Jasper here again with a weekly entry to the world of hockey humor blogs.
Shit, you guys, I hope that this stuff is funny. Nobody ever leaves a comment so I don’t know if any of ya are even reading this happy horse shit that I write.
Dudes and dudettes – I’ve got an ego off the ice too. Let me know how I’m doing. Ehh? If ya are afraid to comment here then send an email to me through my alter-ego at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
This week’s story is about a fairly good buddy that I’ve had for more years then I can remember. Actually I can remember but it doesn’t add a damn bit of interest to the story. He’s a hard working sob but is temporarily unemployed, so he’s been on my mind a bit these days while I’ve been trying to find something for him to do.
I’ve always called him Robbie-O, of Irish blood, his nickname fits him well. He hasn’t always lived up here in the back woods. Trying the city every now and then as he’d hear about some fantastic job and move away for a while pursuing his dreams only to come up short in the end. Living in the camper of his old Ford pickup he’d get rousted regularly for parking overnight in front of someone’s home or in the parking lot of some business in town. Yup, he’s been sort of a gypsy I guess since we’ve been friends. But he’s good folks, guys. I mean, in my opinion, Robbie-O walks with wood.
Never having a lot of money for the finer thinks in life, he’s had to improvise quite a bit to get by. The camper has been his home more often then not and that suits everybody ok here in the backwoods. I’ve been successful myself most of the time and my property and my cabin are what I have to show for that. Robbie-O is welcome over here just about all the time. He won’t take advantage of me though, cuz that’s just not his nature. I’ve never known him to burden himself for too long on anybody else either.
Dabnabit if he isn’t a cheap skate though. He keeps that old truck running by not even hitting up Jakes Salvage Yard. He must know where every damn similarly modeled Ford has been dispatched to the north forty and hits on those derelicts, with the owner’s permission of course, to get replacement parts. Shit what else? His hockey gear is always used stuff, or least it always looks like someone else musta discarded it. Its all held together with duct tape, shoe-goo, or some other fandangled method of restoration. Since we played Batams together I don’t think I can recall him wearing a jersey that had his own name on the back.
Heck, I even remember several different times, when I knew that he had a decent job and health insurance, that after taking a high stick or a puck in the face that he wouldn’t go down to the clinic for stitches. Damned if he wouldn’t sew himself back up. Guys, I’m telling ya I could never do that. Ehh?
He’d snag tape balls out of the trash can for reuse and always snagged up broken sticks for repair. I guess he’s got fiberglassin down to a fine art. He loves his hockey just as much as you and I do.
His ma and pa are still kickin up dirt and surviving on a railroad pension. Seems as if I hadn’t heard that his pa coulda gone pro right from Juniors ‘cept that he fell in love with the trains that used to run the team to distant destinations and joined the SOO line the summer before his last year of playing. They let him continue playing that following winter but when the draft came up he turned down offers that would have sent him down to Greensboro or some such place to play his first year. The rails were where he wanted to be. So be it, ehh?
His ma, ya’d think she was mainly Italian instead of Irish the way she liked to cook. She wasn’t always fixin meat and potatoes like the rest of was eatin. She be fixin skeaty and meat balls or ravioli or some such other spiced up shit. I can always tell when Robbie-O’s been home for dinner, cuz once he’d start sweatin out there on the ice, he’d just reek as that garlic would start squeezing outta his pores. Kinda embedded itself in his gear too. Though I really like the guy, ya don’t want to sit next to him in the dressin room. He’ll open up that gear bag and that odor will about make ya pass out or puke. Mercy that smell was some kind a bad.
Robbie-O was cheap. There’s no doubt about that. Anymore when he gets out on the ice, it’s usually when we’re using him as a substitute for somebody that didn’t show up but had already paid for the season. It’s completely illegal according to league rules but none of the other teams knew who he was. Shit the nearest team that we play against has their home ice about thirty-seven miles off to the northeast. And, well, the local ref’s if they saw him suited up they’d mention it to us real casual like and we’d buy them a beer or two later. Like I said earlier – lately he’s never wearin a jersey with his name on the back.
One of the things sad about Robbie-O is that quite often he runs a length of bad luck with him. I member a time back a few years ago when he had a fairly decent job running a grain truck from western North Dakota down to General Mills in the Cities. Seems as though he had the job for about six months or so. He was able to pay off some bills at the grocery, etc, and was seeming to get back on his feet somewhat. He had been needing some new rubber for the Ford so he got himself a new set of highway/camper rated treads all around. For a guy like Robbie-O this was a big deal. Ehh?
It wasn’t but about a week later when he was playin some $5 dollar Friday night pickup that some punk kid or vandalous shit head decided to ice pick the tires of about seven or eight cars in the parking lot. Yup, Robbie-O’s new ones got stabbed each and every one. Right in the damn side wall! Ya couldn’t patch’em or plug em, which Robbie-O knew how to do, but ya had to put tubes in em. Being that they were new tires, this time he wasn’t going to use some salvage tubes so he spent another hundred and fifty or so on putting in the tubes and re-balancing, the whole kit and caboodle. Cheap pickup game – but damned expensive night for my bud!
Oh the tales I could tell. I’m telling ya it was good thing he had that camper cuz ya wouldn’t believe how many times he ran out of gas coming back from road trips just trying to get back to get cheap-ass gas at the Circle-K over in Whompton.
And just a couple of weeks ago before he entered his most recent period of unemployment, he went to an early afternoon free clinic at the rink. Cheap ass bastard can’t get enough ice time these days at $20 a session or $400 for a twenty game season plus playoffs if your team can get there. Whad’ya want ehh?
