Tuesday, November 21, 2006

A Flaming Homer

Flames at Oilers
7pm (Sportsnet, 630 CHED)

It seems as though everyone's got the angles covered for tonight's Battle of Alberta. So, in honour of loose-lipped Flames and this site's most popular feature, I present "A Case for the Defence."

"Well, that was worth a standing ovation, but I don't think I can feel my feet," laughed Daymond Langkow as he curled Andrew Ference's hair around his little finger.

"Hmph. And people say you've got no hands," Ference said with a coquette's glance. He bit his lip as he looked off towards the wall, feeling the bulbous, hairy knuckle slip out from under the spiral of hair. He closed his eyes as a palm pressed into the base of his neck, fingers pulsing into his strained shoulders.

"Is that a challenge?"

Ference adjusted the pillow beneath his face. How many times had he been here, staring at these same 2004 Western Conference Champions polyester sheets, cursing himself for answering his damn cell phone. Langkow's hands slipped fully onto his shoulders, squeezing the taught muscle beneath them. Ference blinked hard, burying the tear forming in his right eye into the flames shooting out of the horse's head beneath him. He felt fingers tiptoeing down his spine.

"Daymond, do you want to share a room this time?"

"What?" said Langkow absent-mindedly, his fingers tracing down the curve of his teammate's back.

"When we go to Edmonton, Jim said we were staying the night, so do you want to share my room? Stephane is coming this time, so Tony is back with him," Ference said, looking over his shoulder, trying to hide the longing in his eyes and his voice.

"I'm with Hammer," Langkow chuckled as he leaned towards Ference's lower back, eyes zeroing in on his goal.

Ference couldn't hold back anymore. "Dammit, Daymond, can I talk to you for one minute without you groping me?!"

"Oh, calm down." Langkow pulled his hands away with a start and slumped onto the bed, scratching his chest disgustedly; another night without scoring, he thought to himself as he looked around the room for his underwear, the characteristic red-and-yellow old school colour pattern peeking out from under a pair of jeans. Well, maybe I can try for some overtime, he thought, leaning back to show off his bicep, still glowing from sweat.

"What, you think I want anything to do with that big, hairy Czech bimbo," Langkow, smiled, wrapping his hand around Ference's ankle. "He smells like goulash."

Ference laughed in spite of himself. Why do I keep doing this? he asked himself as he tried to keep a frown. There was a hand on his knee now. He nimbly snatched the other one, bringing it up to his chest. "If you were this smooth on the ice, we wouldn't have powerplay problems," he said, only half-mocking, as Langkow began moving his hand under his own power.

Of course,
Ference thought, I'd still have my problems. As a hand ran down his stomach, a tear rolled down his cheek. I guess I have to get my standing ovations somehow.

GOILERS!!!!

34 comments:

Justin said...

Very good! Good luck tonight Oil fans.

teebeeplayer said...

i feel dirty...

MetroGnome said...

Admit it...you read (and write) tawdry romance novels, don't you?

Lowetide said...

Dear Penthouse.....

Black Dog said...

... I used to read your letters and think they were just a bunch of bullshit. Until one day ...

Lowetide said...

...when the boss told me to go over to his house and grab something....

Jim said...

...After knocking on his door, I was greeted by the sight of a bare-chested Georges Laraque...

gary b said...

Sykor-OWNED!

Eyeris said...

Gary! You just ruined the story.

What happened with Georges Laraque? Continue!

the human torch said...

i think i just threw up in my mouth a little.

Anonymous said...

...he apparently had just finished mowing the lawn and the labour was evidenced by the persperation on his muscle and sinew...

mike w said...

..."Me and Marc-Andre Bergeron were expecting you," said a body-hairless Laraque, "we were just making pancakes..."

Chris! said...

"... with our dinks!" exclaimed Bergeron, his chest glistening from the heat of the plug-in griddle. He was naked except for a blue tarp bunched hastily around his waist. "I found this is the garage! I was right next to ..."

Aaron Lozier said...

Oh damn. That was hilarious.

Black Dog said...

Then what happened?!

Mrs Gertrude Inkpen said...

"...I got the tarp at Canadien Tire, whispered Georges huskily, in aisle 6, one aisle over from the lubricants. Ya can't find Canadien Tire in Phoenix..."

Black Dog said...

"... but then again you can't find one of these at Canadian Tire," he roared lustily, brandishing his Anal Intruder (TM). Marc Andre gave an inviting squeal and dropped his spatula ...

She said...

You guys are awesome.

Continue, if you please....

gary b said...

Marc-Andre suddenly appeared from the hallway outside the kitchen, on all fours, naked, but for a hastily-donned festive Christmas apron.

"You know, GG", he purred, "All this cooking and talk of HAARRRRDware has me craving something more... substantial."

He peered up at George through tousled hair, and whispered, "Give me some of that man-batter…"

epinonymous said...

I started to back away, but Georges noticed my trembling retreat.

"Going so soon? C'mon, stay awhile, you might have fun. I'll put on a mix tape and then we can...scramble something up".

Marc-Andre giggled and looked me up and down speculatively. "Since Georges, my offense has improved...dramatically."

allan said...

I carefully spread the pancake batter across the tarp, and felt the blueberries pop as I squished them between my toes.

As I slowly sat down in the warm, sticky batter, George leaned in and...

Hector Gorge said...

George leaned in and..

"A Thunderous RIGHT hand from Laroque...Iginla tries to tie him up...Larocque get the LEFT free..OH MY, A GARGANTUAN LEFT HAND...OH, OH MY..."

Jordi said...

Too much talk. Not enough touching.

gary b said...

…and with his other finger Marc-Andre explores the batter until he finds a plump juice-filled berry.

Excitedly, he squishes just hard enough for the bluish-red fluid to be released in a little pool. After dabbing his finger in, Marc-Andre draws a long straight line down the middle of George's sculpted ebony chest.

"I dub thee..."

Another dab, and this time his finger slowly paints a line from nipple to nipple.

"St. George, patron saint of..."

crase said...

...the dirty gomez!"

A shit smeared devils logo appeared on gg's face. 47's other finger had been somewhere else.

"Ah zut Georgie," Marc beamed. "C'est dommage."

Georges...

The Acid Queen said...

Oh for the love of Frey....

That was just plain wrong--funny, but very very wrong.

Lowetide said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Anonymous said...

That's dirty. You should all get penalties for that. 2 minutes for slashing!

Not that it isn't hilarious, of course.

Jim said...

...Georges' eyes darted upward as the front door swung open and a stunned Craig MacTavish and Rachel Hunter observed the sticky scene.

"You weren't supposed to see this!" Georges, Marc-Andre, MacTavish and Hunter said, in unison...

Pleasure Motors said...

I think we should change the header on the site to "We don't even stop with the Dirty Gomez."

Good show, everyone.

Achtungbaby said...

As long as we don't start talking about the Filthy Sanchez we're fine.

gary b said...

i think i saw Filthy Sanchez open up for Dirty Gomez at the Sidetrack, once.

Jim said...

Was a ska band called the Rusty Trombones also on that gig list? If so, I was totally there.

Steph said...

MAB's pancake brings all the Oilers to the yard, says my partner in crime.