Patrice Brisebois And The Case Of The Missing Groin

“The back, the crack and the sack.”

For the uninitiated, that’s the description for a body waxing combination. Or, for our purposes, it’s a two-outta-three list of the ailments afflicting the greatest man to ever strap on skates and throw the puck through the middle of his own end, Patrice Brisebois.

The news of Breeze-By’s return to Stripclubbuffet, Quebec was largely greeted by a stunned silence broken only by the sound of greasy cheese curds falling from agape mouths and striking the floor. What the fuck was Gainey thinking? Why would Brisebois come back? And with the Canadian dollar at par with the US, should we all start throwing out US singles in strip clubs in order to prevent more senseless loonie and twoonie-induced injuries? You probably have no idea how many one-eyed strippers we have as a result of those goddamn coins. And yes, I too find it sexy.

It seems the GM who was moved to speak up years ago and call anyone who booed Brisebois “gutless” has decided to bring back the most ragged-on Hab of recent times. Hell, why not convert him into a forward and bring back Samsonov so they could be linemates?

The Breezer, ancient mariner that he is, came into camp this year with a recently repaired back and two years of quiet mediocrity in Colorado under his beret. He was supposed to be healthy, and therefore available to help tutor our young defensemen in the ways of gallivanting off to the motherland during the season without telling management. (“Stress-induced arrhythmia”? That sounds like somebody hurt your heart’s feelings. Pussy.)

Ah, but then the little cheese monkey hurt his groin and has been sidelined. Let that be a lesson to Gainey: buy a used Le Car and it’s only a matter of time before the thing starts to fall the le fuck apart.

But the truth is Brisebois didn’t hurt his groin. After decades of neglect, it’s gone on strike. The cock, the balls and the surrounding muscles have shut down in protest. I know this because I was there the moment the strike vote results were communicated to Brisebois by his balls. (The balls head up the union; they’re the only ones with the, well, balls to do the job.)

This is a rough transcript of the conversation.

Balls: Hey Patrice, we need to talk to you.

Patrice Brisebois: Oh hey guys, you need some scratching?

B: No. Listen, shut the fuck up for a second. As you know, those of us in the groin have not been happy for some time. Speaking for the balls, it’s like we’re not even here. You don’t use us in practice or in games. And last week that guy cut ahead of you in Wal-Mart and you didn’t say shit! We were ready to throw down! The cock hasn’t seen anything but your palm in years, and the muscles get no work whatsoever. It’s just not working for us anymore. We’re going on strike.

PB: You can’t do this to me! I’m back with the Habs this season — you know I’ll catch shit from the fans and press if I don’t play. I need you guys!

B: Well, things have to change or we’re not happening. Hey! Stop touching the cock, he doesn’t want anything to do with you.

PB: Sorry, I just thought I saw a nip slip during this Celine Dion DVD. Did you know her husband was her manager when she was like 10 years-old?! Tabernac, that’s fucked.

B: Focus, man. You’ve got about a week to come up with a plan to use us. And be warned: I was talking to your hands and they’re really tired of the shit you make them do. This could be a total body shutdown if you don’t get your act together. In the meantime, I suggest you cancel your reservation at Chez Paree and cancel that trip to the car dealership. There’s no way you’re gonna talk the salesman down without us.

PB: Oh, sorry what did you just say? I accidentally pushed my drink up the middle of the table in front of me and totally tipped it over. Fuck, it’s dripping…

B: All over us you fucking asshole! That’s it – we’re outta here. Have fun in training camp, dickbag.



  1. holy crap, Bill Wirtz died?

  2. He’ll be looking for those balls as soon as the booing starts. My guess is Game 3

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