OK it’s time. Howard Schultz can suck it. How could someone who helped create such an empire be so small? I mean Starbucks coffee is fine and the brand blew up sure, but that guy sold out this community. Hard.

Remember that scene in Pulp Fiction when Bruce Willis goes back into the dark labyrinth for the family watch–> Howard didn’t go back for the watch. He sold it cheap to others and messed with things of cultural import to me + financial significance/jobs for others × many + I’m still mad = I don’t often or lightly throw dirt on a name you feel, but this petty peddler of admittedly fine brew and seemingly fine worker benefits sold me out. He sold us.
I got SuperSonics garb for Christmas and gave Big Smooth a low-five, somehow went to a bar with my Dad and TJ’s with Friends to watch these games, rubbed elbows with Microsoft and Pearl Jam legends at a few, got my non-sporting friend to go up to Jack Sikma for an autograph, saw greatness, experienced loss.

I know it’s a game, but it’s a beautiful game. And I miss it. I’ve been upset before but am now mostly ’cause Howard won’t address/acknowledge/talk at all about it. Come on and speak on this man. And I know deep down this is a waste of my madness but I’m still mad and he’s still rich and will continue to grow richer and they serve Starbucks at the Hawks’ games now and then that makes me mad all over again

but then I get to eat on my own richy rich cake thinkin’ about when they make the not-that-interesting book or the so-so movie about your life’s work, the one starring fake smile average joe actor, the Sonics will be part of that movie. You failed to be a care taker. You plum failed.
Green and Gold will forever be part of the story-line of your enigma filled legacy with Seattle.

It’s where I’ve got to be, up on my magic carpet riding, a tomahawk jam in your facial, kismet on your futures. It’s how I make sense of the anger.

It’s not at all right Lenny Wilkens & GP have no rafters for their numbers to hang in.

You’re on every corner Howard, answer us.

Yep.