Here’s Doug Johnson of the Puck Buddys with a spot of the ol’ superviolence. Pull up a chair at the milk bar and follow the Buddys on Twitter.
Here’s The Choodesny Pregamey: Viddy viddy, me droogies! Wellity wellity wellity well. A dorogoy game we face then, contra the Chepooka Flyers, is it? And in their gloopy domy on top, is it? Capsity-wapts fans, prepare to creetch yer yarbles biddy biddy well, and poddy thisity this: me droogs are well placed to land the tolchuks to the gulliwats and gullivers of any groody Flyer that skates with us.
To all the horrowshow krovvy to flow!
And Now Back To Sanity: So we – as in PuckBuddyCraig – were struck this morning, amid the fog and shadows, to invoke St. Stanley Kubrick and “A Clockwork Orange” for this pregame. ‘Cause, you know… orange. Flyers. Uh-huh.
So a dorogoy post – and game – it is. And yet, there may be wisdom here. O my brothers, cutter this well…
“But enough of words, actions speak louder than. Action now. Observe all.”
O, viddy well mi lewdies, how the Caps took the pain and hurt to the (my) Red Wings (hurrah) without any hesitation. And now, now we move from Motown to Blowtown. Philadelphia.
We’ve already discussed at length the global calamity that is Philadelphia. The momentary catastrophe. The searing fact that, should the U.S. Eastern Coast be threatened by any natural threat, Philadelphia would be the first zombie/dark box/experimental slime mold of human DNA, offered up to pointers of what went wrong with humanity. Assuming that humans actually could endure the poisonous slop that was/is/will be Philadelphia. And of course, isolate it.
Memo to Philly: you know you blow dry, or suck rachety oily with suckness, so stop pretending. Oh… you know exactly what I mean, Swan Princess.
Do we really have to say his outloud? That the Flyers are, even considering the Pens and the Ducks, THE worst, most vile de village team ever…well, smasz yer yarlballs at what we viddy? Apparently, dumdum boychicks.
1, 2 and 3: Uh-Nuh! So here it is; everyone from the Caps organization playing ‘What comes tomorrow?’ and other contorata chumbley-mumble coming from the Puckgnoscentti.
Naughty, naughty, naughty! You filthy old soomka! (Alex and Alex will be scandalized.)
Here’s why we’re hot. Been following RMNB’s track of late? That’s why. We’re honestly tired beyond words of repeating the mouth-dry-tongued insight that comes from our RMNB overlords and commentators.
Ovi. Sasha. Orlov. Move on.
Or insert your favorite Caps player name here. Yawn.
So we’re so not pandering with silly photos of hot hockey players or RMNB graphic off-site library hotties. Because, you dogs, you don’t want to see he-men in your pics. Or do you? Really?
Admit it or not, flesh comes with awareness. Man or woman, defensive or offensive, short or tall or gay or straight; hockey can only be spelled with 6 letters.
H. O. C. K. E. Y.
And that’s what it comes down to. CAPS DEFENSE; CAPS MUST WIN OFFENSE.
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