These Eyes

Everyone has a gift, something they are real good at. My gift is my eyesight. I can see for miles like a fish that never tastes hook. I learned at a young age that my vision is a little different than most people's - everything I see appears to be suspended in overproof vodka.

I can still see for miles but lately I have been having trouble reading fine print. Regular books, magazines and newspapers are still easy to read but parts of the Daily Racing Form have been getting sketchy.

Sonja told me, "Go get your fucking eyes checked!" years ago. After she told me the same thing a few hundred times I finally relented and went to the optometrist after work today. The pretty girl I spoke with in the reception area told me to, "Go shopping for half an hour and then we'll do some tests." I went for three beers. They were fucking great. Nothing beats Friday beers.

When I returned to the optometrist the receptionist led me into a spooky black room and told me to rest my chin on various machines and focus on different spots so she could take pictures of my eyeball and blow little farts into my eye. Trouble was I could not help but focus on her tits. They were huge. "You're not focusing Mr. Hockey!" I can still see them, big as Stephen Harper's pants.

After I was done with the tests I was seen by the optometrist. He kept looking at the pictures the girl took of the inside of my eye and looking inside my eye himself with all his weird shit. As he did so he was clucking his tongue and babbling about the Canucks and how fucking great they are.

Finally he pushed his magnifiers to the side and sat down in front of me. "You are a one in a billion Mr. Hockey. Just about everybody on the planet's eyes are filled with a substance called vitreous humour. Everyone except for six people that we know of: three men in Russia, an Irish girl with tits bigger than my receptionist's, a Polish hermaphrodite and you. All your eyes are filled with alcohol. Medically speaking, your eyes are filled with alcohol humour."