vw: corncob

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b. Justin Time has the asset of being old, grizzled, and hard as hell on his side. Is there a harder goaltender in the playoffs than this fucking guy? I mean, just looking at him, you know he's making his team as hard as he is. Get out of here with that shit. Is anyone harder than Justin Time. Fuck you. (60 words)

c. Believe it or not, only stat that actually matters for any given defenceman is shots blocked. I mean, goals scored, sure, whatever. Assists. Takeaways. Who gives a shit? Where's your grit? Where's your truculence? Are you gonna put your fucking balls on the line when someone needs to block that shot? Call me when you're halfway through a coke high and thinking about strangling your opponent. That's when I know you're ready. And that's why Philip Fry is my defenceman of the year. (83 words)

e. Eagles can fly. That alone should be your automatic disqualifier, right, I mean even at good odds for you, let's say we give you a gun, right? Hell of a lot easier for the average guy to get lucky and shoot a Lion with a gun. A bird? Fuck man, I know guys that have been hunting for years that are still dogshit at shooting ducks. Let alone an eagle. (70 words)

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Ain't nothin better in the world than playing for the good old United States of Funmerica baby. Long Islander born and bred, there's nothin I love more than going down the shore every summer to fuckin Wildwood or something, wearing my fuckin Pabst Blue Ribbon cutoff and my American flag board shorts and getting called a Benny by the greasiest looking motherfucker you've ever seen in your life. Like, looks like he just fucking slathered himself with bacon grease. Get off the beach, pal, no one wants you here. But if one of those fuckin Brits wants to have a go at him? We're brothers baby. America. We love it. Fuckin jersey.