And it's on, let's get it on, let's war
I have written and deleted roughly seven truly, truly tasteless things, so I'm just going with--
Fuck New York. Fuck them. Fuck them with diseased, dripping zombie wound-cocks.
I am sitting on my couch vibrating with rage. I can't even get up to take a shower. NOT EVEN DRUNKEN PATRICK KANE PICTURES CAN MAKE ME TRULY HAPPY. (Which, thankfully, have finally showed up online. It is just not a post-season if Alex Ovechkin isn't photographed in a dubious state of undress or Patrick Kane isn't photographed with an extremely suspect B.A.C.)
So, more open letters!
Dear Joel Ward: ...look. I don't want to pile onto you. I really don't. I like you, man, and I'm sure you feel like shit right now. But keep your stick on the ice, dude. Go ahead and feel horrible about this tonight, but let it go tomorrow, and come back and be amazing in games six and seven. Don't let this get you down.
Dear Dennis Wideman: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE BE BETTER.
Dear Braden Holtby: I'm sorry, dude. You deserved way better.
Dear Karl Alzner: Same to you, Karl. You are pure gold.
Dear John Carlson: You are a true American Hero. Keep it up. Maybe don't let that puck in past your seven hole next time. Or delay the game. But otherwise, yeah.
Dear Alex Semin: STOP PASSING ON ODD MAN RUSHES AND JUST SHOOT THE FUCKING PUCK, YOU HAVE THE NASTIEST WRITER ON THE TEAM. WE WANT YOU TO BE SELFISH DURING THESE KIND OF SITUATIONS. JESUS.
Dear Alex Ovechkin: I didn't really notice you at all this game which is not a good thing. No shots on goal, hmm? The assist was nice, and taking that puck right to your kidney with the block was impressive but Ovi, I give you full permission to be ridiculously amazing for the rest of the games. RUN WITH THIS.
Dear Ryan Callahan: Shouldn't your leg have broken by now? I guess that was not a legit voodoo doctor I bought that doll from.
Dear Brad Richards: I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns. Burn, motherfucker.
Dear Marc Staal: Ditto what was said to Richards. Also, you have no eyebrows.
Dear Michael Del Whatsisface: Don't sit on our players. We went over this with Boston.
Dear Carl Hagelin: I feel like I should know more about you, given the fact NBC had your balls in their mouth all game, but I don't. I think they had to take a break from blowing Kreider and Callahan? I dunno.
Dear Dan Girardi: Look man, I don't like you and I normally wouldn't care if your head was removed from your shoulders and punted into the stands. But friendly word of advice-- don't try running Holtby after the whistle blows. It ain't gonna end well for you. Just ask Andrew Ference.
Dear Henrik Lundqvist: Man, we all know you're already winning the Vezina and you're better looking than pretty much 99% of the population, so can't you give us this series? Please?
In conclusion, refs should loan the Caps some lipstick because I'm sure they want to look pretty when they get fucked. Though in the end, I can't even be as mad at the refs as I am at the Caps. Six seconds, guys. You needed to hold it for six seconds. But you know what, it's okay, because Hunter is going to kick your asses into winning games six and seven and we'll forget all about this nonsense, okay? Okay. YOU CAN DO IT. INSERT ROUSING LORD OF THE RINGS STYLE BATTLE SPEECH HERE!
ThorneScratch: you have my support
ThorneScratch: and my sword
ThorneScratch: and a bunch of my internal organs I did not actually say you could have
ThorneScratch: but I will let you keep them anyway
twigcollins: dude, the price of organs is eternal vigilance
twigcollins: if you wanted to keep them, you should have slept with one eye open
(No, I take it back. If I'm angry at anyone, it's the announcers. I truly consider these games borderline unlistenable, because it's just so much biased bullshit. I really should just watch on mute.)
The only thing to cheer me up right now? STUPID PICTURES.
It's cool. Holtby's got this.
And his captain has his back.
And a.... uh, giraffe.
Sasha has demands.
Is Mike Green capable of taking a picture without looking confused and covering his groin? No he is not. And that's why we love him.
It's all good. Caps in seven. Let's go.
In things not raising my blood pressure, by the way, the latest Stephen King Dark Tower novel is actually really good. Just finished it yesterday. I was afraid it was going to suck-- which I think is a valid fear, given how batshit he ended the series. But I highly recommend it, especially to kadrin because then we can have more shouty conversations about Mssr King on gchat.
