i'd like for you to post this picture of my dad. i think he has #1 flow but his girlfriend/my mom thinks it stinks! i say let the pubic decide!

my dad >>>>> http://www.gongshowgear.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/srgey_n.jpg

thanks,

Dorgie Feda-Poots

Part 5:

One
Two
Three
Four

“LINE CHANGE FUCKERS!” Robo-Wides’ shot neurons from his computerbrain at the speed of light down to his leg, which immediately fired off. grabbing all his other-worldly teammates on his way into the Mark 2. And just as fast as they had appeared they were gone.

“We’ve stabilized” said #3 

“Where are we!?” said Old Man Fighter Calson popping a Calcitrex, before offering them to the rest of the Mark 2 travelers. They all declined, “Strong Bones makes good fighters.” No one cared. Brucey done gone and set off the doomsday machine. They were sad. 

“floating through the 8th dimension.” said #3

“TAKE US BACK!” DJ king screamed as he took control.

Inside a crater so large it has it's own atmosphere.

Vrrrooppppppppppp POooopppppvpvvverrrrr. 

“My buttole!” said robo-wides opening the door, the shock so great his sphincter exploding out his poop chute. The Mark Poopoo was in the middle of a giant crater a football field wide and a futbol field deep. 

“LINE CHANGE FUCKERS” came over the radio. ‘Well thats a strange thing to hear, they were just playing Tommy James and the Shondells.’ thought Dale Hunter letting his sunglasses slide down his greasy nose to glance at the digital radio readout in his BB customized Mercedes. ‘Perhaps it is just interference out here in the Shenandoah Valley, where I take a drive every saturday morning, far away from any current Caps player’ Or, thats what he would have thought had his tits not been ripped out through his eye sockets at that very moment. An explosion the size of huge but not so big it would reach anyone else had torn his body to nothing but atoms, ashes too good for a defense minded trap heavy motherfuck.

'oooh, I think we're alone NAHAHGGGHHHG'

30 miles away Smitty took an envelope of cash from a mole in a trenchcoat. “What was that I injected into Dale?” The mole said nothing, and knowing his work was done, but unable to cope with the consequences of returning to a bloodthirsty horde of molepeople, produced a gun from his mole pouch and shot himself in the head. 50 years later, as the snow slowly began to blanket the Greater Washington D.C. area Smittys wife, children and grandchildren, all tried to get his attention, it was christmas after all, and maybe this year would be different. But for the last half century of his life Smitty near’y uttered a word, he sat and stared at the giant mole he had taxidermed that fateful day in 2012.

Far below the freshly made crater the mole people partied like Ewoks. Their first doomsday device a success. Work must immediately begin on the next one.

Far below the mole people a giant snarling beast stomped out his cigarette with cloven hooves. His red arm, the size of one of those great oaks in california you can drive through pulled tightly on the chain of his dog, Cerberus.

Everything was a bit fuzzy, a heavy metal collar, naked, NAKED? The first thought was that he was damn sure he didnt look good naked. His eyes adjusted...

WELCOME TO HELL. YOU’RE FUCKED.

"Hell"™ and all associated characters
 Trademark The Walt Disney Corporation 

Bruce recognized a familiar bald pattern on the man several in front of him. Moose. Their metal collars attached, behind him as well, a line of prisoners being marched through giant red gates. Slowly they moved, one at a time, Satan welcoming them personally.

Bruce had no fear, Everyone on earth had known he was the baddest motherfucker of all time, now he was just playing in the majors.

“MOOSE MASON.” Satans voice shook the ground. “WHAT THE SHIT, BRO?”

“I, well, I did just lik-”

“NO. I GAVE YOU A NEW HEART. I LET YOU LIVE FOR WHAT?”

“But...Theres no way he survived! He must be down here, just behind me!”

“YOU...YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE! YOU WERE SUPPSOED TO DESTORY HIS SOUL BY DESTROYING THE CUP WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU...is that him? shit...shh, stay quiet, dont look.”

“Yeah I think thats hi-”... he didnt finish before one of the heads of Satans doggy ate him. 

“NOW YOU WILL BE A LITERAL SHIT STAIN” said satan trying to bluff some tough stuff

Whatever weird off-brand Salacious Crumb Satan used as a check in guy laughed and laughed and laughed...The prisoners continued to move forward. And with every punishment the little creature laughed harder and harder. O.B.S.C. looked up to check in the next permeant visitor to hell. His face turned to stone. “Bru...Bru...”

“SPEAK UP!” 

“Brugs Brodeout!” Said the third rate rat-boy. Gasps came from behind satan, down in deep burghs of hell. The pittsburghs of hell. Satan’s fire red skin turned pink. 

“Whats the matter Jeff? You look like youve lost your color.”

"You're not gonna tell my mom, are you Mr. B?" sniffle

“IF YOU’RE HERE...WE CAN WORK THIS OUT...HAHAH! IF YOURE HERE IT CAN ONLY MEAN ONE THING.”

“Not quite little lady” Said Bruce toots reaching through his many butt crevices. “It means two very specific things.” From his bee-hole he pulled out his phone. “Do you think I hadn’t planned for this?” Satan reached back and back and back, his arm moving like Mr. Fantastic, as it retracted he held The lovely Ms. Crystal Boothoreau in his hand. 

