Micheal Jordan is in my Room and Needs Quick Cash

Micheal Jordan. First thing that popped into my head. Not Jordan then but Jordan now. Wearing the 97–98 away uniform. Sweating profusely. I think I see a shadow but I figure I’m just having some random flashback. So I calmly turn on the light and HOLY SHIT THERE’S A BIG DUDE IN MY ROOM LOOKING AT ME!!! FUCK! FUCK! KATANA! FU.. wait, what?

“Hey sorry to scare you but I was wondering if you could lend me 500 real quick.”

“Uh, do I look like the kinda guy who has 500 bucks let alone on me?”

“Oh. Do you think anyone else here could lend me…”

“Look, Jordan. Nobody here has that kind of cash. But if you sign and autograph the jersey you are wearing there’s a Lladro in the living room that’s worth a grand that you can get an easy 400 for at a pawn shop.”

hogan

“I guess. Whatever.” As he takes his jersey off .

He signs it and tosses it at me. Jordan asks, “Cool, you got another shirt for me?”

“That’s the only one that’s gonna have a chance of fitting you.” I take a pic of him signing the Jersey so I can get it certified.”

“Want me to sign the t-shirt?” I ask.

He shoots me a dirty look as he walks off with the 94′ Fall Elk Lladro. I feel better about lying about how much the Lladro was worth because he was a dick. Why didn’t he just sell the jersey himself? How the hell did he get in here anyways?

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