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Reader Stories and Tips For Hillen



If you didn’t catch it, yesterday’s post on my buddy Neil owning me at basketball came with one of the best stories of all-time in the comment section.  I suggest you check out the comment by The Franchise here.

Along that same topic, I’d love more of the same.  I have my stories, and I generally tell them as they happen.  But every person on the planet has “that story” – the one they tell after a couple drinks, or in the utmost comfort of a situation.  The most crazy, “is that really true?” story of their life.  I’d love to hear them.  If you post yours in the comment section, I’ll post mine next week.  My non-hockey one is pretty decent too.  Step your game up.


Quick thought: who the f**k thought it’d be a good idea to perforate parts of price stickers, so when you go to rip ‘em off, you can’t get a smooth, whole sticker peel?  It has to come off in those frustrating, divided, blood-boiling parts.  Everything in the last ten years has gotten quicker and easier, but stickers, for some reason, need to be twice as binding and in tiny little sections.  If this is the path humanity is heading down, the world is devolving into a fiery hell-hole of evil.


I bet Iginla thinks Phaneuf is a joke, in every way possible.


You hear about the Paul Shirley fiasco?  What a shame.  He’s always been good about corresponding with me, giving advice and all that stuff.  I ran an interview with him recently on this very blog.

Shirley writes a column on ESPN The Life about music.  Or rather, he did.

He also runs a website called Flip Collective - a daily compilation of essays from what he deems to be worthy contributors (friends, brother, etc.).  It was on Flip Collective, I believe Tuesday, that he ran his thoughts on the dire situation in Haiti.  To summarize, his point was “they kinda f***ed up by living in crappy conditions on the fault line of tectonic plates in the first place, lets not send them money” – or as a big picture analyst would call it “burning every bridge you’ve ever crossed by being a heartless dick”.

Sorry about the awful language in this post. 

I’m okay with him presenting the idea of “giving with a plan”, but most of it comes off as pretty insensitive.

Anyways – for a summation of the events, check out Deadspin.  They’re all over any drama they can get their condescending keyboards on, as per usual.


Jack Hillen is out 6 to 8 weeks with a broken jaw.  A few quick tips for Jack, from a guy who knows:

*Campbells makes “Soup at Hand” – just over a minute in the microwave, and plenty of noodle-less flavours to drink.  You WILL develop an aversion to all smooth foods eventually, so enjoy ‘em now.

*Don’t try to blend solid foods into liquid.  I tried Hamburger Helper, chicken noodle soup, cheesecake (see page bottom), you name it.  It never turns out well, as many times as I lied to myself.

*To keep weight on, I made ridiculous blended shakes.  After the fruit, juice and yogurt base, I was adding protein powder, oatmeal, peanut butter, eggs, you name it… all at once.  If you can force it down, it’s for your own good.

*Carnation instant breakfast is a nice change from all the Boosts and Ensures you’ll be chugging.

*Enjoy the delicious liquid painkiller.  Chasing food with a shot of percaset makes it allll better, buddy.

*You have to stare at the TV forever, so you might as well learn some shit.  I watched documentaries galore (and lots of stand-up comedy, just to feel positive about something).  But the best thing you can do, is have a box-set to watch.  As this blog recently discussed, Lost, 24, Dexter, Entourage, whatever — just be sure to keep lots of entertainment nearby.

*Puzzles.  Board games.  Stuff you thought you’d never do again.

*Take a page from Louis CK, and hate random people for no reason.  Just sit there and actively hate them, even though they don’t deserve it.  “Positive thinking” is for hippies.  Your situation blows.

*Blog.  You should start writing a blog.  It can be a career option if the whole hockey thing doesn’t work out.  Okay, “career” is an overstatment.  But it’s cathartic!



Okay, time to tidy the place for the in-laws.  They’ll be so glad to get out of NY this time year, to Arizona where it’s…… raining.  Damnit.


25 Responses to “Reader Stories and Tips For Hillen”
  1. Christianson10 says:

    Sadly i laughed out loud when I read your summarization of Shirleys coloumn. Haha, like the part about pheneuf too he has really gone down hill and nothings better than chasing food with perkaset.
    FYI, Hillen, finale season of lost starts feb 2nd, get caught up now

  2. Char says:

    Shirley is right. Why didn’t those moronic slum-dwellers in Haiti just relocate to their Florida condos?

