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posted by Jon and B on 7/08/03

What's going on, guys and lady?

This is Jon, the crappy second-rate poster you've spent the last six months reading while wishing B would come flying through your bedroom window and give you a big kiss. Lord knows I was.

B, our celebrity alumnus and newly published author, recently accepted an invitation to help me out on an article. We weighed our options, and decided upon the tragically un-raped nostalgia goldmine of NBA Jam. He has also elected to run down some of the more noteworthy moments in NBA history. Be warned, this article is stranger than anything you've seen on this website in a while, and you will probably ask yourself more than once if we wrote this article while shooting bathroom cleaner into our forearms.

...What? Of course we didn't. What?

Time for reading this article!


(Oh, and when you're done half-heartedly skimming through the boldface text and picture captions, make sure you check out B's link at the bottom of the page.)


ACCLAIM GAME DEVELOPING OFFICE, GLEN COVE, NEW YORK, early 1990s. The setting for one of the most bizarre sequences of events in video gaming history. When police finally gained entry into the second-floor conference room, they found blood-streaked walls, the bodies of three employees, several overturned chairs, a notebook partially filled with hastily-scrawled handwriting, and a 9mm Beretta. Further inspection revealed an audiocassette tape containing a record of audible transactions conducted throughout the course of the day. This is a transcript of said tape.


GARY. Well, guys, I'd just like to congratulate you all on a job well done with Mortal Kombat. This game is going to take the gaming world by storm. I can feel it.

RICK B. I still think Mortal Monday would have been a cooler name.

RICK D. Shut up.

GARY. Yeah, shut up, Rick.

RICK B. Which one?

GARY. Rick B.

RICK B. Rick D?

GARY. No, you.


GARY. Now, uh...we need to follow this up with something big. Mortal Kombat is already selling through the roof, but we'll need a real winner to ensure our place as the elite presence in video gaming. So let's get talking, people. Ideas.

RICK D. Well, I propose an NBA game.

GARY. Ooh, that's risky territory there. Electronic Arts has the basketball gaming market cornered. Did you see last year's game? They had players with REAL HAIRCUTS. They got Michael Jordan's hairstyle perfect, right down to the bald head.

RICK D. True, but the game played like shit. You could only be eight teams. You could never see where your player was. The A.I. was so bad that whenever I was controlling the guy with the ball, the rest of the team would cluster up around me like a bunch of faggots.

RICK B. Did you know that "faggot" really means "bunch of sticks"? So what you really said was, "bunch of bunches of sticks"! You learn something new every day, huh? Huh?

RICK D. Jesus Christ, you've said that like a million times. You tell me that one more time and I swear to God I'll chair you in the face.

GARY. Yeah, Rick B., that's getting pretty old. I don't appreciate the use of that word, by the way.

RICK B. Are you talking to him or me?

GARY. You. Rick B. That's you.

RICK B: Sorry. It's just that B sounds a lot like D.

GARY. Just...okay. So, a basketball game, huh? Well, one thing the sport of basketball doesn't need is more flash. It's a sport full of bling-blinging multimillionaires with stripper girlfriends. We'd have to make it realistic. That's what it's all about these days -- realism. We need home and away uniforms, real courts, stats you can save, the works.

RICK D. I like it. I can check with programming; I think they have a big digitized picture of Clyde Drexler slam-dunking. They were going to use it in Oregon Trail for when you beat the game and made it to Oregon. It was geographically accurate since Drexler plays for the Portland Trailblazers, but it turned out that it didn't match chronologically.

GARY. We're affiliated with MECC?

RICK D. Well, yeah. They went for real cheap after that last disaster. Remember "Oregon Trial"? I don't care how you slice it, courtroom drama-based video games suck balls. I mean, it was pretty cool because you could press "G" at any time to bang the gavel, but that got old pretty quick.

RICK B. I liked that game.

RICK D. You would, you fucking manjob.

RICK B. If you don't stop being so mean, you'll be sorry.

RICK D. Oooooh, I'm scared!

GARY. Yeah! Ooooooh!

RICK D.(interrupting) Really scaaaared!

GARY (interrupting) Oooooh!

RICK D. (interrupting) Ooooooh! Watch out! I'm really scared! Oooooh!


GARY. Oh God...he's...he's got a gun. He's...oh my God...

RICK D. Yeah, I know that, man. I can see that, just like you can. Why did you feel the need to say that
out loud?

GARY. I don't know. I guess I figured, you know, just in case you couldn't see what was going on and you had to rely upon what was being said.

