Seriously? You haven't been paying attention. I saw this on Twitter, directed at another fan, but it might as well have been directed at me...because as a matter of fact, yes, yes I DO kiss the Flyers asses 24/7, 365. And yes, I might kiss more than their asses if I weren't married, but that is an entirely different topic. I frigging BLEED orange and black. I was in TEARS when that mullet having rat bastard Kane scored in Game 6, and won the Cup in our house. My schedule is dictated by the Flyers schedule...and I shit you not. Our family vacation is the first week of September, so that when I come home, rather than feeling bummed about vacation being over, I can get down to the business of the Flyers. When my husband and I picked our wedding date, we had to make sure it would not be during the season...we picked June 27th, to be sure. My son, the only child I will ever be able to have naturally, came home in a Flyers onesie.
Cute little punkin, isn't he? There is a Flyers flag hanging proudly outside my home EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. Even the day after they didn't win Game 6. Even after the Boston series last season. I understand that some Flyers fans like to bitch and moan about the trades, how badly the team is playing, and so on and so forth. That is your prerogative. I however, prefer to just love the team...with my entire heart. I will always believe, each and every year, that the Flyers can win the Stanley Cup, until they lose the fourth game of a playoff series. I watched every heartbreaking minute of every game of the horrifying season we do not not speak of. The miracle comeback, after being down 0-3, may have shocked some, but I left work the day of Game 4, 5, 6 and 7 saying "It ain't over until someone wins four games." The day after Game 6 of the SCF, my husband tried to "console" me, and I told him, and I quote: "I am sorry honey, but my heart wouldn't be in it. My heart is broken right now...I love you, but I loved them first". I guess you really don't ever get over that first love. So, go ahead and cry about Richards being traded, about Bryz costing too much...about how we don't have a chance to even make the playoffs this season. Forgive me if I don't join you...I am busy designing my Stanley Cup party menu. Here's a hint: the color scheme is black and orange.
OK, so I am a day late...sorry folks, I have a job, a kid, a husband, and a brand new HTC Thunderbolt...sorry. So, the big story yesterday was that Jeff Carter and Mike Richards got traded because they were booze hounds. Hmm, apparently, it was a really slow news day, if journalists everywhere had to write about Richie and High and Wide drinking. Seriously? This was NEWS? That Carter and Richards wouldn't live on "Dry Island"??? OK, the minute Lavy was hired, even a puck bunny like myself knew that there were going to be problems...John Stevens was their buddy, and I doubt he spent many nights on dry island himself., so there were bound to be changes. It was obvious last year that there were, hmm, creative differences between Richards and Lavy. Jeff Carter did his usual Houdini act come playoff time...perhaps he was in to much of a hurry to head to Sea Isle...I don't know, and I don't care. Richards was a ghost in the final couple games, and the season ended poorly, with the Flyers AGAIN losing to the eventual Stanly Cup Champions.
Yes, that is Kenny Chesney, and that freak of nature Chara. Pay attention kids, that is the only picture of the Boston Bruins you will ever see on my blog, because Kenny is in it. Oh Kenny, how can you be so smoking hot and have such BAD taste in hockey? Again...I digress. Ed Snider was done being humiliated after that lifeless effort against the Bruins, and anyone that didn't see huge changes coming was as stupid as Chara is ugly. So, were Carter and Richards traded for the partying? I think Carter was traded because of the partying, and that Richards was traded because the "team" no longer wanted him as Captain. Just my opinion on that. Personally, I don't care what ANY of the players do off the ice, unless it affects what happens ON the ice. Did it? My guess is yes, from experience. I had a boss who was a boozehound. (He still is a boozehound, just thankfully no longer my boss.) He could never be bothered to show up on time, ever. So, while I was his second in command, I spent the first half hour of my day fielding questions about where he was, and when he would be in. And when he finally DID show up, I spent most of my day fixing his hang over induced fuck ups. Except for the one day, that he fucking FORGOT to come to work. Until about 11 AM, when he finally checked his phone and saw my 8 fucking million calls, and realized that there are not any weeks that have two Sundays. So let us make my boss, say Jeff Carter. Imagine the team mates that have to cover for his stupid, hung over bleach blonde ass, be it in practice or in a game...I am thinking he was as popular with the older players as my dumb fuck of a boss was with me. While I don't fancy myself quite as mean as Chris Pronger, I can only imagine how Prongs dealt with the frat boy mentality..and I laugh my ass off every time I picture him screaming in old High and Wide's ear at an early morning practice...."HOW'S IT GOING JEFF??? UP LATE LAST NIGHT??" Yes, I am easily amused...but back to my point, so I can finish this and go play with my new phone...I don't care if Jeff Carter lived on Dry Island, or Wet Island, or Free basing cocaine and snorting it out of the crack of Mike Richard's Ass Island....the only one I care about is MISSING THE WIDE OPEN, GAPING FUCKING NET IN GAME 6 OF THE STANLEY CUP FINALS ISLAND.
