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Archive for the ‘Tranny Brides’ 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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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

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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.

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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.”

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.

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There are a lot of questions surrounding the Devils these days, but none more pressing than “how is it that a team of professionals can be this confused about how to play hockey?” Gentle Reader, it won’t surprise you that we, being the intrepid reporters we are, have gotten to the bottom of this story and discovered the reason the Devils are so fucking fucked up right now. It starts, as all things do this season for us, with the Flyers. Bear with us, Gentle Reader — this is going somewhere.

Apparently Flyers head coach John Stevens is somewhat renowned for his creative, unorthodox, and totally cheesy approach to instructing and motivating his hockey charges. And at least once (possibly twice — it was hard to say based on the article we found this in) he has employed this amazingly brilliant team-building tactic with professional hockey players:

Stevens held a team meeting at his Washington Township, N.J., home and instructed each player to bring an ingredient. Eggs, flour, sugar, frosting – they were going to bake a team cake.

The idea, as Stevens said the other day, “is that all the ingredients by themselves aren’t that appealing. But when you mix them with some fire you come up with a better product in the end. That’s kind of who you are.”
(Philadelphia Daily News – Thursday, May 8, 2008)

How awesome is that? We can just see how that would play out… The big guys would be there with their cool-kid ingredients, Richards with the flour, Carter with the sugar, Hartnell with the eggs — no, that’s a disaster waiting to happen… Hartnell with the butter, Knuble with the eggs, Biron with the vanilla, Lupul with the baking soda, Coburn with the salt, and so on and so on. Each guy would solemnly add his unappealing-on-its-own ingredient, contributing to the once-it-gets-mixed-with-fire-it’s-delicious dessert treat, and then, when it’s all done, Riley Cote would be like, “Cool cake, Coach! This was a really great team exercise. But, um… when do I get to put in my ingredient? You told me to bring raisins.” And Coach Stevens would say, “Well, Riley, that’s an important part of this exercise, to show that some unappealing ingredients don’t belong in a cake.” And Cote would be like, “Uhhh… Are you trying to tell me something?” And then Danny Carcillo would pipe up, “I brought what you told me to bring and we haven’t used it yet, either. It’s, um,” and then he’d read the label from the bottle he’s holding, “T-U-R-P-E-N-T-I-N-E. When do we add that?” And Stevens would sigh, “That’s to teach us all that some unappealing things aren’t ingredients at all.” And Carcillo would be like, “*Crickets chirping*”. It would rock.

We have NO DOUBT that the Devils have decided to take a crack at the “Let’s Bake A Cake Together” trick themselves recently, perhaps a “Let’s Bake A Cake Together To Celebrate Marty’s 552nd Win” exercise, even. Clearly Sutter has decided he can’t trust his veteran players to be able to do their jobs with pride and self-respect, and instead has to resort to the creative, unorthodox, and totally cheesy. In any event, this is the cake they made.

SANDRA LEE’S KWANZAA CAKE

For those of you who are at work and can’t watch videos or something, here’s what the recipe the Devils are working from is all about.

1 (10 to 12-ounce) purchased angel food cake
1 container (16 ounce) vanilla frosting
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 (21-ounce) container apple filling or topping
1 (1.7-ounce) package corn nuts
1/2 cup pumpkin seeds, toasted
1/2 cup popped popcorn

Special Equipment: Kwanzaa candles

Using a serrated knife, cut cake horizontally into 2 layers. Place bottom cake layer, cut side up, on a serving platter. Mix frosting, cocoa powder, vanilla, and cinnamon in large bowl until combined. Spread about 1/4 of the frosting over top of cake layer on platter. Top with second cake layer, cut side down. Spread remaining frosting evenly over top and sides of cake to coat completely. Spoon apple pie filling into hole in center of cake. Place candles atop cake. Sprinkle top of cake with some corn nuts, pumpkin seeds, and popcorn. Sprinkle remaining corn nuts and pumpkin seeds around base of cake.