“HERE! PLEASE! DON’T HURT US HEH HEH”. Bruce never had the patience for nervous laughers.

“Well, thats one th- Wait” he turned to Crystal. “Why are you in hell?” 

“I knew it wasn’t you when I gave moosey a crumpkin.” Brucey’s skin turned redder than Satans.

DJ had been crying for the better part of an hour. “Holy shit, forget saving bruce, how do we get this BABY to shut up. Theres got to be something that we can do.” said number 2

"youre a baby" said DJ

A long pause as they all mulled over the seemingly endless possibilities of the Mark 2.

“Well, there is only one place Bruce would end up.” said fighter Carlson.

“You dont mean-” said robo-wides, as if it was going to be a surprise.

“Mr Hendi-Hop the Third, set a course for Hell.”

"I said you're the baby"

VRRRROOOOOMMMPPPPPP VRRRRROOOOPPPPPPP

kkkksshhhhhhhhhhhh

There was no rush in opening a door to hell. Fighter Calston drew his breath purposefully. Like checking to see if a can of sardines is rotten, he carefully peeled back the entrance to the Mk II. His brain told him the others would demand a status report, but there were no words. "Shut up brain" he muttered. tossing the door back and stepping forward, the others slowly peered out, one by one following Castleton.

There, in the middle of an idea, in the middle of the universe, in the middle of a a planet, in the middle of Mountains made of spikes, in the middle of a lake of fire, in the middle of an island covered with every weapon known to man, was the largest pile of dead bodies any entity has ever witnessed.  And it was there, in the middle of the millions...billions of slain bodies stood a proud man, a chubby man, a naked man.  Every and any being from any time on any plane in any universe that had committed evil lay slain. The mountain their broken bones formed, became an alter for Bruce Boodyrel, New king of Hell. Only three headed puppy was spared his life, but not its purpose, it would spend eternity moaning and licking the hand of his dead master.

Clothes added for your pleasure, not my connivence.

Quickly sliding down Mt. Dead Evil-Doers the pink fat man was riding a sled made out of hitler. 'Made out of' meaning he was riding hitler. his dead body. because thats mega badass.

“Hello Boys. Glad you could make it to the party.” said BRUCE BOUDREAU 

“How...Wha...” Said everyone else left alive in perfect unison.  

“Well don’t looked so shocked, you’ve seen me on the bench, you know I can get angry!”

“But How?!” Naked Brucey looked down

“Holy Shit” said number 3

“Thats a big dick” said robot wideman.

“Yes, I Bruce Bardot, stabbed all the evil in the everyverse to double death with my dick. What a time! How did you boys get here? Or to Moose Mason’s house? I was so intent on killing my evil-twin I didn't even ask.”

"Brucey Saw Beautiful Realities"
Photo: Jacky T/Getty Images

Hendi-hop number 2 went into the Mark 2 to cook up some tea while the others chatted about everything in existence and explained M-theory to Bruce. They took him inside and showed him around the control room and then around the 10 dimensions. (well, like, there are 11, right, but like, 10 only exist on planes, the 11th being the strings that are everywhere and in everything)

And they were off...

Bruce saw so many beautiful realities!

He saw what life would have been like if the habs hadn’t been sucking the referees dicks for goalie interference calls. ...that beautiful cup

He saw what life could have been had rolo tony not been on more sterroids than Stallone. ...back to back, glowing and golden.

He saw what life would have been if his shitstain brother hadnt drugged him, converted his team to trap bullshit. ...dynasty. oh sweet jesus, dynasty. 

“Boys” he said. the tears coming from his eyes. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

And in a VRRROROOPPPPPPPP VVVRRRRRROOOOOOPPPPP VVVRRRROOOOOPPPPP they were gone.

INTERSTELLAR ADVENTURE AWAITS!

39 Mk. II Years later....55 Earth Years Prior


DJ King had never been out exploring a world on his own. But how dangerous could 1957 be? A quick trip to stock up, Hurricane Audrey had decimated refrigerators along the entire northwest hemisphere, putting ice cream prices at an all time low. 

It was at the out front of the grocers that the gray haired and 'aged so therefore extra special' King laid his eyes on a tubby youngster with his parents.

"Oh wow!" kings use of exclamation point showed his excitement to the readers "Is that your kid?

"Of course" said the father, throwing his arm around his son.

"I know someone that looks just like him...or did..or...wait...wait!" King realized what he was seeing and began to gush about the kids future. The greatest this... The ultimate that... "You've just gotta believe me!" he finished.

"Why wouldn't we! Its 1957, you're white, and we're Canadian! Come on son, lets get outta here, we've got to go to the toy store and buy you some presents!"

King smiled and wandered back to the Mk. II with the 2 ton drum of rocky road ripple. He would later masterbate to the thought that he met little brucey.

"Shouldn't we wait for Brucey to get out of the bathroom?" said the tubby youngster.

"Fuck that little bitch!" Said Poppa Boody "He can find new parents. That man said you're my special little meal ticket Moose Mason, and I'm gonna treat you right!"

