"Settle down *guffaw guffaw* Bibi, the check's in the mail."
Now, on to matters of far more import.
The Fucking Lakers vs. Denver: There are many who believe in the awesome power of the Super Magical Jesus Baby, Caliph Charlie or Jumpin' Jehovah, but one of the many altars I worship at is that of fancy, shmancy statisticalism, and such number crunching tells us that Denver has a much better chance that you think, David Stern, Generalissimo of Marketing. That said, The Fucking Lakers in seven because what would an NBA Finals be without mindless gushing like those squishy, goo-filled HFCS candy bites about the greatness of The Steak while failing to ever mention that the reason the chump even has a second shot at a fourth title is the same reason he got his first three: a big man. Sure, El Beardo ain't Shaq Fu, but betcha Kupchak hasn't even gotten so much as a card.
Cleveland vs. Orlando: Pick against the Cavs? After all my not-so-subtle virtual chest-thumping on the bitter heels of forty-plus years of choking and failure that, like Prometheus' bird, eats my innards every night? Pshaw. Cavs in five, unless Dwight Howard learns his first actual post move today, then Cavs in six.