Anyway, it’s a free skate and he’s digin it. It was only supposed to last about an hour and about half way through it the shit came down. According to him, he’s skatin in from the left point, stick handling a bit, gets just about past the face off dot entering the slot when he leans into his left leg to take a wrister when he goes down. It’s a clinic, right? So nobody hit him, ehh? He just went down. Something in his left leg snapped. He figured that he had broken it, cuz every time he tried to get up, he fell right back down. Said he couldn’t feel his left leg at all.
He kept trying to get up but couldn’t manage it and ended up yelling at some kid’s dad. The dad and his son (said he might have been an older Midget) helped him off the ice and he used his stick as a crutch/cane to get to the dressin room. He said by then the pain had started to set in and it was real bitch to get his gear off. He said to me “Jasper, I’m telling ya, I got pretty light headed in that dressing room. And there wasn’t anybody in there with me. Kinda scared me that I might just pass my ass out.”
He broke out in a sweat and sat there for a bit and then hobbled out of the dressin room using his stick as a crutch again. Told me that he felt purty embarrassed but he had to ask some kid to carry his gear bag out to the truck. Got it all in the truck and himself too. Damn good thing that old Ford is an automatic. He managed to drive himself over to the clinic in pain for sure and worrying that they’d have to operate or put him in a half-body cast cuz he figured that it was his hip that was busted. Shit for howdy if the medical folks ended up telling him that he hadn’t broke anything but probably had a deep muscle or soft tissue tear. Maybe pinched his sciatic nerve real good which was why he couldn’t feel his left leg.
Anyway when I saw him yesterday he told me that his left leg had been bruised from his hind cheek down to his ankle. And that that dabgone ”free skate” had cost him over $250 for the clinic and the pain pill prescriptions.
That’s his luck, Robbie-O, the cheap skate.
He’s still my bud. He’s still walking with wood – though a little painfully right now.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Cheap Skate
Jasper here again with a weekly entry to the world of hockey humor blogs.
Shit, you guys, I hope that this stuff is funny. Nobody ever leaves a comment so I don’t know if any of ya are even reading this happy horse shit that I write.
Dudes and dudettes – I’ve got an ego off the ice too. Let me know how I’m doing. Ehh? If ya are afraid to comment here then send an email to me through my alter-ego at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
This week’s story is about a fairly good buddy that I’ve had for more years then I can remember. Actually I can remember but it doesn’t add a damn bit of interest to the story. He’s a hard working sob but is temporarily unemployed, so he’s been on my mind a bit these days while I’ve been trying to find something for him to do.
I’ve always called him Robbie-O, of Irish blood, his nickname fits him well. He hasn’t always lived up here in the back woods. Trying the city every now and then as he’d hear about some fantastic job and move away for a while pursuing his dreams only to come up short in the end. Living in the camper of his old Ford pickup he’d get rousted regularly for parking overnight in front of someone’s home or in the parking lot of some business in town. Yup, he’s been sort of a gypsy I guess since we’ve been friends. But he’s good folks, guys. I mean, in my opinion, Robbie-O walks with wood.
Never having a lot of money for the finer thinks in life, he’s had to improvise quite a bit to get by. The camper has been his home more often then not and that suits everybody ok here in the backwoods. I’ve been successful myself most of the time and my property and my cabin are what I have to show for that. Robbie-O is welcome over here just about all the time. He won’t take advantage of me though, cuz that’s just not his nature. I’ve never known him to burden himself for too long on anybody else either.
Dabnabit if he isn’t a cheap skate though. He keeps that old truck running by not even hitting up Jakes Salvage Yard. He must know where every damn similarly modeled Ford has been dispatched to the north forty and hits on those derelicts, with the owner’s permission of course, to get replacement parts. Shit what else? His hockey gear is always used stuff, or least it always looks like someone else musta discarded it. Its all held together with duct tape, shoe-goo, or some other fandangled method of restoration. Since we played Batams together I don’t think I can recall him wearing a jersey that had his own name on the back.
Heck, I even remember several different times, when I knew that he had a decent job and health insurance, that after taking a high stick or a puck in the face that he wouldn’t go down to the clinic for stitches. Damned if he wouldn’t sew himself back up. Guys, I’m telling ya I could never do that. Ehh?
He’d snag tape balls out of the trash can for reuse and always snagged up broken sticks for repair. I guess he’s got fiberglassin down to a fine art. He loves his hockey just as much as you and I do.
His ma and pa are still kickin up dirt and surviving on a railroad pension. Seems as if I hadn’t heard that his pa coulda gone pro right from Juniors ‘cept that he fell in love with the trains that used to run the team to distant destinations and joined the SOO line the summer before his last year of playing. They let him continue playing that following winter but when the draft came up he turned down offers that would have sent him down to Greensboro or some such place to play his first year. The rails were where he wanted to be. So be it, ehh?
His ma, ya’d think she was mainly Italian instead of Irish the way she liked to cook. She wasn’t always fixin meat and potatoes like the rest of was eatin. She be fixin skeaty and meat balls or ravioli or some such other spiced up shit. I can always tell when Robbie-O’s been home for dinner, cuz once he’d start sweatin out there on the ice, he’d just reek as that garlic would start squeezing outta his pores. Kinda embedded itself in his gear too. Though I really like the guy, ya don’t want to sit next to him in the dressin room. He’ll open up that gear bag and that odor will about make ya pass out or puke. Mercy that smell was some kind a bad.
Robbie-O was cheap. There’s no doubt about that. Anymore when he gets out on the ice, it’s usually when we’re using him as a substitute for somebody that didn’t show up but had already paid for the season. It’s completely illegal according to league rules but none of the other teams knew who he was. Shit the nearest team that we play against has their home ice about thirty-seven miles off to the northeast. And, well, the local ref’s if they saw him suited up they’d mention it to us real casual like and we’d buy them a beer or two later. Like I said earlier – lately he’s never wearin a jersey with his name on the back.
