“THERE IT IS!” Steigy screams as a head crowns in his vagina. We have the worst, most embarrassing announcers.

JAMES NEAL! I think every hockey-watchin’ motherfucker in Pittsburgh called this one.

I have been on his jock since we acquired him a few months ago, even though he hasn’t been really showing his worth (and everyone calls him Raw Deal Neal), but I kept saying, “No.

Just wait. He’s my prom date; he won’t let us down.” Because I obviously know how to pick ’em. (Pretend for a minute I didn’t pick Henry. Or Psycho Mike. Or Christina. Or Big-Headed Gordon.)

Sorry for the annoying hockey post, but it’s been hard to focus on anything else. I have a journal sitting next to me filled with notes about things that I need to write about (like the Zombie Self-Defense Course which was completely ridiculous but fun), but all I can do is watch NHL on the Fly and read hockey blogs.

Today, I will be purchasing some more Rolaid Chewables. Playoffs are like a paper shredder for my stomach lining.