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.