Dwight Howard All 195 Dunks Full Highlights (2013-14 Season Dunkilation)

Dwight Howard nervously sat in his car in the parking lot of McDonald’s store #59351. He tried to play it cool, but there was no need, really; it was an off hour and there was almost nobody in the parking lot or the restaurant. He would know, as he had been scoping out the place for the past two hours.

Now was as good a time as any. The worst thing that could happen was a whole group of people showed up for mid-afternoon Big Macs and ruined his plan. He didn’t want to hurt any more people that absolutely necessary.

Abandoning the carefully-cultivated facade of normalcy that he had been wearing for the past few hours, and, in fact, his entire life, Dwight slipped on a black ski mask to match his already all-black wardrobe. He reached down the the floor of his car and retrieved several impressively large weapons from underneath the passenger seat. These he strapped around his shoulders and torso.

As the final, finishing touch, he clipped a fake hand grenade to his belt. Nobody was likely to call him on it, given that he had plenty of very real weapons at his behest. The hand grenade was just there to look cool.

After waiting for a car to pull around the restaurant into the drive-thru, Dwight swiftly exited his own vehicle and ran through the doors of the entrance.

“Yo, everybody to the floor! This is a robbery! If anybody reaches for their phone, they’re really gonna get it!” he yelled, pointing his guns alternately at the several employees who were up front. After some screaming and yelping, they complied, lowering themselves to a prone position on the tiled floor. There was only one person in the dining area, an obese late-fifties woman; Dwight commanded her to join the rest of the employees on the floor behind the counter.

“If anybody’s hiding back there, they’d better come out now, or they’re gonna find out what these guns are capable of!” Dwight bellowed into the kitchen area, to a background of weak sobbing. A meek, balding, man walked out from the office, trembling, with his hands in the air. When Dwight trained two semi-automatic rifles on him, he joined his employees on the ground.

Dwight had an idea. “Hey baldy, you the manager?” The man squeaked out a ‘yes’, looking very much like he was about to have a heart attack. “Lock the doors. We don’t want anybody interrupting our little party.”

The man got up and fumbled for his keys. Eventually, under the menacing gaze of Dwight’s weaponry, he got the doors locked. On Dwight’s orders, he resumed his place lying face-down.

Now that he had the whole McDonald’s at his disposal, Dwight realized that he didn’t know what he wanted from the whole experience. He didn’t really like McDonald’s food, so that was out of the question. He had plenty of money, so making away with the piddly amount that was in the registers seemed hardly worth it. And he didn’t really feel like murdering people in cold blood.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sirens outside the restaurant. Looking away from his captives, he saw several police cars and SWAT vans encircle the building. Then, his phone rang. He answered, making sure to keep one gun ready to fire should his fortress be infiltrated.

“Dwight, this is Captain Frank of the Houston Police Department. I just want to talk to you. The police you see aren’t going to do anything until I tell them to.”

Dwight was silent.

“Why are you doing this?” Captain Frank asked, confusion and desperation evident in his voice despite his attempts to mask it.

Dwight smiled and laughed. “I just like taking franchises hostage.”

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