That you should never trust DJ King.

And the idea of BB commenting on every Caps game just doesn't make sense anymore. It's an outdated theme, and I'm no unsliced bread supporter. Don't be sad, kitty, it just means we're going open source, and you can take brucey on any adventure you want!

ANYTHING SENT TO THIS E-MAIL (under 10mb) WILL BE PUBLISHED IMMEDIATELY. 

Cool right? Images and text and music even work I think . Pretty crazy, clearly we're in the future.

Thx 4 da laffs friends,
Bruce Toots

Part 4: Beating up on Theo

Port Un

Purt Du

Pert Tra

Fuckface McMoleman was in the middle of regaling the crowd on the Conan O’Mole show with the tale of his life, plugging his new autobiography, ‘How I helped Gabby, and was able to learn human language and teach it to every mole everywhere and start an underground mole society, i am your fucking king, please let me impregnate you, my seed must live forever’ when his face became flush.

“Shit!” turning to Conan O’Mole “Did I text brucey? Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck” Fuckface pulled out his sidekick and furiously texted as fast as his tiny claws would let him. 

BVvvrrrrpppp. vrrrrrpppp. The vibration shattered the silence. Bvvvvrrrppprpr bbbvvvrrrppp. Bruce Boodyrowgh stood, slightly hunched (as usual), his knees bent, ready for action. Behind him the large bay window was shattered, as it was calatoral damage in making an impressive entrance. His brow low, eyes darting back and forth, he was now close enough to see Crystal was actually just a whole bunch of chicken nuggets glued together with a wig. 

Bruce wished Robo Wides hadn’t been such a pussy and flown away when he crashed through the window ‘we’re gonna be in trouble with neighborhood watch!’ he screamed as he flew away. Clearly our hero was in a trap. Broose knew Moose. He waited. Moose would make his position clear.

lol,fkk!

Bvvvrrrrrppppp vfrrrrr--”for fucks sake” Bruce pulled his phone out of his pocket. and looked at it because thats how people read. 3 new texts from Fuckface!

Poor Bruce was trying to figure out how the moles had already corrupted his glorious language when he felt the all too familiar distinct piercing of a hypodermic needle through his back straight into his heart.

“Goodnight sweet Prince” 

“hhnngnggg” 180 SPIN SMACK!

Moose was on the floor 10 feet away. Bruce fell to his knees. Moose stood up and walked over to his nuggedy bride. “You never did have a binocular, that’s how I knew youd fall for it” Licking the proxy crystal, the sick fuck bared his teeth and ripped off the breading from a nugget. 

“YOU BASTARD! LEAVE HER ALONE!” Moose just laughed, Brucey tried to walk forward on his knees but the thick shag carpeting was too much. he fell on his face. “What have you injected me with, you fucking fat fuck?”

“Injected? Hahahahhoho! Its what i took that matters. Moose held up the syringe. Bruce essence, straight from the heart. HAAHAAAAAAAA” The crazy asshole stabbed it straight into his heart and pushed the plunger. “You stupid bastard. Now Im more you than you! As for your other question, I killed Crystal Months ago, a necessary sacrafice to keep slan man healthy for a cup run. Im going to do what you never could. Im going to win, then destroy the Stanley Cup.” Moose walked over, slowly, like 120 fps slow. Realizing his demise coming Bruce rolled around. As fast as he could. This made moose laugh, but still in slow motion! It’s disturbing, alright! Moose walked, Bruce rolled, faster and faster, he could feel the shag on every part of his body. 

Moose was 3 steps away.

2....

1...

“SLAPSHOT GIVE ME STRENGTH!” Bruce reached out his hand at Moose!

ZZZZZTTtt. 

“ow. fuck. c’mon. fuck.” Moose didnt move, Bruce fell over tired. “Did you really think shocking me would do, like, anything?”

Brucey make sad face.

Moose reached into his pocket and grabbed a nickel plated pussy pistol and held it up to Bruceys head. He then reached in Brugs pocket and grabbed his phone, “oh my, what do we have here? A doomsday device? how adorable!” 

“Not any doomsday device-

KKEERRPHHGHHHhhadhgdshgksdgagaghashfghh. The side of the hose exploded open.  Dust and derbirs and chunks of brick fly everywhere knocking both Bruce and Moose against the far wall. 

A large string theory machine was in the living room with the twins. BOOM. The door flies open.

"Neighborhood watch, Bitch!"

“Neighborhood watch, Bitch.” Old man fighter Carlson stood flanked by the Hendi clones and King DJ rocking 2 sets of brass canuckles. ON. EACH. HAND.

“LETS BRAKE HIS SKULL INTO MORE PIECES THAN UNIVERSES WE’VE BEEN TOO” shouted DJ.

“that sounds good” says #2

The twins both rise to their feet slowly, one holding a phone, the other holding a gun.

“DROP THE PHONE NOW!” He presses the pistol against the bald head.

“I just have to press send, and I’m free!, and It’s over! You go boom”

“You’ll go boom too.”

“It’s worth it”

“Ghhhh, I dont know which one to hit” said DJ sticking his tongue out, it helped him think to lick the genital warts on his upper lip.

