rpanons | I'm bad at this

Rundown:

rpanons is an anonymous community for role-play related topics. This place serves as a forum for game discussions, canon discussions, RP solicitations (ATP, game ads, open memes), and advice. The occasional off topic comment is inevitable, but please keep heated social and political topics to their respective communities. Posting them here will only get them frozen. Subsequent threads made to bypass a freeze will then be deleted.

Rules:

Do not post pornographic or shocking images.
Do not share private entries, plurks, chat logs, etc.
Do not use this community as your social/political/hatespeech soapbox.
Do not be redundant. One page does not need three or more threads on one topic/theme. Your unfunny, forced memes also fall under this rule.
Do not treat this comm like your personal therapist. Threads about nonfictional suicide, self injury, rape, and abuse will be deleted. There are better resources out there for you.
Do not treat this comm like your personal Plurk or Twitter. Off-topic happens, but it should be open for discussion and not just a play-by-play of your life. No one cares.
Shut up about Tumblr. If it's not a discussion about Tumblr RP it will be deleted.

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The luminous outline of John Stockton shimmers into view, empty-handed.

"Basketball anon," he intones from beyond the grave and somewhat south of your knees. "You have passed the first test."

You find you are clinging to the ball. The luminous outline of John Stockton's oversized hand descends to the earth and clutches your collar to haul you to your feet.

"But you will be tested again. For tonight is the night of trial. Will you be a baller, or prove yourself a scrub?"

He extends all of his fingers and waggles them, jazz-hands style. The other anons look about themselves sharply. It appears they cannot see what you see. They are not eligible for this test. They cannot perceive the bballs greatness shining before them. They only wonder what you were doing on the ground, and now, what you are doing standing, and clutching desperately to your ball.

John Stockton glares sorrowfully at you, although the loopy proportions of his face undercut the effect somewhat.

"Beware the flaming ball!" He cries, dissolving into the fog.

"Wait, John Stockton! I know you're still alive—!"

I do indeed clutch my ball, feeling suddenly empty with the absence of the spirit. No matter. It is clear that I must prove myself, as a baller, and as a man. The other anons will be no help. This is a task for me and me alone, as was foretold.

"I overcome all the tasks set before me!" I scream to the dark and inky night sky. "Bring it on, bitches!"

As the ghost of the deceased John Stockton fades away, you realize that everyone else is staring at you like you are a lunatic.

"What is he shouting about?"

"Is that a male?"

"...They're all crazy..."

"You mean thirsty."

"A male rper..." Comes another hushed whisper, setting into motion a contemptuous chorus of a male rper... and they're all crazy generally. Punctuated by "did he just call us bitches???" Nearly all of them step back. However the two neckbeards look hopeful, and not at all put out by your screaming fit. "Eff eff?" Says one, beetling his unplucked brows. "Do you play any Touhous?" Says the other, idly flossing with the hem of his duster.

A trail appears before you. It is of the smoothest and glossiest parquet hardwood court flooring, lightly dusted with fallen fir needles and rotting leaves. Far in the distance you perceive a tall, glowing shape.

I'm bad at this

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