If I could dunk on anyone, I would dunk on my grade 11 math teacher, Mr. Robinson.  The most important things to understand before going any further are that I’m half chinese, living in Chilliwack at the time of these events.

I used to be an A student in math until I hit grade 11. Basically, the teacher told my dad he couldn’t help me because people of “my background” aren’t good in math. That’s right, he thought I was Native (Indian).  What a racist ass mother fucker! Little did he know I was really good at math AND piano.

For this dunk, I would set up one of those backyard hoops that you fill the base up with water. But, instead of a backyard, I would set it up right in his classroom. He was bald with a comb-over and a stupid mustache. He always wore Chaps button up shirts with khakis, and so that is what he would be playing in.

I would wear a throwback FILA Allen Iverson jersey and some swim trunks w/ the mesh built-in underwear. I would also be wearing boxer shorts under those, because that’s how I roll.

The classroom would be full and we would be doing some shit that prepped you for Math 12, some quadratics and transformations or whatever you call it.

I would ask for help, he blows me off. Right then and there I light up a joint in class, crazy right? He is shocked and commands me to the principals office. I refuse. He steps up to my desk; I blow smoke right in his mustachioed face. Then I stand up and rip off my tearaway jeans and t-shirt (custom made) to reveal my dunk gear.

By this point, the other students are in a state of awe, excitement, and nervousness. They can’t believe what I am doing. A couple of brave students hoot and holler, cheering me on. Others have smiles on their face. I butt out my joint, and put it into a DuMaurier smoke pack for later.

Mr. Robinson is scared, he knows he’s lost control. Out of nowhere, someone bounce passes me a ball. I don’t do any fancy shit; I just stare at him while slowly dribbling. Using fear as a tactic, I back him into the corner with the hoop. With my left hand, I play Beethoven’s Concerto no. 5 on a conveniently placed piano, still dribbling.

I tell him I am Chinese.  No response, only a shocked face.

I shout, “Fuck you for condemning me to post-secondary liberal arts!”

No response.

Mr. Robinson is now sweating.  I take a few steps back from him and make my move to the hole.  I take off and execute a massive Tomahawk dunk to be ironic. The ball flies through the hoop, hitting him in the face and slamming him to the ground. The white board marker rolls out of his hand as his limp body slowly loses life.

Silence.

I turn around, not looking at anybody. I stop in the doorway, back turned. I light the rest of my joint and leave the classroom. When I’m at the end of hall, cheers erupt. I see Emergency Response Teams outside, but it’s too late. I murdered him with a dunk.

People flood the halls, hoisting me on their shoulders. I party hard that night with Asians and First Nations and we talk shit about white people all night. Also I get a wicked blowjob from a hot white girl.

Sean currently has a decent paying government job in Victoria, BC. Often he wishes that he was an accountant for KPMG

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