“He’s Moose! Don’t you recognize me!” Said the gun!

“No! Beat him up DJ! Its me, papa brucey!” said the phone!

They continued to go back and forth as Dj began crying. 

“No DJ” said the fighter, we prepared for this. He walked back into the Mark 2. He walked out holding the hand of the biggest sniffer in town.

“Knubes! Oh Knubes! Tell them Im Brucey!” Said the fat one

“No, Knubes, I know you know me! Please!” Said the one that was the exact same size as the fat one.

“Which one smells like burning?” said fighter Carlson Kubes drew in a huge breath. (through his nose) “Come on boy!”

“I...I...I...cant tell! OH GOD I CANT TELL!” screamed Double Trouble Knuble, knowing his career would be drawing to a close if he couldn't sniff out a heart thats on fire, how could he sniff out goals?!

Bruceys eyes got big, Moose had taken his heart essence! He wouldn't smell like burning! “Fuck” he said.

Knubes got closer. He sniffed Bruce close, Then moose. “This one! This one smells like Brucey!”

“Mother fuck.” Said Bruce out loud, because they seemed like good last words.

“kill him DJ” said Moose. The King slowly lumbered toward Moose, eyes deader than a chicken.

KERBSIOFJIOSHIUGSGH!!

“YEEEEHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Through the plate glass crashed a robot legged motherfucker. 

Totally ka-blamo

“You’re no pussy, wides!” Screamed Brucey, the distraction allowing him to pistol whip Moose and grab the and jammed his fat thumb down on the enter button. 

Sending...

He turned toward his favorite men in the whole world. “LINE CHANGE FUCKERS!”

Sending...

Bruce Boudreau turned toward Moose Mason. “Game misconduct youzgoddamslimeyfuckingshitheadpooeyedmitocondrialleachingfiveheadpedochickennuggetphilificpisschuggingasssuckingcumguzzlingdiarreahbathingmophairedbeerbelliedtennitussufferingmonkeyassedpusslubeusingboogereatingcockeyedthundercu-

Sent.

Next time: “The Book of Gabby” outsells “How I helped Gabby, and was able to learn human language and teach it to every mole everywhere and start an underground mole society, i am your fucking king, please let me impregnate you, my seed must live forever”

Part 3: Hot Duck Soup scalding floridians

Part 2
The Part Before Part 2

The wind blowing through his 4 strands of hair felt good on ol’ Brucey, He hadn’t felt a breeze this cool for years. Not since Crystal (Bruce’s wife’s name according to at least one website!) had forced him to sell his convertible. Ahh, Crystal, how long had it been since he’s seen her. He’d been so all consumed with his stopping his evil brother by digging his way across the country he’d let her become bait, meanwhile, you KNOW she was doing all sorts of nasty stuff with moose. What if he had convinced her to give him a blumpkin? How could he kiss those poo-poo lips ever again? 

He should have flown, flying would have been faster.

He was flying. 

“Relax there partner, you still might be hallucinating, you lost a lot of blood.” Realizing the sack of fat in his arms was waking up Robo-Wideman warned his favorite coach. “You’re alright pal. Just dont flop around and such, or I might drop you.”

“Wha-where am I” said Bruce. “I am Bruce” he then said, in an effort to beat a dead horse.

“When they gave me my robo jet leg they added an antenna, it gets fm, am, and satanic chants”

“well that explains that” said Bruce B, the owner of this here blog, “the last thing I remember is Getzl-”

“they’re dead.” Robo-Wides looked sad.

“all of them?”

“9 ducks players, temeus children, and this dog that wandered in and saw me doing the deed. No witnesses.”

"I AM THE SUN GOD. BLASPHIME AGAIN
AND ITS MELANOMA FOR YOU"

“My god. I hadn't realized shit just got super-serious. oh, hello there, how are you?” said Bruce 

“Yes, the stakes have never been higher, I...I don’t ever want to talk about it again, it was real horrible-like, yet would have made an incredible blog entry. I think I will be scarred for life, Post-traumatic mental issues are quite dangerous."

“Yes, yes, Asamov, we cant wait for your spin off blog as an emotionally crippled inspector gadget. But shut up, I was talking to the sun king.”

The robo-leg went FWWSHHHHHHHHHHHH and they flew out of frame.

BLEERGGGHHHHHHHHHHUHH

BLELLEGHHGHSHHHSSHWWWUUHGHHGHHGHGHGHG

KERPOWSHhhhhhhahhsh

“We need to get a better driver” said Hendi #3, exiting the dj king super string theory machine, “Holy Gunnar!”

“Holy Lennon, said number 1” said Hendi #2, who was showing off the fact that he was a clone and knew what #1 was gonna say before he said it.

“Holy Len-” #1 stopped himself when he realized number 2 beat him to his own words. Normally such a thing would upset a person, but the whole pre-cog thing made DJ king fall over laughing, he would remain on the floor of the Mark 2 for hours now, allowing the clones and OMFCarlson to explore uninterrupted. 

Incest was a big problem at Hendi High.

“You weren’t kidding” says OMFGarlson, exiting the ship, stepping into a pool of blood, shin-pad high, inside Teemu Slan-mans house. “I think we’re too late”. 

