Why I hate LeBron James

I resent the fact that us LeBron haters are viewed as "jealous" or "petty" or "without reason" for our hatred of James. A lot of you have probably never read THIS ARTICLE which King James' agents and publicists had spiked from ESPN.com to save his reputation (just like they did when James got dunked on and they had the videos pulled off YouTube). The dude is a complete douchebag and is worthy of not just my scorn, but of your scorn, your girlfriend's scorn, and your parents' scorn. He can't hold a candle to Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant or Hakeem Olajuwon or Larry Byrd in terms of heart and killer instinct. He tries to bitch his way out of taking responsibility for why everybody hates him - his petulant attitude, his tonedeaf way of handling himself both past and present, and the fact that he's a coward who literally HID FROM THE BASKETBALL throughout the final stages of nearly every game of last year's NBA Finals. He QUIT on his Cavaliers team the previous year and let an entire franchise (and city) down. He is a bitch.

Excerpts from the spiked story on King Douche:

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Five security guards are stationed around him, one at each corner of the table he's about to sit at and another roving around with him, watching his every move. Anyone who takes two steps toward James is stopped and must have James' approval to come closer.

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James, now wearing sunglasses in the dark club, immediately stands up on the couch and folds his arms high on his chest and nods his head. He smiles as he looks at the dozens of people crowded on the dance floor. Noticing him, they stop dancing and snap pictures as the DJ screams out, "LeBron James in the building!" and plays LMFAO's "I'm in Miami." Carter, LeBron's childhood friend and manager, begins dancing around James like Puff Daddy in a Notorious B.I.G video. A giant red crown-shaped cake is brought over to James while go-go dancers dressed in skimpy red and black outfits raise four lettered placards that spell out, "KING." Carter grabs a bottle of Grey Goose and pours a quarter of it on the floor and raises it up before passing it off.

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Toward the end of the night, Boston Celtics forward Glen Davis walks past James' party and looks at the scene up and down several times like a painting in a museum, soaking in the images of the go-go dancers, the "King" sign and the costumed man delivering bottles of champagne. Davis shakes his head and walks on. James dances on the couch and sings along with the music blaring from speakers all around him.

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The night after the party at Tao, he and his crew walk through the casino at the Wynn and Encore and he pretends to dribble a basketball as he walks past ringing slot machines and tourists who do double-takes. In a Nike T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, James' pantomime seems unconscious. He stops every few feet to shoot a jump shot, his right hand extended above his head on the follow through. He weaves through a pack of a dozen friends and pretends to connect on a layup as he walks past a gift shop. He passes overhead casino signs and jumps up and slaps them, pretending to dunk. Columns covered with advertisements for lounge acts become stationary defenders, chumps to fake out before connecting on imaginary mid-range jump shots. James probably goes through a practice's worth of shots as we walk from the XS nightclub at Encore (James left his poolside table when he saw the club was practically empty), through Wynn and over the bridge to the Palazzo.

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While he looks at club-goers flashing the LA and Westside signs at him, James smiles and points to Jackson's T-shirt, which reads, "Another Enemy," and raises his glass of champagne. Finally, Carter tells James it's time to leave the club and they do, LeBron pretending to cross- over tables and shoot over slot machines all the way back to his room.

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