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Archive for the ‘Totally Totally Depressing’ Category

Remember that time we married that tranny in Vegas? Remember how it was all, “No, we’re totally going to get a quickie divorce,” and then we kept not getting a quickie divorce? Remember how years went by and we stayed married to that tranny? Well, guess what. We’re still married to that tranny. The thing is, we married the tranny, not the tranny’s laundry. Our tranny isn’t orange anymore — she’s purple.

Goodbye, Flyers.

Hello Kings!

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Just before the start of this season we had big plans to invent a champagne cocktail that incorporates a Chuckles candy in honor of the bright Kovalchuk future of the Devils. We were going to style it all fancy, with a vast, Sandra Lee-esque tablescape in shades of red and black. And then we got distracted by something shiny, wandered off, and never did it. Perhaps the Hockey Gods intervened without our knowing it, though, because it seems far more apt to look beyond just the champagne drink and instead review the entirety of the still-young season in cocktail form.

The Chucklestini

Chucklestini

Fill a shaker with ice. Add 2 oz. vodka, 2 oz. cranberry juice, and 3/4 oz. cointreau, and shake well. Strain into a cocktail glass and add a black Chuckle.

The Sudsy Chuckle

Sudsy Chuckle

Angrily pour a can of beer into a beer mug, creating as much unnecessary foam as possible. Drink the beer. Garnish the dregs with a green Chuckle.

The Chuck-Two-Oh

Chuck Two Oh

To a plastic patio glass add one yellow Chuckle. Top with plain, unflavored seltzer.

The Cat’s Pajamas

Cat's Pajamas

Fill your pet cat’s bowl with tap water and set aside. When the cat has naturally added chewed-up mice to the bowl, float an orange Chuckle.

The Shallow Grave

Shallow Grave

Find a secluded patch of dirt and dig a small hole. Drop a red Chuckle into the hole and cover lightly with dirt.

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The scene: ChucklesNation International airport, in the deserted arrivals hall.

Gary Bettman darts out of a shadowy doorway, slinks around the perimeter of the hall, forages a half-eaten cinnabon from a garbage can, hisses softly at the Ookies, then scurries away.

The Ookies: “We got our cymballs out of storage for that?”

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