ENOUGH!
Imagine there’s no humans. It’s easy if you try (or turn your back on the government for five seconds)…
Can’t we all just get along?
Category Archives: Games
Sami Salo’s injured testicle Speaks!
OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW!
Yes, Sami Salo’s not-quite-ruptured-but-seriously-slapshotted testicle has spoken. And to me, no less! Now get your ass over to TheCelebrityIndustrialComplex at TrueSlant and read the article in which I quiz Sami Salo’s ball! It’s the first time I’ve ever interviewed a celebrity testicle. Hell, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen balls that speak for themselves!
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- Sami Salo Injury VIDEO: RUPTURED TESTICLE Reportedly Sidelines Canuck (huffingtonpost.com)
- Twitter / Jason Botchford: Salo did not rupture a tes … (ballhype.com)
- Video: Sami Salo takes puck to groin, hospitalized (updated) (ballhype.com)
- History Will Be Made – Sami Salo (video) (ballhype.com) [BALLHYPE? Srsly ppl, there's a blog for EVERYTHING nowadays]
Canadians Win: The Cure for Black Sunday
As presumably even penguins in the Antarctic are now aware, on Sunday the Canadian Men’s hockey team lost to the US team for the first time since 1960; this day is now known as Black Sunday or, in the US, as the “Miracle on Ice” because that country ran out of ideas after inventing disco and they’ve just been stealing from the Japanese and the English ever since, and have to reuse old names.
This is what it looked like:
Seriously, that’s all you need to know about it, other than the one thing nobody knows: how much Brodeur took to throw the game.
And this is the smashingly effective Canadian Comeback:
Which means we don’t have to worry about things like this…
The handmade aboriginal novelty fake turd game
Don’t ask. Just go here and play the damn game.
Keep it lowbrow; Shakespeare does not work as well as the Monkees; go for Shanana, rather than Dostoyevsky. This is NOT, repeat, NOT, the raincoaster game.
This is a Blogathon post. Don’t just sit there, SPONSOR ME!
The Luck of the Irish
So, the other night I was, as I am not infrequently, at the bar of the Irish Heather, spending, as I do not infrequently, too damn much money for somebody who blogs for a living, and I met, as I not infrequently do, an Irishman.
I mean, where else would you? Right? Amiright?
And his Zimbabwean sidekick, Julius I’m Not Kidding You although he may have been telling a stretcher Caesar. Julius Caesar.
I never did catch the Irishman’s name, either because it was so exotic or because I have a cold and my ears were stuffed up with Strongbow I mean earwax now where was I?
Right. At the bar of the Irish Heather, talking about luck with a lanky, nameless Irishman and a black guy from Zimbabwe called Julius Caesar. They’d just gotten back from the Yukon, where they were checking out the dogsled race and NO I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP the one that goes all the way to Alaska, and thereupon I told them my story about the American Minutemen guarding the border and the time one of them shot himself in the foot and Canada refused to let him in, as he did not have proper identification documents and they must have laughed and laughed at Canadian Border Guard Union Headquarters over that one, oh yes.
And then the Irishman told me the secret of winning bar bets, which he then proceeded to prove by winning two toonies from me. But he bought me a Strongbow, so I figure I came out four bucks ahead when you figure tax into it which in Canada you always do, on general principles and yes, even in bar bets.
And this is the secret:
Get the other person to make a bet, and bet against him.
You’re welcome.
