Aw NHL Naw: trade deadline fart jokes
by Dan MacRae
The trade deadline has passed *blows on conch shell, wraps Ville Leino in a blanket before banishing him into the forest*. As usual, it was pretty dull. The Leafs won the Ryan O’Byrne sweepstakes! Hope you didn’t come on anything too valuable when that news broke. FAAAAAARRRRRRTTTTT. I’m pretty sure the first three hours of TSN’s deadline day coverage was just a lynx with a question mark painted on its fur being allowed to roam free in the studio.
Things picked up a bit in the last hour, which was nice. Gaborik to Columbus! Filip Forsberg to Nashville for Erat and Latta! My hangover was swapped for some Gatorade and discreet shower jerking! It was a tidal wave of mild thrills.
THE ROCK & ROLL DUBBLE BUBBLE TRADING CARD COMPANY OF 1914
Is there a reason why Philadelphia is such a horror show city for goalies? Like, is the Wells Fargo Center made out of warlock bones or something? That’s the only theory that makes sense to me. On deadline day, the Flyers picked up STEVE FUCKING MASON from the Columbus Blue Jackets. Ever since the start of his sophomore season, the poor guy has played like a dude who’s never not in the middle of a Vietnam War flashback. I’m worried that playing in Philadelphia will lead to Mason bursting into flames midway through his fifth start. Gah!
In the Spring, a young man’s (and woman’s) fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, specifically, the love of a high draft pick and saying FUCK IT *hits desk with a baseball bat* LET’S TANK THIS SHITSCAB OF A SEASON! *Burns a filing cabinet, descends into madness, cry-sings “You Get What You Give”*
That’s right, the playoff stretch is here and it’s time to get all splooshy about the prospect that your favourite team might lose all its games, get a sweet draft pick and have that draft pick lead your club to multiple Stanley Cup victories and adopt your kids AND RAISE THEM RIGHT or whatever.
Tanking the season is a sexy fantasy (like making sweet love to a mommy with a big ass) but it’s also dangerous. It’s like a game of Press Your Luck where Alexandre Daigle is the whammy and you have to put your trust in the GM, scouting staff and execs that put your shitball team in a draft lottery position to begin with.
Right now, the Jets could win a preemie weak Southeast Division (because life’s silly, and dude, I don’t fucking know how this is happening) but I still have a slight tinge of desire to see the club self-destruct and try for Seth Jones. I’m a dummy dumb burger with extra cheese for wanting this to happen. The sensible thing for me to do is go with what 99 per cent of my Pizza Hut-damaged heart is feeling, and pray the club doesn’t collapse.
Besides, there’s a good chance that the Flames might trade away the number-one pick for two Humpty’s franchises and a copy of 8 Seconds on VHS.
ISLANDS IN THE STREAM
I tip my hat to the folks who run sites that stream live sporting events. Not only do they provide a valuable (and I’m sure completely legal) service, but they also have the same pop-up ads you get from seedy porn aggregators. The other day I was checking in on the Caps/Lightning game and had an Adult Friend Finder-esque pop-up that read: “DO YOU WANT TO MEET 24 YEAR OLD WOMEN THAT NEED DICK IN YOUR AREA?” – which I thought was a weird age to fetishize. What alarmingly specific data do you have on me? Do you think I’m into grad-student-aged women because I occasionally put on Natalie Merchant when my fiancé’s out of the house? Why can’t I get ads for sites featuring videos of dudes coming into abandoned swimming pools like a normal guy? Gah.
Speaking of porny-type things, I want to thank the inventor of the Internet (Dr. Gerald Internetbaum III) for allowing me to window shop fetishes. I imagine in the pre-Internet days, if you wanted to explore a fetish you would A) have to do it, B) join some sort of a club, or C) fill out a form with a minister. In 2013, I get to be a lookie-loo and watch videos of fetishes before deciding if I want to buy a tarp and make a weekend of it. Is CFNM for me? Good news: I can crack open a box of Crunch ‘n Munch, watch a video and take ’er for a test toast (turns out it’s not for me, but Crunch ‘n Munch sure as shit is). Sure, I look like a guy that’s into hentai, but it’s nice being able to sample the wares before dropping $50 on a DVD. JOI sounds neat, but is there a version where I don’t get yelled at? There is? Please accept this gratitude bouquet, Internet! That’s the sort of convenience that kicks the ass of any jetpack.
Dan MacRae went to robot school with those dudes from Daft Punk. You can follow him on Twitter: @danmacrae