  3. Firestorm says:

    Nice photo. Why is Eli Manning standing in your mom’s kitchen?

  4. Will77 says:

    Holy sh*t, that really does look like Eli Manning lol

    I also laughed at the whole Iginla/Phaneuf thing. Seriously though, what the hell happened to Phaneuf and Bouwmeister? When JB got traded there, I thought this was the second coming of Stevens(Phaneuf) and Neidermayer(JB). Just two seasons ago I thought they were two of the best dmen you could have, and now they’re both playing utterly craptastic.

    Speaking of defensemen, heres a story I’ve told a couple times this year; Its about 10years ago I’m figuring since thats around the time I started playing hockey… I’m at one of Aleksey’s (reference only JT will get) summer camps, and a few of the guys at the camp stick this scrawny, really annoying kid in an empty hockey bag and zip it up. Then they hang it from one of the hooks in the locker room at the Rinx. I don’t remember who the guys were who did it, but the kid in the hockey bag is currently cashing checks from the Rangers and his name name rhymes with Patt Nilgroy. Um, I think he won in the end and revenge is best served with a dish you bought with an NHL paycheck

  5. St. Cloud Gopher says:

    I work for a website that covers HS sports around the state of Minn. Every year, we take a sort of HS hockey fantasy trip to see some of the great rivalries up north. Hibbing vs. Virginia. Int’l Falls vs. Greenway. It’s a great time. It usually coincides with Hockey Day Minnesota, except last year when they had it in the Cities. Dumb.
    Anyway, last year, in addition to the two games listed above, we took in Roseau at Warroad. It is THE rivalry to non-associated fans. Living in, or near, the Twin Cities, it was going to be a long car ride. I am the primary reporter for the site, and was fielding questions from my coworkers/buddies about what I was going to write about our trip. I had no idea. A lot of Native American Reservation and the land that god forgot was between us and a HS hockey game. Then I got my story… A Thousand Miles (
    There is more to the story than that, of course, but in the interest of keeping a glimmer of hope for a career, I left some things out.

  6. ms.conduct says:

    Hadn’t heard about the Paul Shirley thing but it doesn’t particularly shock me. Entertaining writer but certainly willing to voice an unpopular opinion. He was an ass to me once on Twitter and I hold grudges, so … meh. Way to go, hoss.

    Was that cheesecake blend thinned with the Baileys I see there? Because really…. how bad can that be? Okay, pretty bad. Ugh.

    And Eli wishes. Pleeeze.

  7. minnesotagirl71 says:

    St Cloud Gopher – Fabulous story of small town “Minnesota nice”!

    Re price stickers – they are perforated so people can’t switch them. Ease your frustration – use “Goo Gone”

    Re Paul Shirley and whoever the right wing religious moron was who said it was the Hatian’s fault because they had angered God. How can people be so cold hearted? Let’s blame people for being born into civil war, poverty and an unstable government. I am always thankful for how good we northern North Americans have it!

  8. House says:

    I shattered one side of my jaw and fractured the other at once and was wired shut for five weeks (It was supposed to be longer, but I have very strong jaw muscles and, in addition to having to get my wires tightened three times, I healed faster then expected. I would buy gallons of milk, fruit and candy bars and make fantastic shakes. Imagination and the willingness to try something new made for some fantastic shakes…and some horrible mistakes.

  9. WWPKD says:

    I wrote this about a year ago while “studying” for final exams. It’s a bit raw and quite inappropriate but i thought since it is hilarious and loosely involves NCAA hockey that yawl might enjoy it…….i wont be offended when it gets yanked off this blog.

    Best/Worst Day of my Life

    Here is a story for everyone who is tirelessly cramming for exams in libraries, study rooms, and dormitories everywhere. Take a well deserved break for a few minutes and enjoy this. The story is pretty dry at first, but trust me when I say…. it gets wet, so just endure.

    Telling this story seems a bit self-incriminating however it has been over two years since the proceedings occurred, so I think it’s time that the general public gets to hear this. To what degree this may damage my ego or set forth reputation is unseen, but due to my high level of artistic integrity it will be told in all factuality and honesty, because let’s face it, if we can’t take each other by our words, all is lost.

    Because I’ve only told this to some of those involved, a few close friends, and well I guess pretty much anyone within earshot once I’ve had a few cocktails, you should feel privileged that I put this on paper. To tell you the truth everyone should feel lucky it ever got out, because I don’t think a lot of people would reveal something like this to even the closest of friends. Simply put it is too good of an incident to be wasted buried in the depths of my psyche alone.