RICK D. How the hell would that ever be the case?

GARY. Well, like if you were --

RICK B (interrupting) SILENCE!

RICK D. OK, man, OK. We're down. We're on the floor. We're sorry.

RICK B. listen. This is how the game's going to be. THIS IS THE WAY WE'RE FUCKING
GOING TO MAKE IT...okay, think. Think...

GARY. Rick B., think this through. Just-just think about what you're doing. My secretary will know what's happened soon, and she WILL call the police. You don't want to do this, Rick B.

RICK D. You're not talking to me, right?

GARY. No, I'm not.

RICK D. OK. Because he's right. Rick D. and Rick B. sound a lot alike. I--


(several minutes of silence, broken intermittently by sobs)

...Okay. Take this down.

It's going to be a two-on-two basketball game, which for some reason takes place on NBA courts in sold-out arenas. Players will either be nine feet tall, or five feet tall. White players will all be good at three-pointers, and black players will have magical powers that allow them to jump thirty feet in the air. Statistics will be inaccurately reflected in ridiculous "skill bars" that show beneath the player.

GARY. Rick, that's the complete opposite of what we just discussed. You're neglecting any sort of sense of teamwork here.

RICK B. Who needs teamwork? Nobody! That's who needs teamwork! The gamer will be able to go through the whole game without having his second player even touch the ball. In fact, the player won't even be able to switch control to his other player without passing the ball to him. And --

(phone rings)

RICK B. Get it. Fucking get it!

RICK D. H-hello? ...what?...

RICK B. Give it to me.

Yeah. Yes, my name is Rick. I do have a gun. ...Okay, I'll tell you what I want. I want...I want this game to be made. Yes, we're in the middle of coming up with a basketball game. Once I outline to you what the game will be like, and once I receive, in writing, an agreement to program the game to my exact specifications, I will release my hostages. There are two of them. Now listen.

During halftime, I want full-motion video. There will be two short video clips, one of Scottie Pippen dunking, and one of Horace Grant running at the camera while pumping his fist. What? Don't tell me it can't be done! This is my game! IT WILL FUCKING HAPPEN!

RICK D. Hey, that's actually a pretty cool idea. But wouldn't you need the space-age technology of the compact disc to do that?

GARY. Yeah, that's what the Sega CD does. That's what makes Sega CD games so fun to play. It's just like watching a movie, only you're INSIDE THE ACTION. Have you played Sewer Shark? The acting is terrible, but it makes up for it by allowing you to point a cursor around the screen and click on different monsters to kill them! It's like virtual reality or something. This is where games of the future are going!

RICK D. Yeah, what with Sega VR shipping to stores by Christmas 1993 and all! Soon every kid in America will have one!

GARY. Hey, Rick B. hasn't said anything in a while.

RICK D. Yeah, since you're laying behind the table and can't see him, I'll tell you what's going on. He's pacing rapidly back and forth with the gun to his temple.

GARY. Haha. What a buttmunch.

RICK B. DON'T JUDGE ME! DON'T FUCKING JUDGE ME! Last night I walked in on my wife making out with the magician at my kid's birthday party. Magic wand, my ass...nobody...nobody can know my pain...WAIT!

GARY. What?

RICK B. I will make them ALL feel my pain. In this game, the computer will cheat ruthlessly. Up by eight points with fifteen seconds left? The computer will steal the inbound pass, hurl it cross-court, and swish it three times in a row to beat you. About to take the lead? The computer will make sure that you clank every single dunk.

RICK D.'re going to take revenge for your cheating wife by making a video game hard? That's just stupid, man. You are stupid.

RICK B. Stupid? I'll show you stupid. Here! Here's stupid!

(sounds of chairs and tables grating against floor)

RICK B. Here. The dunks...will look like (grunting, more grating against floor)...this. Watch me. This is how it will look.

GARY. This ought to be good.

RICK B. Dunk number one! The backwards dunk! This will be the easiest, and least flashy dunk you can make! Watch!

(loud crash)

RICK B. Son of a bitch, that hurts! Okay...okay. Here's the, uh, the windmill dunk!

(loud crash)


GARY. Jesus, it's out of its socket. Rick, you can't do this to yourself. These dunks you're trying to do aren't grounded in reality at all. Pull yourself together, man!

RICK B. Hey, I'm OK! I'm OK! Know what? I can still show you guys the flying ball-on-fire dunk. BOOMSHAKALAKA!

(sound of body hitting floor)

RICK B. Shit, my neck! God! Is it bad if you, like, can't feel your nipples?

