Hockey Ninja
I had something I really wanted to journal about a second ago but now I've compeltely forgotten what it was. It was something really important. . . like your house is on fire, or I'm your father. I will say this, Guster Indiana Jones Smith (my ringed python) is totally digging my headphones right now. Gus and I rock Muse like Muse needs to be rocked: every night in front of well lit window overlooking an expansive parking lot. I have been Hajiing him in my beanie most of time. He sort of crawls up into it and nests on the top of my head and he got really pissy with me last night when I took him out to put him back in the terrarium. He loves rocking out more then I do, all night freaking long. Last night I sort of forgot Gus was in my hat and went to Kroger then to a late night ed theory discussion with Tom 10 Eyck.
There was a guy in a wheel chair at Shriver today, the permanent sort of wheel chair. That guy was a player. I wanted to follow him around all day taking notes because he was masteful. Granted, when your in a wheel chair you autmatically command attention which he used flawlessly to his advantege in obtaining at least five phone numbers in the checkout line. This was during breakfast hours too mind you. He talked to me, said I sounded sick. I told him I was but that I probably wouldn't die. He agreed that not dieing was agreeable. I concured with that statement. I felt honored to betroth upon him the intricacies of the Shriver Center breakfast menu, most notably the stipulations around hash brown sales.
I plan on putting my plan for this year's hockey season into affect. Hockey Ninja. I'm going to get my hockey stick from home and pick up a ninja costume some place. Throw a Miami Redhawks hockey jersey on over that whole get up and bam Hockey Ninja. My dad seems to think they won't let me bring my stick into the stands (which I plan on making a sheath for) but I feel like even if thats the case just the sight of Hockey Ninja checking his stick at the door is just as bad ass as seeing a Hockey Ninja with his stick. I might make a bandalier with hockey pucks on it too. At games I'll just stand by the glace and glower at the opposing players with my arms folded. If that fucking hack of a Swoops we've had the past two years tried to start shit with me I will not hesitate to kill him and rip his head off. That son of a bitch has been trying my patience and if he doesn't get his shit together I will take his place (anyone who knows anything about mascots knows the only way you can can become the mascot is if you rip the head off the previous mascot or if they surrender the title to you). Swoops has refused to acknowledge he's a terrible Swoops and pass the title on to a more worthy individule.
He hasn't killed a single freshmen in the last two years. NOT ONE! I remember when I was afraid to walk the streets at night. What the hell happened to the Swoops and loved and feared?! To be honest I think he was killed in a vicious bar brawl. Swoops was a baller but he apparently wasn't bullet proof. . . or 37 consecutive stab wound proof. Thats the way Swoops is supposed to go out though, in a frenzy of murderous skin heads.
In summation: Swoops, Don't fuck with the Hockey Ninjas.