It can’t all be singing and laughing and drinking the blood of our enemies out of a golden chalice while 80s music plays on a continuous loop in the background.
No, not like the blood of Christ. This involves no symbolism. Bitches be literal.
Sometimes bad shit happens in the midst of awesome things, like when you go to summer camp and make a lot of really cool friends and win at capture the flag and the canoe race but then at night in the cabin your camp counselor touches you in your bathing suit area.
That’s what this felt like.
Philadelphia touched us all up in our bathing suit areas.
Yeah, that person holding the sign?
That woman who thinks it’s still the 90s / man who thinks it’s still the 80s, the one with the fine sheen of determination and possibly a coating of Italian dressing – that human touched your no-nos.
I HOPE YOU WEREN’T SAVING YOURSELF FOR ANYTHING.
“No, I’m sorry, I only date women who would be able to handle a unicorn if the situation arose.”
Craigsy makes it happen in the first period, which was a pretty intense period, considering it was a Sunday game.
We sort of wonder if the players feel like us, and look at the clock saying “really, I am expected to do this now?” Not that any time is a bad time for hockey, but sometimes a bitch has to wash her dishes while the sun is still up.
There’s a lot of over-the-pants action for the rest of the first and for almost the entire second period. Nothing gets done, but the foreplay is, well, it’s junior-year-of-college good. And just like in college, just when you thought it wasn’t going to happen and that everyone involved was wasting their time,
Now you have something to tell everyone about during your study group.
No lewd caption necessary.
Of course, then came the backlash.
Simmonds and Fatty manage to tie it up in the third, thanks to a lot of luck, and the distractions caused by a professional athlete somehow having MULTIPLE CHINS.
OT was fast and head-on. It flew by, but not quickly enough, because Fatty grabbed it in the last second.
.9 seconds left, to be exact.
So the Flyers walked out of this one with two points, but not really through skill and talent. Just thuggery and deceptive fatness.
(It took everything in me not to turn their sticks into lightsabers in this one. Goddamnit.)
But really, how can you expect Philly to keep it classy? They never had any class to keep.
Whatevs. We get a point, we’re looking awesome, and we couldn’t care less about Philly. You know why?
The King has Returned.