From the Tudors, with love.

Dec 23, 2008 18:29

My name is Curry Chicken and I have the strangest dreams involving the strangest looking atheletes in professional sports.

The following takes place between 5:00 AM and 6:00 AM:

Sometime during the 1500's, innocent Anne 'Curry' Boleyn goes to wash her face in an innocent looking washroom. Russian hockey beast Alexander Ovechkin bathes behind luminescent shower curtains. Curry Boleyn applies St. Ives facial cleanser to face, is momentarily blinded by soap in eyes. Is kissed by Ovechkin.

Ovechkin: Like dead fish.
Curry Boleyn: *tries to hit him*
Ovechkin: Ha. Hahahaha. I like.

Curry Boleyn and Ovechkin stroll through long, well lit hallways.

Ovechkin: *tries to hold hands*
Curry Boleyn: No, don't touch me. If you hold my hand, people will think we're an item.
Ovechkin: Why is that a problem?
Curry Boleyn: I'll be BEHEADED.
Ovechkin: I get permisson. You be new girlfriend. Okay.

Archbishop Mike Keenan [coach of the Calgary Flames] grants permission. Behind him in his office are three very stoic Las Vegas showgirls.

The following takes place between 8:20 AM and 8:42 AM:

Curry: >:o

bogus brain activity

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