Do I think the partying had something to do with he and Richie running out of gas in the finals? Damn right I do. If they could do all the partying, and win the Stanley Cup, hey, next rounds on me, party on, boys. But good old H&W shit the bed...and it turn's out that maybe he should have stopped by Dry Island once in a while. Yes, I think it was true...I just don't think it was news.
I am a HUGE Danny Briere fan...this is no secret to most of my friends. I first noticed the diminutive Mr. Briere when he was a Sabre, in 2006. The Sabres beat the Flyers in 6 Games, and Briere scored in double OT against Robert Esche to win Game One.
I hated him with a passion...sort of. Anyway, Paul Holmgren signed him to fend off the restless natives after the season we do not speak of, and he has been my favorite Flyer ever since. Do I also think he is a hottie? Well...yes, that is a given. Sorry guys, women are ALLOWED to think men are hot...even if we are married. Just like you ogle the cheerleaders on the sidelines at the Eagles games. Except for me, and a lot of women, the hot bodies are on the ice. So, I started a Danny Briere fan page in response to being called a puck bunny...sort of a "fuck you...you want a puck bunny? I'll show you a puck bunny." The tag of "puck bunny" is one that I despise...and one that I have fought damn near my entire life. Apparently, it is difficult for most men to comprehend that big tits, long legs, and hockey knowledge can all co-exist in the same body. Any how, I started the page, and holy shit, the boil his bunny, Danny's #1 fan whack jobs came a calling.
Whack job #1 and whack job #2 (yes, names have been changed to protect the completely fucking clueless) would argue, on my page, about which one of them was Danny's #1 fan...have you scene "Misery"? Yeah...these two scared me.
At first, #2 did me a favor, and befriended #1, who had been texting me via Facebook so often that my husband SWORE I kept my phone on vibrate for the kicks. So the two shared medication, uploaded pictures (some of #1s pics are these scary, photoshopped nightmares) and chatted together, until #2 sat on Briere's lap. At the Carnival. Oh, did I mention that #2 thought Briere was flirting with her at the Carnival? Yeah...sure. I love the Flyers, and the Carnival is an amazing event, but it is sort of a hockey strip club. Think about it...all the really hot properties are in private areas, everything is insanely expensive, there is some talking but very little touching, but SORRY ladies, there aren't going to be any happy endings tonight. But I digress..so, whacko #2 sat in Briere's lap, posted the picture, and whacko #1 unfriended her. There was a lot of "How could you do that to me?? You know I love Danny!! I thought you were my friend!!!" wailing and nashing of teeth.
Seriously? Those two scared me, but I had a pretty good idea from the get go that they had issues. The one that really freaked me out was whacko #3. She seemed normal enough. She was a single mom, with an adorable son...named Danny. She SWORE that her son was not named after Briere, but I think this should have been my first red flag. She also frequented the "Girl Friend Forums", which should have been red flag number 2.(If you haven't checked those pits from Hell out, I suggest you do so on an empty stomach.) But, she had a job, a child, was about my age, and had a pretty decent sense of humour. About a month ago, I got a text from her: "If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?" The fuck? I didn't remember getting in a DeLorean and going back to high school, but I played along. She proceeded to tell me that she had created a fake Facebook profile. With a hot blonde picture. And lots of hot friends (that she also created)....and then sent Danny Briere (and the real Daniel Briere, not a fake or fan page) a friend request. That he accepted immediately. Danny, Danny, Danny...you aren't the first man to be fooled by fake tits, but you make $10 million a year and have three kids, you should be more careful. She told me all about his pictures, his kid's profiles....that he was friends with the "real" Flyers players...and was surprised when I told her, no, I didn't think it was a good idea. What DID I think? That bitch needs more medication than #1 and #2 put together, and her poor kid is going to need more therapy than a child porn star.
