I have virtually everything a man could reasonably ask for: My very own sports blog, an invisible unicorn sidekick that helps me fight crime, and almost 50 percent of my original teeth. However, I can't help but feel that something is missing. I mean other than a harem comprised of obedient Lynda Carter clones. And today I finally figured out what that "something" is: A Flying Monkey With Scream Sound!!

One part flying daredevil, one partscreaming monkey, all awesome.

Basketbawful reader Mithat Gurdal submitted the following picture, which proves once and for all that man love knows no boundaries, be they work or race-related...

Editor's note: Keep the man love coming, people. And I mean that purely in the "send me e-mail" sense of the word.

Funtastic extra: The word verification for this post? qqeeyr. Seriously.

Perverts of the world rejoice! A UK-based grad student named Joe Malia has invented a device that will allow you to post to your sports blog at work or view online porn at the public library. It's the Techno Privacy Scarf!!

Who needs dignity and self-esteemwhen you have porn and privacy?

Sorry there's no Worst of the Night post today. Let's just say that the Lakers making it back to the NBA Finals was the worst thing that happened last night -- for me, anyway -- and leave it at that.

Instead, here's some semi-anguished man love between Sasha Douchavic and Vladimir Radmanowhatever. Looks like Sasha isn't too happy about being the catcher. Memo to Sasha: Always establish a safe word. Thanks to everybody who sent this one in; you know who you are, you sexy bitches.

Chub-tastic extra: Here's Sasha experiencing some wingardium leviosa in his man region over a little old-school man love between Magic Johnson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. I guess man-on-man affection is storied a Laker tradition. It's enough to give me Forum Blue and Gold balls.

Note: This image was brought to my attention by Basketbawful reader Wormboy2000. So I want to thank him and invite everybody else to send me their own man love pictures. I only ask that you limit your submissions to pictures of NBA players past or present whose otherwise completely heterosexual actions can be misconstrued as being totally gay. (i.e., I am not asking for homosexual porn.)

According to the world's leading food experts, breakfast is by far the most important meal of the day. In fact, based on their latest findings, if you didn't eat breakfast this morning you're probably too dead to read this. Ironically, these same experts were so busy informing us of the impending food-pocalypse that they had to skip breakfast themselves...and are now dead.

Let's face it, most of us skip breakfast (and yes, the burning sensation in your gut is called "hunger"). Why do we do it? Because after hitting the snooze button 11 times, we barely have time to make it to work, let alone brew coffee, fry an egg, and burn some toast. But can you imagine a Utopian future where you could make your breakfast in one step, and do it fast?

There was a whole lotta man lovin' going on in last night's Spurs-Lakers game. Package grabbing? Check. Ass grabbing? Check. Suggestive lip smacking? Check, check and check. (I apologize if I missed a submission or forgot to credit someone. If that's the case, email me or leave a comment and I'll get it fixed up quicker than a Tony Parker flop.)

First, eljpeman (via the Yahoo! Sports NBA page) showed me "How the West is Won." (Apparently, winning the West has something to do with Kobe's genitals.)

Then emma noticed that Timmy seems to have a fixation on Pau's "fertile Spanish valley." And Pau looks...surprised...to say the least.

Tom Brady and the New England Patriots. From "The Greatest Team of All Time" to "The Greatest Super Bowl Flop of All Time." Just like that.

Brady spreads his legs for the Giants defense...

...then bends over for a merciless sodomization.

poster boy (pos'-tuhr boi) noun. A player who gets posterized, be it once, throughout a game, or repeatedly over the course of his entire career (see The Collected Works of Gregory Donovan Ostertag).

Usage example: Kyle Korver recently became the poster boy of the year.

"Hands...feel like...stone..."

stone hands (ston handz) noun. A term used to describe the hands of a player who has extreme difficulty -- note the emphasis on extreme -- catching a basketball, dribbling a basketball, passing a basketball, and finishing layups. In some radical cases, the player can't even dunk effectively. The dunk, of course, being a shot that's successfully converted something like 100 percent of the time. Let me put it another way: The only reason you would ever hand this person your baby is if you didn't want that baby anymore. Also, you probably shouldn't let him carry the grocery bag with the eggs and bread in it.

[Hat tip to Basketbawful reader Anne.]

Riddle me this, Batman: What's 95% cotton, 5% spandex, and 100% totally hot? Why Nintendo Controller Panties of course!

Note to nerds everywhere: Now isnot the time for button mashing.

Note: This letter is a response to Ray Allen's love letter to his long lost jump shot, as dictated to Basketbawful reader Justin.

Dear Ray,

I'm sorry I have to break it to you this way, but really, I think it's best to be honest after all we've been through.

I'm leaving you.

Actually, I left you. For Jason Kapono. Before you say anything, yeah, I know. He'll never be the player you were, he'll never be able to carry a team, he'll never really be able to actually dribble, but man! Have you seen his hair? The moment I did, I was infatuated. Every morning I'd wake up with you, ol' balding Ray-Ray, a little past his prime and I'd fantasize, Ray, I really would. I know I should have said something before I left but I didn't want to hurt you. I hope we can remain the best of friends. I'll invite you to the wedding.

