Ah, the doldrums of an NHL blogger during the summer. No reports of Mike Keenan making players cry, Chris Chelios is regenerating in Jaye Davidson’s sarcophagus, and Marty Turco’s gender solidifies off the ice. What am I supposed to mock?
Jacques Martin: Yes, Mr. Cohen, with the Bouwmeester situation handled, we’re well on our way back to relevancy in this league … well, er, sir, I think you’ll still need to, um, siphon some more money away from the horses … no, I don’t think it’ll be much ..
Willa: Oh, Mike. What a romantic evening. I never noticed the subtle nuances of Brendan Fraser’s dunderheadedness!
Jeremy Jacobs: Beautiful morning, isn’t it, Quincy?
In spite of what Norb says, Lemont, IL isn’t the best town for experiencing all that this world has to offer. Christian Vande Velde can’t peddle fast enough to escape the banalities of the village. Diablo Cody had to escape to Minneapolis to write like a teenager. Likewise, I couldn’t wait to leave my Podunk town for college in Milwaukee.
BZZZZZZZZZZ!!! BZZZZZZZZZZ!!! BZZZZZZZZZZ!!! BZZZZZZZZZZ!!!
I love masturbation. There’s nothing like reaching down my pants and scoring against myself (“Steve Smithing” should be slang for this act). However, I’m not a whiteout machine; there are only so many times I can pull on my knob. What can I do while waiting for a reload?