Zach and Travis are tasked to bring several angel food cakes, so there would be enough finished product to go around. Patty, Paulie and Langer draw frosting. Madden, Greene and Rolston are assigned to bring the cocoa powder. Sutter tells Whitey and Iron Boar to bring vanilla. Rupp and Oduya are told to bring the cinnamon. Zubrus, Gio and Holik are instructed to get the pie filling. Havelid and Shanahan are assigned corn nuts. Mottau and Clarkson draw pumpkin seeds. Marty and Weeks are told to bring the popcorn. And Pando is assigned to bring the turpentine.

Everyone assembles at the set time in Coach Sutter’s kitchen for the big baking exercise. The first thing everyone notices is that this recipe is chock-a-block with unappealing ingredients, but since no one was told to bring candles, it is very short on fire. Sutter agrees that when the cake is assembled, they’ll grill it. Because as Coach Stevens would say, that’s kind of who the Devils are. Then they set to making the cake. Zach has brought his share of ingredient, because he’s nothing if not dutiful, but Travis, when called upon, has to admit he didn’t bring any cake.

“I watched the video, Coach,” he explains, “That lady didn’t use corn nuts. She said she was using acorns. I made sure we had acorns.”

Sutter tries to keep his temper in check, because this is a nurturing learning exercise and all. “That’s nice, Travis,” he says slowly, “But we already have nuts. Corn nuts. Havelid and Shanny brought them.”

Havelid squirms uncomfortably in the back of the room.

“You brought corn nuts, right Havelid?” Sutter tries not to snarl.

Havelid grimaces, showing his missing teeth (on the top and bottom), then sort of dumbly looks around at everyone else. “I didn’t get them.”

Sutter: “Why not?”

Havelid: “I dunno. I just didn’t.”

Sutter groans inwardly, then asks, “So who was it again who was supposed to bring corn nuts if not Havelid?”

Zach pipes up eagerly, “Shanny! Shanny brought them!” Pause. “Where’s Shanny?”

Sutter sighs, “I gave him a maintenance day today.”

The other guys all start grumbling jealously, except Travis, who happily exclaims, “Good thing I brought the acorns then, you know…”

Sutter looks impatiently at his wristwatch. “Fine. Fuck it. We’ve got one cake and no corn nuts. Whatever. Next step. Frosting. You sad fucks brought icing, right?”

Patty steps forward and proudly hands Sutter a can of frosting. “You bet I did. It’s Funfetti! Super-colorful!”

Zach pipes up urgently, “NO! Coach, the recipe says vanilla frosting! We can’t use Funfetti!”

Glaring at the ceiling, Sutter reluctantly agrees. “Funfetti’s going to make our cake look like ass, Elias. Can’t you follow the simplest of instructions? Fuuuck. Who else brought icing?”

This draws an angrily furrowed brow from Langer, who steps forward and growls, “I did, Coach. And as captain, I am going to step up now and get the job done.” He then pulls a can of vanilla frosting from the grocery bag he’s holding, makes to toss it across the kitchen to his waiting coach, winds up, and throws the can ten feet wide, right out the window and into an open dumpster outside. A long, awkward silence follows, which is finally broken by Langer mumbling, “I’m working hard enough. I mean, I’m doing what I’m supposed to out here…”

Sutter: “Good thing Paulie also brought frosting.”

Paulie looks up from the can he’s been intently digging in for the last half hour. “Yup. It was delicious.”

Sutter: “Pando, go outside and get Langer’s can out of the dumpster.”

Pando grudgingly does as he’s told, but the guys nearest the open window can hear him grumbling the whole time.

“Okay,” Sutter says through clenched teeth, “This is going great. What a fun team-bonding experience we’re having here, right? What’s next?”

Zach chirps, “Cocoa powder, Coach!”

Sutter: “Right. Fucking cocoa powder. Tell me we have fucking cocoa powder here. Greene, I figure you fucked this up somehow, but Madden and Rolston, you guys are vets. I can trust you to do this, right?”