    The status quo about this story is that it’s a comedy in the truest form. I prefer to look at it as a cautionary tale of horrific timing and a downward spiral of ill-fated occurrences, but that’s just me. Although it’s far from a Shakespearian tragedy, certain, and for lack of a better term, perverted, sects of society will read this and get some sort of twisted feeling of pleasure. Female readers may not appreciate this as much as my male counterparts will, but I think anyone could potentially get a kick out of this. Ok enough setup, due to popular demand……. Let me tell you a f*ckin

    Despite suffering through an agonizing 15 hour, midnight car ride and by far the most awkwardly uncomfortable situation of my life, the day the Fighting Sioux beat the Golden Gophers in the 2007 NCAA Men’s Ice Hockey West Regional Championship remains the best day of my life and I was only 19. (Please don’t stop reading gopher fans, it’s not all about the game)

    This all started with a swaggering jersey pop after a bullshit lucky goal scored (in overtime of the Red Barron WCHA Final Five) by a 6’5, 220lb former Golden Gopher /current Boston Bruin power forward who will remain unnamed. I couldn’t let that sit and fester because that’s what losses like this do, they fester. Upon hearing the news during the selection show that both the Gophs and Sioux were headed to Denver for the West Regional, I decided it was necessary, nay destiny that I attend. The year prior, my dreams of a Sioux vs Gophs West Regional Championship game were swiftly cut down when Holy Cross handed out the biggest upset in NCAA hockey tournament history, so this was a must. (I had to throw that in, sorry) After making a few paramount business calls, I had found an assembly of outstanding citizens with whom I could ride to Denver with. It was me and a couple of buddies and one of their FATHERS.

    We arrived in Fort Collins as the sun came up over the foothills of the Colorado rockys. 5 a.m. in a college dorm room seems no time for drinks, but this was cause for celebration, I hadn’t seen Eli in at least a fortnight. After hammering as much beer as I could in 30 some odd minutes, longboarding down the empty streets of the CSU campus seemed like the only logical thing to do, so that is exactly what we did.

    For fear of a LBUI (Long boarding under the influence) we had to duck some campus police and go to bed after only a few short minutes of adolescent excitement. Although short-lived as it was, my longboarding career can be summed up in one word….glorious.

    The next couple of days were some of most fun I’d ever had. I won’t bore you with details of our drunken debauchery to protect myself and others from dishonor and or legal prosecution; also because it is mostly a blur of neon signs, cheap whiskey and expensive local microbrews.

    The matchup for Sunday had been set. Minnesota had squeaked by Air Force, arguably the worst team in the field of 16, while the Sioux survived an old fashioned wild west shootout with college hockey powerhouse, Michigan, in a game that goaltending and team defense were apparently optional. Tension was building on the mile high streets of Denver. The thrilling excitement buzzing around the Pepsi Center that temperate March day could only be compared to a Superbowl played on New Year’s Eve Night of the New Millennium at Disney Worlds Magic Kingdom between two All-Star teams selected by Brett Favre and Tom Brady respectively with a Neil Diamond/Michael Jackson halftime duet tribute performance.

    Yada yada yada Chris Porter overtime wraparound goal, Gophers suck, I’m going to St. Louis! This is when the story gets off…i mean takes off.

    We depart from the Pepsi Center in downtown Denver after the game. It was a six o’clock game so we had a long night ahead of us. Let me make something perfectly clear, driving through the night is a horrible thing to go through….horrible. Still brimming from excitement after a big Sioux win, I couldn’t even think about sleeping for the first 6 hours. I was making so many important “business” calls setting up tickets and hotel accommodations in St. Louis, I felt like Ari Gold screaming at Lloyd through his PDA. As my natural high began to die down we were somewhere in the middle of the pathetic, barren tundra, commonly referred to as Nebraska. Nothing but garbage fast food and liquor for 5 straight days can do a number on the gastric intestinal tract and can cause minor discomfort. I decide to just take a nap; I was sure that when I awoke, I would feel better and be more comfortable.

    *Attention all females, you may learn something here about the male anatomy specifically the reproductive organs. If the phrase” ignorance is bliss” applies to you, please discontinue reading.