One of the things sad about Robbie-O is that quite often he runs a length of bad luck with him. I member a time back a few years ago when he had a fairly decent job running a grain truck from western North Dakota down to General Mills in the Cities. Seems as though he had the job for about six months or so. He was able to pay off some bills at the grocery, etc, and was seeming to get back on his feet somewhat. He had been needing some new rubber for the Ford so he got himself a new set of highway/camper rated treads all around. For a guy like Robbie-O this was a big deal. Ehh?
It wasn’t but about a week later when he was playin some $5 dollar Friday night pickup that some punk kid or vandalous shit head decided to ice pick the tires of about seven or eight cars in the parking lot. Yup, Robbie-O’s new ones got stabbed each and every one. Right in the damn side wall! Ya couldn’t patch’em or plug em, which Robbie-O knew how to do, but ya had to put tubes in em. Being that they were new tires, this time he wasn’t going to use some salvage tubes so he spent another hundred and fifty or so on putting in the tubes and re-balancing, the whole kit and caboodle. Cheap pickup game – but damned expensive night for my bud!
Oh the tales I could tell. I’m telling ya it was good thing he had that camper cuz ya wouldn’t believe how many times he ran out of gas coming back from road trips just trying to get back to get cheap-ass gas at the Circle-K over in Whompton.
And just a couple of weeks ago before he entered his most recent period of unemployment, he went to an early afternoon free clinic at the rink. Cheap ass bastard can’t get enough ice time these days at $20 a session or $400 for a twenty game season plus playoffs if your team can get there. Whad’ya want ehh?
Anyway, it’s a free skate and he’s digin it. It was only supposed to last about an hour and about half way through it the shit came down. According to him, he’s skatin in from the left point, stick handling a bit, gets just about past the face off dot entering the slot when he leans into his left leg to take a wrister when he goes down. It’s a clinic, right? So nobody hit him, ehh? He just went down. Something in his left leg snapped. He figured that he had broken it, cuz every time he tried to get up, he fell right back down. Said he couldn’t feel his left leg at all.
He kept trying to get up but couldn’t manage it and ended up yelling at some kid’s dad. The dad and his son (said he might have been an older Midget) helped him off the ice and he used his stick as a crutch/cane to get to the dressin room. He said by then the pain had started to set in and it was real bitch to get his gear off. He said to me “Jasper, I’m telling ya, I got pretty light headed in that dressing room. And there wasn’t anybody in there with me. Kinda scared me that I might just pass my ass out.”
He broke out in a sweat and sat there for a bit and then hobbled out of the dressin room using his stick as a crutch again. Told me that he felt purty embarrassed but he had to ask some kid to carry his gear bag out to the truck. Got it all in the truck and himself too. Damn good thing that old Ford is an automatic. He managed to drive himself over to the clinic in pain for sure and worrying that they’d have to operate or put him in a half-body cast cuz he figured that it was his hip that was busted. Shit for howdy if the medical folks ended up telling him that he hadn’t broke anything but probably had a deep muscle or soft tissue tear. Maybe pinched his sciatic nerve real good which was why he couldn’t feel his left leg.
Anyway when I saw him yesterday he told me that his left leg had been bruised from his hind cheek down to his ankle. And that that dabgone ”free skate” had cost him over $250 for the clinic and the pain pill prescriptions.
That’s his luck, Robbie-O, the cheap skate.
He’s still my bud. He’s still walking with wood – though a little painfully right now.
Shit, you guys, I hope that this stuff is funny. Nobody ever leaves a comment so I don’t know if any of ya are even reading this happy horse shit that I write.
Dudes and dudettes – I’ve got an ego off the ice too. Let me know how I’m doing. Ehh? If ya are afraid to comment here then send an email to me through my alter-ego at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
This week’s story is about a fairly good buddy that I’ve had for more years then I can remember. Actually I can remember but it doesn’t add a damn bit of interest to the story. He’s a hard working sob but is temporarily unemployed, so he’s been on my mind a bit these days while I’ve been trying to find something for him to do.
I’ve always called him Robbie-O, of Irish blood, his nickname fits him well. He hasn’t always lived up here in the back woods. Trying the city every now and then as he’d hear about some fantastic job and move away for a while pursuing his dreams only to come up short in the end. Living in the camper of his old Ford pickup he’d get rousted regularly for parking overnight in front of someone’s home or in the parking lot of some business in town. Yup, he’s been sort of a gypsy I guess since we’ve been friends. But he’s good folks, guys. I mean, in my opinion, Robbie-O walks with wood.
Never having a lot of money for the finer thinks in life, he’s had to improvise quite a bit to get by. The camper has been his home more often then not and that suits everybody ok here in the backwoods. I’ve been successful myself most of the time and my property and my cabin are what I have to show for that. Robbie-O is welcome over here just about all the time. He won’t take advantage of me though, cuz that’s just not his nature. I’ve never known him to burden himself for too long on anybody else either.
Dabnabit if he isn’t a cheap skate though. He keeps that old truck running by not even hitting up Jakes Salvage Yard. He must know where every damn similarly modeled Ford has been dispatched to the north forty and hits on those derelicts, with the owner’s permission of course, to get replacement parts. Shit what else? His hockey gear is always used stuff, or least it always looks like someone else musta discarded it. Its all held together with duct tape, shoe-goo, or some other fandangled method of restoration. Since we played Batams together I don’t think I can recall him wearing a jersey that had his own name on the back.
Heck, I even remember several different times, when I knew that he had a decent job and health insurance, that after taking a high stick or a puck in the face that he wouldn’t go down to the clinic for stitches. Damned if he wouldn’t sew himself back up. Guys, I’m telling ya I could never do that. Ehh?
