power to you. I was only hanging out over here because I didn’t want Mr. 48 to be sitting by himself in the club while all his teammates partied their butts off. I’m gonna go talk to those chicks, and I’m gonna bang one of ’em. Maybe both. I’ve got the handwritten sign that says ’48’ on it all ready to go, so when you’re ready for the Wilt photo-op, let me know. But not in front of your… creation.” And with that, he left.
Murray sat on his cheesy throne and mused. The concept of Jenga played with mozzarella sticks was intriguing, but it raised so many rules issues that he wasn’t sure could be reconciled…
“Excuse me, is… is that a castle made of mozzarella sticks?”
Murray was shaken out of his reverie. He looked over and saw an incredibly beautiful woman, looking up at him, flushed with embarrassment. She giggled a little bit and shoved aside the bit of hair that had fallen in front of her face.
“Uh, yeah. I guess you could call it that.”
“Can I join you?”
Murray scooted over. “It’s a bit tight, but I think we can make it work.” he replied, smiling sheepishly.
The woman climbed up and sat next to Murray. It was, indeed, a tight fit; the throne was built for the reigning king only. They sat in silence for a bit, body to body, sometimes grabbing a stick and dipping it in the marinara moat. Suddenly, she spoke again.
“This may sound weird… but have you ever thought about playing Jenga with mozzarella sticks?”