That was the joke

after he sexually harassed and drugged women he’d go into the pantry for a snack

I was talking about KAT. JB had an NBA dad, bro definitely had a pantry

Oh so that’s why they call him Jalen Brunson

What the fuck is up? Where I grew up, we lived in hell

Tell you kids, back in my day, we had it so rough… or so much better, i can’t tell anymore. anyway, every day, we would wake up at 2 in the morning and go to the table for breakfast. we all lived in a closet, you see, so it was one room. and we would ask, me and my 64 brothers and 27 sisters, “what’s for breakfast mum?”. she would smack us all with a shoe and say “cold beans”. and if we complained and said “but we had cold beans yesterday” - because we had cold beans every day - she would smack us all five times with a shoe and say “tough its all we can afford. i’m trying to feed a family of 93 with just half a silver buckington”, a silver buckington was about the same as half a penny back in the day. then we would head to school. we met up with the johnson kids from down the road, and walked the 1674 miles to school. on the way to school, we had to walk up a mountain so tall it extended to outer space. when we got to the top of the mountain, we would see the peterson boys on their fancy bikes - which they dont make like they used to, and we would race them down the mountain. then, when we got to school at 4 in the morning, the headmaster would come up to us and say “you bloody kids are late”, then he would smack us all with the cane 10 times and tell us we had 7 years of detention. then, we went to class, and mr stevenson would say “ok line up kids”, then he would spank us each 60 times, then hit us each with the cane 40 times each. then it was 7 at night and we had to walk home. then, when we got home, we’d ask “whats for dinner mum?”, and she’d smack us each 50 times with a pan and say “rotten cabage”. and if we complained, she would smack us each 100 times with a broom and say “im trying to feed a family of 154 on just one islet sliver, just you wait until your dad gets home” - now an islet silver was worth about as much as a grain of sand. then, when our dad got home from his job at the soot factory, he would hit us all 180 times with his belt. if we had been naughty, we would hit us all another 600 times. then, at 1:58, mum would say “ok time for bed”. then, we got into our potato sacks, and she would hit us each with a shoe 8 times before we went to sleep. on saturdays, we went down to uncle bob’s farm to work. we would have to walk 345 miles to the bus stop, then catch the route 4 bus for 56 stops. we would get on the bus and pay our fare of 3 teddy roses - now a teddy rose is worth about the same as a flake of skin. then, if the ticket inspector came to us, he would hit us all 4 times with his baton. if any of us had lost our ticket, we would hit us all 10 times again and throw us off the bus and we had to walk the rest of the way. when we got to the farm, uncle bob would drive to the gate in his tractor, hit us all 780 times with his crowbar, and tell us to get in his trailer so he could drive us to the farm house. then, we had to plow the fields with a toothbrush in the blazing summer heat - now, they dont make summers like they used to, so it was about 1345.4 degrees spencer, or 67 degrees centigrade using your new-fangled metric system. then, we would have to milk the cows - now, they dont make cows like they used to, so each cow weighed about 459 hog’s heads, or 3.2 tonnes in your new-fangled metric system. if you touched a cows udder, it would kick you and you would die, so you had to be really careful when you milked the cows. then, when we were done, uncle bob would say “ok kids time for your pocket money”. he would give us each 9 copper jemimahs - which are worth about one political promise each - and beat us each 6 times with his tractor before we left. on sundays, we would meet the johnson boys and go down to the river - now, they don’t make rivers like they used to, so this river was about as wide as the whole of america, and as deep as the marianas trench, and it was filled with liquid tungsten. we would play by the old oak tree near the river, climbing on it and building tree houses and such. now - they don’t make trees like they used to, so this tree had a trunk as thick as a city, and was tall enough that the branches on the top could scrape the moon. one day, little jimmy fell from the top of the tree. when he hit the ground, the only bit of his body we could recognise was his left eyeball. we picked up all his bits and rushed him to the doctors surgery. dr james said “oh its just a scratch little jimmy dont worry pop a plaster on it and you’ll be right” and he gave little jimmy a plaster and a lollipop and he was ok. after we finished playing by the river, we would go into town and get some candy. now, back in the day, you could give the shopkeeper one bronze winglet - which is worth about as much as a ciggarette butt - and he would give you the entire stock of the store. so we would go and get our candy, and we’d go into the town square and eat it. now, we didn’t have any of your fancy food laws back in the day, so there was all kinds of stuff in our candy. bleach, rust, bones–you name it. so we would always get a little hyper after our candy. one day, when we were hyper, we went up the mr boris’s car, the only car in the town, and touched it. as we touched it, we saw dad storming down the street holding his belt. “you kids, having fun while i work all day in the soot factory just so you can have grilled water for tea every night, i oughta smack you all”. we were sure he was going to smack us, but then he said “no, i got a better idea, ill take you to see mr henderson, he’ll set ya right”. now, dad had told us about mr henderson. mr henderson was a veteran from the great war, where he got a really bad injury, but we never knew what it was. dad walked us all down to the pub, and we saw a left testicle propped up on a pegleg. “mr henderson,” said dad, “i have some kids here who need a good whooping”. then, mr henderson picked up the entire pub, and hit us each 4006 times with it. then, dad said “right, i gotta go back to the soot factory, you kids run on home now”. now, by now it was 1pm, which meant it was curfew. while we were walking out of the town square, we heard a man shout “oi you bloody kids, its curfew”. we turned around and saw the constable holding his baton. he hit us each 160265 times with his baton, then put us in gaol for 60123865 years. now - they don’t make gaols like they used to - this one had 5 mile thick steel walls, and a single hole in the top let in some light. we were in there for about 13526 years, until mum baked the constable some cardboard pie so he would let us out. then, she hit us all 1292 times with a washboard, and grounded us for the rest of our lives. so don’t you come complaining to me about nonsense like not having tv while hiking 25 miles to school.

There’s been like a decade and that commercial still boils my blood