***Welcome to Luke Schenn's Apartment!***
Schenn_Sational:Mmmm...what a great breakfast! Five dozen eggs, two pounds of bacon, six boxes of waffles and a gallon of orange juice always hits the spot.
***Jenna_Barfly has entered the chat room!***
Jenna_Barfly:You probably don't remember me, you pig, but--
Schenn_Sational: Lemme think....Jenna, accountant, and we met like a few months ago at the bar?
Jenna_Barfly: Wow...I, Uh...wasn't expecting that. Anyway...I was at the doctor's and it rurns out I'm pregnant!
Schenn_Sational: Pregnant?! But...that's not possible! We didn't have sex! We chatted a bit, had a drink or two, but...hell, I passed Grade 10 biology!
Jenna_Barfly: I don't know how, but I have here the official form saying I am indeed carrying your children.
Schenn_Sational: Let's see here..."Diagnosis: Patient is pregnant with 400 SCHENN BABIES"! But you...you can't carry 400 babies! You'd explode! You'd be like those people who are 700 pounds and they have to cut open the house to get them out.
Jenna_Barfly: Look, I don't know how it's possible, but that's what the doc told me. She even got in 3 other doctors and I peed on dozens of sticks and each one said the same thing: you're gonna be the first ever daddy of quadricentuplets.
Schenn_Sational:Any chance I could make some calls, get some advice and stuff? You can, uh...just sit on the couch there if you like.
Jenna_Barfly: Well, I could use a nap. Carrying 400 babies is kinda tiring. But remember: I'm a light sleeper and if you try to run off, I'll cut off your balls.
Schenn_Sational: I'll just be in the next room, then.
***The next room***
Schenn_Sational: Holy Crap! I hardly touched her! Who to call, who to call? This can't be happening, it's impossible! Inconcieveable!
***Schenn_sational has called A_Brayden_Grace!***
A_Brayden_Grace: Luuuuke! How's it going, bro?
Schenn_Sational: Not good, Brayden. This girl, Jenna, just came over and said she's pregnant with 400 of my babies!
A_Brayden_Grace: Ahhhw ha, man! Perfect Luke went and knocked up some random broad! I never thought I'd see the day!
Schenn_Sational: But what do I do? I didn't even have sex with her and the docs say she's definitely preggers.
A_Brayden_Grace: I dunno...do a reality show! "Jenna and Luke Plus 400...oops"
Schenn_Sational:Well, thanks anyway.
A_Brayden_Grace: Wait, you said you hardly touched her, and she's still pregnant?
Schenn_Sational: That's what her, a team of doctors and a dozen peed-on sticks say.
A_Brayden_Grace:...Do you think that's a Schenn thing? If so...Shit, I got some girls I have to call. Later, Luke.
***A_Brayden_Grace has left the connection***
Schenn_Sational:Who else could help me? Coach Wilson? Well, it couldn't hurt...
***Schenn_sational has called I_Ron_Butterfly!***
I_Ron_Butterfly: WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Schenn_Sational: Coach, I got a problem. I'm expecting babies.
I_Ron_Butterfly: Jebus H. Chirst on a pogostick, Luke. First Stajan gets hit in the face with a soccer ball, White sprains his mustache, Grabovski is making friends with Habs, now you're pregnant! Sweet merciful crap, this team is soft!
Schenn_Sational: No, I'm not pregnant. The girl's got 400 of my babies in her right now!
I_Ron_Butterfly: You knocked up 400 broads?! I know you're young Luke, but there's something to be said for having a night off! And if I were you, I'd be off to the clinic to have some tests done!
Schenn_Sational: No, Ron. It's one girl. 400 babies. From my sperm.
I_Ron_Butterfly: GODAMMIT LUKE QUIT MAKING SHIT UP! Call me when you have a real problem, like you hurt your elbow playing Guitar Hero, or you break your foot playing indoor soccer!
***I_Ron_Butterfly has ended the connection***
Schenn_Sational: well...when all else fails...
***Schenn_sational has called I_Ron_Butterfly!***
Mama_Schenn:Luke! Honey, how are you? I miss you so much, baby.
