Silky Johnson: "Going Platinum"
Posted: Fri Mar 08, 2019 4:04 pm
As his lowrider bounces its way toward the local Motel 6, "Sweet" Silky Johnson feels as fresh as a cucumber as he calmly awaits the firestorm of reporters who have gathered outside his hotel, eager to hear from the first overall pick of the 2026 PBSL Draft. Decked out in his finest Gucci threads and with a blunt in hand, Silky is more than prepared for this moment—in fact, he's waited his entire life for this. As his 1964 Chevy Impala pulls up to the spot, his lowrider is quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught of journalists, each of them vying for position to be the first to interview the young guard out of Georgia. Taking one last puff from his blunt and tossing it out the window, he calmly exits his vehicle, ready to tell the world about his plans to overtake the league. His bodyguards quickly surround him to protect the rising star.
"Silky—Silky, you've just been drafted by the Utah Jazz with the first overall pick, how do you feel right now?" asks Robby Brewer, a promising young journalist from ESPN.
"How do I feel? I feel like a vicious, salivating pitbull that's hungry to eat up the opposition; I feel like a fine wine: cool, yet crispy and refreshing," Silky responds as he flips off his Ray Ban sunglasses. "I knew this day would come ever since I won the "Player Haters Ball" on the Dave Chappelle Show. And just like all those other player haters out there, I'm ready to shut down this joint. I'm ready to take over this league."
Another journalist, Rocky Rider from CBS, elbows his way to the front of the crowd, microphone in hand.
"Silky, what lessons have you learned from winning the "Player Haters Ball", and how do you feel those lessons will translate on the basketball court?" he asks.
"What a wonderful question young man, maybe one day you could be my personal assistant—SIKE! Now in regards to the gala that I frequent on an annual basis, I've learned that you can't trust anybody in this world—no matter how close they are to you. I've learned that sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands, whether it's with a basketball or a .44 Magnum pistol," Silky suggests as he waves off the reporter, allowing another to step forward.
"Blake Essex, NBC Sports. We recently heard that you were ticketed for soliciting prostitutes, is that true?" he asks with a mischievous smirk on his face.
"You know what, I ought to b*tch slap you right now for even suggesting such a thing," Silky relegates. "But I won't. I won't because I'm better than that. You see, when you reach my level of fame and fortune, you don't have to ask for sex—sex comes to you. But the fact of the matter is, is that I'm innocent until proven guilty. And I won't be found guilty because I have the feds in my pocket, much like the media which chases me all around town. Next!"
Another reporter, this time Alex Bronson from ABC, pushes his way forward.
"Silky, last season the Utah Jazz finished the season with a deplorable record of 9 wins and 73 losses. How do you feel you can turn this team around?" Alex asks.
"First and foremost, that's Mr. Johnson to you, young whippersnapper. And as for your network goes, I must say that they stink!. But to answer your question, I have big plans for this team. I plan on running the show—that's what a true leader does," Silky proclaims. "I'm going to be all over that basketball court, feasting upon the opposition with a flurry of jump shots and remarkable passes. And when all is said and done, you'll be begging to see more of the glitz and glamor that is 'Sweet' Silky Johnson. I'm going to show the world how a true "Player Hater" balls, and—"
Before he can continue, Silky Johnson spots Stephen A. Smith from ESPN looming in the background, anxious to get a word in.
"Stephen A. Smith, I'm surprised you came—I figured you'd be on television spitting some irrelevant bullsh*t like you normally do with Max Kellerman," Silky asserts as he waves him forward with his cane, courageously standing up to the renowned reporter.
"Silky Johnson, how dare you come at me with such ridiculous, such ludicrous, such egregious accusations! I'll have you know that Max Kellerman is a dear friend of mine, and we're proud of our work at ESPN," Stephen A. Smith furiously declares as tiny balls of spit fly from his mouth. "I'll tell you what, I'm going to ignore your childish remarks because I'm bigger than the pedestal that you've put yourself on. What the world wants to know is, how do you plan on 'running the show' when your team consists of only a few other players with little to no experience, huh? Got no answer for that, do ya top dog?"