“No, look around said number three” said number 2.

“No, look ar--fuck you” said number 3. “But he’s...I’m right, theres a lot of dead ducks, theres a chance he got out of here!” 

Number 1 dipped a strip of paper into the blood, “I’m right! the fat content in this blood is less than 45%. Theres still a chance to save Brucey before Moosey gets a hold of him!”

“You know, I told you guys we should have checked earth first, the mark 2 is very convenient, but why would he be in a different galaxy, we just should have flown to Anaheim, flying would have been way faster”

“We’ve lost him again. There’s no way he’d risk giving another person a negative boner.” said Fighting-Fit Carlson. All three clones broke out in tears. Carlson heald his in, just sniffling like the brute he was. “Wait” he said “I’ve got an idea”

“We’re here” Said the robot computer living in Dennis Widemans tongue. He landed slowly and softly, the 30 foot flame coming out of his leg setting only a few houses and a small park on fire. 

“Where is here?” said dum-dum

Dennis, Always thinking ahead, brought Camo for the raid.

“here.” Wides pointed to a window of a large mansion. Inside, were some very nice drapes, possibly velvet or something, defiantly black out curtains for sure, further inside, there was no bed, meaning the blackout windows weren't even in a bedroom! Could this be a tv room with blackouts just to combat glare!? How luxurious Brouce thout. Of course, so is not having to wipe your ass with a mole, they are not soft. His inner monologue went on about the luxurious he missed and his very slow eyes moved further in the room.

“Oh Sun God!” exclaimed Bruce. Below one of those upside down stars that people think are satanic, Crystal was chained up to a wall.

And Bruce could totally tell she had given moose a blumpkin.

Next: Moose reveals it was a Crumpkin

Breaking the Anihimen Part 2: Bonstown

Previously on Brugs Blugs

     “But look at all the horseys, I love horse.” The manchild spoke. His neadrathal eyes gazing out at the sun setting on the knoll below him. Stretching to the horizon, it was full of wild horses, and below the horses a whole bunch of wild horse shit.

“I know King, we all do, but thats not not why you created The mark 2. We need to get back to the ship and continue the search.” Said number 2

King DJ turned around to face the Hendricks clones, flanking the entrance to a large dirigible with the face of DJ King on it. Although it looked the same as the dirigible the Caps took to their away games, this airship was much smarter, it had a practical ph.d in superstring theory; and was able to fold all 10 dimensions to travel to any point in all of infinite multi-verse. 

"Now that we've finished this bullshit exposition" said the
reader, "let's have some dick jokes."

‘Pretty cool though’, the Hendi clones thought (all at the same time) that first night DJ King had appeared to them in the dumpster behind Verizon. And they were proven quite right the moment they stepped on the ship. When King explained something had happened to Bruce, the man they were calling coach had been replaced, something clicked in all their brains at the same time. Why would Bruce throw them out?! Why would bruce start playing trap?! Something ...was wrong, clearly. They left the banana peels they had grown so close to and jumped on the ship to search across the reaches of every possibility in the uni... the multi... the everyverse for the only man worthy of leading the great team, Brugs Beedreyoh

Back at point ALI8923889∂åßY094568Y82å∂35FSUBß∂HFKUBZå©ASDG5# in the everyverse, as DJ king turned around to take one last look at his favorite place in all of existence, a grizzled man with dark eyes sprinted out the Mark 2’s door. 

“We’ve got a hit!” said Old Fighter-man Carlson, fully aware of the pun he had made. He mimed punching as he said it, unfortunately for him clones don’t have a sense of humor, and aside from understanding multi-dimensional membrane interactions DJ King was a fucking idiot, and was busy trying to lick the air to taste horses. 

“Lets go!” the clones waved at DJ, and the motion excited him so he followed.

     Of course, whenever a negative boner causes an explosion so loud it’s heard across the everyverse, theres no doubt its heard by evil agents as well, and Bruce was no fucking fool, he knew his shit. Gabby set Slan-mans timer for 10 minutes. He dragged a stool right in front of Teemu, grabbed the wooden spoon, and sat down.

“Why are you here!? I didnt do anything worng, we’re winning! We’re winning! HA! AHA!” Slanman’s nose exploded with snot bubbles. Grossed out almost to the point of needing to masturbate to conquer the sensation, Gabby grabbed a tissue and held it up to the finnish flash, who promptly blew out his presumably blue and white boogers. 

“I...” the one with hair paused. “...Youre not Bruce. HA! ...AHHA! You won’t do anything to me! HAHAHA!”

“Wrong. The man you call Bruce is an impostor”

“Youre not him! HA¡HAHAHAHA™¡¡¡¡¡¡ NOT HIM! NOT! HIM!”

“No, I am Bruce” said Bruce “that fucking bastard isnt Bruce” said Bruce. “His name is Moose Mason” said Bruce “not Bruce” said Bruce. “He is the evil twin brother of Bruce” said Bruce. “And thats me” said Bruce. “I am Bruce” said Bruce. “Bruce” said Bruce. “And he is going to destroy hockey as we know it” said Bruce. “now tell me everything...”