Schenn_Sational: Mom, I need advice. There's a girl and she says she's pregnant and....I'm the daddy of her 400 babies.
Mama_Schenn: Oh, how wonderful! I'm gonna be a grandma!
Schenn_Sational: Mom, it's 400 babies! How am I gonna take care of 400 babies? I don't even know how I'd name them. I'd have to put in eartags like they do with cattle.
Mama_Schenn: Luke, honey, don't worry. Schenn babies are self-sustaining.
Mama_Schenn: Why yes...I remember when you came out, you had a little stick and a pair of skates on. You body checked the doctor before he could even cut the cord.
Schenn_Sational: But 400 babies...mom, is that a normal Schenn thing? That shouldn't even be possible!
Mama_Schenn: Luke, why do you think your dad and I waited between your brother and your sister? A woman can only handle so much.
Schenn_Sational: So you're saying...I might have several hundred siblings who are also awesome?
Mama_Schenn: OH...I think I have a roast in the oven that needs to come out NOW. Love you honey!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
***Welcome to Luke Schenn's Apartment!***
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Starring JaredofLondon from Die Hard Blue and White.
I'm going to call this just hardly PG-13 on account of some naughty words. Oh, and here is the origin of "Pythons".
Jared of London came home from yet another long night of hauling around guns and big bags of money. It was an OK job--it paid bills and put a roof over his head, but it was sadly lacking in the hot women, ninjas and monkey butlers he had always dreamed about. He entered the apartment, flicked on the light, and saw the one thing he never, ever wanted to see sitting on his couch. It was That Guy, who so often appeared in Jared's "Talking to Myself" series.
"Morning, Jackass!" said That Guy as he took a swig from what happened to be the last bottle of beer in Jared's refrigerator.
"OK, That's it!" yelled Jared. "You come in here, drink my beer, eat my food, track in mud and you don't even chip in for rent! we're settling this RIGHT. NOW! YOU'RE GOING DOWN, ASSHOLE!"
"Make me!" said That Guy as he finished the beer. Jared had always feared the day would come, when he and his intruder would have to fight for control. Jared rolled up his sleeves as That Guy advanced menacingly toward him. Jared saw That Guy coming and pinned his back to the ground. That Guy kicked Jared in the ribs and somehow, Jared's own foot began to hurt. Jared threw a few haymakers to That Guy's face but stopped when he realized his face was hurting too. That Guy then kicked Jared in the stomach, leaving Jared winded just long enough for him to wriggle free. That Guy tried to escape, but Jared grabbed his legs and punched him in the back of the knees, causing That Guy to fall to the floor. Jared searched for something--anything--he could use as a weapon when he saw a small kiddie pool filled with Jello on his floor.
"Weird" said Jared to himself. "I don't remember that being there before..."
"Shirtlessness can only improve this situation!" yelled That Guy, tearing off his shirt while tackling Jared. A dazed (and somehow shirtless) Jared tumbled backwards into the kiddie pool of Jello. That Guy saw his chance, and pounced on Jared, who bit That Guy on his arm. Jared sprung to his knees and tried to drown That Guy in the pool of Jello until he realized he couldn't breathe. Suddenly, both Jared and That Guy tried to punch each other at the same time, and thier fists connected! Python met python, fist hit fist. Time stopped, and the universe said "Oh." All it could say was 'Oh.'
Several hours later, Jared woke up on the floor of his apartment. He was covered in broken glass, blood, and Jello. Jared wasn't totally sure what had happened, but he knew three things for certain: his place was a mess, he hurt like Hell, and there was a piece of paper stapled to his hand. Gingerly, he lifted his arm to read the message scrawled across it: "You're out of beer, milk, eggs, and bread. --That Guy. P.S.: Fuck you!"
"What an asshole!" sighed Jared, right before he passed out again.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
***Welcome to Stajan's Place, playing NHL '09 chat room!***
StajanNotCajun: I scored on you, Johnny! Take that!
WhiteLightning: Nice! Can you fist pump in this game?
Schenn_Sational: Wait, guys...we're hockey players. Am I the only one who thinks it's weird we're playing...ourselves?
SonOFAMitch: Nah, it's not weird, 'cuz I can punch Matty in the face all day long and not get tired. It's awesome!
