STOP WITH THE PANIC YOU DUMMY

I have been accused of being a hater. I know that there are things that make my fists ache from squeezing them so hard. Everybody knows about my personal fatwa against the nation's capital (I will hereby never use that city's name again in print), there's also Daniel Alfredson, the instigator rule and Flyers Fans. People who can't cook but think they can.

Natural iced-tea bugs me too...like....I gotta tell you...I don't give two shits that you naturally brewed it in your backyard all afternoon.

I don't like finger lickers either, these are the same people who bang on the glass at games.

I would add Howard Berger to that list as well. But saying it seems too obvious; like hating Nazi's or multiple sclerosis. It's like yeah...duh.

I hate the human groin.

I was once doing yoga in my living room, and when I say yoga....i have to tell you I was just trying to stretch and contort my body in weird ways to make my baby son laugh. Saying it was yoga just sounds cooler.
Whilst in one of these 'positions', lets call it the Itchy Lotus, my son laughing his beautiful laugh, his mother, let's call her the fucking loved one, threw a gummy bear at me. Now it wasn't so much that I didn't know that she was there or that I was in a vulnerable position...it was that she threw the candy at my nutsack and hit.
And they were there man...just there....exposed like grapefruit in a basket of grapes. What kind of english she was using I don't know cos she somehow hit both with the one throw...kind of 7 10 split style.
And whilst my son laughed away I unpretzeled myself and did what Doctors would call wrenched my bag.

To this day I there are times that I know that I am one wittily re-produced electric O away from destroying that same nutsack.

And now...because of another weak bag, we're left with the option of starting our 3rd goalie or Joey MacDonald.