Fuck New York. Fuck them. Fuck them with diseased, dripping zombie wound-cocks.
I am sitting on my couch vibrating with rage. I can't even get up to take a shower. NOT EVEN DRUNKEN PATRICK KANE PICTURES CAN MAKE ME TRULY HAPPY. (Which, thankfully, have finally showed up online. It is just not a post-season if Alex Ovechkin isn't photographed in a dubious state of undress or Patrick Kane isn't photographed with an extremely suspect B.A.C.)
So, more open letters!
Dear Joel Ward: ...look. I don't want to pile onto you. I really don't. I like you, man, and I'm sure you feel like shit right now. But keep your stick on the ice, dude. Go ahead and feel horrible about this tonight, but let it go tomorrow, and come back and be amazing in games six and seven. Don't let this get you down.
Dear Dennis Wideman: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE BE BETTER.
Dear Braden Holtby: I'm sorry, dude. You deserved way better.
Dear Karl Alzner: Same to you, Karl. You are pure gold.
Dear John Carlson: You are a true American Hero. Keep it up. Maybe don't let that puck in past your seven hole next time. Or delay the game. But otherwise, yeah.
Dear Alex Semin: STOP PASSING ON ODD MAN RUSHES AND JUST SHOOT THE FUCKING PUCK, YOU HAVE THE NASTIEST WRITER ON THE TEAM. WE WANT YOU TO BE SELFISH DURING THESE KIND OF SITUATIONS. JESUS.
Dear Alex Ovechkin: I didn't really notice you at all this game which is not a good thing. No shots on goal, hmm? The assist was nice, and taking that puck right to your kidney with the block was impressive but Ovi, I give you full permission to be ridiculously amazing for the rest of the games. RUN WITH THIS.
Dear Ryan Callahan: Shouldn't your leg have broken by now? I guess that was not a legit voodoo doctor I bought that doll from.
Dear Brad Richards: I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns. Burn, motherfucker.
Dear Marc Staal: Ditto what was said to Richards. Also, you have no eyebrows.
Dear Michael Del Whatsisface: Don't sit on our players. We went over this with Boston.
Dear Carl Hagelin: I feel like I should know more about you, given the fact NBC had your balls in their mouth all game, but I don't. I think they had to take a break from blowing Kreider and Callahan? I dunno.
Dear Dan Girardi: Look man, I don't like you and I normally wouldn't care if your head was removed from your shoulders and punted into the stands. But friendly word of advice-- don't try running Holtby after the whistle blows. It ain't gonna end well for you. Just ask Andrew Ference.
Dear Henrik Lundqvist: Man, we all know you're already winning the Vezina and you're better looking than pretty much 99% of the population, so can't you give us this series? Please?
In conclusion, refs should loan the Caps some lipstick because I'm sure they want to look pretty when they get fucked. Though in the end, I can't even be as mad at the refs as I am at the Caps. Six seconds, guys. You needed to hold it for six seconds. But you know what, it's okay, because Hunter is going to kick your asses into winning games six and seven and we'll forget all about this nonsense, okay? Okay. YOU CAN DO IT. INSERT ROUSING LORD OF THE RINGS STYLE BATTLE SPEECH HERE!
ThorneScratch: you have my support
ThorneScratch: and my sword
ThorneScratch: and a bunch of my internal organs I did not actually say you could have
ThorneScratch: but I will let you keep them anyway
twigcollins: dude, the price of organs is eternal vigilance
twigcollins: if you wanted to keep them, you should have slept with one eye open
(No, I take it back. If I'm angry at anyone, it's the announcers. I truly consider these games borderline unlistenable, because it's just so much biased bullshit. I really should just watch on mute.)
The only thing to cheer me up right now? STUPID PICTURES.
It's cool. Holtby's got this.
And his captain has his back.
And a.... uh, giraffe.
Sasha has demands.
Is Mike Green capable of taking a picture without looking confused and covering his groin? No he is not. And that's why we love him.
It's all good. Caps in seven. Let's go.
In things not raising my blood pressure, by the way, the latest Stephen King Dark Tower novel is actually really good. Just finished it yesterday. I was afraid it was going to suck-- which I think is a valid fear, given how batshit he ended the series. But I highly recommend it, especially to kadrin because then we can have more shouty conversations about Mssr King on gchat.