Archive for the ‘Mike Richards’ Category

— For a variety of uninteresting reasons, Pookie arrived at work this morning with about 20 minutes to spare and a hankering to find videos about Beaks on YouTube. She found this:

When she sent the link to Schnookie this exchange ensued:

Pookie: I found a HILARIOUS video of Beaks and CoreyPerry CoreyPerry. Fighting in Juniors. At the end of a playoff game.
Schnookie: Oh my god.
Pookie: I was laughing out loud in my car. It was Muppet Baby Douchebags.
Schnookie: I’m honestly not sure who I’d think wins that. Of course, we’re ALL winners here.
Pookie: It was like what I imagine baby peacocks would be like if they were chimpanzees learning life skills by copying their parents.
Schnookie: (After watching the video) Oh my god. That’s a beauty. I love Beaks tossing his head. Like, I’m sure he thought, a wild stallion. He looked like Beaks of Chincoteague there. A little wild pony.

— For a variety of uninteresting reasons we ended up discussing Principal Skinner and Superintendent Chalmers during dinner tonight, which, of course, spiraled into an exchange of Simpsons quotes. When Schnookie pulled out the “how will anyone know it’s a Honda without the H?” scene, Pookie suddenly declared that Looch had eaten the H off all the Hondas he’s ever seen. Schnookie agreed, because Looch just loves to eat the letter H. Pookie then remarked, “That’s why that Bruins/Habs game was such a melee. Looch just sees all those little H’s on the sweaters…”

— Boomer made us all laugh really hard after dinner when she tried to read aloud the blurb about Nora Roberts’s upcoming release, Catching Fire, a romance novel about smokejumpers. Boomer launched into the first sentence of the blurb, “There’s little as thrilling as firefighting…” but said instead, “There’s little as thrilling as firefarting.” We still haven’t stopped shrieking with laughter. Being a grownup is grand.

— We got a crazy new fisheye lens for our camera today. VE Mats loves it.

Fisheye VE Mats

So does Rollie.

Fisheye Rollie


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Gentle Reader, we have a confession to make. This past season, we felt that we left most of our best material as bloggers off IPB, because most of it wasn’t about the Devils. During the dog days of the March swoon, we wailed to our closest friends that we’d let our blog get bogged down with our repetitive complaints about a team that didn’t interest us much, while we were riffing in endless, giggling fashion about things unrelated to the team we were supposed to care most about. We frequently told ourselves, on evenings when we couldn’t think of a thing to say, “If only we could write about [a certain other team we got accused of writing about too much anyway]!” So today we discovered this extravagantly awkward and wooden tour of the Palms hotel by Mike “Beaker” “Beaks” Richards and his nurse shoes.

And the floodgates opened, as we gchatted away while Pookie was at work. As you can see from the transcript below, we were probably smart to keep this all to ourselves all season.

(Now, we have been planning for months to go to Montreal for the Draft, but our plans have been derailed in the last few days thanks to our inability to obtain tickets. We were considering becoming bitter about or jealous of the bloggers at SB Nation who are going to be fully credentialed at the Draft, but, well… If we were the kinds of bloggers who get to go to the Draft, we’d never be able to indulge ourselves with posts like this. And surely the world is a better place for us hitting “publish” on this.)

Schnookie: I’m watching Beaks now.

Pookie: Ooh, I won’t interrupt.

Schnookie: Beaks is such a whore!

His tourguide style was hilarious!

“Hi. I’m Beaks. For $25,000 a night.” *Looks awkward* “You get the master suite jacuzzi.”

Pookie: Yup!

Schnookie: He looked so chunky, though. He looked dumpy. Hippy.

Pookie: I KNOW! I didn’t want to say anything but I was like, “His outfit is NOT flattering.”

Schnookie: No, he looked shaped like Greg Maddux. I think it was the nurse shoes. Poor Beaks.

Pookie: And how about the faux I-don’t-know-what “peace out” at the end?

Schnookie: What the fuck was that???? And he’s a REALLY shitty bowler.

Pookie: I assumed his bowling was affected by his shoulder surgery. That video was filmed like four weeks ago.

Schnookie: Oh, right. Beaks is normally a champion bowler.

I loved that his approach to bowling was as stiff and weak as his line delivery. “Now I am. Going to bowl.” *Stiffly tosses ball with a minimum of bodily movement* Pause *Cracks up* “Not good.”

Pookie: Yeah. The whole thing was….

But hey! It’s Beaks!

Schnookie: I better watch it again.

Pookie: That’s what I said.

Schnookie: The hockey highlights are making me sad. I miss it!

Pookie: I thought the same thing. Sigh.

Schnookie: I love that for $25,000 a night, my five closest friends can sleep in murphy beds in Vegas.

Pookie: I KNOW! And “play hoops with [their] boys”.

Schnookie: I’m sorry he didn’t try to dunk. Paulie: “Me too.”

