(no subject)
TITLE: Ramblings of a Backup
AUTHOR: Jennie
CHARACTERS: Scott Clemmensen of the Devils and Ryan Miller of the Sabres. Also thrown in there, Serge = Sergei Brylin, Johnny Mac = John MacLean (Devils assistant coach), Paul = Paul Martin, Marty = Martin Brodeur, Colin = Colin White, Johnny = John Madden, Luko = Brad Lukowich, all of the Devils. Phew! :-P
SUMMARY: Scott's ramblings on various items. It's hard to explain, and the sex part comes later. It's basically his constant talking.
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: my attempt at writing a semi-funny fic. i needed a break from the depression that is Jason, Mark, and Henrik. tell me your thoughts, good and bad!
As written on a roll of tape borrowed stolen from behind the bench, and a sharpie borrowed from Johnny Mac.
I’m bored. B-o-r-e-d. A couple of months ago, I got so bored that I made up a game. That was way before the Boston game on Kenny night when I played and we won!! But anyways, it’s to help with my future play-by-play career. I’ll be like Chico. “Here’s Mike “Doc” Emerick and Scott “Clemmy” Clemmensen.” I guess I’ll need a cooler nickname, like Tiger, or Snake. Or Beanpot, because of college. Scott “Beanie” Clemmensen. I just told Luko to call me Beanie and he gave me a funny look. I know he thinks I’m the weird one on the team. He always looks at me when I play my game out loud and say something like Freckles, for Sarge. Marty’s weird, too. He always has to sit by the window when we’re on the bus, because as soon as he pulls into the arena he has to lick the window. But no one ever thinks he’s weird, because his weirdness gets him to be the best goalie in the world. But my weirdness? No, I’m not allowed to be weird because I’m only a backup. Well, you’ll see when I’m a world-famous play-by-play announcer on NBC! *laughs evily* Getting back to my game, it’s like doing the play-by-play, only using the first thing that comes to mind instead of a guy’s real name. For example, Johnny is Smiles. He doesn’t like when I call him that. He doesn’t think it’s macho enough. I’ll play right now. Ahnold (Jagr, cause he talks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.) got his knife (skate blade) caught whacked (funny) in the glass (ice) and took out a constable (ref). Now, find anyone who says that doesn’t sound more awesome.
“Me.” Scott looked up from his journalistic endeavors and locked eyes with Red...er...Paul. “What?” “I don’t think that sounds more awesome. That just sounds weird.” Scott rolled his eyes and turned his back to the defenseman.
Well, aside from Red. He’s just weird. His red hair probably messes with his brain. Either that, or he’s been spending too much time with Tooth (Colin). Everyone knows he’s weird. Ryan just tapped in Morse code against the glass to meet him in the locker room. Well, technically, “come in LR.” I don’t think LR is ladies’ room. I don’t even remember how we met. We played them once in Buffalo and he found me after the game, took me to get wings, and made me tell him about Iowa. After that, he wanted to “fuck a farm boy,” and I was happy to oblige, considering he’s hot and I’m hot, so our combined hotness is overwhelming and equals very good sex. I call him Bally, because the 1st time we met, he had this hat with balloons on it and it ju-
As written on the back of an official score sheet and a highlighter.
I’m standing outside the visitors’ locker room avoiding the Buffalonians. They’ve hated me since I drove past them while they were getting on their bus and yelled, “How’s sex with Satan?” But I said it like “S-eight-en,” like the Devil. Hah! We’re Devils…okay, moving on. When one of them comes out, I just face the wall and pretend to tie my shoe. Here’s Bally-
As written on the back of a napkin from Burger King and a green pencil bearing the name Christopher.
He thinks my car smells like sex. I thought the Lysol would’ve gotten that out. I should write to them. “You say Lysol is supposed to get the smell out of everything, but it doesn’t get the sex smell out!”
As written on the skin of a sweaty Ryan Miller with a hot Scott Clemmensen finger.