    Please keep in mind here that I had been living on the road and in crowded hotel rooms for the past five days with my buddies, one of their little brothers, and their father. Needless to say there was no cleaning the pipes for me. I mean I HAD NOT JERKED OFF IN FAAAAAR TOO LONG. I apologize for being so blunt but using the word masturbate doesn’t quite have the same dramatic affect as “jerked off” does. For those of you who don’t know, if a man, well in my case a teenage boy, does not ejaculate for an extended period of time, pressure builds so to speak, in some instances resulting in a nocturnal emission. The mysterious wet dream. (I did some research and I swear they are more common then you’d think)

    I awoke from my mighty slumber to the WORST CASE SCENARIO. My flag was at half mast and from the dream that I had been having I knew immediately what went down. I blew my load right there in my pants, in the back seat of the jam packed SUV. (I realized I could just make up a lie here and say that I was banging Jessica Simpson or DJ Tanner formerly of Full House in the dream, but that would be just that, a lie. I honestly cannot remember who or what the dream was about, but it must have been good) I had popped my cork. The first thought I had was “oh jeez now I’m in a pickle,” then I really lost it. I panicked. I had no idea what to do, sitting there with a batch of my own baby batter all up in my britches. I could feel it, warm and wet all over my upper left thigh and groin area. Talk about uncomfortable! I found myself wishing that I had just pissed or even shit myself. That would be less embarrassing and I could just tell the driver that it was time to pull over. In my case though, there were external factors that needed to be considered here. I was in a car with one of my best friends fathers! There was no chance I was squealing. I would have faked a heart attack before I told him what had happened. Make no mistake about it this man is one of the coolest dads I know. He is easily in the top 5 coolest dads that reside in southern Grand Forks, ND, which puts him high in the running for coolest dad worldwide. In all likelihood he would have completely understood my situation, pulled the car over at the nearest rest area, laughed in my face a bit, and had some hilarious water cooler talk on Monday morning. Still I couldn’t do it, as good of friends as I may have been at the time with Eli, Tom and the entire family, I was nowhere near ready to transcend the kid-friends father bridge that exists between all growing boys and their childhood friends dads.

    So there I sat, squirming around trying to get comfortable in pair of boxers that were marinating in my own DNA. Leaning forward without blowing my cover, (pun intended) I had to see how much gas we had left in the tank. My logic being that the less gas we had, the sooner we would have to stop to fill up, the quicker I could cleanse myself from the filth that I had become. Low and behold we had just over ¾ of a tank, and since we agreed not to stop until we need fuel, this situation was not improving for a while. Son of a bitch. My slight case of obsessive compulsive disorder which I had thought I had overcome in grade 4, was starting to resurface. I wasn’t sitting within eyeshot of a mirror so I’ll never know for sure, but I’m sure my face had turned red with embarrassment as I tried to conceal my crisis. I proceeded to do some critical thinking and cost benefit analysis. Quickly deciding that I couldn’t let my genes just dry on the inside of my jeans, I concluded that I would have to sacrifice my undershirt so this sticky situation wouldn’t get worse. I tugged on the bottom of my white t and shoved it down my boxers as a half-assed temporary fix. Because it wasn’t that long of a shirt, I had to sit all awkwardly hunched over so the bottom end would stay between my soggy boxers and my leg.

    I tried to fall back asleep but that was unmistakably out of the question. I became paranoid with the thought that someone was going to discover my grotesque secret. The better part of 4 hours was spent awkwardly leaning forward, beading in sweat, trying not to make it obvious that I had snapped one off in a car full of dudes.

    Arriving in Sioux Falls, a feeling came over me that usually seizes to exist when anyone has to stop in South Dakota….jubilation. I made a B line for the men’s room and locked the door behind me.
    I washed my boxers with moist paper towels like a murder suspect would scrub blood stains out of car upholstery or living room carpet. Once sufficiently clean, a term I like to use quite loosely, I had to stand there….like a jackass….in front of the hand dryer spreading my shorts out to air dry. I didn’t want to stand there all day so I grabbed a few spare squares (luckily there was a square to spare) of toilet paper and arranged them conveniently to separate the damp fabric from my leg and waddled back to the car. I had successfully avoided disaster and was set free from all discomfort. Nevertheless I was pretty much mind-f*cked for quite some time after that.

    The rest of the trip went without incident…….quite anticlimactic I know.

    Hopefully someone out there in cyberspace can take something from this and be a better person because of it, if nothing else at least have a good laugh, cuz this one’s on the house.