***PoniRides4ABuck and Grab_Bag have entered the chat room!***
***PoniRides4ABuck has dumped off Grab_Bag!***
***PoniRides4ABuck has left the chat room!***
Grab_bag: Allo Comerades!
WhiteLightning: Ah crap, Ponikarovsky dumped Grabovski on us! Matty, you got any papers you can put down?
SonOFAMitch: Fuck, I'm gonna get fuckin' rabies or something, aren't I?
StajanNotCajun: Come on guys! Grabbo's not a puppy or something, he's just Belorussian.
Schenn_Sational: Yeah, it can't be that hard.
StajanNotCajun: That's what she said!
Grab_Bag: I nos understands "is what she said." Mine english is no good, all broke to shit.
WhiteLightning: Well, what's so difficult to understand, Grabbo?
Grab_Bag: Is Luke who says that, and he has stubble, Adam's Apple, big hands...probably huge cock like horse. Luke is not she, all HE!
StajanNotCajun: "That's what she said" is an expression, it's not a literal thing. It's like...."raining cats and dogs"--cats and dogs don't actually fall from the sky.
Schenn_Sational: Basically "that's what she said" is a sentence that, if someone said it somewhere else, it'd sounds kinda...dirty.
SonOFAMitch:It sounds like something a lady might say before, during, or after you're fuckin' her.
Grab_Bag: But who am I fucking? Who is SHE? Do I pick? I pick...Carmen Electra!
StajanNotCajun: You don't need to actually fuck anyone for "that's what she said" to work.
Grab_Bag: Ahwww...I wanted the Electra...
WhiteLightning: No, Grabbo...like Matty said, it's not a literal thing. It's a pun--you know, a play on words?
Schenn_Sational:It's a pun on a few different levels...here, let me get some paper and a few different colors of markers...
***2 hours later...***
Schenn_Sational: Now, does that make any more sense, Grabbo?
SonOFAMitch: My head hurts...
StajanNotCajun: So much grammar...
WhiteLightning: I'm not sure I understand "That's what she said" any more.
Grab_Bag: A little more sense...no. Not really.
StajanNotCajun: Aw, screw it! I got Die Hard movies and beer. Those don't need much translation. Who wants to order pizza?
Grab_Bag: Yippee-Ki-yay, motherfucker!
Schenn_Sational: See Grabbo, your English is already getting better!
Friday, August 7, 2009
Another slash for you all to enjoy. It's done from Ron MacLean's persepctive. I'm going to give it a rating of pg-13 on account of lots of violence and blood. I'm also giving a glove tap to JaredofLondon for helping me out with the ending.
Another Saturday, another late night. I wondered If I was getting a bit too old for Hockey Night in Canada. I thought that maybe it was time I hung up the mike and relaxed a bit. Then I stopped myself. Sure, some time off might be nice, but what would I do with my time--knit? Twitter? No, I figured, at least for now, Hockey Night In Canada was the perfect fit for me. It was something I loved doing,something I was good at, and I worked with people I really liked.
Except for Don Cherry. I had tolerated his presence for so long, it nearly drove me mad. I'm pretty sure I'm now deaf in one ear on account of his rambling and ranting. And while the viewers at home could grab a snack, change the channel, or hit the mute button, I had no such luxury. I couldn't even roll my eyes. I had to look interested and smile and nod the whole time.
One night, I knew that I just couldn't stomach another night. I had thought about standing up and saying "Don, you're a jackass!", slapping his ugly bulldog face, and storming out of the studio. Don went on another of his tirades about the conditions of the league, telling kids "Now, watch--watch this! We got it? Yeah, DO. NOT. DO.THIS" He found yet another suit that nearly blinded me--who told him that lime green and navy check with a Snoopy tie was a good look? I tried to be a voice of reason. I said, "Now Don, that's not the only thing that matters--" but he cut me off. "WHAT ELSE MATTERS? Back when I was coaching the Bruins..."
