Hockey is one of the greatest spectator sports. The speed, intensity, bone crushing body checks and phenomenal one-time goals, however, pale in comparison to a naked fan that jumps onto the ice in the middle of a game. Calgary hockey fans are rabid. Earlier this year, my cousin Nels and his wife attended a hockey game in Calgary during their honeymoon. During a brief stoppage in play, an obese gentlemen sitting in the front row saw himself on the Jumbo Tron, lifted up his shirt and pressed his fat belly on the glass before the puck was dropped for a face off.
An insane amount of freelance work is keeping me busy as of late. So busy in fact, that I went into more debt to buy a new computer. A Power Mac G4. Go ahead. I will wait while you clean your shorts. I love it and the freshly connected broadband internet access (you should see how amazing porn looks on this monitor). I am anticipating a good return on the investment. Is there anyone out there that needs for a web designer?
Nels and Kerry’s wedding went off without a hitch. Many spirits were imbibed, there was more dancing than an MC Hammer video and good times were had by all. I performed my best man duties with dignity and ease and avoided a candelabra incident during the ceremony thanks to my cat like reflexes. The minister unknowingly bumped a candelabra that would have sent the quaint chapel up in flames if it had not been caught. I did this without anyone in the congregation noticing a damn thing, moving swift and silently like a ninja on a rooftop.
My hockey league’s regular season ended last Sunday. I was second in points on the team with 8 goals, 12 assists and 9 penalty minutes. We ended up in fifth place and are battling the fourth seeded Fighting Trout this Sunday. The Slashing Hyenas are in prime position to take it all the way to the house. My dreams of hoisting the Bladium Cup over my head and drinking in the sweet nectars of victory as I skate around the former airplane hangar in my jock strap to a cheering crowd of seven people will hopefully come to fruition.
After this past weekend I know what Keith Richard’s liver feels like. I and ten other hell-bent drunks braved the wilds of North Federal Boulevard and Steamboat Springs for a bachelor party weekend that sent Nels off to the marriage gallows in grand drunken fashion. I will spare you the details of the weekend as they are mostly laborious accounts of steak dinners, inebriated heroics and vulgar slurs of grandiose proportions directed at one party-goers Denver Bronco Cheerleader sister. The entire bachelor party shared their sexual fantasies surrounding said sister during the entire weekend (mostly after the aforementioned party-goer threatened to inflict physical harm). My favorite fantasy included Shannon Elizabeth, a sponge and a bathtub filled with hot fudge. It is amazing what three motivated drunk people can accomplish on Howelsen Hill with a crude sledding device. Me being one of said drunk people (and just in case someone in Steamboat Springs law enforcement or my mother is reading this) all I will say about the incident is this: that was some fun shit.