Greene, Rolston and Madden all stand mutely in front of their coach. Very slowly, Greene lifts an extended index finger to silently point to Rolston, who meekly points his own finger at Madden, while Madden is quietly pointing back at Greene.

If you listen very closely, you can hear the clot that Sutter is about to throw. But he manages to maintain a stoic facade as he snarls, “Fine. Fuck that. I hate chocolate anyway. Cinnamon then. Please tell me we have cinnamon.”

Rupp steps forward enthusiastically, “Of course I brought cinnamon! You tell me what to do, Coach, and I do it. I, um, didn’t have a lot in my house, but I brought what I could.”

Oduya beams as he produces from his pocket a little spice jar as well. “I brought all of my cinnamon, too.”

Zach leaps up and snatches the jars from both guys, and eagerly measures it out. “Uh oh, Coach,” he quavers, then whispers tearfully, “Neither one of them brought enough. We only have 1/4 teaspoon here and we need a full teaspoon!”

Sutter slumps onto a chair and runs his hands through what little hair he’s got left. “Well that’s just tickety-boo. Who wanted this to be cinnamony anyway? We’ve got vanilla to make up for that.” Without looking up, he waves one hand defeatedly, “Whitey, Sal, give Zach the vanilla.”

The Iron Boar looks sheepish. “I, um, don’t have it,” he says softly.

Sutter is just silent.

Iron Boar continues sadly, “I was on the PK, and everything was going fine, and then all of a sudden… I was just throwing the vanilla over the glass. I couldn’t help myself. I just love throwing things over the glass.” Pause. “Sorry.”

Whitey rolls his eyes and hands over a tiny bottle to Zach. “I brought mine,” he rasps.

Zach looks at the label at the bottle, then his gaze, wide-eyed, sad, and tearful, shifts up to look at Sutter. “Uh oh,” he swallows hard. “Did you say your eye still makes it tough for you to read, Whitey?”

Whitey shrugs, “Sometimes.”

Zach wordlessly hands the bottle to Sutter, who reads it aloud, “Sardine Extract”.

The guys groan nervously.

Sutter suddenly gets a happy glint in his eyes. “Well, we finally have an ingredient here. Add the extract Zach.”

Zach looks horrified. “But… but… without vanilla, it won’t have that homemade taste!”

“Zach,” Sutter snarls, “Add the extract.” With shaking hands, Zach does exactly that.

Several happy moments follow as the team cuts and frosts the cake. It’s like craft time for little kids, but tiptoeing around the high-grade explosives that is Coach Sutter. When their little cake is assembled and iced, everyone stands at attention again, ready for the next round of ingredients.

“Okay,” Sutter looks at the recipe, “Where’s the apple pie filling?”

Holik defiantly declares, “I don’t like apple pie so I didn’t bring any.”

Gio and Zubrus hastily try to cover for him, and they say nearly in unison, “Don’t worry — I brought mine!”

But Sutter just smiles happily at Holik, “That’s my boy. Don’t ever change, Bobby. I love that spirit of yours.”

Burning holes through the back of Holik’s disobeying head, Zach heaps a few spoonfuls of pie filling into the center of the cake, then snaps primly, “Clarkie and Motts, you guys have the pumpkin seeds?”

Mottau just shrugs, “At this point you didn’t really think I would, did you?” and Clarkson insists on applying the seeds to the cake himself. Needless to say, this involves him running around behind the cake, trying and failing to cut a tight corner, wiping out, and tossing the seeds everywhere but on the cake.

Sutter sits in place, staring in disbelief. “What in the fucking fuck?” he mutters to himself. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d have a team like this. Never.”

“Don’t worry, Coach,” says Marty, “It’s not like we had any popcorn either. I ate it all on the drive over.”

Sutter just stares into space.

Travis then pipes up happily, “Well, I’ve got the acorns. Maybe if I put them on the cake now, it’ll look good…” He puts them on the cake, and it doesn’t.

