Kelly Oubre approached Devin Booker in the locker room after the game. “Hey Devin, I gotta tell you something.”
Devin looked up from his phone. “You’re finally gotta smash that lady in the third row behind the bench who’s been making sexy eyes at you ever since you got traded here?”
Kelly blinked once, twice. Then, as if banishing forbidden thoughts from his head, he shook his head violently and continued. “No, not that. Women are not my priority right now.”
“Oh boy, I know where this is going,” Devin sighed. “Klay Thompson’s on your mind again.”
“You know, Devin, for being a complete dimwit, sometimes your little peabrain manages to synthesize an insightful thought,” Kelly said. “Yes, I am thinking about Klay Thompson right now. And the only reason I’m telling you about it is because I’ve hired a Klay Thompson impersonator to run in here and attack me at some point, to simulate what would happen if the real life Klay were to brutally ambush me. So if I get attacked, don’t try to intervene, I need to face him one-on-one.”
Now it was Devin’s turn to blink in silence. Finally, he replied, “Got it. No intervention. Just let Kelly and the fake Klay Thompson go at it.”
“Right,” Kelly confirmed. “Now, I don’t know when he’ll be arriving, but he shouldn’t have any problem getting in, I already told security to let in anybody who uses the secret passphrase ‘I hate Klay Thompson’. Months of ninja traini-”
Kelly’s words abruptly stopped when the locker room door banged open. There in the entryway was a slightly chubby man, standing about 6’4″, with a sharpied-on goatee and a Warriors jersey.
“So, Klay, the time has finally come,” Kelly said, slowly and dramatically turning around. “Confronting me in my own locker room, very bold, very bold indeed.” He took out a bandana and tied it around his forehead, then tightened the knot menacingly. “Two of us have entered the combat zone, but only one will leave.”
The fake Klay didn’t seem to know how to react to this theatrical display of machismo, so he charged at Kelly with the apparent intent of tackling him.
“Hi-YAAAAA!” Kelly yelled, getting into his karate stance and issuing a flying kick as the man charged at him. The kick did land, but not very forcefully, and it had the negative side-effect of leaving him off-balance. When the man’s tackled hit him in the chest, Kelly fell over, having only executed one ninja move towards his victim.
Kelly tried to use his ninja powers of evasion to escape out from underneath the fake Klay, but even when he summoned the strength of the samurai, it wasn’t enough to move the large man off of him. “I see you have discarded the principles of fairness in war,” Kelly said breathlessly. “Just as much as is to be expected of such an ignorant fool as yourself, Klay Thompson.”
The man continued to look confused at Kelly’s words. Kelly took advantage of the man’s confusion to karate-chop him across the face, which knocked him asunder just enough to allow for Kelly’s escape. Scrambling to his feet, Kelly vaguely noticed that his forearm was smudged with black sharpie from where he had hit the man’s colored-on “facial hair”. A further series of kicks and punches was directed at him, but despite Kelly’s repeated shrieking of the word “Kamikaze!”, the man hardly seemed phased.
“I hate you Klay!” Kelly yelled, backing away when the man got to his feet and looked ready to start throwing punches of his own. “And now, my hatred will be made complete…when I utilize my secret ancient Japanese ninja knowledge of pressure points to instantly cut off blood flow to your brain!” He lunged forward past the man’s fists and reached around his head to grab the back of his neck with two hands. “You’re dead now, Klay!”
When the man continued to stand there, Kelly had to repeat himself. “At long last I have vanquished you, Klay! That means you died!”
Taking the hint, the fake Klay collapsed to the floor, feigning demise. Kelly stood over his defeated foe with a wide smirk across his face. “Now I’ll be ready when the showdown with the real Klay finally occurs,” he told the stunned onlookers. “He has no chance to survive my meticulously practiced martial art fighting techniques.”
“Are you gonna pay me now or what?” the fake Klay said from the floor.
“Shut up Klay, you’re dead,” Kelly told him. “But even in your death, I still hate you.”