Every time Flat Earth Kyrie Irving opens his mouth is reminder to us that whatever the limitations of our own intellectual acuity, we have in him the Floor, an individual of surpassing dullness,
to whom crediting "thought" debases the term, whose verbal and written articulation is precisely synchronized with his profound incoherence and whose obliviousness is pathognomonic.
Last night in Boston fannies of the "Celtics", for whom Kyrie played last season, hilariously bombarded his team, Kyrie wasn't even in the building, with loud, unanimous, constant chants of
"Kyrie Sucks!"
The absent object of their derision later responded in writing with an electronic document that surely is destined for museum. Ladies and gentlemen, Behold! the quintessential Kyrie Irving:
to whom crediting "thought" debases the term, whose verbal and written articulation is precisely synchronized with his profound incoherence and whose obliviousness is pathognomonic.
Last night in Boston fannies of the "Celtics", for whom Kyrie played last season, hilariously bombarded his team, Kyrie wasn't even in the building, with loud, unanimous, constant chants of
"Kyrie Sucks!"
The absent object of their derision later responded in writing with an electronic document that surely is destined for museum. Ladies and gentlemen, Behold! the quintessential Kyrie Irving:
