By skyforbes "write a Shakespearean sonnet about dunking on a dude. make it so impressive that scholars will take off their glasses slowly in awe":
When first I rose on wings of borrowed air,
The court lay hushed, as though the Fates held breath;
A lone defender stood in hopeful prayer,
Poor soul, already footed toward his death.
His arms did plead the heavens for relief,
Yet heaven turned and favored me alone;
For I, in flight, became his living grief,
A thunder writ in sinew, sweat, and bone.
The rim, that iron crown of mortal pride,
Did bow and ring beneath my offered hand;
I smote the sphere and time itself complied,
While shame fell fast where once the man did stand.
Let scholars pause, remove their frames, and see:
This was no dunk — but high catastrophe.