  10. Char says:

    And Freud thought we suffered from penis envy.

  11. Steve C. says:

    WWPKD…Thanks for sharing.
    I could have gone all day without reading that.

  12. St. Cloud Gopher says:

    WWPKD: I waited to comment for a while after I read that, because I wanted to come up with a witty remark. But, after two hours I got nothing. I’m shooting blanks…

  13. Madeleine says:

    I would say that story was a lot of build up then…nothing. Guess that’s just how young boys are.

  14. Pete L says:

    I heard during the Isles broadcast tonight that Hillen didn’t have his jaw wired. Not sure if that means he can chew semi solid food. I know he lost a few teeth.

    It appears that WWPKD has mistaken the comment section for a confessional. I could have gone the rest of my life without reading that. Maybe you should add that those “O my good is that true?” stories should be amusing and not just sad!

    Enjoy the visit with the in-laws.

  15. Courtney says:

    WWPKD: I guess that’s one of those instances where I DON’T have penis envy!!! Thanks for the laugh.

    As for my “Oh my god is that true?” submission though doesn’t involve hockey – it does involve skating so to sum up in a sentence, the night I met my now fiance I almost killed him…

    A buddy of mine and I were floor mates in a dorm in Syracuse and took the closest thing to human torture legal in the US otherwise known as Organic Chemistry together. On Friday evening, we had an exam (yeah that’s right an exam on Friday evening) my buddy suggested after the mind raping that we go back and hang at his room with a couple of friends from out of town and there would be alcohol.

    We were enjoying ourselves playing asshole, getting drunk and for me, forgetting all those chemical reactions I just spent the previous weeks memorizing, we ran out of beer, but thankfully we still had vodka and I had orange juice!!! A couple rounds of screwdrivers later, some genius (I swear it wasn’t me) came up with the absolutely fantastic idea of going skating at the on campus rink next door. We stumbled over to the rink, I helped my very insecure man to be with his skates, because he’d only been skating a handful of times before and I was a lot more coherent than I should have been.

    At any rate, we hobble over to the entrance to the rink, he takes one stride, feet are over his head and he is on the ice out cold…

    He started squirming after about 30 seconds, the rink decided to call an ambulance because there was blood on the ice from where he bit his lip. After being backboared up and put onto a stretcher, his roommate accompanied him to the local hospital and me suddenly sober, drove the rest of the group to see how bad it was. The roommate said he vomited all over the ambulance and said, “so on a scale of 1 to 10 how drunk am I, and 11 right?!”

    Next morning we woke up, and there he was resting comfortably on the floor, recounting that he woke up at one point had to pee, but was still strapped down. A nurse proceeded to hold a cup up to his little man and said, “OK go ahead.” For some reason he couldn’t, gave up and then unstrapped himself and went to the bathroom. The hospital staff then figured, well he’s OK let’s get him back to where he came from and SU Public Safety gave him a ride back to the dorm. He ended having a minor concussion. And we’ve been together for about 7 years now.

    Hope you all find that as amusing as our friends do

  16. SDC says:

    How awkward must it have been between Iginla and Phaneuf after they both shot that Nike “Force Fate” commerical about Team Canada winning gold at the Olympics, both clad in Canada uniforms, and then Phaneuf…. got cut.

  17. jtbourne says:

    Nice, love the stories guys!

    SDC: My question is, who had the audacity to ask him to wear the jersey? I don’t know one person who had him on their short list of Canadian D-men.

  18. Officer Koharski says:

    Man, I would like to tell you my home-run story, but the statute of limitations hasn’t yet passed. Seriously. I tell the story all the time but it is unwise to post it online. I have another decent one but it’s nowhere near as good.

    A few years ago a friend of mine drives into Manhattan by himself to see a band play. He’s a total idiot. He couldn’t find a place to park, and is too cheap for a garage, so he leaves his car right in front of the main entrance to a ritzy hotel on 8th avenue in the midtown area. Needless to say the car was towed within minutes, and he didn’t even get into the show. So he calls me to come and pick him up.

    I live in the Queens/Nassau area so it’s only a short drive. I grab another friend and a few minutes later we’re driving around trying to meet up with him. He really doesn’t know his way around the city so we tell him to meet us near Penn station, and then lead us to the impound yard or whatever.

