Thursday, May 10, 2012
Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Jamie Benn Orders a Taco
Next week's investigation: the Flyers' Defense: Myth or Fiction?
Good morning, hockey fans! Last week we graded the Stars in a serious and not-at-all sarcastic way; this week, we're ignoring the worst second round since 2010-11 and instead focusing on what's really got the hockey world's Depends in a bunch: the invite-only Finnish Fist Party. While details are a bit sketchy, we were fortunate enough to have been in that exact same bar doing job-related research on Finnish beauty queens or something, so we present here the transcript of what really went down in Helsinki.
Jamie Benn, Ryan Getzlaf and Corey Perry are putting on a highlight reel-worthy show on the dance floor. After working up a sweat seducing all the Finnish hunniez in a twelve-block radius, the three head back to their booth to sit down and take off their skates.
Corey Perry: "...and that's why all Finnish people carry hunting knives strapped to their inner thigh at all times."
Jamie Benn: "I don't get it. What's a hunting knife going to do against a Musta Krakish?"
Perry: "1d4+1, if they're lucky."
Benn: "Hmm. Hey, all this sexy dancing has made me hungry. Anyone know where we can get some tacos?"
Perry: "Ahhh, yes... Finnish tacos. I hear ya, kid. (makes exaggerated wink)."
Benn: "No, seriously, just a regular taco. With beef and cheese and s**t."
Perry: "AWWW YEEAAAHH!! LITTLE JAMIE'S ABOUT TO SPREAD A LITTLE UNDERRATED, UP-AND-COMING SEED ALL UP IN THIS WEIRD COUNTRY!! WOOHOOOO!!"
Benn: (embarrassed, pulls cap over face, slinks down into booth) "Sheesh, Corey, can you keep it down?"
Perry: (frothing at the mouth, stamping one leg on the table) "BOO YAH FINLANDETTES, YOU'RE ALL ABOUT TO GET BENNNT OVAAA--"
(A crumpled-up bar receipt hits Perry in the back of the head. Perry drops to the ground like a gunshot victim.)
Perry: "Ahh!! Bartender! Bartender!! Did you SEE that? C'mon, barkeep!"
(bartender ignores him, continues flirting with a tall, smoking-hot Russian brunette that looks strikingly like Malkin)
Perry: "Did you guys see that? I could've been killed!"
Benn: "Yeah, maybe it's time we got out of here."
Ryan Getzlaf: "Not until we have procured satisfaction, old bean!" (stands up on seat, waves his drink around, spills some on his pants) "I say, which one of you ne'er-do-wells is responsible for this unprovoked assault on this defenseless paragon of innocence?"
(Crowd ignores him. Getzlaf opens his snuff box for a pinch, but is smacked in the head by a fur-lined Valkyrie bra)
Getzlaf: "I say!"
Benn: "Oh s**t!"
Perry: (eyes wide) "Hey, you gonna keep that?"
Getzlaf: (puts snuff box away, starts lacing up his skates) "My fine Finnish fellows, if it's the fisticuffs you want, then it's the fisticuffs you shall get!"
Benn: "Maybe we should just--"
Getzlaf: "Enough of these roguish scoundrels! It's time I taught them a lesson in--"
(A plastic cup full of raspberry mojito hits Getzlaf square in the face. The trenchcoat-clad stranger who threw it, a strangely-familiar man with steely eyes, a square jaw and a large bushy mustache, melts back into the crowd. Perry puts his hands over Benn's eyes as Getzlaf stands motionless, the mojito dripping down his chin and splattering to the sticky floor in slow-motion)
Benn: "What the?"
Perry: "You don't want to see him when he's angry."
(Getzlaf starts to shake. His eyes roll back into his head, then turn into glowing red orbs. Small, arcane sigils are clearly visible on his skin, dripping in blood. Every lightbulb in the bar explodes. Two partygoers are scalded when they try to take video of Getzlaf and their cellphones melt over their outstretched hands. A thin, dark red halo surrounds Getzlaf as he levitates four feet above the booth.)
Getzlaf: (in a deep bass voice) "Three minutes, and all ye are fallen. Also, where can we get tacos?"
(The bar clears out as everyone heads for the exits. After everyone is gone, Perry stands on a barstool and whispers something in Getzlaf's ear that causes him to float gently to the ground. His eyes stop glowing red, and the sigils on his skin disappear. Getzlaf opens his normal eyes, slightly dazed.)
Benn: "What the hell what that?!?"
Perry: "Oh, it happens. You ok, Getzie?"
Getzlaf: "Yeah... a little hungry for some reason."
Perry: "How 'bout some tacos?"
Benn: "I thought you said--"
Perry: "We'll head back to the hotel. Brian Burke keeps a half-dozen crispy beef tacos in his jacket at all times."
(The three lace up their skates and waddle out the door. A lone figure emerges from the shadows, quaffs two or three unfinished drinks left on the bar, twirls his huge mustache villainously and with a swoosh of his cape he follows them back to the hotel.)
That's where the transcript ends, unfortunately, as your correspondent was beaten into a coma by a pair of 90-pound Miss Finland runner-ups. Tune in next week when we sit Gary Bettman down and ask him if he rigged the NHL playoffs just so he could hand the Cup to himself on Phoenix ice and, for once, not get booed. His answer may surprise you.
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