DeMarcus Cousins 24 Points Full Highlights (12/1/2013)

At the end of last season, I detailed a visit to DeMarcus by none other than the Basketball Fairy, who granted him three wishes. DeMarcus used his wishes on a nacho cheese-dispensing shower, cupboards containing infinite tortilla chips, and a change to his personality so that he was no longer a team cancer. How are those things working for him, now, at the dawn of a new season? Let’s rejoin the action…
DeMarcus’ house resembled the scene of a grisly, cheesy murder. Nacho cheese sauce was splattered everywhere: the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and upon the lone occupant of the house, one DeMarcus Cousins. Sprawled upon his couch with a pillow over his head, he moaned.

“Too much nachos man. Too much nachos.”

He let out a rancid burp as his stomach protested loudly at the amount of cheese it had been fed. After five months, DeMarcus had finally found the limit to his nacho consumption, a limit which he had previously considered to be, well, limitless.

Another thing relegated DeMarcus to his sofa. His attitude. Every time he stepped on the court, he felt that same directionless anger, the same unfocused rage towards everything: his opponent, his teammates, his coaches, the referees. The Basketball Fairy had lied – she had failed to improve his outlook on the game of basketball as she said she would. He was almost inclined to believe that he had indeed dreamt the whole thing, but one glance at the pile of tortilla chips in his kitchen or the five-foot-tall solidified block of cheese in his shower reminded him that his wishes had been real.

Lazily putting a sole chip into his mouth, the anger began to well up again. It was so unfair. None of his teammates had this problem. The referees hated him for his physical style of play. He was punished for being a superior physical specimen, for being the antithesis to jump-shooting pretty-boys like Andrea Bargnani and Ryan Anderson.

He calmed himself the only way he knew – by consuming more nachos. Desperately cramming handfuls of chips into his mouth, he again was consumed by tears in the cheesiness of his living room. His demons had won, and he was a broken man.

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