What’s up, Steph? How’s it going? I know you don’t curse, so let me warn you now that, for this letter I’m writing to you, parental discretion is advised because I’m about to get candid. Like The D.O.C. when he moves like a one-arm bandit.
Sorry, I tend to get off track with old school rap references sometimes. Anyway, I’m writing to see if I can help you wake the fuck up for the rest of the NBA Finals. I mean, seriously, what in the hopeless-wanderer–ghosts-that-we-knew hell has happened to you?