RICK D. Doesn't bother me.

(phone rings)

RICK B. Fuck, I can't get up. Put it on speaker.


VOICE. Rick? This is Craig Murphy, NYPD. We heard some crashing, and we want to know what's going on.


NUTFUCKER. No need to overreact, Rick. Just tell me what's happening.

RICK B. Well, I was just showing the guys here some wicked cool slam-dunks, and...and...I can't move very much. I'm hurt.

NUTFUCKER. He's hurt! Team Alpha, the windows! Bravo, door breach! Charlie, blow the charges! On my mark!


NUTFUCKER. Fuck. You guys probably heard that, didn't you? Sonuvabitch. Son...of...a bitch.

RICK B. ohhhhh...oh God...I'm going to jail...I'm going to die...oh God...wait. WAIT.



NUTFUCKER. Uhh...I'm sorry?

RICK D. You don't have the balls.

(gunshot, followed by dull thud)


GARY. Jesus, Rick! OH MY GOD! Don't do this! You--



NUTFUCKER. Wow. Now that was a really poorly-conceived idea if I've ever seen one.

RICK B. Gary...oh God, Gary...what did I do? What have I done? I'm sorry, Gary...

GARY. wasn't your fault. I don't blame you. What transpires in this lifetime, this mere glimpse of the endless march of the universe, is not our own faults. How foolish it would be to claim responsibility for actions, when our conceptions and every element of our existence have been eons in the making. Our fates, our actions, our thoughts, have been set from the beginning, we merely act our parts, and exit stage left. No, Rick, do not be so bold as to believe that you had a conscious hand in what has happened this fateful morn. (groans, then retches violently)

RICK B. Hang on, Gary...hold on...they'll be here any moment...

GARY. Your game, Rick. It was...beautiful. The world will soon know us as kings among men, as martyrs for a cause that had not yet ripened...and it is with this that I send my body on a longboat 'cross this horizon to the glistening shores to meet my ancestors in Valhalla ...this is...the nail in the coffin...

RICK B. Gary, hold on...Gary? Gary? Lord, no...

(loud blast, sound of windows smashing)

BRAVO #1. Tango, left!

(gunshots, dull thud)

BRAVO #2. Tango down...control, this is Bravo 2. Threat eliminated.

The bodies of Rick and Gary were found lying on the floor face-down, with hands outstretched to each other.


(several hours later)

TURMELL. No one can know of this. Did you get the audio surveillance cassette?

RIVETT. Yeah. I had it destroyed.

TURMELL. I hope there isn't a second, hidden backup, so that no one can someday find this conversation.

RIVETT. Yeah, that would suck. So, what do you say? Want to make the game exactly like Rick described it for some reason, no matter how off-the-wall and ridiculous it sounds?

TURMELL. Sure! And let's see if we can't sneak ourselves in as hidden characters. That would be neat!

RIVETT. Yeah, kickass. Hey, are you hungry? How about we go purchase some hamburgers and a cola drink?

TURMELL. Sounds fun to eat!

- Jon
AIM: Boiskov


Where's my snare?
I got no snare on my post.
There it is.
by B

NBA Jam is a fun game! there are Lots of different game modes, such as 1 and two-player Modes. I have fun whenever I play this game, there are not really any games out there that are more fun to play. On the list of great games, this is on top of the List of great games@!

My favorite player is Chris Mullin. Christ Mullin can do lots of different dunks, including backwards dunks and 3 pointers. But if you want real slam dunk action Try, dunking with Scottie Pippen or Clyde Drexler. Ever heard of the movie 'White Men Can't Jump" well, "Black men can JUMP!"

"I pity the fool!"

Some of the things the announcer says are:

"The nail in the coffin!"
"Can't buy a bucket!"

Boomshakalaka is my favorite word of all time, I use it all the time! One time, I was grounded by My mom for saying "Boomshakalaka" and then I said it to her again!

