I don't understand what this game is on B2. It seems unfair, it's like 3 Connollys on one RWD, no defence.
Oh, wait, that was RWDs dream last night...
End of 2nd.
3-2 CC Floating Tiger Heads.
tUMD needs to start moving their feet.
CC needs to stop scoring.
FYP.
I don't know. I'm not really into blondes. But I guess I wouldn't kick any of them out of bed for eating chips.
Bruce and JMay discussing how sweaty they are. Well, now I've lost my will to live.
Knock. It. Off.
Completely unnecessary. You're ruining Friday.
Are you not listening to the radio? I'm not the one who said it.
Why don't you just walk down to your friendly neighborhood bar?
Oh... wait...
What's the score!? This conversation is going south fast.
Yes, I'm listening. Your commentary is troubling me and my dogs.
Hobey and Baker don't appreciate it, either.
And I am in my friendly neighborhood bar. It's called my heated, satillite TV linked, keg fridge-adorned, wireless-internetted GARAGE. It's the cheapest bar in town, and it allows smoking.
Now if you want to girl-talk about the sweaty hockey players and carry on other menage-a-type conversation, you should really be at the bars with the rest of the hunting widows.
Lol, dork. Do you ever have to bounce yourself when you've had too many
YESYESYESYEYEYSYEESYEYSEYSEY!!!!!!KJhaeskfjhsdrlkghasnegklGOAL!L!!!
Now if you want to girl-talk about the sweaty hockey players and carry on other menage-a-type conversation, you should really be at the bars with the rest of the hunting widows.
To continue, Mr. RWD is not a hunter, so he is here. He is a hockey widower, lol.