This week: DOGUS IS DEAD! LONG LIVE DOGUS!
Dogus is dead. He has no more reason to go on living. He has been dead for quite some time now, for all intents and purposes. His ligaments, they have been torn.
Who will want Dogus now? The agents say that there is nobody in the market for a slow point guard with a treacherous left hand and no jump shot. Not even on the Kings! Shit! What will they do? No more Longhorns for Dogus, and no more basketball. Dogus fears that they will throw him out of the country like a common Armenian.
What's worse is that the team has died. No dancing this year. No fun at all. Dexter has started to eat his feelings. Avery Bradley has already sold his books, gone back to Las Vegas, and put all of his money on black. He asked if Dogus wanted to come. Dogus knows better than to dabble in games of chance.
And now Dogus will never get his hands on the trophy. No riches for Dogus, and no wishes either. All he ever wanted was to rub the sweet trophy and meet the genie inside.
Oh no! A yellow turban may get his hands on the precious trophy!
YOU BE GONE, YELLOW TURBAN!
Omar Samhan: What?
Dogus: You'll never fool Dogus! Dogus knows the tricks of the yellow turbans! Dogus has dealings with them before, in the home country!
Omar Samhan: I'm from just outside San Fransisco. Who are you?
Dogus: A thousand apologies. I thought I had seen you before. Nevertheless, HANDS OFF THE LAMP-- er, TROPHY! GOD WILL NOT LET YOU DANCE AFTER TONIGHT!
Maybe this place isn't for Dogus after all. Dogus loves this land, though. They have cleavage. And bacon. And bacon-flavored cleavage. Hopefully Dogus can stay. Maybe he'll get Brad Buckman to put in a good word for him at the Austin Toros. Maybe.