He’d snag tape balls out of the trash can for reuse and always snagged up broken sticks for repair. I guess he’s got fiberglassin down to a fine art. He loves his hockey just as much as you and I do.
His ma and pa are still kickin up dirt and surviving on a railroad pension. Seems as if I hadn’t heard that his pa coulda gone pro right from Juniors ‘cept that he fell in love with the trains that used to run the team to distant destinations and joined the SOO line the summer before his last year of playing. They let him continue playing that following winter but when the draft came up he turned down offers that would have sent him down to Greensboro or some such place to play his first year. The rails were where he wanted to be. So be it, ehh?
His ma, ya’d think she was mainly Italian instead of Irish the way she liked to cook. She wasn’t always fixin meat and potatoes like the rest of was eatin. She be fixin skeaty and meat balls or ravioli or some such other spiced up shit. I can always tell when Robbie-O’s been home for dinner, cuz once he’d start sweatin out there on the ice, he’d just reek as that garlic would start squeezing outta his pores. Kinda embedded itself in his gear too. Though I really like the guy, ya don’t want to sit next to him in the dressin room. He’ll open up that gear bag and that odor will about make ya pass out or puke. Mercy that smell was some kind a bad.
Robbie-O was cheap. There’s no doubt about that. Anymore when he gets out on the ice, it’s usually when we’re using him as a substitute for somebody that didn’t show up but had already paid for the season. It’s completely illegal according to league rules but none of the other teams knew who he was. Shit the nearest team that we play against has their home ice about thirty-seven miles off to the northeast. And, well, the local ref’s if they saw him suited up they’d mention it to us real casual like and we’d buy them a beer or two later. Like I said earlier – lately he’s never wearin a jersey with his name on the back.
One of the things sad about Robbie-O is that quite often he runs a length of bad luck with him. I member a time back a few years ago when he had a fairly decent job running a grain truck from western North Dakota down to General Mills in the Cities. Seems as though he had the job for about six months or so. He was able to pay off some bills at the grocery, etc, and was seeming to get back on his feet somewhat. He had been needing some new rubber for the Ford so he got himself a new set of highway/camper rated treads all around. For a guy like Robbie-O this was a big deal. Ehh?
It wasn’t but about a week later when he was playin some $5 dollar Friday night pickup that some punk kid or vandalous shit head decided to ice pick the tires of about seven or eight cars in the parking lot. Yup, Robbie-O’s new ones got stabbed each and every one. Right in the damn side wall! Ya couldn’t patch’em or plug em, which Robbie-O knew how to do, but ya had to put tubes in em. Being that they were new tires, this time he wasn’t going to use some salvage tubes so he spent another hundred and fifty or so on putting in the tubes and re-balancing, the whole kit and caboodle. Cheap pickup game – but damned expensive night for my bud!
Oh the tales I could tell. I’m telling ya it was good thing he had that camper cuz ya wouldn’t believe how many times he ran out of gas coming back from road trips just trying to get back to get cheap-ass gas at the Circle-K over in Whompton.
And just a couple of weeks ago before he entered his most recent period of unemployment, he went to an early afternoon free clinic at the rink. Cheap ass bastard can’t get enough ice time these days at $20 a session or $400 for a twenty game season plus playoffs if your team can get there. Whad’ya want ehh?
Anyway, it’s a free skate and he’s digin it. It was only supposed to last about an hour and about half way through it the shit came down. According to him, he’s skatin in from the left point, stick handling a bit, gets just about past the face off dot entering the slot when he leans into his left leg to take a wrister when he goes down. It’s a clinic, right? So nobody hit him, ehh? He just went down. Something in his left leg snapped. He figured that he had broken it, cuz every time he tried to get up, he fell right back down. Said he couldn’t feel his left leg at all.
He kept trying to get up but couldn’t manage it and ended up yelling at some kid’s dad. The dad and his son (said he might have been an older Midget) helped him off the ice and he used his stick as a crutch/cane to get to the dressin room. He said by then the pain had started to set in and it was real bitch to get his gear off. He said to me “Jasper, I’m telling ya, I got pretty light headed in that dressing room. And there wasn’t anybody in there with me. Kinda scared me that I might just pass my ass out.”
He broke out in a sweat and sat there for a bit and then hobbled out of the dressin room using his stick as a crutch again. Told me that he felt purty embarrassed but he had to ask some kid to carry his gear bag out to the truck. Got it all in the truck and himself too. Damn good thing that old Ford is an automatic. He managed to drive himself over to the clinic in pain for sure and worrying that they’d have to operate or put him in a half-body cast cuz he figured that it was his hip that was busted. Shit for howdy if the medical folks ended up telling him that he hadn’t broke anything but probably had a deep muscle or soft tissue tear. Maybe pinched his sciatic nerve real good which was why he couldn’t feel his left leg.
Anyway when I saw him yesterday he told me that his left leg had been bruised from his hind cheek down to his ankle. And that that dabgone ”free skate” had cost him over $250 for the clinic and the pain pill prescriptions.
That’s his luck, Robbie-O, the cheap skate.
He’s still my bud. He’s still walking with wood – though a little painfully right now.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Flows-A-Lot
Yup, I’ve been watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs now for a week or so and we’ve got most of the first round wound up. Detroit and Calgary are yet to play this evening and I’m going to cheer for the Wings. Why? Well, mainly for Chelios – he’s one of my heroes! The dude is forty-five, I think. That’s really saying something for an athlete to be performing at this level at his age. Dab-nab-it! He even got a goal yesterday. He’s been walking with wood for a heck of a long time!
