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Archive for the ‘Chucklesdoodling!’ Category
She buys three ducklings and doesn’t name them Bobby Ryan, Ryan Getzlaf, and CoreyPerry CoreyPerry.
If the Devils were in the Pacific Division, we could use this photo six times a year!
Wow! The Devils just did the craziest thing — they won a game at home! Sure, it was against a fellow bottom-feeder, but beggars can’t be choosers. And baby steps. And all that stuff. It was a win! We have a few thoughts about tonight’s momentous event:
— In the waning minutes of the third period, Schnookie remarked that this game was uncharacteristically fun to watch, as there was something about the Devils that seemed fresh and fun. Pookie suggested maybe it was the first NHL goals by Vasyunov and Tedenby that made the Devils seem like they had a sassy spring in their steps, and Schnookie said that was partially it, but there was something less tangible. “Whatever it is, I feel like I haven’t even noticed Langenbrunner once tonight,” she marveled. Pause. Pookie: “He’s a scratch tonight.” Longer pause. Schnookie: “Well, that explains it.” Seriously, isn’t there a vast difference between the way the Devils look without him in the lineup and the way they look when he’s around to drag them down? It’s like his whining sourpussness blocks out the sun or something. But, on the bright side, we actually pretty much like the entire Devils team when he’s not playing, so we’re hopeful that this season can be salvaged. Lou.
— Tedenby is our new favorite Devil. At one point in the second period Chico was talking about the Oilers goalie while we were discussing Tedenby, and suddenly Chico was going on about how “they call him ‘The Giraffe’.” Pookie was like, “Tedenby is The Giraffe? That’s awesome! He’s exactly like the little miniature giraffe in that DirecTV commercial!” And then she did the little happy wriggle from the end of that commercial. Needless to say, the rest of the game featured the ever-growing legend of Mattias Tedenby, Miniature Giraffe; for example:
Pookie, after a good play by Tedenby: “I saw him get drafted!”
Schnookie: “It’s hard to believe we didn’t realize he was a giraffe when we saw that.”
Pookie: “I know!”
Schnookie: “Well, we were pretty far away from the stage, and he’s such a miniature giraffe. It was hard to tell.” Pause. “Although I don’t understand what kind of idiot scout interviews him and comes away from it thinking he’s a hummingbird on crack eating all their candy. Who mixes up a hummingbird and a giraffe?”
Pookie: “Short Circuit.”
— The play leading up to the game-winning goal was hilarious. Honestly, could Hank, Patty, and Chuckles have looked any less dynamic? Pookie suggested they were passing exactly how the old guy on the Simpsons with the really long white beard would do it. And just as we were on the brink of having to decide whether we were going to howl with laughter at the ineffectual passing or scream “shoot the fucking puck you fucking fuckers!”, Chuckles decided it was time to just finish this sucker. The ensuing explosive celebration, from Chuckles himself and his equally thrilled teammates, was — dare we say it? — adorable. It’s like he was attempting to create a new persona for himself, perhaps a Captain Chuck This Shit. (See what we did there?) It’s not quite as cute as a miniature giraffe, but if that goal was a sign of things to come, we’ll take it.
Shortly before the season began, we had a short discussion about the unexpected hierarchy of deliciousness of Chuckles by color:
Boomer, in the kitchen, “The green has to go first!”
Pookie, in the living room, looking dully at the remaining Chuckles in front of her, “Information that would have been useful a Chuckle ago.”
Anyway, our point is, Gentle Reader, last night? Was the green Chuckle. But remember, there’s only one green Chuckle per pack. We’ve gotten the green out of the way! Sometime in the next 15 years, we have the red and black Chuckles to go!
So… Kovalchuk, eh? Works for us! We asked for change, and we’re getting it in spades this summer, so much so that we’ve almost completely forgotten about the Arnott acquisition. If you can make us forget about that, you’re doing a damn fine job as a change-making GM, so kudos, Lou.
Because he’s going to be ours for the next 10,000 years or so, we figure we need to embrace Kovalchuk. There are a number of reasons why this should be easy for even bloggers as hard-hearted as we. First of all, he’s not Andrew Peters. ::brushes off hands:: Done and done! Welcome to the family, Chuckles! Second of all, we can call him Chuckles. And when he scores, he can score for a case of Chuckles. Chuckles are a rare candy where even the weird dark-purple-flavored color is still tasty. Sure Kovalchuk doesn’t seem like he belongs, but what the hell? Maybe he’s the dark-purple Chuckle and not the weird dark-purple Necco wafer (also known as “clove”. We know!!!! CLOVE!)? Or at the very least, maybe he won’t turn into the weird dark-purple Necco wafer until a few years from now. Because even though we’re really, really excited for a Kovalchuk signing, and we can’t imagine ever not loving our very own Chuckles, we can’t entirely forget that the last time we were this psyched for a free-agent signing the guy’s name rhymed with “Blian Blolston”.
But let us not dwell on such unpleasantries! Now is the time celebrate, and to get that “CHUCKLES” tattoo in gothic letters across our shoulders! Because a gothic-letter nameplate tattoo is forever, as is Kovalchuk’s alleged contract. No one living in ChucklesNation would be caught dead without one.
Ookies and Co. meet Chuckles at the airport, where they perform the traditional dance of ChucklesNation, demonstrating what wonders await those who sign with the Devils instead of the poopy old Kings.