100 – HIT ‘EM WITH YER HAHA HOCKEY STICK

 

Keenly aware of the unease in the air, Kitty called upon Lance to fill it with ringing laughter. “Funny boy,” she said, pointing at her King to be, “I think we need some Daffy Donald.”

Lance looked around the table. Mom and dad nodded, grinning. The brothers Staal knew not what a Daffy Donald was, and Marc said so, “Sounds like a duck that will quack us up!”

“Nice one,” Kitty said. “Lance, like his father, is a writer. I don’t think Stephen would challenge my assertion that Lance is more gifted than he in the art of humour.” Stephen did not challenge the assertion, so Kitty continued. “Daffy Donald is the main character in his book, Die Laughing. He’s a standup comic, with a penchant for hyperbole and a half. A misanthropic bon vivant, with a license to ill. Dee Dee, as I like to call him, has some hockey hahaha in his repertoire that will amuse you… and some that may offend you a bit.”

“Excellent,” said Jordan. “We’re always looking for new material for the dressing room.”

“Yeah,” agreed Eric, “Hit us with you haha hockey stick, kid.”

“Sure, why not? So long as you don’t hit me with your haha hockey sticks, if you’re offended.”

“Sticks on the ice, Lance. We ain’t Iron Leaguers,” Jordan promised.

“You’re not exactly Lady Byng candidates, either,” Stephen quipped.

“Oh, Hell no, coach,” Marc laughed. “We’d all get beaten up, and run out of town, if any one of us ever brought the Lady Byng back to Thunder!”

“Okay, so this comes about halfway into one of Daffy Donald’s routines. By the time he’s gotten to where I’m gonna start, he already has them roaring, and therefore has room to set up the funny to come, without worrying about laughs per minute, for a minute.” Lance got the brothers smirking by prefacing the routine, thus, “Essentially, this explains the difference between hockey players, and soccer players.”

I gots me some money now, and I’m, looking to invest. I’m gonna invest in a professional sports franchise.

There seems to be no ceiling on the value of a pro sports team in America.

But football, basketball, and baseball teams are prohibitively pricey. Even hockey teams are very expensive.

So, the smart bet is to buy into a Major League Soccer team.

Soccer is the world’s sport. The World Cup is more popular than the Olympics, and the final is watched by more than a billion people the world over.

But the only way I’m gonna put my money into a soccer team is if there is one change to the rules.

Americans will never take soccer seriously, until there is an end to players rolling around on the field, like they’ve been tazered, every time they’re touched by a player from the opposing team.

What a bunch of fucking pussies!

Back in 2014, there was a hockey player who had a heart attack on the bench, survived, and wanted to get back out on the ice.

I’m serious. His name is Rich Peverley, and he was playing for the Dallas Stars. Google it if you don’t believe me. How fucking tough is that? The fucker had a fucking heart attack, and wanted to get back out on the ice.

Back in 1999, another hockey player, a goalie for the Buffalo Sabres, Clint Malarchuk, had his throat slit by a skate.

The blood started gushing. It squirted 5 feet.

He lived to tell the tale.

He said he was sure he was going to die. And he said he felt no pain. He had his throat slit, and felt no pain. Soccer players act like they’ve been trampled underfoot, by stampeding bulls, every time someone steps on their toes!

This is what Malarchuk wrote in The Player’s Journal about the incident.

‘First, I thought about something I’d been told, going all the way back to peewee:

If you get hurt, don’t lay there on the ice like a weakling. Get up and go. Get yourself off that ice. Show that you’re tough.’

The piece Malarchuk wrote for The Player’s Journal opens with him describing an attempt to kill himself, nine years later.

He was drunk. He’d downed a couple dozen beers. He put a rifle under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

‘The bullet traveled up through my jaw, knocked out a couple of teeth, ricocheted through my nasal passages, and then kept on going until it got stuck in my skull. Somehow, I never lost consciousness.’

Now, here’s how fucking tough Clint Malarchuk is. He says, ‘I never felt a bit of pain.’

He had his throat slit and didn’t feel any pain.

He shot himself in the head, and didn’t feel any pain.

Hockey players are tough motherfuckers!

Soccer players? Soccer players are pansies.

You would think that grown men would be ashamed of themselves for flailing around on the grass like they’ve just been gut shot.

Or head shot.

But, no.

They absolutely insist on trying to fake injuries, until the ref penalizes the guy who sneezed at them.

And that’s why the beautiful game will never be big time in America.

America does not like pansy athletes.

But, I have a solution.

First of all, all soccer teams should be coached by hockey players.

I don’t give a fuck if they don’t know anything about soccer.

So long as they can get those prima donnas to cut the dramatics, they are far superior to any qualified soccer coach.

But here’s the kicker.

Here’s how you get those shameless pantywaists to act like men.

Make all those pussies start the game wearing skirts. I’m talking micro-mini skirts.

And, whenever they get caught pretending that they’ve been tazered, make them strip off their skirts, and play the rest of the game in their HELLO KITTY! Panties!

And if the fucker does it again, let the other team gangbang him, rigt there on the field. Let ‘em go double anal on their puckered, little, grunge pussies, which have been hot waxed by the pretty boys who didn’t make the cut for Latino boy bands. Let them pound away on him until he’s leaking man chowder from his grunge pussy for a month.

Let the cheerleaders strap on, and ride him like a bitch.

Hell, let everyone who bought a ticket come down, and stick something is his pussy ass.

Sodomize him with a hockey stick!

A baseball bat!

Is there anyone, anywhere – male, female, queer, strait, or other – who doesn’t wanna see Ronaldo squealing like a pig, tears streaming down his pretty face?

That’ll fill the stands, put the ratings through the roof, and make me a whole lotta money money money!

101 – TOM BRADY GOT DA CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP HE GOT DA CLAP

HOME

BUY MY BOOK

dj jc cover front

100

100 a