Pando then speaks up, “Well, I’ve got the turpentine. I’m sure it would make the cake look great, especially when we grill it, but you know what? I’m not sharing.”

Sutter: “This is the last time I ever take John Stevens’s advice when we’re at a coaching workshop.”

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Tonight we had a terrible realization at stately IPB Manor. It was identical to the moment in a mob movie where the hard-working, blue collar guy, who started out doing minor footsoldier stuff for the mob but with only the best and most honorable intentions, realizes he’s in too deep. It was during the early minutes of tonight’s Flyers-Capitals game, when the Caps scored quickly off a faceoff on the power play. Niittymaki played the sequence as badly as Biron did in blowing that game last weekend against the Pens. And as disappointment settled like a blanket over our living room, Pookie had just this to say:

“I can’t believe I’m being heartbroken by Flyers goaltending. I thought I was in control! I thought I had a handle on this! But it turns out I didn’t. I never should have gotten involved with them. I should have known with how this season was going that this was where my liking the Flyers was going to lead.”

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Exterior: THE OOKIES, looking remarkably like D.B. Sweeney, step off a bus on a desolate stretch of highway in Minnesota after a long absence.

1

They look nervous, almost squeamish, as they take a long look across the highway at their final destination. The camera cuts away from their face to show the end of their long journey is a rough-edged bar called IPB’s Penalty Box.

2-1

The camera cuts back to THE OOKIES as they swallow hard, build up their confidence, and start toward the bar.

Interior: The bar is packed and hopping. Some good ol’ boy rock ‘n’ roll is blaring from the jukebox and trays of longnecks are being slung around by buxom, hockey-lovin’ barmaids. Mullets abound. THE OOKIES sneak tentatively in the door, glancing about, hoping no one will notice they’ve arrived.

3

The camera pans the crowd a bit, then settles behind the bar on THE OOKIES’ conscience, a burly guy who bears a striking resemblance to WALT DORSEY, Doug “Machine” Dorsey’s brother in “The Cutting Edge”.

4

A foxy BARMAID notices THE OOKIES, leaps up from where she has been toiling to draw drafts for the festive crowd, and squeals with delight.

BARMAID: Ookies? She runs to THE OOKIES and embraces them, seeing as how they look like D.B. Sweeney. OOKIES!

Another girl, this one faceless and uncredited in the film, races over to fling herself into THE OOKIES’ arms, too. WALT pushes his way through the crowd and gruffly but kindly chatsizes the women.

WALT: Okay, okay, let ’em come up for air here. C’mon…

WALT and THE OOKIES face each other, WALT happily and THE OOKIES nervously, reunited after a long time apart.

WALT: I’ll be a son of a bitch!

THE OOKIES look for a moment like they are about to puke copiously…

5

…But then THE OOKIES and WALT embrace heartily.

6

WALT, after the embrace is broken: Man, it’s good to see you.

THE OOKIES, sounding hesitant and awkward: Yeah, it’s good to see you too.

WALT, jubilantly announcing to the rest of the bar: Hey! My Devils bloggers, the Ookies! Home from the Merchant Marine!

The bar erupts into applause as the crowd celebrates the return of their beloved Devils bloggers to the fold. WALT claps THE OOKIES heartily on the back and grins from ear to ear.

WALT: What, when you joined the Merchant Marine did you forget how to use the phone? To the crowd blocking the way to the bar: Move back, move back. C’mon! Cruisin’ all over the world and they can’t even get to the bar! Hey, hey! “Ensign Ookies”! No, no… “Lieutenant” — “CAPTAIN Ookies”!

THE OOKIES look increasingly uncomfortable.

7

THE OOKIES, leaning toward WALT and speaking sotto voce: Cool it with the… uh… Merchant Marine.

WALT, confused: What? He hushes the noisy crowd, then turns to THE OOKIES. What?

THE OOKIES, squirming: I didn’t join the Merchant Marine.

