Schultzie here again, since Wrap decided to go drink heavily to PAX, I’m holding down the fort and in charge of posting guest submissions. This just awesome bit comes courtesy of End With Style. Read carefully, it kicks ass. I think Geno is still wandering, in search of true love…
“Did you know people write stories about us?”
Sidney brought the question up casually while they were drinking at the table in Chuck E Cheese his kitchen, their respective drinks in front of them with condensation leaving a ring of water on the wood underneath. It was the middle of the off-season and most of the league was where they call home with their families and friends, preparing for the upcoming season.
“Ugh, yeah, Sid… we all get stories written about us. The media loves hearing about good ‘ole farming class kids making it to the pros, or just being the first to write about a minor league player. You of all players should know that,” his invisible friend Colby Armstrong says after shooting an odd glance toward his friend. He was only drinking a Vitamin Water… he couldn’t have been drunk.
“Yeah, man. You get all the media attention,” Jordan Staal throws in before picking up his Sierra Mist with one hand, the other texting away on his phone. The man was obviously not paying attention to the conversation, or anything for that matter as he held the Sierra Mist midway to his mouth, his eyes glued to the small screen, the keys clicking with every tap.
“No no,” Hockey Jesus starts, his hand moving with the words; “I mean, our fans write stories about us. Like, actual stories,” he finishes, an uncertain look washed across his features. He’s not sure why he even brought the topic up. Jordan looks up from his phone, his other hand finally bringing the drink to his lips for a gulp, and Colby turns his head to the side.
“What kind of ‘actual stories’ do they write?” Jordan asks, his eyes finally prying away from the electronic device in his hand. Before Sidney can reply, the obnoxious doorbell goes off inside interrupting the conversation.
“Who the heck can that be?” Sidney asks while he rises from his seat, maneuvering around his friends. His monstrous lower body made walking in crowded areas very difficult for the man. It was only a short walk from the kitchen table—the location of the hockey players—to the door, and Sidney makes it to the maple door in less than twenty seconds, but not before Staal coos a “hurry back lover boy” in his direction and Colby moans at the return of the tapping of cell phone keys.
Hockey Jesus opens his front door just as a car in front of his house squeals its wheels, burning rubber as it speeds off down the street. Standing on his doorstep is a very disoriented looking Evgeni Malkin.
“What the shoot is he doing here?” Colby asks over Sidney’s shoulder, a bag of twisted Cheetos in his hands while he looks Malkin up and down. Crosby shrugs his shoulders, not knowing the reason either.
“Yeah, what is he doing here?” Jordan repeats as he closes his phone, watching as Malkin waves at the three of them.
“Dude, stop repeating me,” Colby complains.
“Stop complaining. You’re like a little bitch.”
“Your mom is a little bitch.”
“Your mom sucks in bed.”
“You suck at defense.”
“You suck so hard you got traded to Hotlanta.”
“You both suck, so shut up,” Hockey Jesus lays down the hammer of justice and both of the hockey players shut up immediately. Never Gonna Give You Up breaks the silence that falls over the men after the hammer, and Crosby digs in his pocket and pulls out his phone peering at the LCD which read “Talby”. Crosby picks it up while Jordan and Colby whisper “Did he just Rick Roll us?” to each other.
“Suckers!” Talbot screams before hanging up, and Crosby yells “Talbot” just like he did in the NHL Commercial, hand motion and all.
“Who was that?” Jordan asks, his eyes wide in curiosity.
“It was Talbot. He ditched Malkin with us, that butt hole!” Crosby says exasperatedly, and Malkin waves at the three again, a smile still on his face. Jordan returns the wave, the other two still looking at Malkin, confused as to what to do with the man.
“Well, what do we do now?” Colby asks aloud, voicing the thoughts of all the hockey players. Another silence falls over and Malkin stops waving, the smile fading from his face.
“We can’t just leave him out here. He’ll probably wander away and get into someone’s garbage can,” Jordan comments, and Crosby gives him a rash look. “What?” Jordan asks in defense, and Hockey Jesus shakes his head.
“I guess we should just let him in. I mean, he has no where else to go and he knows us,” Crosby makes the decision, and opens the door wider, signaling Malkin into the house.
“You better hope he doesn’t pee on the carpet. You know how those Russians are,” Jordan comments as he turns and walks into the house, heading toward the living room.
“Jordan, Geno isn’t a dog,” Colby proclaims while he follows the younger man into the living room.
“Oh right,” Staal starts as he flops on the couch: “You are.”
“If another one of your retarded arguments starts up again, I’m kicking you out of Mario’s my house.” Boom. The hammer strikes again.
“Alright mother,” Jordan replies, a smile on his face. Hockey Jesus rolls his eyes once more.
“Now, Geno,” Crosby begins as he sits on his throne: “I thought you were in Russia for the off-season? What brings you to the States?”
“I come visit Disneyland. Then I go Maxy house. He drop me off here,” Malkin says in his broken English, shrugging his shoulders. “Here am I now.” Another smile.
“Right,” Sidney drawls before pointing toward the super expensive couch that only Jesus himself would own. “Have a seat, enjoy yourself. I’m sure Maxy will come back for you.” He then turns toward Colby and Jordan whom are sitting on opposite sides of the couch.
“Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted. The fans write stories with us as characters. Like, sometimes there are romance stories, then there will be just regular stories about games. It’s so bizarre and scary.”
“Forserial? Were there any good ones about me?” Jordan asks with a smirk, and Colby rolls his eyes.
“I’m sure there are. There are entire websites dedicated to the stories. I’m sure you’ll find a story about your ugly self,” Crosby replies, a mirroring smirk on his own features.
“Ouch, that hurts. That hurts real bad,” Jordan counters back, a hand over his heart.
“I want to see some of these stories. Do you have any?” Colby asks very interested in these stories that Sidney speaks of. What can he say, he doesn’t get much press and if someone is writing about him, no matter the subject, he’ll take it.
“I actually do. I printed some out,” Crosby responds, his eyes wide as he rises from the throne, going to the hutch in his dining room and grabbing a folder of papers.
“Why the hell did you print them out?” Jordan asks from his position on the couch, his head tilted to the side slightly.
“Because I wanted to show you guys, and this way we weren‘t all piled in front of my computer,” he says as he returns to the living room, sitting on the throne once more. He pulls out the papers, looking at them intently.
“I have a few stories about Jordan, one story about you, Colby, and I even have one about Geno. And of course, I have a few thousand about me,” he says while he skims through the pile of papers on his lap.
“Only one about me? Really?” Colby half asks, half whines, and Jordan smirks once more.
“What do you expect? No one writes stories about dogs.” Jordan couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rig on the older man.
“Isn’t it a little late for a little boy like you to be up?”
“Can you two ever shut up for once?” Crosby asks with an annoyed look on his face.
“Story me about?” Geno asks from his place on the couch. It was the first thing he’d say since he sat down.
“Yeah man. You can read it if you want, but it’s in English. If you want to take a shot at understanding it, here you go,” Hockey Jesus says as he hands over the stapled sheets to his teammate, giving the other stories to their respective person. Each person had a story to read, and there they sat, indulged in their own stories. One would share an interesting, funny or disturbing part to the other every so often before returning to their own stories. Jordan, Colby and Sidney were so fixated with their own stories, they didn’t notice Malkin stand, a determined look on his face while he walked to the door.
“Where’re you going, Geno?” Jordan asks, placing his paper on his lap in front of him.
“Must finding Elizabeth!” Malkin says as he opens the door and rushes out. No one went after him.