So have you guys been watching the games too? Whad’ya think of the commercials? I still want the Dodge Caliber commercial back with the red headed fairy. Some hotty, ehh?
I’m thinking of one of the more recent commercials that shows some older guys riding bikes and canoeing together. In one of the scenes you see one of the guys coming out of a public restroom. Do you know which ad I’m thinking of?
They’re advertising a medication for men and their little walnut sized pumping gland – the prostate. They’re talking about the Big C and inflammation and slow flow, etc etc………. They don’t bother to mention the old latex gloved finger and KY’d up the old poop shoot to check on things. But brothers, when ya get older its something you can look forward to. Yeah laugh out loud on that one kids.
I’ve got a medication that I take that I’ll call Flows-A-Lot. Ladies – you know which one I mean – it keeps ya from getting bloated. These little pills make ya piss like a race horse. I take it, cuz I’m an old fart, to keep my blood pressure down. The theory of it is that if you don’t have a lot a fluid in your system then you won’t have as high of blood pressure if you did.
But Flows-A-Lot is a hockey player’s calamity and I only take it in the morning.
Here’s my pre-game ritual:
1) Come home from work and eat a light dinner
2) Take a pre-game nap
3) Get up from nap and take a piss and maybe a dump
4) Take two aspirins preparing for the later pain I know I’m going to have
5) Pack my gear bag and grab my sticks
6) Drive to the rink
7) Throw gear in the dressing room
8) Get a coffee, double sugar, from the vending machine to pump me up
9) Drink coffee along the boards while watching some of the game that proceeds mine
10) Back to the dressing room
11) Take a piss
12) Start taking off street clothes and suiting up
a. Socks
b. Jock strap
c. Long johns
d. Elastic stretch shorts
e. T-shirt
f. Cup
g. Shin pads
h. Garter belt and uniform socks
i. Breezers
j. Skates
k. Tape-up shin pads
l. Shoulder pads
m. Elbow Pads
n. Jersey
o. Helmet
13) Get out to the bench and wait for the Zamboni to get done
14) Stretch
15) Get on the ice and warm up
16) Go take a piss again before the game starts – damn that coffee and the Flows-A-Lot
So what/s wrong with this picture, ehh?
Well, if ya haven’t been there then let me explain it to you. Flows-A-Lot makes ya damn uncomfortable if ya don’t relieve yourself when its time to go. And if ya didn’t catch on from the list above, there are a total of seven different things in the way of whipping your wang-dang-doodle out to get the job done.
Here’s what ya gotta do to get there:
1) Lift your jersey outta the way
2) Push your breezers down
3) Undo the Velcro on your garter belt
4) Push the cup down
5) Push the elastic shorts outta the way
6) The same with the long johns
7) And the same with the jock strap
8) Grab your wang-dang-doodle and stretch if for all its worth or ya gonna piss all over everything
It’s a real mess. I’m telling you guys it ain’t no fun getting old and having to take Flows-A-Lot. Sure hope Chelios hasn’t had to start taking this shit yet.
Skate hard!
Keep walking with wood ………….
So have you guys been watching the games too? Whad’ya think of the commercials? I still want the Dodge Caliber commercial back with the red headed fairy. Some hotty, ehh?
I’m thinking of one of the more recent commercials that shows some older guys riding bikes and canoeing together. In one of the scenes you see one of the guys coming out of a public restroom. Do you know which ad I’m thinking of?
They’re advertising a medication for men and their little walnut sized pumping gland – the prostate. They’re talking about the Big C and inflammation and slow flow, etc etc………. They don’t bother to mention the old latex gloved finger and KY’d up the old poop shoot to check on things. But brothers, when ya get older its something you can look forward to. Yeah laugh out loud on that one kids.
I’ve got a medication that I take that I’ll call Flows-A-Lot. Ladies – you know which one I mean – it keeps ya from getting bloated. These little pills make ya piss like a race horse. I take it, cuz I’m an old fart, to keep my blood pressure down. The theory of it is that if you don’t have a lot a fluid in your system then you won’t have as high of blood pressure if you did.
But Flows-A-Lot is a hockey player’s calamity and I only take it in the morning.
Here’s my pre-game ritual:
1) Come home from work and eat a light dinner
2) Take a pre-game nap
3) Get up from nap and take a piss and maybe a dump
4) Take two aspirins preparing for the later pain I know I’m going to have
5) Pack my gear bag and grab my sticks
6) Drive to the rink
7) Throw gear in the dressing room
8) Get a coffee, double sugar, from the vending machine to pump me up
9) Drink coffee along the boards while watching some of the game that proceeds mine
10) Back to the dressing room
11) Take a piss
12) Start taking off street clothes and suiting up
a. Socks
b. Jock strap
c. Long johns
d. Elastic stretch shorts
e. T-shirt
f. Cup
g. Shin pads
h. Garter belt and uniform socks
i. Breezers
j. Skates
k. Tape-up shin pads
l. Shoulder pads
m. Elbow Pads
n. Jersey
o. Helmet
13) Get out to the bench and wait for the Zamboni to get done
14) Stretch
15) Get on the ice and warm up
16) Go take a piss again before the game starts – damn that coffee and the Flows-A-Lot
So what/s wrong with this picture, ehh?
Well, if ya haven’t been there then let me explain it to you. Flows-A-Lot makes ya damn uncomfortable if ya don’t relieve yourself when its time to go. And if ya didn’t catch on from the list above, there are a total of seven different things in the way of whipping your wang-dang-doodle out to get the job done.
Here’s what ya gotta do to get there:
1) Lift your jersey outta the way
2) Push your breezers down
3) Undo the Velcro on your garter belt
4) Push the cup down
5) Push the elastic shorts outta the way
6) The same with the long johns
7) And the same with the jock strap
8) Grab your wang-dang-doodle and stretch if for all its worth or ya gonna piss all over everything
It’s a real mess. I’m telling you guys it ain’t no fun getting old and having to take Flows-A-Lot. Sure hope Chelios hasn’t had to start taking this shit yet.
