Tag: Ryan Anderson

Ryan Anderson, Devonte, and several of his gang members rode in Devonte’s beat-up car towards the Smoothie King Center, home of the Smoothie King himself. Turning the flamethrower over and over in his hands, Ryan was lost in thought. How did he know that the Smoothie King wasn’t controlling his own thoughts right at this…

Ryan Anderson looked with concern at the large amount of weaponry presented to him. “Oh, uh, I didn’t really expect all this, you know. Maybe I was just going to have a talk with the guy.” “Just talk with the Smoothie King? Don’t make me laugh.” The extremely fat black man, who had revealed himself…

Ryan Anderson considered New Orleans his second home. It wasn’t as good as California, the ladies, perhaps, not as voluptuous, but very nice nonetheless. There was just something about the vibe, the culture, that made him feel as if he was stranded in an exotic land of poboys and jazzbos. He looked up at the…

He jumped. Twelve floors was a long way to fall. Ryan Anderson cursed is hastiness. He was, after all, the one with the arm-mounted flamethrower. Incinerating a few cops in his condo would have fewer consequences than if this went wrong. He hoped his intuitions were right. He pointed the flamethrower at the ground, hoping…

Ryan Anderson stared, dumbfounded, at the words stamped on the device attached to his arm. He checked, squinted, and checked again, but the letters did not change. “Smoothie King” He knew what he had to do. The all-consuming anger that he had felt while incinerating his teammates with his arm-wielded flamethrower had given way to…

Ryan Anderson ran. He had to get out of here. They would find the carnage he had created any time now, and they would know who had done it. He stumbled through the once-familiar practice facility, which had now become a maze of torment. Each corner brought the dread of confronting more of the Pelicans…

Ryan Anderson, having just finished incinerating his teammate Anthony Davis, looked around at the destruction around him. The burned-out corpses of those he once called friends, those he once called mentors, littered the gym. “I am… the flamethrower?” Anderson’s voice contained none of the conviction that he had previously shown. The righteous anger that flooded…

Ryan Anderson was hard at work. He had always like to tinker with things, even before he discovered his proclivity for basketball. His landlord had complained when he built his underground workshop underneath the tony condo complex he lived in; a couple million dollars was enough to alleviate any concerns. The builders always asked him…