Its yer boy Brucey Mother Fuckin' B here. Back from my hiatus of rumming up cocoanuts, living the F-L-A lifestyle. Step 1 in murdering a hideous hockey coach and an ugly team, know thy enemy, and I have the puke stains on my carpet to prove it. So, its become a battle royale with our southeast division rivals, theyve got Stamkos, and Rolo-Tony, and a midget saint from booty-clap town. Fortunately our D boys are tighter than a suicide bombers virgin, and with Wideman getting better every second we're just gonna go into shutdown mode. Double fortunately for people who love hockey, we're not a D mans team, We've got our boys up front. right right, you get it. The Greatest Ate, Nickelbackstrom, Rockem Sockem Semin, Hojo Mojo, right you get it. I dont have time to come up with kick ass nicknames like double knuble or double nickel, Im coaching a fucking playoff team. I've spoken at large before about my animosity for the "Lightning Bolts" but now that we've hit playoff time, time to quintuple their facial scars. I've seen the french connection, a little bit of heroin will take down lacaviler and gange (I dont give a fuck how they spell their names, I ain't been scared fo the french since I found out you can buy ice cream in just one flavor per box. FUCK YOU NAPOLEON, I HATE STRAWBERRY!)Anyway, what do you want me to say, we're gonna win. I'll write more as it becomes appropriate. FUCKERS
oh...I forget a DJ King joke...lemme get my cats some meth so they go on photoshoppe spree
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