Luongo the Bum

Jimi called last night. Sounded like he may have had a couple beer in him.

"I got a fucking grand on Detroit tonight. You watching?"

Like I'd be doing anything else when I answer my phone on a Saturday night.

Jimi was keeping one eye on his television as he folded laundry. Being a man takes more work than ever. There was a bottle of beer on the table. Probably a Granville.

"Detroit is going to score in overtime then we're going to the track tomorrow." Jimi hates the Canucks and their wank fans even more than I do. We are both working on winning streaks in the two separate worlds of gambling we are kin to. Over the long term, betting against the Canucks has been one of the best bets in sports.

The game went back and forth on the screens in front of us. It was some good violent hockey. My hero Todd Bertuzzi had scored his first goal in months.

"That fucking Luongo is a bum!" Jimi continued. "The Canucks always get it wrong. If you are going to spend 7 million a year or whatever the fuck it is they are paying the bum you better be spending it on a French goalie not a god damn Italian. You hire a fucking Italian to kick soccer balls or footballs. You want to stop pucks, you hire a fucking French cunt. Are they fucking stupid?"

With .2 seconds left the bum Luongo lets in the winning goal.

"See?" Jimi observed, "He's a fucking bum. That last zero at the end of his name stands for the number of Stanley Cups he ever wins. So, what else is new over there?"

Was not much. "Sonja and I are both naked."

"Are you fucking?" Jimi asked.

"Not yet."

"That's good because I'm naked too. It might be a little weird if you two were fucking and I was naked here listening to you two fucking."

"You're not pulling your wire over there are you?"

"Not yet."

"That's good because I know how much I like to milk old Bessie after a good gambling score."

"You too, eh?"

Me too.