Why don't we stay home tonight?

-Can't, playing ice hockey tonight.

Shit man, one fucking night off isn't too much to ask. I'm tired and everything hurts.

-I'm the GOALIE, it's not like we can just skip out, and maybe we wouldn't BE so fucking tired if you'd help me get some goddam sleep.

That shit is as much your problem as it is mine, bitch. Who gives a fuck what kind of fish you should next put into the saltwater tank? Damn, worry about that shit while you're at work.

Now is when even my hair starts to get tired and achy. Memorial Day beat me up with the Volleyball and the drinking, then I won me a championship in roller hockey last night.

The game went well. I won the MVP for making some tough saves, and then standing around. I don't think I did near as much as my personal choice for MVP, Gonzo. He's amazing. My favorite hairy, tattooed, six-and-a-half-foot Mexican went and won the game for us.

We were down 2-0 because the other team has one of those SuperGoodGuys and we, well, don't. SuperGoodGuy walked around all of my teammates, waddawadda waddawadda, and scored, DING-off-the-crossbar, twice. Not lookin' good for the home team.

Then Gonzo got hog-tied in the corner with some guy, they both went down and Gonzo decided that the best way to get up was to use the other guy's face as a step. That's when SuperGoodGuy thought he'd step in.

Gonzo lacks certain catches and switches in his brain. One of these is the one that says, "Just because that guy is coming at you doesn't mean he's going to knock your shit out, so don't punch him in the fucking head." He did, and scuffling ensued. After being separated and learning that he was going to be thrown out for fighting, we were treated to another missing switch in his brain.

This would be the one that says, "Probably not a good idea to share with the ref your thoughts on his sexual preferences, his ancestry, or his possible preference for intercourse with his mother."

Penalties. Lots and lots of penalties. But the bonus... SuperGoodGuy got thrown out too. Atta boy, Gonz, take one for the team.

We came back and won 5-2 making me a two-time champ, baby.

This is from last season, so no Gonzo, but next time I'm in the shower with him, I'll get some nice shots of his hairy, tattooed ass.

I never want to hear that again

Me and the Girl used to play in a 9-ball league at this bar nearby. I dropped out to play ice hockey, so now I get to be home when she comes in half-lit and climbs into bed with me.

It's great when she passes out and I can hear her belly, Seinfeldian-like, talking to me... and it's not happy. Shit though, she's out cold, no problem. I fall asleep.

Anyone who's a parent or has dogs has woken up in the middle of the night to that noise. You know that noise that portends a nice batch of stomach stew coming forth unto your bed or carpet.

I heard the splorking-splashing of something in the toilet and, for the first, and hopefully ONLY, time in my entire life, I thought, "I hope to god that's her ass makin' that noise." Then I heard the noise taper into a cough and I was glad it wasn't her ass... until I figured out what it was.

"Awwww, noooo�." I groaned as I climbed out of bed.

I tell you folks what love is. It's not just holding her hair while she yaks, oh no. It's gagging, fighting back the urge to vomit myself, holding her hair, rubbing her cold, sweaty back, and gently, oh-so gently making her feel like a complete ass.

"Damn, honey, that's pretty foul."

She laughed and urped at the same time. It didn't sound pleasant. I made a face like this: EEWWWAAAHHGGUUULLL.

She said, "I feel so stupid, I thought I was doing so well tonight with holding my liquor, then I go to bed and wake up doing this."

"Yeah, that is pretty stupid."

I'm so sensitive and supportive sometimes, I almost make myself sick.