You flightless tuxedo-wearing birds. I saw March of the Penguins. It sucked. Farce of the Penguins was only cool because Lewis Black and Bob Saget are fucking gods among mortals.
Crosby – You fucking hack. False prophet. Diving mother fucker. Matthew 7:15, nuthugger. Beware of False Prophets. That’s you. That’s you, asshole. Get the fuck up! Stand up! Be a man! Even Carey Price can take his ass kicking like a man, and he’s four years old.
Hal Gill – Who the fuck do you think you are, old man? Just because you sucked off sailors in Boston for 50 years, you think you can blindside me after the game is over?
You see that? You fucking pussy. Just because you felt the need to defend your catcher, you’re going to come after me? I’m going to shove my skate up your ass. You’re going to get cut, O.J. v 2.0 style, fucker. Watch your back. Laraque can’t be around to help you double-team me forever, and the ref won’t be there to hold my arms down so you get a free fucking shot at my face, either.
Fleury: You! You faggoty-ass shitlicker. Never try to touch me from behind again. I am not your bottom. That’s Ryan Malone’s job. Watch out for his herpes, though. Game 3 is going to be your worst fucking nightmare, cock knocker.
Jaaaaarrrrrkkkkkkoooo Ruuuuuutuuuutuuuutuuuuu – When the fuck did Jar Jar Binks become a Penguin? MEEZA GONNA SCORE NOW BOSS? Fucking punk.
Wait til Tuesday, cock sniffers. You’re mine, then.