Monday, September 10, 2007

Called On The Carpet, Part Deux - Pucker Up Buttercup!













Fair play to sacamano, despite his surly demeanour during our meeting, even he was not so hard hearted as to not sympathize with me. Broken hearted by Lowetide's bitter jibe, I could scarce hold back the tears. He gave me a smooch, grabbed my ass and said "Buck up, jerk! What did you expect?"

But before I could wail "Why me, oh why?", we had entered another room. Therein were three men - two sat at a table, drinking their pints, while a third scribbled formulae on a chalkboard furiously.


"So, as you can see, take his ES rates, multiply this by pi, add the PP/H, PK/S, TOI, KFC and divide by the LL Cool J - ergo, Radek Dvorak is a far better player then Mike Bossy ever was," said the madly scribbling Mudcrutch. Vic Ferrari, busy lighting voodoo dolls of EIG members on fire, perks up.


"Mike Bossy was an Islander! Alright! Lets talk about the Islanders and that marvelous bastard, Garth Snow"

"No, fuck the Islanders," says the third, in a distinctly Newfoundland accent. "Fuck them the way Lowe fucked this team with the return he got for Pronger and then doubly fucked them by what he got for Smyth."

"Focus guys, focus. As you can see by this chart, you can see that if you subtract EN SH scoring from the DoReMi ... no wait a second," says young Mc79, suddenly thrown off by the mad tangents of Vic and Dennis.


"Garth Snow, magnificient bastard!"


"See, its like this, see. There's this girl in town, she's the hottest girl in town by far, and one day things somehow work out and she's with you. And for a year, she's your girlfriend and you're the envy of all your buddies because she's hot and she's smart and cool - she's the best thing that's happened to you, well, in over fifteen years. But then she decides she's going away for school, even though she told you she'd be yours forever. So you're fucked .. except for every girl in town is figuring, well, if she was with you, well you have to have something going on, like you're terrific in bed or hung like a horse or you have balls that taste like a hot fudge sundae. So, you take her to the airport and everyone in town is there waiting to see her off, but they really want to see who you will go for. And because you're pretty fucking full of yourself because you just spent a year with your dream girl and you figure this hot streak is going to last forever you go with the girl who is dumb as a post - I mean she's cute and all but so dumb she spells it dum. So there you go and next thing you know you're bored as hell because she's bad in bed - she has no idea what she's doing - and she's a dolt on top of it. And everybody in town loses respect for you so you can't even dump her and move on to someone else because everybody thinks you're a total tit. One night she asks you what you want and you tell her to lick your ass and she goes right to it, no questions asked, and so you're playing with yourself forever while she's licking your arse - she just keeps licking and licking because she's got not a ounce of sense - and you're too drunk to get off and so you just keep at it, getting more and more angry because your best girl has gone to university and you've got some dumbass who's a Leaves fan to boot, could be worse of couse, could be Cuntreal, but she's a dope all the same and she's licking your arse. That's the whole deal in a nutshell right there ..."


"Garth Snow, omnipotent bastard!"


"Jesus, now I've lost my train of thought," said Mudcrutch. "Is it 'i' before 'e' except after 'c' or does that depend on Hrudey's GAA as opposed to Fuhr's Stanley Cup rings? Goddamnit!"


"Garth Snow, you accordian playing, hot dog eating, omnivorous bastard!"

I turned to sacamano who looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say, I don't get much of it either. Smile and nod. Smile and nod. Try not to make eye contact."


We backed out of the room slowly.


Suddenly we both nearly jumped out of our skins, shocked by the most bloodcurdling scream we had ever heard. I thought that Grabia had finally discovered the truth about the past year for this sound was bursting with pain, sorrow and terror. We rushed towards the sound rather then away from it, for no other reason that by this time we were both pretty sauced. We charged through a door to find a pitiful sight - the quivering remnants of something, was it even human? - strapped to a chair - before him two figures mocked him without mercy.

"Mike? Chris!?", I asked, "Is that you?"

"Hey,", answered Chris! (for it was indeed he), "Its the Black Cat Fucks Skunks dude. Hey, man, how are ya?"

I ignored his faux pas, for he was at least friendly to me, unlike the others I had met. Suddenly a horrible cry came forth from the disgusting puddle in the chair: "COILERS! COILERS SUK! FALMES ROOL! MOMMY!"

"Reggie Jr?", I asked.

"Yep," said Mike W. "We caught the little fucker and now we're teaching him a lesson."

"Jesus, what a mess. What? How?"

"With these," said Chris! "Naked photos! We have Kevin Lowe, Craig MacTavish, Pat Quinn, Brian Burke and Dick Cheney. We haven't been forced to use Cheney yet - we're saving those for Mclea."

"Jesus Christ, where the hell did you get those?"

"We got the Lowes from Craig Simpson, MacT from Toby Peterson, Quinn from Tie Domi and Burke from Scott Niedermeyer."

"Hmmm, that explains a lot - what about the Cheneys?", I asked.

"I don't know - Mike actually got those. Where did you get those Mike?", Chris! asked, arching an Albertan eyebrow suspiciously.

Suddenly Mike turned a dozen shades of crimson. With great embarassment for him, we realized that the Hot-Oil Blogger Hot-off champion was a straw man, all sizzle but very little steak, when he suddenly blurted, before any accusations could begin to fly:

"You're in for it, pal! Yes you! With your pornographic filth that you call hockey blogging."

Taken aback, I tried to argue back "... but, but, how about the story of Dion and Chris Simon or Darcy Tucker and Aki Berg? How is that not filth but my own stories are? That makes no sense."

"Well," said Chris! "That's easy. Your stuff is shit. Ours is art." Mike W. and sacamano nodded in agreement.

As I felt my sphincter loosen and a lonely trail of poo began to make its way out of my bum and down my leg, I tried to remember that my mother had told me that there would be days like these. Then I began to cry like a little girl.

Next, if you can still stand it, one final installment ...

7 comments:

Lowetide said...

Classic. The Dennis part was too funny, Jesus that was good.

PDO said...

I nearly shit myself when reading the Dennis quote about the girl licking your asshole.

That was beautiful.

tothebank said...

"Reggie Jr.!" hahahahahahahahahaha!

SweatyO said...

Whatever you're on, I want a truckload of it.

MetroGnome said...

The "hottest chick in town" parable read like something Palahniuk would write.

Anonymous said...

Wow that was retarded.

Chris! said...

Retarded like a fox!