Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Tranny Brides’ 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!

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

— 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

Read Full Post »

So tonight we headed over to the Lowes on Route 1 to place our order for the new flooring we’re putting into our basement quilt room/den; once that room is redone (we’re taking out a horrible little wet bar), we’ll be upgrading our TV, so basically we’re viewing each step in the renovation process as one step closer to being able to watch hockey in glorious HD in four colors. (Pookie, in the middle of some random game on some random night: “This would look so much better with yellow in it. As it stands, I can’t see where the ice ends and the boards begin.”) On our way home we passed a farm that had Christmas lights already festooning the posts at the mouth of their driveway… and after nearly driving off the road in excitement, we realized that way out in the middle of the field where the farmhouse stood, they also had lights bedecking eaves and doorway. It was chilly and dark and rainy and seasonal! EEEE! Then we got home and had a scrumptious cheese dinner, and settled in front of the (only three-color) TV for some hot Tranny action. Gentle Reader, life is good.

Read Full Post »

Dear Flyers,

You’re probably all really busy getting ready for this afternoon’s big win-and-you’re-in game, but we’d like to bug you for just one quick second. See, we have a problem. The Rangers have stolen all our marbles. What do we mean? Well, you know that foxy blogger up in Buffalo, Katebits? She once explained to us that sometimes you lose your marbles, but sometimes you let yourself give your marbles away. We know we’ve been guilty of that ourselves, like when we throw our marbles at the television set every time the Devils go on the power play, but this is different. The Rangers forcibly stole our marbles years ago.

April 9 2010

Our precious, precious marbles.

We know at this point the Devils can’t play the Rangers in the first round and that helps a lot. But it would help a lot more if we knew they can’t play anyone in the first round. No one wins if the Rangers make the post-season. No one. Trust us. So that brings us to today. You’re our only hope. We’re counting on you to get some of our marbles back. Think of it like a big game of high-stakes Capture the Flag. That’s fun, right? Gagne, you can use your speed to dart behind the enemy lines to snag the marbles, while Beaks, you can use your wily ways to be a decoy, pretending you have the marbles, while Farts, you can use your good looks to distract the marble guards. Pronger, Carle, and Boucher? You guys, uh, just arrange the Gatorade and orange slices, m’kay? Just… don’t go on the playing field. Everyone else? Play the Capture the Marbles game of your life!

You’re our only hope.

Hugs and kisses,
The Ookies

Read Full Post »

In light of his recent ramblings about how he’s washing his hands of any leadership role for the Flyers, IPB conducted an interview with Chris Pronger to see what other passhole-aggresshole thoughts he had about his new team. These were his unedited thoughts.

I’d love to play something other than N*SYNC on the team stereo, but I don’t want to step on Matt Carle’s toes. I’m walking a fucking tightrope here, but at the end of the day, it’s Carle’s iPod.

I’d be all over giving the blandest, least inspiring interviews on the team, but I don’t want to step on Jeff Carter’s toes.

I’d step up to be the player whose implosion derails the entire team in April, but I don’t want to step of Ray Emery’s toes.

I’d enter that “ugliest guy not wearing any mask, make-up, or costume” Halloween contest, but I don’t want to step on Dan Carcillo’s toes.

Sure, I’d be willing to be the guy who gets credit for being smart even though he isn’t just because he played for an Ivy League school, but I don’t want to step on Darrol Powe’s toes. Also, I couldn’t get into Princeton.

I realize that our team is short on severe head injuries this season, and I could really chip in with my head-height elbows in that regard, but I don’t want to step on the toes of our training staff. I think they can take care of reckless endangerment of our heads all on their own.

Of course, I’d like the team to start winning hockey games, but I don’t want to step on John Stevens’ toes.

And in that vein, I could do something to improve our shitty power play and PK, but I don’t want to step on the special team coaches’ toes. I just want to be a respectful contributor to this team. I think those guys have a better sense of the history here.

Just the way I’m not going to tell Mike Richards how to be a good team leader, I’m also not going to tell him how to dress better. If he doesn’t want to dress like the villain from a coming-of-age movie set in a tony prep school, that’s his right. I mean, for all I know, he’s just assessing his wardrobe. I’m not going to tell him he’s doing it wrong.

What the fuck ever happened to that guy I stomped on? I really do want to step on his toes.

I would really love to have the dumbest contract on this team, but I don’t want to step on Danny Briere’s toes.