    I drop my buddy off to look for the lost friend, and then drive around the block to kill some time while he looks for him. Then I realize my phone battery is dead, and I have no way of finding them. Ultimate needle in a haystack situation. I can’t double park because the traffic is insane and I can’t get out and look for them because of the sheer number of people milling around. So I quickly grab a parking spot, run down the block to Penn and start looking for payphones. Unfortunately, I left my wallet in the car and have no change.

    So with no other choice, I found myself asking passers-by for spare change. The roles were reversed! I was one of those creepy people with a wild story! If you’ve been to new york you’ve probably been approached by a guy who will first apologize for his stuttering problem, and then explain that he is trying to get back to new jersey, he has a dollar fifty and needs a quarter to buy a ticket, or some other long song and dance to get you to give up your change.

    I tried this same approach, I would go up to polite looking white people and explain “Hey! I’m not homeless or anything but I’m trying to find my friends and my phone is dead and I don’t have any quarters and..”. I quickly realized that this doesn’t work. The same way I hate when the scammers with fake stutters tell me a wild story, these people just wanted me to shut up and get away from them. I eventually just started showing people my dead phone and straight up asking for a quarter, which people were way more responsive to.

    So eventually I get enough change and manage to get my friend on the phone, they gave up on finding me and just started walking in the direction of the impound place. So I leave to get my car, only to find MY car is fucking missing now, because I parked in a spot reserved for US

  19. Officer Koharski says:

    UGH, epic failure. I guess you’ll have to use your magic editing powers to merge these two posts. Damn, I didn’t even get to proofread any of it.

    -I parked in a spot reserved for USPS employees. So I grumble and try to catch up with my friends. We get to the place, which turns out to just be a small office near the port authority bus terminal (aka, crackhead grand central), where the woman explains his car is now in the Bronx, mine is still being towed, and we both owe them around 300 bucks each. We decide to call it a night and just come back tomorrow for our cars, so we go grab some food and get on the train.

    Of course it couldn’t be that easy, because as soon as we got on the subway we are joined by a gigantic, obese homeless guy wearing slippers and horrible bandaged, cracked, bloody feet. He smells like ball-sweat and urine and vomit wrapped up in a bundle of filthy clothes. And of course, he had to be a screamer. We’re sitting there politely trying to ignore him and hold our noses until we can switch seats, and what starts off as a low moan turns into just indiscriminate yelling. He was carrying on an argument with some imaginary person, sometimes just leaving sentences half finished, and looking around the train to see if anyone was paying attention to him. Naturally everyone was staring at their feet.

    We switched cars and eventually saw him get into an argument with some other homeless woman, probably his partner in some capacity since many of them work together, running scams or acting crazy to draw sympathy.

    This story is trailing off and I ruined it by breaking it in half. I guess there’s no home run ending here. The grand summation is, I thought my friend was an idiot for getting his car towed, and then I did the exact same thing. I became a change-monger for a little while and learned how to manipulate people into giving you money. I got charged a shitload of money and got punished for losing my vehicle by having to listen to some crazy bum yowling in my ear.

  20. Josh says:

    Jeez Justin, you could’ve just asked Jack Hillen to become a contributor to ;) . I thought you were going to offer him advice on low-cost bonds and mutual funds by the end of that list.

    Wow, who would’ve thought? Another UND alum (myself) was going to with too much booze/sex angle. Although mine had a much more positive ending that didn’t involve my Similac leaving my body. There are just so many oddly horrible stories I’ve compiled in my 26 years… well mostly in the past 7-9, to be honest.

    -We could go with scary bad, like the time I agreed to go to the major-league ghetto in Dallas at 1AM with a hot UT co-ed so she could score some nose candy. Of course, I did not partake, but for some reason the logic existed in my mind that if I went with her I’d have a shot.

    -Funny bad, like how my lesbian friend kissed me to settle a bet with her girlfriend, and I got slapped when I tried to go in for some tongue action.

    -Classy fail, like not being able to afford drinks at a fraternity brother’s wedding (keep in mind we were still in college). So my friends and I set up shop outside the church’s rectory parking lot with a trunk filled with our own beer and liquor… Drunkeness, embarrassment, and vomiting ensued.

    -Just bad, like puking in a dormatory washing machine. Please note: no clothes were inside, I’m a better man than that.

    The sad part is that I generally consider myself a classy, good-natured, cautious, and fun individual. It’s just like once a year or so, I throw everything out the window in some very questionable decision-making.

    Also Justin, more kitten, please.