“hahAHHAHAA!!” said the finn, who was apparently in the midst of a mental breakdown. “YOU MAY BE BRUCE HAHAH! BUT YOURE NOT HIM!! HAHAH!  You Cant hurt me! NOT LIKE HIM! I TELL YOU NOTHING! NEVER!”

"Puke is hard to Photoshop" said Bruce

“Well, you got one thing wrong”

“What”

“I will do whatever it fucking takes for the motherfucking Lord” The giant shaking Bruce grabbed the snotty-ass tisse and jammed it in the fins mouth, covering it with his hand, forcing it to stay shut. “...Stanley’s Cup”

The poor Slan-man’s eyes rolled back into his head and he made a monstrous sound, heaving forward. Vomit shot out between Bruces fingers, he kept his hand steady though, like a real bad-ass mother fucker, only moving his face in closer, coming eye to eye with the increasingly sympathetic hockey legend.

“Let’s start easy, How the FUCK did you know I wasn’t him?” Bruce removed his hand the Slan-man gasped for air, spitting out the mostly dissolved tissue. 

“The smell! HAHA! You dont smell like him. He smells like, like burning.”

“Of course” said Bruce with a smug glance on his face, “He must not have much time left, he has to make his move now!” Slan man-looked confused so Bruce felt obliged to drop more bullshit exposition. “See Mr. Flash, When we were young there was clearly something fucking wrong with Moose. He was always a fucking hellion, raping the elderly and ripping limbs off babies and the like, but when he was 10 he almost died. Would have been the best fucking thing that ever happened to The Boudreu clan. He had committed so much evil his heart caught on fire, it burned for a fucking year in which he killed nine hundred and twelve people. Causing agony to others fueled his heart, but even a demon of pure evil needs a heart to move around its blood supply. One day he dropped to the ground, his heart completely ash, he was rushed to the hospital and they gave him a pacemaker. We tried to put him in therapy, take care of his anger issues, but in the first session he killed his doctor and wrote a note all over the walls using the blood. He blamed our parents for loving me most, they had met an old mysterious, but quite possibly retarded King when I was young. The king told them I would be the greatest hockey coach ever, so naturally they loved me more. Moose vowed to kill them, and get revenge on me by killing all that I loved. They were dead before nightfall. I was allowed to live, to love so that I could watch it all die. The burning, his heart must be aflame again, the slowly melting pacemaker a ticking timebomb to his demise, he has a small window to destroy the things I love most, the Caps, the Cup, and Myself.”

Applause. With all his commercial training, Bruce fucking nailed the speech. The downside of preforming a long self-aggrandizing monologue, is that your audience might get bored (Slan man had passed out about 4 minutes ago due to his negative boner pain) and you get so into yourself you forget reality.

“Bravo” a voice said from behind Bruce, snapping Bruce out of his metaphorical spotlight.

“How long has that timer been going off?”

“At least the 12 minutes we’ve been here.”

“shit”

“You talk unbearably slow”

“Thats mean, You’re mean” said Bruce “Im Bruce” said Bruce, who was a fan of repetition.

“I know, thats my job” said the neo-nazi looking cunt. “that and score goals.” Corey Parey stepped forward. Behind him a teeny swiss goalie sat atop the giant bushy mustache of a greek, and a guy with a giant C on his shirt, even though it was just a t-shirt.

“Lemme guess, that stands for cunt” The tiny hojo laughed and laughed swinging Perros cock tickler back and forth. Getzlaf punched Bruce right across the face. Bruce returned his gaze toward the goon. “Your mama teach you how to punch?” And again bruce got hit, spitting out a tooth, he stood his ground and looked back up. “You don’t know what you’re doing son.”

“We know exactly what we’re doing. HHHAAAAALLLLLLLAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAGGGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAGGGGGGGAAAAAAA.”

He started chanting, the others joined in. Bruce could only stare as their eyes rolled back in their heads. Getzlaf reached over toward CorPer and unbuttoned his shirt. He pressed against his chest, “HHHAAAAALLLLLLLAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAGGGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAGGGGGGGAAAAAAA.” 

and then... “HHHAAAAALLLLLLLAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAGGGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAGGGGGGGAAAAAAA.” 

Parros gets afrocentric up in this bitch.

...it gave way. Some gushy sound effects later Getzlaf pulled his fist out of CorPer. Holding his still beating heart. “HHHAAAAALLLLLLLAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAGGGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAGGGGGGGAAAAAAA.”

And it was on fucking fire.

Next Time: A King is Crowned.

Breaking the Anihimen Part 1: Pittsbergs

     Teemu Selan-Man had never heard his home alarm go off before. His eyes exploded open from a deep sleep. If this was the wife and kids coming back from grandmas early, there will be some finnish hell to pay, he thought, and rightly so, for the ducks had a very big game in only 15 hours. He grabbed the wildwing flashblade knee hockey stick he kept by his bed for beating his kids and s&m foreplay with his wife and whatever girl corey perry was dating at the time. He prodded at the alarm keypad before slowly creeping down the stairs of his giant mansion.

Slan-Man could see the kitchen light on, he jumped out from the corner.  

“Yllätys! Huh...holy shit”

"fucking. don't."