That son of a bitch cut me off for the last time. I felt my hand curl around my pen. After that, I felt as if my mind had left my body and my hand and mouth were operating under someone else's control. I picked up my pen and plugned it into Don's neck. I yelled "Will! you let! Me finish! A goddam! Sentence! Once in a while! JORDAN STAAL WEARS A VISOR WHEN YOU AREN'T WATCHING!" as I accentuated every few words with another stab. I looked at Don's mutilated neck and face and plunged my pen into his eye socket.
It was a dream that I had had dozens of times before. Usually, I woke up shaking and in a cold sweat, so agitated that I could only go back to sleep after a slice of white bread and a glass of warm milk. But as I felt Don's hot, sticky blood drip off my hands and suit, it hit me. "Ron, this isn't a dream. You actually just stabbed Don Cherry to death on TV in front of millions of people." I looked into the camera, my bloody hands shaking so badly I dropped the pen.
Somehow, I knew the show had to go on, even if I didn't know if they were still broadcasting. I cleared my throat and tried to continue: "So, the, uh Buffalo Sabres are up 2-1 against the Ottawa Senators after a late first period goal by...". Somewhere, I heard P.J. Stock yell "Victory is mine!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something I never expected to see. I saw Don's hand, wrapped in a sequined glove, punch towards the sky. I heard a faint rendition of "Thriller" in the background. Don retook his seat, cleared his throat, and said, "Ronnie, that was a good ol' Canadian stabbing! The sorta thing Bobby Orr woulda loved! Support the troops!"
I was shocked, stunned and amazed. Don continued, "Yanno, Ronnie, that's why my suits have these crazy high collars. You never know when you might be on the wrong end of a good ol' fashioned shivving."
"Oh." I said. All I could say was "Oh."
Sunday, August 2, 2009
***Welcome to the Official Chat Room of the Toronto Maple Leafs!***
I_Ron_Butterfly: Now let's see...Christ. This D-Squad is such a log jam...
***BurkeBack_Mountain has entered the chat room!***
BurkeBack_Mountain: RONNIE MAKE ROOM FOR YOUR NEXT TOP FORWARD
I_Ron_Butterfly: Well, at least it isn't another defenceman. Who did you get? Jeff Carter? Brad Richards? Some hot young prospect?
BurkeBack_Mountain: HIS NAME IS GUSTAV GUSTAVSSON JR.
I_Ron_Butterfly: I've never heard of him--is he from some Swedish league or something?
BurkeBack_Mountain: HE JUST WON THE WORLD STRONG MAN COMPETITION
I_Ron_Butterfly: Huh. Can he skate?
BurkeBack_Mountain: I DON'T KNOW BUT HE CAN PULL A TRACTOR WITH HIS TEETH! IF THAT'S NOT TRUCULENCE AND TESTOSTERONE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS!
I_Ron_Butterfly: Testosterone? With all the steroids he's probably on? His testicles must be the size of Tic Tacs.
I_Ron_Butterfly: Are you...are you feeling OK, Brian? You seem a little...off.
BurkeBack_Mountain: I'VE BEEN EATING NODOZ AND DRINKING RED BULL AND WATCHING VERSUS FOR THREE DAYS AND NIGHTS!
I_Ron_Butterfly: That sounds incredibly unhealthy, Brian. Tell you what--book yourself a hotel room and just sleep for about 4 days, and I'll come water your plants and feed your fish and stuff for you. OK?
BurkeBack_Mountain: NEED MORE TRUCULENCE!
***BurkeBack_Mountain has left the chat room!***
I_Ron_Butterfly: Hanta yo, Burkie.
***PoniRides4aBuck has entered the chat room!***
PoniRides4aBuck: Hi, CoachRonWilson!
I_Ron_Butterfly: Alexei! What the Hell are you doing here?
PoniRides4aBuck: Because you are best coach ever, I make you brownies with caramel and peanut butter.
I_Ron_Butterfly: Get out of my office, Alexei! Leave the brownies, but get out of here!
PoniRides4aBuck: OK, CoachRonWilson!
I_Ron_Butterfly:And another thing-- quit calling me "CoachRonWilson!" Just "Coach" or "Ron" is fine.
PoniRides4aBuck: Whatever you say, CoachRonWilson.
***PoniRides4aBuck has left the chat room!***
I_Ron_Butterfly: Hanta yo, Alexei. I hope you like Nashville.