Flippin’ coins and fattenin’ frogs for snakes, trying to decide which goes down easier.

Cash, or carry?

Nick, or Dave?

Cooter, or pooper?

Mario, or Luigi? Mario, or Soto?

DLR, or Sammy?

Faces, or Small Faces.

Suhey, or Muster?

“Asshole, or Dipsh!t?”

Yr call, kiddies.

Kevin O’Neill, who once lost a televised one-on-one thriller to Evan Eschmeyer, he coaches the Raptors now. The Toronto Raptors, with the dinosaur and the purple and the Milt Palacio and the whole shebang.

Anyway, shine through this one:

“At one point before yesterday’s game, O’Neill was asked if Vince Carter’s inconsistent play was his fault or the player’s fault

‘Well, that’s kind of like saying, ‘are you an a..hole, or a dip…t’?’ O’Neill replied.”

Tasteful, and incisive.

Jerry Reuss, or Johnny Winter?

Let’s face it, I’m wrong again; or, let’s face it, it’s still Sunday?

Let’s face it, it don’t worry me.

Difford, or Tilbrook?

Back to the asshole/dipsh!t thing: Glenn Bunting is both.

Read this piece of crap.

I’ve been buggered by this steaming, fetid pile of feces all day.

Frank DeFord is a tremendous, tremendous scribe. Eloquent and entertaining, the latter being a quality most of his contemporaries stopped trying to explore roundabout the time Mike Lupica hit the airwaves.

Most cats seem too enthused by the Big Point, le Profound Message and the Subsequent Pulitzer. DeFord likes to wax and weave, and as Bunting contends, deceive.

Bunting seems to have taken up the cause of some Octogenarian golf instructor who can’t get past the fact that DeFord may have made some careless clerical errors over the course of his 40+ years in the Toy Department.

He also takes issue with DeFord’s flair fo’ hyperbole, but as the World’s Greatest Asshole and/or Dipsh!t, Bunting can’t help but keep it riz’eal.

Audible sighs for ev’ryone. Why can’t they all be sweet little rock and rollers?

Erick Dampier, 23 points, 22 boards and seven blocks against the Grizz last night; whilst the flat-top he was once traded for (Chris Mullin) furiously tries to trade him and his Gap Band CDs.

Rasheed Wallace is still an asshole, dipsh!t, and meshugeh.

But the Trail Blazers WILL NOT be trading him before the trade deadline, in spite of what they’ll tell you, they’d rather have his $18-mill off the books instead of a Van Horn or Ilgauskas or room-temperature potato salad.

I’m still studyin’.

The Knicks and Mavs went at it last night, and it was quite the sight. Two clueless Hoosiers (Mssrs. Cuban and Isiah’er) looked on as the Mavericks shot out to a 20-point before Stephon Marbury realized Steve Nash was a fellow ex-Sun and decided to go at the Floppy One. The fix was in as Steph came through with 38 useless points and 14 pointless assists (or visceral versa), Penny Hardaway hit Allan Houston for a game-tying three, and the Knicks sent the game to overtime.

Imagine getting into a time machine and heading back to 1998, only to tell a young and skinny and incredibly well-coiffed KDizzle that the Knicks would someday start Anfernee Hardaway, Stephon Marbury, and Allan Houston? I’d imagine that the exchange might go something like this:

KD: “Why do you have a haircut like that pedophile bass player from Phish? Don’t tell me everyone has that haircut in 2004 …

2004FutureMan: Why are you listening to Liz Phair’s “Whitechocolatespacegg?”

KD: I love Liz Phair. She has so much integrity, she’ll never sell out.

Something like that.

But the Knicks lost. Don Chaney’s not a good coach, but he does deserve to stick around for the rest of the year, until Doc Rivers leaves ABC.

Isiah’er says he won’t coach, which is always nice, and Mark Heisler gets it right.

Pete Vecsey gets it nutso, but he cannot be stopped.

And Sherm Douglas is a hero to young and old.

So long, suckers!