This coming Wednesday, Scribe and I have our photo scheduled to be taken with the Stanley Cup. As the rest of you season ticket holders know, the Kings have secured two days for those of us who have committed our wallets and time to every home game to take a professional picture with sports most coveted prize.
Wednesday is not far away.
But it’s too far away.
When at 9pm last I read that the Cup would be at The South sports bar in Santa Monica with Luc and Stacia Robitaille for a charity event, I got a bug up my ass that say “drive, bitch, drive!”.
So I threw the woman and the car and drove.
$40 worth of entry wristbands and a beer later, a gleaming light was cast upon the crowd of my brethren whom I had not seen since they flooded the streets of downtown Los Angeles for a parade.
My lady got a slightly better angle.
From there it was a night a waiting. But waiting is fun when you get to share it with all the zany people you waited with for years to see that gorgeous piece of polished silver hoisted by a Los Angeles King. It was fun getting to talk to some of you out there as well. Hell, I’m glad you haven’t forgotten about this place completely, as Scribe and I essentially have for the past several months (something that will change soon either with articles about training camp or vitriol towards a lockout).
But as much fun as the waiting was, as much as I love you all, I had a date with the sexiest woman I’d ever known.
I spent $55 on photos with this mistress. Considering the quality of women that $55 bucks gets you in the Red Light District in Amsterdam, this piece of ass was a steal. There are some women so beautiful, you don’t care where they’ve been before, or that you can taste the other men all over her. For that one sweet moment when she is in your arms, she’s yours an yours alone.
We got along fabulously.
I’m a surly asshole, and smiling doesn’t always come easily. But you can’t fight nature.
I even allowed my women to join in for a little ménage a toi.
I also met some other guy that people seemed to be drawn to.
Thanks to that man for putting on a great event and raising what must have been a bundle of cash for Echoes of Hope, his charity to help at-risk foster youths. Money well spent. A night well loved.
All in all, I think I may have died last night, or will later this month from the syphilis I surely contracted while making out with the Cup.