So much for the car un-sex-smelling itself.
AUTHOR: Jennie
CHARACTERS: Scott Clemmensen of the Devils and Ryan Miller of the Sabres. Also thrown in there, Serge = Sergei Brylin, Johnny Mac = John MacLean (Devils assistant coach), Paul = Paul Martin, Marty = Martin Brodeur, Colin = Colin White, Johnny = John Madden, Luko = Brad Lukowich, all of the Devils. Phew! :-P
SUMMARY: Scott's ramblings on various items. It's hard to explain, and the sex part comes later. It's basically his constant talking.
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: my attempt at writing a semi-funny fic. i needed a break from the depression that is Jason, Mark, and Henrik. tell me your thoughts, good and bad!
As written on a roll of tape borrowed stolen from behind the bench, and a sharpie borrowed from Johnny Mac.
I’m bored. B-o-r-e-d. A couple of months ago, I got so bored that I made up a game. That was way before the Boston game on Kenny night when I played and we won!! But anyways, it’s to help with my future play-by-play career. I’ll be like Chico. “Here’s Mike “Doc” Emerick and Scott “Clemmy” Clemmensen.” I guess I’ll need a cooler nickname, like Tiger, or Snake. Or Beanpot, because of college. Scott “Beanie” Clemmensen. I just told Luko to call me Beanie and he gave me a funny look. I know he thinks I’m the weird one on the team. He always looks at me when I play my game out loud and say something like Freckles, for Sarge. Marty’s weird, too. He always has to sit by the window when we’re on the bus, because as soon as he pulls into the arena he has to lick the window. But no one ever thinks he’s weird, because his weirdness gets him to be the best goalie in the world. But my weirdness? No, I’m not allowed to be weird because I’m only a backup. Well, you’ll see when I’m a world-famous play-by-play announcer on NBC! *laughs evily* Getting back to my game, it’s like doing the play-by-play, only using the first thing that comes to mind instead of a guy’s real name. For example, Johnny is Smiles. He doesn’t like when I call him that. He doesn’t think it’s macho enough. I’ll play right now. Ahnold (Jagr, cause he talks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.) got his knife (skate blade) caught whacked (funny) in the glass (ice) and took out a constable (ref). Now, find anyone who says that doesn’t sound more awesome.
“Me.” Scott looked up from his journalistic endeavors and locked eyes with Red...er...Paul. “What?” “I don’t think that sounds more awesome. That just sounds weird.” Scott rolled his eyes and turned his back to the defenseman.
Well, aside from Red. He’s just weird. His red hair probably messes with his brain. Either that, or he’s been spending too much time with Tooth (Colin). Everyone knows he’s weird. Ryan just tapped in Morse code against the glass to meet him in the locker room. Well, technically, “come in LR.” I don’t think LR is ladies’ room. I don’t even remember how we met. We played them once in Buffalo and he found me after the game, took me to get wings, and made me tell him about Iowa. After that, he wanted to “fuck a farm boy,” and I was happy to oblige, considering he’s hot and I’m hot, so our combined hotness is overwhelming and equals very good sex. I call him Bally, because the 1st time we met, he had this hat with balloons on it and it ju-
As written on the back of an official score sheet and a highlighter.
I’m standing outside the visitors’ locker room avoiding the Buffalonians. They’ve hated me since I drove past them while they were getting on their bus and yelled, “How’s sex with Satan?” But I said it like “S-eight-en,” like the Devil. Hah! We’re Devils…okay, moving on. When one of them comes out, I just face the wall and pretend to tie my shoe. Here’s Bally-
As written on the back of a napkin from Burger King and a green pencil bearing the name Christopher.
He thinks my car smells like sex. I thought the Lysol would’ve gotten that out. I should write to them. “You say Lysol is supposed to get the smell out of everything, but it doesn’t get the sex smell out!”
As written on the skin of a sweaty Ryan Miller with a hot Scott Clemmensen finger.
So much for the car un-sex-smelling itself.