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In this photo taken Oct. 16, 2010, Los Angeles Lakers forward Lamar Odom goes up for a shot during the first half of their preseason NBA basketball game against the Denver Nuggets in Los Angeles. The Lakers have acquired the Dallas Mavericks' first-round selection in the 2012 NBA Draft in exchange for Odom and the Lakers' 2012 second-round draft pick, it was announced on Sunday, Dec. 11, 2011, by general manager Mitch Kupchak. In addition, the Lakers will receive a trade exception. (AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill)
Mark J. Terrill
In this photo taken Oct. 16, 2010, Los Angeles Lakers forward Lamar Odom goes up for a shot during the first half of their preseason NBA basketball game against the Denver Nuggets in Los Angeles. The Lakers have acquired the Dallas Mavericks’ first-round selection in the 2012 NBA Draft in exchange for Odom and the Lakers’ 2012 second-round draft pick, it was announced on Sunday, Dec. 11, 2011, by general manager Mitch Kupchak. In addition, the Lakers will receive a trade exception. (AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill)

L et’s get chitchat out of the way: NBA, you lost us at Michael Jordan’s second retirement.

You are so arena football.

(We almost abandoned your moneyed asses at “Space Jam,” but we reluctantly gave MJ three more years of air.)

Backstory: Since I’m 12-foot-28, I played basketball growing up. Not because I wanted to, but because coaches would ambush me in the halls, thus forcing me no option but to dress as Fantz at center.

Turns out, I was quite decent. I even earned scholarships.

Hold those Armenian horses, Kardashians!

I decided to launch the demise of my liver in lieu of playing a disciplined college sport. Thus, my high school coach denied me the MVP out of (alleged) spite.

Then I hated basketball.

Plus, none will measure up to the Chicago Bulls three-peaters. (LeBron, go Melo your way to Kobe’s Gasol and Wade through them vegetables.)

I have a point: I read this headline: “Lamar Odom Traded to the Dallas Mavericks.”

Basketball didn’t even cross my mind. Because NBA is stupid.

Instead, it was, “Oh em gee, Khloe Kardashian, like, totally has to move to Dallas.”

NBA, go snort your Bentleys, you cavalier snobs. (Wait. That’s Cleveland. Eh, whatever.)

Lohan crisis averted

Lindsay Lohan’s purse was stolen over the weekend in Hawaii.

“I will fucking kill someone if I even have to get questioned…. My dad will kill me.”

Apparently, all was recovered except for the 10 grand in cash that went missing.

Ah 10 grand. You’re a dollar store to Jay Z.

Since when did Daddy L. squeeze his way back into society’s mesh shirt?

So, 10 grand “missing,” ey?

(Rollin’ bills, snortin’ pills.)

On that note, here are some stocking stuffers, a la Lohan mode:

Lindsay’s Playboy issue.

Gift it to: Convicts. (Papa Lohan’s three are signed and stained.)

A merkin.*

Gift it to: Lindsay. Where there’s a fire (crotch), there’s scorched pubes.

A mesh shirt.

Gift it to: Whatever dude wants to flaunt his taut nips like an asshole.

*Google it. Yikes.

Jolie can’t interweb

Ms. Jolie-Shitt (“Sh” sounds like “P” in 1 percent terms. They’re fancy.) told USA Today that she isn’t keen on internet shopping.

“I always Christmas shop early in case we have to travel somewhere. Brad and I were on Amazon.com for the first time a week ago. But we got lost. After an hour, we just shut it off. My brain is too scattered and the wires go in different directions. I’ll stick to catalogs.”

And by catalogues you mean that slab of cheap labor spilling over your chalet’s wrought-iron gates?