OK LISTEN UP PUCKBUNNIES!!! You don't have a SHOT IN HELL with Danny Briere. Or Claude Giroux. Or Dan Carcillo, for that matter. No, it's not because they are smoking hot, out of your league athletes. My husband is a smoking hot athlete, and I am average looking, and we have been happily married for 13 years. (The answer to that question is big boobs, and food. My husband loves boobs, I have big ones, and I am a really good cook. Can I get back to the topic at hand?) No, it's not because you are too fat, too young or too old...it is because Danny Briere lives in THE REAL WORLD!!! And I am not talking about the MTV reality show, I am talking about the REAL FUCKING WORLD!!! You know, where vampires DON'T sparkle (sorry Shanna) and wizards DON'T fly. So for the love of God, please stay on your medication, and keep watching hockey. Someday, you might actually realize that it is the most exciting sport on the planet.
Oh, and if you are reading this, Mr. Briere, I hope none of your children ever wants a rabbit for a pet.
Seriously? "Richie was the best cappy ever". Umm. OK. On the Flyers. One of the most storied franchises in the NHL. Captains have included: Dave Poulin. Ed van Impe. Rick Tocchet. Eric Desjardins. Bill Brber. Eric Lindros. Mel Bridgeman. And yeah, this guy named Bobby, what was it..oh yeah. Bobby fucking Clarke. Look you over-sexed, under educated puck bunnies...Mike Richards, while a good player, was not, I repeat NOT the best captain the Flyers have ever had. And the fact that you say "cappy" not only makes me want to smack the ever loving shit out if you, it only proves that you don't know shit about shit, and that you aren't a true Flyers fan. Case in point...I loved Rick Tocchet. And I do mean fucking WORSHIPED him. Posters, jerseys, you name it. When he got traded, I was crushed. For about five seconds..and then he was dead to me. He was a Penguin, I was a Flyers fan...sorry. Oh, and yes, I am a huge Danny Briere fan. I hope he is the next to wear the "C" in orange and black. And if he gets traded, ever? I wish him well, and move on. For the last time....IT IS ABOUT THE CREST ON THE FRONT. Idiots.It is morons like you that have made it hard for female fans like me to be taken seriously.
This is MY blog. That means it is my opinion. And yes, I know you have your own opinion...if you want to read YOUR opinion, get your own blog. Also, I swear a lot. A whole fucking bunch, as a matter of fact, so if you are easily offended, get the fuck out now, and don't come back. I am a born and raised, bleed black and orange Flyers fan. If you don't know what that is, you are going to be lost an awful lot, but at least you aren't a Rangers fan. Or a Penguins fan, so you are allowed here. Again, I am a Flyers fan, so I will make nasty comments about Cindy Crosby, and his band of merry men, so again, if that is going to bother you, buh-bye. Rule #1:Thou shalt not blaspheme the Flyers.
I am also TOTALLY obsessed with Kenny Chesney. I adore him, his voice makes me weak in the knees, and we would be married if he did not seem to prefer 23 year old blondes who weigh less than my cat. And a Republican. Seriously Kenny?? George Bush? Oh, and if my husband would forgive the whole bigamy thing. Anyway, I digress. I know he's bald, I know he's short...and I don't care. Rule #2: Thou shalt not blaspheme the Chesney.
Ok, those are the ground rules. So, now, a moment about the title. Shit pisses me off...all the time. And when it does, I look at my 24 pound cat, who is usually in my office with me, and say "Seriously?". Yeah, he doesn't ever answer, except with that "I don't give a rat's ass" look that all cats have, but he does understand me. I wish management at my work knew that "Seriously?" means I think you, or what have done or said, has led me to believe that you are a fucking moron. Anyway, I know it's been a couple of weeks, but I really have to get this off my chest...
An Open Letter to the 12 Stupidest People in The State of Florida, AKA the Casey Anthony Jury
Seriously? You needed to know HOW that baby died? I don't give a fuck how she died. her mother KNEW SHE WAS DEAD, ROTTING IN A SWAMP, AND WAS PARTYING WITH HER BOYFRIEND!!!! And got a Bella Vita TAT!!!! Any rational human being with two brain cells to rub together could do the math on that one...dead baby+mom who doesn't give a fuck=mom who killed her baby. Please go the electric chair. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, go straight to HELL, with a quick stop in the electric chair.
OK, I feel better. So does the cat. It's time for a nap.