Skate hard!
Keep walking with wood ………….
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Wood to Smitty
We had some days of Indian summer and then winter came back with a vengeance. We had an ice storm first that took down the phone and power lines. I didn’t get any of that restored until just last night. So those of you who live and breath by my blog’s news and humor, I do wish to apologize and hope that this one’s a real good dinger for you.
I was snow bound for a couple of days but after that the roads got opened up and I was heading into town and catching some good hockey at my favorite watering hole. I did get to see the NCAA Division I final of the marketable Frozen Four series. Some really good hockey there. And I got to see some of the last games of the season that the NHL kicked out for us. Now were into Stanley Cup Playoffs which can only mean that I’ve got only about two more months to watch the sport that pumps my blood. Hang in with me folks – I can’t say that I have any favorites this year and as typical of my behavior I’ll be rooting for the underdogs in any game that I get to watch. I believe that a games going to be on in about an hour so I’ll see how much of this I can knock off before then.
If you read my blog on a regular basis you’ll notice this time that my north woods jargon is not being used. It may slip through if I don’t catch myself today but because this is such a somber work that I figured that I owed Smitty that much.
Being snow bound these past couple of weeks brought back the joyous memories of a time many years back where the snow and the cold and the woods had also held my vital spirit at bay.
Back in the ‘80’s I had a job that had me traveling a bit between here and there down in the lower forty-eight. Texas seemed to be one the predominate states that provided me with a survivable income. If it wasn’t San Antonio then it was Arlington or Houston where I set my bags down. The job was good but days out left me a bit drawn and in need of sober activities or I couldn’t face the next morning.
I had spent many a day in small communities doing my business and had discovered that the local Walmart was always a good place to meet and talk with the local folks. You guys know that I’m no uppity sort of guy so this level of socialization fit me just fine. Most of my heavy beer drinking and carrying-on happened when I was home and after a good skate. The metropolitan areas of Texas had their Walmarts too and my type of folks hanging around at them.
During one trip to the Houston area I hit up a short but good conversation with a sweet young thing working the cash register. Her name was Vickie and she was getting off work in about a half hour. I asked her if she’d join me for dinner at a barbeque joint up the street. She was a bit nervous I could tell and I just let it go when she said that she wasn’t sure if she’d be able too.
I took my purchase of a horror paperback back to my hotel and headed over to the BBQ joint figuring that she wouldn’t show but hanging on to the hope of her use of the word “able”.
I was about half done with my first fill-up of sweet tea when she showed up to my anxious surprise. She didn’t want to eat anything but would have some sweet tea too. We chatted for about an hour and I found out that she was only seventeen and dating a guy named Billy, a goalie for one of the New York teams. It seemed as though she was pretty much hung up on Billy but was seeking some fatherly advice from me because he was about my age. She had met him in the same sort of way that we met each other, but it had been in the off season when Billy was in town doing some fishing. Being the benevolent character that I am I was glad to counsel her. I don’t know why but the young ladies have always opened up this way with me. It must be my bear-huggish physique or something of that nature.
We chatted a few more times together during my stay and exchanged addresses and phone numbers. She knew that I played hockey too and said that someday she wanted to see me play. I’d looked her up every time that my travels brought me back to the Houston area. She was gorgeous but so young and wanted my great hug at the end of every visit together.
Vickie ended up marrying Billy and he gave her a son, Daniel Wayner Smith. Their marriage didn’t last too long though and she got pretty messed up over the crumbled matrimony. Our letters and phone calls were now more frequent and were much longer in length then earlier.
Billy was gone (the jerk) and she needed to support herself and little Daniel. The pregnancy had changed her body and she’d begun partying heavy. Her breasts had remained huge from the pregnancy and she decided that the only way she could make ends meet was to use what she’d got and started working at Little Ricky’s Cabaret. She tried using stage names of Robin the Hood and Nikita Kay but finally settled on Anna “Nickel”. My own thoughts now reminiscing: “Silver Dollar” would have been more appropriate.
It wasn’t until much later that I would realize the road that this divergence would be taking her and to her eventual demise and my pain. But still being quite young at heart at the time I too also enjoyed and partook of the lifestyle she had now taken on. But she still has such down times and I had the opportunity to lift her back up on occasion. One such time was that that is the one of this story.
She had finally decided that she had to see me play so I booked her a round trip ticket for a two game weekend. She got her mom to watch little Daniel and I picked her up at our local airport on Friday afternoon with hugs and kisses. We drove back to my cabin in the woods and I got her settled in. We were playing the Skukumchuck Selects at 7:30 so we didn’t stay long before heading off to the arena.
The Selects were a pretty fair team and gave us a good game. I checked for her in the stands at each time my defensive pairing went out on the ice and was pleased to see that she was both watching the game and seemed also to be fitting in good with the other gals. We won when Jingle’s tipped in a cross ice pass from Bronzy with a little over a minute left to play. Those brothers of mine have always played so well. I can’t believe how much I’ve enjoyed the fact that they decided to play hockey instead of becoming professional wrestlers or tennis players as part of their athletic skills.
Terry’s Tavern was cooking after the game and I can’t believe how stinking drunk Vickie and I each got. It was a wonder that we got back to the cabin without crashing somewhere along the way. She rode all the way back in my pickup snuggled up against me. Good wood was on my mind and she wasn’t acting in any way negative to the notion.