A mole the size of a smart car with a dingey brown miners cap stood digging (lol, digging, get it?) into his fridge, it didn’t turn around, too busy devouring the leftover spheget Teemu was so excited about eating later. ‘That cunt!’ Teemus mind teemed, and rightly so, as his concussion addled mind didnt realize sphegett was just taste-clensed shit formed into long stringy things, the food equivalent of busy work. He raised his tiny plastic stick above his head and tip-toed toward the vermin.

“fucking. don’t.”

The mole spoke plainly, with his beautiful human vocabulary. The only sound that came from Slan-man’s side of the room was the click of his stick hitting the ground and the thud of his head doing the same.

     Some 30 miles east and 50 miles down below the surface of the earth a man was busy shaving. A mole holding the mirror in front of his scientifically perfect face. The beauty in its symmetry confounding the moles who had taken him in several months ago. The man was a very fucking sad man then, but over time his tears were slowly replaced by a stern grimace as the moles dug across the country for their new god. He taught them how to speak english, beautiful motherfucking english motherfucker. He taught them how shoot promos, how to get money from carpet cleaners. He taught them to go for their dreams of taking over the underworld by attacking hard and often, instead of waiting for other species to make mistakes like boring fucking pussies. But this particular day, this particular motherfucker, was in a particularly happy mood. The penny was in the air.

...and it might have something to do with that giant fucking machine the mole people have been loading with coal for the past 2 weeks.

“Do you fucking think this will fucking work, motherfucker?” said the mole holding the magic reflection slab. “We’re behind you to the cock-sucking motherfucking death, but you could fucking stay here, with us, happy and fucking safe” 

"If I dont stop him, this years Stanley Cup will be the last."

"Oh, Fuckface McMoleman, Ill miss you most” the man paused his shaving. “Such kindness and grace becomes you mole-people, but this ma-” his smile vanished “...this...moose. He took away everything. My past. My present. My future. If I don’t stop him, this years presentation of the Lord Stanleys Cup will be the last.” 

    

     Nothing was more of a sexual trigger for Teemu Slan Man than waking up from a hit on the head and that all too familiar feeling of a scratchy rope tied around his arms and legs, he was already rocking a 3/4 chub before his eyes opened. Seeing a mole poking at him caused his wang to shrivel so quickly the sound of a gunshot echoed through the hose.

“Leave him be” a voice from the shadows said. The mole smiled and slowly backed away.

“Who is that? What...Nothings wrong! I won’t tell you anything! Not a thing!” Teemu screamed, but in finnish so he sounded like an idiot.

“Thats not a way to treat a friend, friend. And I am your friend. I’ve brought you a present. Thats what friends do for each other!” Slan-man stayed quiet and wide-eyed staring at the giant mole using a wooden spoon to poke at the black-hole-power-suction-style-reverse-boner going on in his pants. “Of course, as your friend, I just have a real quick question, and me and my friend Fuckingmole McMoleman (ed. note: no relation to fuckface) will be out of your giant mother fucking hair.”

“wh...what kind of present”

The man in the shadow said nothing, only stretching out his hand.

"Duckings - 10¢/Lb."

“Oh swe-” was all Slan-man got out before puking down his chest. “What...” he started, the puke still dribbling out the slots between his gross fucking finnish teeth “What’s your question”

The man stepped forward into the light. 

“Where the fuck is Moose?”

Next: The Penny Lands.

dinks 2, 3, 4, 5 SQUeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeeEeEEEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEe

curolida

the muntall haberdashers: enero 8 one one eight, twoenty 20 12

just. can we get double diget shots?

just. can scoring one goal and having vokeen save 55 shots not be a game plan?

just. can we get more than 5 seconds offensive zone time?

just. can breaking it out instead of icing it be a game plan?

because...

just. holy fuck.

Islanders ...blindddlinders

Carolina hairolina

Fuuuuuccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

The Return of Stummy: A flim-flam man hooked on mullet clippings

Every game I watch it burns in my brain. You all see it right? What the big black dicks is dale doing? He was proud of the fact we got approximately 8 shots against the Penguins. Thank god they had 22 of their players missing, otherwise... For fucks sake.

FUCK YOU. STOP RUINING MY TEAM.
There's a reason we won, there's a reason we filled the house. How long you think people are gonna keep coming to the phone box with trap-lite. You understand, my hate of dale grows, daily. Although I cannot yet focus on him. I've just made it up to Calgary and those fucks trade Borque to Montreal. Great. I really wanted to go to Montreal. I guess moose, you live a day longer. Or like 6, because Canada's big, and a long walk.

So lightning. I don't know. I don't care. Tis 4 points that we need. Ya dig? Lightning aren't strong. They've got Stummy but he rarely gets the puck, playing on the geriatric line. But dale, the deal stays. You lose literally one more game. ...I'm coming for you after I kill the moose.