A Little known (or as people on Something Awful say, a little knpwn) fact about NBA Jam is that it is based on real life events in the history of the national Basketball association! in the 1900's basketball was played by smaller white people like chris Mullin who would shoot baskets after baskets and score many points. suddenly wilt chamberlain Rose up out of the dark tundra of Africa and started doing crazy dunks like the Gorilla slam because he was black. ppl were Stunned. So acclaim made a video game about it, which I believe is the first video game about it or at least the first video game about it to be fun, cause I remember playing bill Lambeers combat Basketball and that was like playing with myself. b4 you laugh tho, playing with myself is not as much fun as it might be to you or your sexual lovers! my penis is covered in spines. here is a list of the best moments in the history of the National Basketball.
1987 NBA Finals

With the Lakers up 2-1, Game 4 in Boston was a pivotal one. Win, and the Celtics were even with their long-time foes. Lose, and it would be an uphill battle to win another title. Boston rolled out to a 16-point halftime lead, but the Lakers whittled away at it until they were within eight points with three minutes left and down just 103-102 with 30 seconds to play. A pick-and-roll from Magic Johnson to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar put Los Angeles in front, but Larry Bird responded with a three-pointer to put Boston back on top 106-104 with 12 seconds left. After being fouled on the next possession, Abdul-Jabbar made the first and missed the second, but the rebound squirted out of bounds off Boston.

After a timeout, Johnson took the inbounds pass near the left sideline. He thought about launching a jumper, but lanky Kevin McHale was in his way. So he dribbled toward the key, with McHale in pursuit and Bird and Robert Parish moving over to join him. Before they could collapse on him at the foul line, however, Johnson tossed an old-fashioned running hook shot that nestled through the net, giving the Lakers the lead. After Bird missed an attempt at the buzzer, the Lakers had a 107-106 victory; they went on to win the series in six games.

Afterwards, Johnson labeled the shot "my junior, junior sky-hook," after Abdul-Jabbar's favorite weapon.

"You expect to lose to the Lakers on a sky-hook," noted Bird. "You don't expect it to be from Magic."

Moments after the shot heard round the world, Danny Ainge, NBA Legend Dirk Minniefield, and evil Undead Reggie Lewis emerged from the floor and embraced Magic, holding him down to his knees until arch-nemesis Bird could administer a deadly dose of Human Immunodeficiency Virus into the back of Johnson's neck via a long, green and white syringe. Bird let out a boisterous "NOW WHO IS THE MAGIC" before disappearing into a cloud of smoke, narrowly escaping a retort of fists and fury from Johnson's Laker teammates. It was the worst germ warfare accident in Lakers history until 1992, when center Vlade Divac got SARS.

Thanks to Magic Johnson and Arsenio Hall's War on AIDS the superstars of the NBA remained disease free until 2003, when the entire NBA got hemorrhoids on their tongues from licking Michael Jordan's asshole for twenty years.
"Without B" DVD special edition alternate joke: Byron Scott stuck his fingers in Magic's peanut butter.

NBA Jam secret code alternate joke: Magic Johnson has AIDS! The nail in the coffin!!

Magic and Me.


Dee Brown slam dunked with an arm in front of his face. He totally couldn't see, and that was awesome. Especially since he COULD see everything except the area directly behind his forearm, unless of course Dee Brown was born without peripheral vision and when forced to cover even a small part of his face loses sight of thousands of people in an arena and a basketball goal.


This paved the way to make the Slam Dunk Contest what it is today, eliminating the incredible show of skill by Dominique Wilkins and the determination of Spud Webb and replacing it with jobber basketball stars with gimmicks. Hey look, Isaiah Rider can put the ball between his legs when he dunks! Corey Maggette can do a somersault! Jerry Stackhouse can miss a dunk and then blame it on everybody else! That is what the Slam Dunk Contest should be. Gimmicks executed after three or four tries by players who can barely hit a free throw.

It's downtown Tokyo and I'm checkin' out the local sights on the day of my all-star charity game when I stumbled upon a small Kung Fu dojo with an old man inside.

"Greetings big warrior. You are the one from the stars, I presume? I thought I'd never live to see the day!"

"I'm an all-star if that's what you mean? We have a game tonight ... would you like to come? It's going to be quite a battle even though it's for charity."

"Oh no, young warrior. I'm too old to be fighting! But I wish you well ... you must hurry now if you are the save the little boy, Nezu. That is, if you really are the magic one?"

"I'm not sure what you mean? I'm just sightseeing before my game. What are you talking about?"

"No time to explain! Go through this portal -- find Nezu -- and save him before it's too late."

So begins Shaq-Fu, eight foot tall eighth grader Shaquille O'Neal's foray into the fighting video game arena. Somewhere in time there is a person who walked up to Shaq and said, "Hey big man, let's make a video game where you have to save a little boy from an evil mummy using karate." Shaq was all, "Okay." See, if I was a video game designer and Shaq was Shaq I would go even farther. I'd say, "Hey big man, let's make a video game about how you give me a million dollars, because you get paid about seventy billion dollars to fall into people with your arms in the air and botch every aspect of the game that requires talent over a large torso, and besides, you're only going to spend the money on stupid shit like diamond sunglasses and bottles of Cristall so it doesn't look like you live in a six million dollar building full of humorously oversized shoes and sixty little black kids next time you're on MTV's Cribs."