Yup, though strong desires and too much alcohol don’t allow fruition sometimes we crashed that night without any action only to wake up to the start of a hell of a snow storm. A real doozie of a storm had swooped in down from the Bering Sea and by the afternoon was just pounding us. By 6:00 pm when I like to leave for my games we had taken over three feet of fresh snow. With the wind blowing the way it was I knew that some of the low areas from the cabin to the main road would be completely drifted in maybe seven or eight feet or more. I figured that the game would be called because no one would be able to get out even in town and I wasn’t too worried because I kept the cabin well stocked and had plenty of fire wood.
Vickie was a bit worried though not being from the North Woods. So I did my best to alleviate her fears not realizing that in doing so I was also rousing her libido. Need I say more then for the next few days being snowed into my cabin we shared some of the greatest love making and pure sex of my life. She revealed to me her stage presence “Anna Nickel Smith” and just drove me nuts. We enjoyed each other for those few days and we joked with each other so much. She kept whispering in my ear “Come on Jaspy give some wood to Smitty,” taking on her own secret hockey player nickname with me.
Oh those days were wonderful! After one really tender moment she grabbed an empty Labatt bottle and spit some backwash into it, sort of recapped it and quickly set the bottle outside where it was about sixty below. She said that she wanted to preserve it for maybe future use. I laughed and said “Vicki, you are so nuts!”
She said, “Jasper, you have so many great qualities but I’m not ready for another baby. You’re getting old and when I’m ready again you might not have it. I’m going to keep that on ice until then and when I’m ready again for another child I want it to be yours.”
I just laughed it off but when she was finally able to head back to Texas she repacked that bottle in dry ice and had UPS send it to her gynecologist after a lengthy phone call. He said that he’d store it in a sperm bank for her.
We stayed in touch over the years but her lifestyle continued to change as she got famous. She ended up marrying some really rich guy that was way older then me. He died several years back and Vickie’s been fighting with his family over the inheritance. She called me once and said that it was time. My seed in cold storage was still viable and she was going to give it a try. I was pretty worried because she had now gotten way overweight and was doing some awful drugs due to the stress in her current life. She got way strung out and then wasn’t talking with me anymore. But she did have a baby girl; Danielynn she named her. I thought well maybe she is mine. Maybe it worked. I figured that I could be a good dad this late in my life; as opposed to earlier when I too was a party animal. She wouldn’t talk to me, she wouldn’t substantiate that I was Danielynn’s daddy. I kind of let it go, a little hurt but our flame I realized had burned out a long time ago. Never having a lot of money myself, I never considered trying to prove paternity.
Daniel Wayner Smith, her son died at twenty while in the Bahamas. Vickie completely fell apart after that and died of an overdose within the same year. She had become so famous and so rich that her death filled many a news report. Danielynn’s paternity became big news too because of this. I guess the courts finally ordered identification of her father and I became awfully anxious folks, let me tell you. Ends up it wasn’t me. I guess my little soldiers lost their oompf over the years.
Yeah life’s a bitch and then you die.
Sad for Vickie … sad for Anna Nickel Smith … sad for Smitty.
Sad for Daniel Wayner and Danielynn her kids.
Sad for Jasper Wheats for a short little bit.
But I’m still walking with wood. No doubt about that folks – no sirree! Ehh?
I was snow bound for a couple of days but after that the roads got opened up and I was heading into town and catching some good hockey at my favorite watering hole. I did get to see the NCAA Division I final of the marketable Frozen Four series. Some really good hockey there. And I got to see some of the last games of the season that the NHL kicked out for us. Now were into Stanley Cup Playoffs which can only mean that I’ve got only about two more months to watch the sport that pumps my blood. Hang in with me folks – I can’t say that I have any favorites this year and as typical of my behavior I’ll be rooting for the underdogs in any game that I get to watch. I believe that a games going to be on in about an hour so I’ll see how much of this I can knock off before then.
If you read my blog on a regular basis you’ll notice this time that my north woods jargon is not being used. It may slip through if I don’t catch myself today but because this is such a somber work that I figured that I owed Smitty that much.
Being snow bound these past couple of weeks brought back the joyous memories of a time many years back where the snow and the cold and the woods had also held my vital spirit at bay.
Back in the ‘80’s I had a job that had me traveling a bit between here and there down in the lower forty-eight. Texas seemed to be one the predominate states that provided me with a survivable income. If it wasn’t San Antonio then it was Arlington or Houston where I set my bags down. The job was good but days out left me a bit drawn and in need of sober activities or I couldn’t face the next morning.
I had spent many a day in small communities doing my business and had discovered that the local Walmart was always a good place to meet and talk with the local folks. You guys know that I’m no uppity sort of guy so this level of socialization fit me just fine. Most of my heavy beer drinking and carrying-on happened when I was home and after a good skate. The metropolitan areas of Texas had their Walmarts too and my type of folks hanging around at them.
During one trip to the Houston area I hit up a short but good conversation with a sweet young thing working the cash register. Her name was Vickie and she was getting off work in about a half hour. I asked her if she’d join me for dinner at a barbeque joint up the street. She was a bit nervous I could tell and I just let it go when she said that she wasn’t sure if she’d be able too.
I took my purchase of a horror paperback back to my hotel and headed over to the BBQ joint figuring that she wouldn’t show but hanging on to the hope of her use of the word “able”.
I was about half done with my first fill-up of sweet tea when she showed up to my anxious surprise. She didn’t want to eat anything but would have some sweet tea too. We chatted for about an hour and I found out that she was only seventeen and dating a guy named Billy, a goalie for one of the New York teams. It seemed as though she was pretty much hung up on Billy but was seeking some fatherly advice from me because he was about my age. She had met him in the same sort of way that we met each other, but it had been in the off season when Billy was in town doing some fishing. Being the benevolent character that I am I was glad to counsel her. I don’t know why but the young ladies have always opened up this way with me. It must be my bear-huggish physique or something of that nature.