Brutes tutes

Pen gewww int. January the 11th In this year of our lord two the thousandths and pork fartsith

Hnngngggghghhhh.  Love is dead. I'm off that Hunter tip. When Carlson says "all we need to do is ice it" Its time to drop hunter down below the depths and bring someone who knows how to run a team back up from the crypt. THESE MOTHERFUCKING CAPS NEED TO MOTHERFUCKING PUT GOALS IN YOU FUCK FACED FUCK. Not play a lite trap and hope to convert on every shot we take. WE ONLY NEED 5 SHOTS IF WE CAN SCRE THEM ALL? THATS YOUR GAMEPLAN? EAT A BAG OF DICKS.





no, not that one, the 10 lb bag.

Hes brought up a some douche from hershey, Tomas Kundratek, to play defense, because Schultz is too pussy to get into his bullshit. I've never been a schlitz man, hes lazier than a stoner in a movie by Kirk Cameron. (what a douche that cunt is) But an nhl blue liner who had the best plus minus in the league a few years ago has to be better than a fuck who hasnt ever played in the nhl. These are the pieces you came into the team with mr hunter. Youre trying to play faggy checkers with my primo 3d Stratego set.

Fine. Hunter, youre there for the year, but hear this. If we dont win this game, against a team thats lost their last 5, that lost to the sens 5-1 just yesterday. I dont care if we're missing our top 2 lines and cant bring up anyone...its over. the entire year is dead to me. Much like a certain moose. Although soon, he'll be dead to the entire world too. I'd like to see an asham beagle rematch, only because beags hasnt a point on the season. It would be a nice way to start a gordie howe hat trick.

BRING BACK BRUCEY

Halpern visits his vacation house; A 10:30 Reprisal: Enero 9 2012

Between 05 and the beginning of this season I shed one single tear every day for Halpern, who was taken from his beautiful home here in D.C. and forced to go to the wastes known as not D.C. His sojurn brought him to play 15 games for the La Quintas. Tonight we'll look to our returned hero for tips and tricks on an ice surface covered in kardashian jizz (cuz they mans) and forced aborted fetuses from the idiot actresses they toss into the lakers locker room after they win a game. God bless the mentally Ill, eh?

HAHAHA. Brucie ain't mentally ill, thats kind of you for asking. Hes just focused on getting through this doomsday manuel as fast as he can. Of course, I'm no longer chilling under Aniheim, I'm making my way up to Calgary to take care of some business, and neuter a certain repeat offender.

So heres the deal, in their last 6 games, LA has let in 1 or 0 goals. But they lost 2 of those games. Because they have buttholes where their hands should be and score with a success rate of semins j-date account. Seriously, if we can get 2, just 2 fucking goals this game is in the proverbial cat-drowning bag.  What more can I ask of the Caps? If they can't get two goals, then fuck em. Although I know a certain boy who would love to see Johnny Quest get a nice 10 gaa and .639 save per cent. Knubes, I'm counting on you this game, if Halpey is converting at a hot clip form the fourth, theres no reason you shouldn't.

Return of the 10:30 Queef Reef: A tale of revenge & horse rape

FUCK YO REORG. BRUCIE IS THE KING OF THE SOUTHEAST, AND THE CAPS WILL BE FOREVER NUMBER ONE.

Got off to a strong start, youll have to forgive the shouting. big things. big things. So what if the last time we won at the pussy fart sphere was when the current coach was a player. Thats a man who clearly knows how to take work a shark spear, which gives me a good feeling about tonight; I dont even care the sharks have been boss boss. As the boss of the nhl I just decided the whole big joey little joey thing was about as awesome as that time Limp Bizket was trying to stay relevent and called a cd 'chocolate starfish and the hot dog flavored water'. Really? Even the dude who invented Jncos thought that was douchey. (don't beat yourself up steve, it was your bad fortunie to be from the worst state, you were florida juncos like dudes are prison gay.) I got off track. Right, The sharks like Juncos and make out with fred durst.

Orlov, im sick of claiming you're gonna score. I know you got that pepper power snap. so do it already, so  I can obsess about another player.

P.S. Guess who's setting up a doomsday device under a certain Anaheim sports facility. I'll never telllll.

Oh, and since I get to do this so rarely: QueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreffqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefqueefreefLIVESTRONG!


p.p.s.s. (post-post-script-for-steve) according to god, prison gay is still gay.

Assshits from Alberta 2: The Quickening

Lets take a team, name it after General Sherman's march and then move them to candada but keep the name, in a place where the temperature isnt warm enough to even have a flame. Fuck you candada, sherman is a goddam American National Treasure! BURN THE SOUTH. now thats a hero.

Im sorry, I got off track, Im using the word typer thingy but I refuse to take my eyes off my drill monitor. We've made it to California. We're literally only a few miles away from reaching Anaheim. Never had I understood sarah palin before. DRILL MOTHERFUCKING DOWNS BABY DRILL!

Now then, is Greeny back? No? Come. The. Fuck. On. Alright, so what do we got, 1 Orlov, 1 Schultz, 2 Carlsons, and an Earwig? I can deal with that, all we need to do is shut down one quadroon and his proactive-pimping motherfucker, who cant seem to get it to work on his own oily skin. Guess it doesnt work on homo heidelbergensis'. BOOM JOKENIN SLAM! fuck you too jussi. jizzy. ha. faggot.

edit: mike green is back.
but semin is out.

Anway. Keep on rolling Caps, heres some x.