Sincerely,

Kapono's Jump Shot

Cafe Tibet has always been my favorite Berkeley eatery. Yes, I have been to Chez Panisse too. Cafe Tibet is literally like entering another world, from the moment you walk in and see the prayer wheel spinning on the front table, hear the Buddhist chants in the background and if you get close, feel the mist from the small fountain. You can peruse the menu page 1, and page 2 which is maintained on line by the Tibetan Association of Northern California, and see for yourself the myriad of authentic choices. I celebrated here in 2004 upon passing Ground School in pursuit of a pilot's license, which was much fun (both the food and the flying)!

Flip Saunders + Om nom nom nom = This quote: "[Kendrick] Perkins is eating us up."

As Basketbawful reader Jimmy said: "Maybe he should keep his private life to himself."

Another super-deluxe man love special from m. Alana of Billie Basquetbaäl. Praise her name.

I was perusing the Yahoo images from last night's game, and I saw this great ass-out image of Pau Gasol playing face-up defense on Kevin Garnett.

I knew I'd seen this awkward squat somehwhere before, and after a little poking around -- I swear by all that's holy that wasn't a pun -- I found it. (Sidenote: Is Timmy giving Pau an off the heezy?)

The one on the right is Kobe. Trustme, it makes sense. Sort of.
I don't know how to put this but I'm kind of a big deal. People know me. I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.

What am I talking about, you ask? Well, starting today -- and lasting until they pry it from my cold, dead hands -- I will be writing the NBA Closer column for Deadspin. (No, seriously, here's my first column.)

Those of you who have been in a crowded dance club, on a busy commuter train, or involved in an all-out NBA brawl can probably appreciate this truism: Sometimes you want to be groped, and sometimes you just want to be left alone. But how to you get that subtle point across, short of a cruel and punishing nutshot?

Well, wonder no more. Here's the latest in "back the hell off" technology: The No-Contact Jacket!!
"Touch me again and I willflash-fry your ass, douchbag."

Basketbawful reader ari responded to today's Spurs-Lakers love post with the following comment: "You missed one crucial man love incident, but I couldn't find a picture for you. Duncan was close to getting a technical for arguing, and Pop came over and grabbed him by the front of his shorts, right on his junk, and pulled him away. If you could find this picture...oh man. Or maybe somebody recorded the game and could get a still shot? I think it happened in the 2nd quarter."

I knew exactly what ari was talking about, and I'd been looking for a picture -- with no luck -- all day. Then reader Trev stepped up to the plate and got me the money shot. Note that Timmy looks totally mesmerized. Could grabbing his junk be the secret to stopping him? Only Popovich knows for sure...

Pucker up, Ray! Your jump shot may be cheating on you with Jason Kapono, but Lindsey Hunter has something special for you: It's called the anatomical juxtaposition of two orbicularis oris muscles in a state of contraction. Which is just Einstein speak for kissy-face.

Mucho thankias to Karl for sending in this mantastic photo.

man region (man re'-juhn) noun. The male genital area, consisting of a penis, scrotum, and (in most cases) two testicles.

Usage example: Nothing hurts quite like getting hit in the man region.

Word History: Beefy McManstick. Fandangled Mandangler. Longrod Von Hugenstein. Rodzilla. The Schlongmaster 2000. Zamboni Baloney. So many ways to refer to a man's Love Truncheon, so few of which can be used on national television. Broadcasters usually just say something insufferably lame like "he had the wind knocked out of him" or "he's shaken up." But now, thanks to the legendary Reggie Miller, we have a real option.

The gentlemen at Hardwood Paroxysm polled a very wide range of bloggers and established a series of really cool awards. (Basketbawful got a nod in the "Coach Blogger of the Year" category.) Go check it out to see a list of some of the coolest NBA-related blogs out there.

[Hat tip to m. Alana of Billie Basquetbaäl. She sent me a lot of pictures, so get used to seeing her name.]

Dear My Jump Shot,

Hey, baby. It's me. Your wittle itty Walter Ray bear. It's been so long since I've seen you, baby. So damned long.

Look, I don't know why you walked out on me or where you went. Maybe you're rotting in a dumpster somewhere in Dorchester or Roxbury. Maybe you're chained in a dark basement, all wearing a leather hood and getting regular colonoscopies from some dude named Zed. I don't know. I kind of hope it's one of those two things, because I'd hate to think you left me on your own. Your brutal death and/or abduction and torture would sure make me feel a lot better about myself.

I know times have been tough. I don't stroke you as often as I did in Seattle. I know that. But Baby, times change. We aren't 19 anymore. I can't be strokin' you 20-25 times a night. But those 10-12 times, well, they're quality. Hey, it's more meaningful when you've got to cherish each one, you know?

Think Joel Pryzbilla and the Blazers havebeen Odenized? You'd better believe it.
Odenize (od'-n-iz') verb. To find one's center, or inner peace, in the face of an emotional, physical, or otherwise challenging situation. Odenizing oneself in times of overwhelming sadness, joy, or despair can prevent the situation from getting worse.

Usage example: "After the Blazers started the season 5-12, they took a deep breath, Odenized themselves, and have since won 8 straight."