The bar is silent, but for a COMEDIC OLD GUY WITH BEARD. The crowd stands behind WALT and THE OOKIES’ confrontation, pressing forward to hear the exchange.

8

COMEDIC OLD GUY WITH BEARD, hilariously deaf: Still got your sea legs, Ookies?

WALT hushes him angrily, then turns back to THE OOKIES.

WALT: Well if you weren’t with the Merchant Marine, then where the hell were you?

THE OOKIES, tortured, throw an arm over WALT’S shoulder, plaster on a false smile for the crowd to see, and speak just to WALT through clenched teeth.

THE OOKIES: Let’s go outside to talk about this, okay?

THE CROWD: What’re they saying? We’re all family here!

9

GUY IN CROWD WITH GLASSES: Tell us about it! Tell us about it!

OOKIES spluttering pathetically to WALT: Well…

WALT, spreading his arms to indicate that THE CROWD is right, and they are all family here, and he’s eager to hear the exciting news of where THE OOKIES have been all this time: C’mon. Tell me now!

The camera pans THE CROWD and we see many eagerly expectant faces, as one voice is heard in the background, “C’mon Machine.” The camera pans back to THE OOKIES, and they look despondently resigned.

THE OOKIES: Well… actually… it’s… kinda interestin’.

More panning the crowd as THE OOKIES stall.

BURLY BEARDED GUY, growing anxious: Tell him!

THE OOKIES, sighing heavily, stammering uncontrollably: We’ve been… we… well… we’ve been… watchin’ a little Flyers.

THE CROWD is stunned.

10

CROSS-EYED DUDE IN GLASSES: Daaaaaaamn.

11

WALT is puzzled.

12

WALT: You been doing what?

QUERULOUS, BEFUDDLED OLD GUY, OFF-CAMERA: Finger paintin’???

GUY IN CROWD WITH GLASSES, chortling with condescension and pity: Oh-hum-hum!

13

Exterior, out behind the bar. WALT and THE OOKIES are finally getting to talk about this outside, away from THE CROWD.

14

THE OOKIES, pleading and explaining at the same time: These Flyers. They’re just so appealing!

WALT, not having any of it: Appealing at what?

THE OOKIES, pacing like a spectacularly bad actor unsure of what to do: At… at… it doesn’t matter! They’re fun to watch! Walter, they’re fun… you just don’t understand.

WALT, attempting to make some peace: Was it me? Was it something I did?

THE OOKIES, defiant: We’re tellin’ you, they’re fun.

15

WALT, thinking of THE OOKIES’ mental well-being: C’mon Ookies, you’re Devils fans. How fun can they be? Heavy sigh. Look, face it. If you’re lucky, a year from now you’ll be wearing orange and black face paint, throwing batteries at Santa Claus.

THE OOKIES: You know us better than that! You think we’ve been Center Ice subscribers for 13 years just to take on the personae of the douchebag fans of secondary teams we start watching? We’re talking about Mike Richards! Jeff Carter! Gazillions of shorthanded goals and sassy, uptempo games!

WALT: That’s it! It’s the hotties! You got mixed up with these… these hotties! That’s it, isn’t it?

THE OOKIES: It’s a cute team!

WALT: It’s THE FLYERS!

THE OOKIES, snapping: AND WE LIKE IT!!!

WALT is horrified.

16

There is a long silence as THE OOKIES’ words resonate through the cold night.

THE OOKIES, determined: It’s a lot goddamned different than watchin’ the Devils. We don’t care if they lose. We don’t actually want them to win. It’s just about liking the personality of the team, enjoying watching some cute players, not being wound up in the end result of everything all the time. It’s about having a team that we don’t need everything to be serious for. They’re fun. They’re fresh. They’re different. You’ll see.

WALT, after a very long, contemplative silence: Are they going to make you kill puppies?

THE OOKIES: Screw this. We don’t even know why we bothered…

WALT cracks up.

17

Aaaaand… SCENE!

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