Then I'd be like, "Hey big man, let me hold a dollar." Sure, it'd be dumb (and too wordy) but it can't be worse than that guy in the Burger King commercial who sees Shaq and says "Welcome to the Kingdom!" First of all, that guy doesn't even work at Burger King. Second of all, if you're leaving a fast food restaurant and you see a famous basketball player walk in, are you going to use that one moment of fame-brushing to advertise the restaurant he's ALREADY WALKING INTO? That guy is Agent Douchebag. No, wait, that guy is 100 CGI Agent Douchebags. If I had that moment of fame I would shoot Michael Jordan and steal his shoes. Or at least shoot his dad. Wait, fuck.

So yeah, the video game is about Shaq using shoes that are on fire to spin kick a mummy to death. The graphics appear to have been pieced together from scraps of papier-mache that fell off some third graders ass during his breakthrough role as a tree in the elementary school production of Enter the Dragon. The sound is only passable because they didn't use any songs from Shaq's rap albums. Overall the game is fun comparable to eating pissed-on glass. And yeah, I know that third grader Enter the Dragon joke at the beginning of this paragraph was weak and e/n, but I just couldn't resist the mental image of an 8 year old picking out which whore he wanted and then whipping some dude's ass with nunchucks.

"Without B" DVD special edition alternate joke: kazaam was so bad shaq was a genie lol

The original Dream Team, the U.S. basketball team that won the gold medal at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona, was a phenomenon on and off the court. It mattered not that it dominated the Olympic competition, beating its eight opponents by an average of 44 points. What was important was that the Dream Team, the first U.S. Olympic team to include NBA stars, gave fans a glimpse of basketball at its finest, and an entire world responded.

Since 1992, basketball has exploded in popularity around the globe, rising to a place where it truly challenges soccer's status as the world's most popular sport. Much of that is due to the impact of the Dream Team, which attracted fans and followers wherever it went.

"It was," said Coach Chuck Daly, "like Elvis and the Beatles put together. Traveling with the Dream Team was like traveling with 12 rock stars. That's all I can compare it to."

And what a band it was. Start with three of the game's all-time greats: Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Add the irrepressible Charles Barkley for a little spice, as well as seven more NBA All-Stars: centers David Robinson and Patrick Ewing, power forward Karl Malone, swingmen Scottie Pippen, Chris Mullin and Clyde Drexler and point guard John Stockton. Complete the roster with Christian Laettner.


Okay, so we all know how wonderful it was when he hit the game winning shot against Kentucky in 92. This, however, does not qualify him for a spot on the Dream Team. THE DREAM TEAM. This isn't the faggot Dream Team that lets Alonzo Mourning on the roster. This isn't the sissy squad that loses to Argentina and Yugoslavia. This was Jordan, Johnson, and Bird. This was Sir Charles and the Admiral. This was DDP's Tag Team Partner Karl Malone, and they let Christian Laettner on the team? Yeah, sure, Laettner hitting that game winning shot was magical. Not as magical as, say, North Carolina State upsetting Houston for the NCAA championship in 83, but I've never seen Jim Valvano on the USA Olympic team. They could dig up his rotted, cancer infested body up TODAY and like, hog tie him to one of Paul Pierce's legs and he would do a better job than Laettner. And if he didn't, at least he wouldn't be a big bitch about it. And he'd probably be doing something more with his life right now than scoring 8 points a game and breaking his leg as one of the rag tag group of youngsters entrusted to Michael Jordan on the Wizards. The Wizards were like the fucking Mighty Ducks. Jordan was Gordon Bombay and Laettner was maybe Lester.

And hey, if they let Valvano play he'd be a hero with a disease, like Magic.

You know, in retrospect if I was going to make fun of somebody from Duke, I should've talked about Bobby Hurley. Drafted as the seventh pick in the first round of the NBA draft by the Sacramento Kings, Hurley was involved in a near-fatal car accident near Arco Arena just nineteen games into his rookie season. His injuries included collapsed lungs-one ripped from his trachea-broken ribs, a shattered shoulder blade, and a yeast infection in his big pink vagina.



Yao Ming gets a funny commercial.

Can I write check?




Can I write check?




In conclusion NBA Jam is quiet a game. See you on the basketball Court!


Special thanks to B for the assist. Now do yourself a favor and buy his goddamn book.

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