  21. TheCanadian says:

    I had my jaw broken and wired shut for 10 weeks about 25 years ago. I’m not a big guy to start with and probably weighed about 170 lbs on a 5’8″ frame at the time. I was playing goal in Hamilton and 2 of our defensemen (combined weight about 475 lbs.) steered an opposing forward (about 200 lbs) into the side of my net. My head was turned sideways, looking towards the side/back of the net and the 3 of them sandwiched my head between them and the post. Broke my jaw in two places, one on each side of my chin. Teeth were wired together and as you know, not a smidgen of solid food was getting between them. Ensure, Boost, ice cream, milk, raw eggs, protein powder together in the blender helped, but not much, I was constantly hungry. Some of the Gerber’s Baby Food is pretty good too…l especially liked the Peaches. My Dr. gave me a liter bottle of liquid Codeine that tasted like cherry cough syrup. Yum. It was supposed to last me the length of my pain, but somehow I managed to go through it in about a week. He was aghast, but compliant when I demanded another bottle. LOL…high times to be sure. I’ve had quite a few injuries during my playing time and since, and in fact am now permanently disabled due to a broken neck/back work accident, but I wouldn’t wish a broken jaw/wired jaw on my worst enemy. It ruined my teeth (I smoked, so not being able to brush them for nearly 3 months left them black under the braces) and I was down to 130 lbs by the end of it. The best part of it all? My girlfriend at the time had a mother who made the world’s greatest spaghetti and meatballs and was making some during week 10 of the injury. I’d just come from my Dr. who’d promised he was taking the wires off that day, then balked and said “2 more weeks!” I smelled the spaghetti and meatballs and went into the bathroom with a pair of scissors, a screwdriver, some needle nosed pliers and tweezers and removed the wires holding my teeth together so that I could fit some of that delicious pasta between them. I could only open them about a half inch apart at first, but that was enough to cram some solid food into my gullet. Even with my neck/back problems and being forced into a wheelchair for the rest of my life, I can honestly say the worst injury I ever received, bar none, was having my jaw broken and those damned wires for 10 full weeks!

  22. Beer:30 says:

    I had throat surgery to fix an obstruction. Granted not as bad as a jaw wired shut. The back of my throat was stitched from end to end and healing. Now, allegedly, this surgery is supposed to be a rather painful one. I didn’t complain too much and when I did they just gave me IV morphine. Other than hating the weird feeling IV morphine gives you I didn’t have any discomfort that I cared about.

    It was a “day” surgery so they were booting me out before noon the next day. Slightly before the boot was applied I figured it was time to man up and try to swallow some of those pain meds because I didn’t think they were going to let me take the IV morphine home. That was easy enough to arrange. I was brought a bottle of red liquid and a medicine cup.

    Read (time consuming considering the morphine), pour, and then build up the guts to try to use my throat to swallow. I felt like a bad pilot. I kept aborting and coming around for another approach. When I finally did attempt the swallow everything went wrong. There was alcohol in the liquid they gave me. That hurt more than a little on the back of my healing throat. That alone wouldn’t have been story worthy but only about a third of it got down the throat. My sinuses felt like they caught on fire and the rest of the medicine came out my nose. It became immediately apparent that I needed to relearn to swallow.

    The next week I got my wisdom teeth pulled.

    Five weeks on liquid food. I could have cheated but I was good. I wouldn’t have been for much longer though.

  23. Char says:

    Y’know, I used to think my husband’s best friend, who once stayed with us for a few days, only to check his plane ticket one day and say “when’s the 25th?” and when we said that day, replied. “My flight was yesterday,” and who managed to lose his wallet and passport in France by putting them on top of his car and then driving off, and somehow managed to get lost in no-man’s-land in Cyprus between the Turkish and Greek sides and almost got his ass shot off, was a pretty insane guy. Now I realize he’s a typical male.

  24. Neil says:

    You might be right about that Char. One time I managed to drive to work, work a 6-hour shift, and then come back to my car only to realize that I had locked my keys in the car. They were in the ignition. My car was idling. It had been idling for 6 hours. The tow truck guy had a good laugh so I killed him.

  25. SDC says:

    Bourne: my guess is that the discussion between Dion and Nike went something like this:

    Nike: “Hey Dion, wear this jersey, skate around, and say these lines. We’ll pay you this amount of money [holds up a full sack tied with a rope, with a large dollar sign on it] ”

    Dion: ” k. “

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