I would have DIED laughing if they’d made him try sinking a shot.

Pookie: [Busy doing work stuff, being at work and all.]

Schnookie: They probably did. Ten hours later, he’s like, “I just had shoulder surgery! I swear when I’m healthy I can do this!”

Or better yet, he was like, “Oh, I’d love to take a shot! That’ll be a nice bit to add to the clip!” *Goes to throw a two-handed underhand shot* Director: “Cut! Cut! What are you DOING?” Beaks: “I’m not cleared to throw overhand yet.”

Pookie: Don’t make me crack up here!

Schnookie: Paulie, popping up from behind one of the murphy beds: “Also, he learned everything he knows about ballin’ from me.”



Pookie: “Like that the hoop is called a ‘net’.”

Schnookie: Beaks: “What he means is that he throws two-handed underhand.”

Paulie: “And that I ball a lot.”

Pookie: DON’T make me laugh!

Schnookie: Beaks: “That’s not a euphemism.”

Paulie: “No. It’s not. What else WOULD it mean?”

Beaks: *SMIRK* “I don’t need a two-handed underhand to win at THAT kind of ballin’.” Pause. “Unless she wants it.”

Loops: “Or he. Unless he wants it.”

Beaks: “You are NOT invited to be one of my ballin’ boys.”

Loops: “Peace out, yo.”

Paulie: “Quit making b-ball sound dirty! It’s pure and good!”

Beaks: “If that’s the case, why aren’t you wearing shorts?”

Paulie: “I never said the Golden Gopher was pure and good.” DUNK!

AAAAND… scene.

Pookie: I… don’t have enough “:”s in the world.

Although now I’m scared of the Golden Gopher.

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Dear Farts,

I’m a beautiful young woman trapped in an abusive marriage to a much older man. My husband drinks a lot, and consorts with other women, and is generally a terrible low-life. I would try to leave him, but I’m afraid he’ll kill me. What should I do?

Diana, New York NY

Dear Diana,

Wow. That sounds like you’ve got a real problem there. Um. You say your husband is older. How much older? Maybe you should just hope that his advanced age and hard-living ways will catch up to him?


Dear Beaks,

I work in an office that’s rife with gossip. The bosses don’t do anything to discourage people talking about their colleagues behind their backs; in fact, I sometimes think the bosses encourage that kind of culture in order to better keep tabs on their reports. I otherwise like the job a lot, but I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable about all the interoffice chatter. What should I do?

Nathan, Evanston IL

Dear Nathan,

Ugh, I totally know what you’re talking about! People here are always being all per se this and per se that. My advice is, they’re going to talk about you anyway, so you might as well have fun doing it. Go out and crash a frat party or two. I’m pretty sure it won’t effect your job performance. I hope it won’t effect your job performance…


Dear Farts,

Your response gave me such hope that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel for me! I’m dabbing prettily at my tears right now just thinking of it. I’m really quite young and voluptuous, and I’ve made such a terrible mistake binding myself in matrimony to such a monstrous ogre. Do you really think there’s any chance that he might die soon? Because that really would solve all my problems.

Diana, New York NY

Dear Diana,

Oh no. Don’t cry. That makes me very uncomfortable. As far as I know, everybody dies. Especially mean old men. So I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen eventually for you. But, uh… when you say you’re young and voluptuous, how young and voluptuous are we talking about?


Dear Beaks,

My young children are desperate to get a dog like all their friends, but I’m afraid they’re not responsible enough yet, and I’m not interested in the care that a dog requires. What pet would you recommend to appeal to children but be low-maintenance?

Babs, Sparta NJ

Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about pets for small children. Oh, right, I’m kinda the advice giver heree. [Shrugs]. Just, you know, do whatever.

— Beaks

Dear Farts,


Diana, New York NY

Dear Diana,



Dear Beaks,

I’m planning a wedding with my fiance, and we’ve hit an irreconcilable dispute. You see, he wants to use his grandmother’s silver napkin rings at our reception, but I’ve already picked out gold flatware. Is it okay to have clashing metals in the place settings at the reception, or will that completely doom our marriage?

Andrea, Manassas VA

Dear Andrea,

What’s the problem? You are totally making a molehill out of something small here. I mean, just have a party. With tables. And napkin rings. And flatware. Like, just relax. I don’t see a problem. It’s napkin rings and flatware. It’s not a problem.


Dear Farts,

So can you help me? Can you help me find a way out of my marriage?

Diana, New York NY

Dear Diana,

Yes. Yes I can. But you have to promise me that in the very unlikely event that anyone figures out I was the one responsible for, uh, solving your problem, that you’ll confess everything to the police.


Dear Beaks,

Remember that time with that girl and her husband and the murder and all that? Remember that? I, um… think I may have done it again. Help?

Farts, Sing Sing NY

Dear Farts,

Sorry, I’m in the Bahamas with this hot chick, Diana. I’ll see what I can do for you when I get back.


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