Silky reaches for his toothpick and promptly flicks it in Stephen A. Smith's direction, barely missing his face.
"Oh Stephen A., how pedestrian of you. Maybe one day you'll learn the importance of respect in this world—much like how your wife did last night when she gave me a wishy washy in the Burger King parking lot," Silky responds. "But to answer your petty question—which you'll undoubtedly attempt to refute on your lackluster television show—I plan on incorporating my teammates in every facet of the game. I've already linked up with Slim Jenkens and he's ready. Israel Perez, Joe Futrell—they're all ready to ball too. I plan on devouring our opponents with an array of flashy passes and alley oops; I'll be feeding my mans in the post and kicking it out to Perez on the perimeter because I'm sly like that. We'll be bringing in some new guys too so y'all better watch out."
Stephen A. Smith is suddenly pushed aside by an enraged Skip Bayless, who angrily steps up to the plate.
"How dare you attack my friend with such impotent remarks! You better watch what you say because you won't last long in the PBSL if you don't straighten up your act! Now with that said, I can't help but ask: With Utah being such a conservative state, what sort of personality do you plan on bringing to the team?" he asks.
"Skip, I plan on bringing a lot of swagger into that clubhouse. Mint coats, gold watches, canes made out of elephant musks—the whole shabang-a-bang. You'll see a lot more jewelry flashing, champagne sippin', and hoes in the clubhouse," Silky remarks as he pulls out a pack of Kool cigarettes, promptly reaching for and lighting one. "You won't see anything like this in any other clubhouse. Not only are we family here, we're rich."
As he attempts to move pass the mob of journalists, he's quickly stopped by another reporter who steps directly in his path.
"Albert Turner, FOX Sports. Silky Johnson, what are your team's biggest strengths and weaknesses heading forward?", he calmly asks.
Silky takes a moment, inhales, and promptly blows the smoke in Albert Turner's face.
"Albert, this isn't my first rodeo. I've been balling on the hardened streets of Trinity, Alabama, ever since I crawled out of my mother's vajay-jay, so I know how this game is played. Our strengths consist of sharing the ball and scoring from mid-range, with Israel Perez being one of our primary perimeter threats. Our biggest weakness, unfortunately, has to be defense. These cats need to learn to defend—maybe I'll teach 'em a few things after my pedicure," Silky proclaims as he puts his cigarette out on the journalist's forehead.
As the reporter writhes in pain, Jack Kralle from TNT stumbles forward, sweat dripping from his forehead.
"S—Silky ... This draft was one of the most highly debated drafts in recent history. How do you feel about your fellow rookies—which of them impress you the most?" Jack Kralle frantically inquires.
"Everybody knew I was going to be the first overall pick, but the player who probably impressed me the most was John Moore. He's a young player with incredibly high potential, and I see him being quite the force in years to come—maybe he should look to me for inspiration. Another player who impressed me was Stephen Rodney. He's going to be an offensive force once he grows out of his diapers," Silky suggests as readjusts his collar. "But none of those prospects have what I have. You see, my game is smoother than a glass of Hennessy, more robust than a pair of fake t*ts. I bring energy, I bring excitement, I bring pizazz to the game—something that none of those other "players" do. So I'm calling it now—let's make it official: You're looking at the next PBSL Rookie of the Year. And that's a fact, Jack!
Silky sighs as he checks his Rolex watch for the time, anxious to get this over with so he can retire to his hotel room. His boardguards let one last reporter through.
"Jose Herrera, Salt Lake Tribute. There's been a lot of speculation over how you're going to be utilized this upcoming season," Smack regales. "How do you think you're going to fit into this offensive scheme?"
"Like I said before, I plan on running the show. I'm listed as a shooting guard but you bet your ass I'll be running the point. I want that ball in my hands as much as humanly possible—much like your sister's ass. Because unlike everybody else in that stadium, I know exactly what I'm doing. I have the recipe for success and I plan on cooking fast," Silky totes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for the club."
The bodyguards rapidly step in, using their sheer strength to create a pathway for "Sweet" Silky Johnson to get through. As he walks off into the sunlight, the media watches in amazement as he walks through the doors of the hotel with boomboxes blaring in the background.
thank you