I've been playing hockey for a long time and, I've got to tell you, I've seen plenty of shit in my day. Sticks to the head, snot nosed AHL call-ups taking runs at me, fans booing, asshole refs, getting face-washed at the net, and the list goes on. And I'm not just talking on the ice, but off it as well. Gold-digging girls with the clap, bad bleach jobs at the salon, and the idiot at the Ocean Drive who keeps making me pay cover. Sometimes life seem so unfair, but like Karl Marx, I always figured this was part of a natural order. After all, I'm young, popular, rich and good looking. So there was balance. And things made sense. So you can imagine my surprise when I was shipped off to Columbus. Yeah, that's right, Columbus, one the twin arm-pits of Ohio.
How batshit crazy do you have to be to trade someone to Columbus? Just one click of the hastily arranged tourism video for Cleveland and I knew I was screwed. Ouch And just what the hell is a Blue Jacket anyways? It's not even a real fucking insect. I could live with being sent to a warm southeast outpost where no one knows a thing about hockey. But last place Columbus? Seriously? Even the thought of double teaming OSU girls with Scottie Upshall wasn't making me any happier about it.
I can't help but think some sick fuck wanna-be Mortimer Duke in the front office bet Snider one dollar they could ruin my life by sending me to Columbus and make the players they got for me fan favorites. Yeah, you heard me right. I think it was premeditated. And it wasn't enough just to banish me to Columbus. Even more chilling was the fact that this same mentally disturbed sociopath sent my best friend to Los Angeles to hob knob with celebrities and oogle bikini clad hotties at the Santa Monica Pier just to fuck with me further.
What in the hell did I do to deserve this? Bang Mrs. Hartnell? All I did was win a Calder Cup, put the team on my back and drag them to the Stanley Cup finals, and sign a cap-friendly long term contract with a hometown discount. Okay, so I like to go and and drink - alot. The road goes on forever, but the party never ends. Amiright? I've grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so I'm not the type of guy who can handle being shipwrecked on a Dry Island. But Columbus? What the fuck!? It's like they knew they were ruining my life.
But just like Winthorpe, I've risen from the ashes. The Kings raise the banner tomorrow night and the natural order has returned. I hear there's going to be one hell of a party after the game. Hey Homer, the golden rule is a bitch.