We chatted a few more times together during my stay and exchanged addresses and phone numbers. She knew that I played hockey too and said that someday she wanted to see me play. I’d looked her up every time that my travels brought me back to the Houston area. She was gorgeous but so young and wanted my great hug at the end of every visit together.
Vickie ended up marrying Billy and he gave her a son, Daniel Wayner Smith. Their marriage didn’t last too long though and she got pretty messed up over the crumbled matrimony. Our letters and phone calls were now more frequent and were much longer in length then earlier.
Billy was gone (the jerk) and she needed to support herself and little Daniel. The pregnancy had changed her body and she’d begun partying heavy. Her breasts had remained huge from the pregnancy and she decided that the only way she could make ends meet was to use what she’d got and started working at Little Ricky’s Cabaret. She tried using stage names of Robin the Hood and Nikita Kay but finally settled on Anna “Nickel”. My own thoughts now reminiscing: “Silver Dollar” would have been more appropriate.
It wasn’t until much later that I would realize the road that this divergence would be taking her and to her eventual demise and my pain. But still being quite young at heart at the time I too also enjoyed and partook of the lifestyle she had now taken on. But she still has such down times and I had the opportunity to lift her back up on occasion. One such time was that that is the one of this story.
She had finally decided that she had to see me play so I booked her a round trip ticket for a two game weekend. She got her mom to watch little Daniel and I picked her up at our local airport on Friday afternoon with hugs and kisses. We drove back to my cabin in the woods and I got her settled in. We were playing the Skukumchuck Selects at 7:30 so we didn’t stay long before heading off to the arena.
The Selects were a pretty fair team and gave us a good game. I checked for her in the stands at each time my defensive pairing went out on the ice and was pleased to see that she was both watching the game and seemed also to be fitting in good with the other gals. We won when Jingle’s tipped in a cross ice pass from Bronzy with a little over a minute left to play. Those brothers of mine have always played so well. I can’t believe how much I’ve enjoyed the fact that they decided to play hockey instead of becoming professional wrestlers or tennis players as part of their athletic skills.
Terry’s Tavern was cooking after the game and I can’t believe how stinking drunk Vickie and I each got. It was a wonder that we got back to the cabin without crashing somewhere along the way. She rode all the way back in my pickup snuggled up against me. Good wood was on my mind and she wasn’t acting in any way negative to the notion.
Yup, though strong desires and too much alcohol don’t allow fruition sometimes we crashed that night without any action only to wake up to the start of a hell of a snow storm. A real doozie of a storm had swooped in down from the Bering Sea and by the afternoon was just pounding us. By 6:00 pm when I like to leave for my games we had taken over three feet of fresh snow. With the wind blowing the way it was I knew that some of the low areas from the cabin to the main road would be completely drifted in maybe seven or eight feet or more. I figured that the game would be called because no one would be able to get out even in town and I wasn’t too worried because I kept the cabin well stocked and had plenty of fire wood.
Vickie was a bit worried though not being from the North Woods. So I did my best to alleviate her fears not realizing that in doing so I was also rousing her libido. Need I say more then for the next few days being snowed into my cabin we shared some of the greatest love making and pure sex of my life. She revealed to me her stage presence “Anna Nickel Smith” and just drove me nuts. We enjoyed each other for those few days and we joked with each other so much. She kept whispering in my ear “Come on Jaspy give some wood to Smitty,” taking on her own secret hockey player nickname with me.
Oh those days were wonderful! After one really tender moment she grabbed an empty Labatt bottle and spit some backwash into it, sort of recapped it and quickly set the bottle outside where it was about sixty below. She said that she wanted to preserve it for maybe future use. I laughed and said “Vicki, you are so nuts!”
She said, “Jasper, you have so many great qualities but I’m not ready for another baby. You’re getting old and when I’m ready again you might not have it. I’m going to keep that on ice until then and when I’m ready again for another child I want it to be yours.”
I just laughed it off but when she was finally able to head back to Texas she repacked that bottle in dry ice and had UPS send it to her gynecologist after a lengthy phone call. He said that he’d store it in a sperm bank for her.
We stayed in touch over the years but her lifestyle continued to change as she got famous. She ended up marrying some really rich guy that was way older then me. He died several years back and Vickie’s been fighting with his family over the inheritance. She called me once and said that it was time. My seed in cold storage was still viable and she was going to give it a try. I was pretty worried because she had now gotten way overweight and was doing some awful drugs due to the stress in her current life. She got way strung out and then wasn’t talking with me anymore. But she did have a baby girl; Danielynn she named her. I thought well maybe she is mine. Maybe it worked. I figured that I could be a good dad this late in my life; as opposed to earlier when I too was a party animal. She wouldn’t talk to me, she wouldn’t substantiate that I was Danielynn’s daddy. I kind of let it go, a little hurt but our flame I realized had burned out a long time ago. Never having a lot of money myself, I never considered trying to prove paternity.
Daniel Wayner Smith, her son died at twenty while in the Bahamas. Vickie completely fell apart after that and died of an overdose within the same year. She had become so famous and so rich that her death filled many a news report. Danielynn’s paternity became big news too because of this. I guess the courts finally ordered identification of her father and I became awfully anxious folks, let me tell you. Ends up it wasn’t me. I guess my little soldiers lost their oompf over the years.
Yeah life’s a bitch and then you die.
Sad for Vickie … sad for Anna Nickel Smith … sad for Smitty.
Sad for Daniel Wayner and Danielynn her kids.
Sad for Jasper Wheats for a short little bit.
But I’m still walking with wood. No doubt about that folks – no sirree! Ehh?
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