I’d love to say this team needs a better coach, but I don’t want to step on Paul Holmgren’s toes.

Read Full Post »

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.”

Pause.

“Ifyouknowwhatimean”

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.

Read Full Post »

A few days ago we were accused by one of our Diablogosphere peers of being too “orange and black”. We’re actually pretty short on Flyers content, though, when we think about it, and we wouldn’t want to make a liar out of him, so this is a perfect excuse for us to get to share a little gem of a video from our beloved Tranny Brides. This bit is from Comcast Sportsnet’s playoff preview show “Orange Line”, something we’d seen teased on our brand spanking new cable. It was a tantalizing look at How The Other Teams Live, where, instead of the Hockey Night New York Live craptacularly boring preview shows we get from MSG, this was a preview show that featured a “Day In The Life” feature, a “who knows this player better: his linemate or his wife” Newlywed Game-style feature, and then a mic’d-up-in-practice bit that elevates the art of mic’d up to a whole new level. The subject of the mic’d up was Mike Richards, our Tranny Bride husband, and it BLEW OUR MINDS. (Major, major thanks to kristin for YouTubing this up for us.)

Okay, our thoughts:

1. We thought mic’d up had reached its apex (well, short of just having open on-ice mics for entire games) two years ago during the All-Star Game when Marty Turco won everyone’s hearts and minds, but we were wrong. After a long plateau at the Turco level, we see here a leap forward for mic’d up. Sure, there’s tons of context-free mic’d up footage from practices, but it’s a genius stroke to then have a sit-down with the player afterward. We mean, it’s one thing to show Richards hitting Gagne during a drill and apologizing, but another thing altogether to hear him afterwards offering a PSA for kids about how you should always say you’re sorry when you hit him. Brilliant, Comcast! This was mic’d up direction for a case of Tastykakes.

2. Okay, two seasons ago we attended our first-ever Devils practice during training camp, and we came away convinced that the players have no idea what they’re doing in any of the drills. Of course, we decided that we were being funny in suggesting that; like, that we were projecting our own long-ago experiences from high school gym class, while NHLers are highly-skilled, well-trained professionals. A friend of a friend of ours was in the US National ski program, and was apparently just short of being good enough to compete at Olympic levels. He said that the difference between the 99th percentile and 100th percentile was bigger than the difference between the first percentile and the 99th. We figured that was probably true of NHLers, too. They were all supreme elite athletes, with unparalleled levels of focus, drive, and hockey intellect. There was no way we could be right that the players approach practice the same way we would, right? Right? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wrong!

3. On that same note, we are gobsmacked at how awesome it is that Mike Richards is apparently enough of a practice ditz that he admits to his assistant coach when he’s having a drill explained (for a second time) to him that he has no idea what’s going on, and is enough of a space cadet that his coach rolls his eyes and concedes grudgingly that he’s “not the worst” but is “getting better”, and was still named their captain. This is a guy who has inspired a media-wide mancrush, who is held up as an exemplar of a team’s heart-and-soul kind of player, and he admits to struggling to know what’s going on when he’s not allowed to be color-coded with his linemates in practices. If that’s what a captain is like, just imagine what the coach killers are like! We demand a retroactive mic’d up investigative video series on this season’s Rangers and Penguins.

4. We aren’t sure whether we’d find this anywhere near as charming if it was a Devil doing all this. After careful deliberation, we’ve decided we’d be delighted if Paulie gave this exact interview/mic’d up combo, or Oduya. We’d probably chortle if Travis did it. We would actually think more highly of Zach if he did it, but we feel like that would be impossible. We’d be stunned if Patty was any other way. But anyone else? We’d probably break our television in frustration. Seriously, imagine that was Langer. That would be awful. Of course, we’d understand that much more clearly why Sutter can’t wait to get back to Red Deer and never speak of his tenure with the Devils ever again.

5. On that same note, it’s pretty much a miracle that we’ve only seen one coach in all our years of hockey fandom have a nervous breakdown. Well, two, if you count Ftorek.

6. Would it kill the Devils to give us some better supplemental video content?

7. Finally, a year ago we entered into a quickie marriage of convenience with a tranny team, and now you can see, Gentle Reader, why that relationship has surprised us by standing the test of time. We really, really, really heart Mike Richards. If Lou wanted to trade for him — 12-year contract and all — we’d be pretty happy about that.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »