The End of an Era.

Sometimes I browse around this website and wonder what the fuck I've created. To say it contains elements of the absurd is an understatement. To note the plethora of tasteless and vulgar jokes would be fair. My only hope for this website is that in the middle of the controversial rants and the pictures of high heeled boots is my love and dedication to a squad of brothers that call themselves a hockey team.

When I began writing this website, I started out with a tone that is similar to the 13 year old girl fan fiction that I now love to mock, and then found my groove in satire, parody, and the stupidly obscene. And that's what this was for me. An outlet, and a way to connect to other Penguins fans and feel like I was part of something that was happening geographically far away. To any readers that generously gave me time, I hope that I either pissed you off, shocked you, or made you laugh.

Blogging this past year was something I never thought I'd do. I'm a full time student in a field that requires full-time dedication and heart. The fact that I found time to blog baffles me, but I think I can safely say that the creative outlet it gave me filled a very unique and transitory void. Currently, I'm finishing up an undergraduate degree, applying to grad programs, working a part time job, and creatively, I'm ready to move on to something else, or just invest even more intensely in what I've chosen to study.

The people I've met through this blog are nothing short of amazing. You know who you are. Also, I have to give my gratitude to the people who were in it with me from the very beginning: Wrap Around Curl, Archi (Handsome Man's Guide to Life), Frank D (Pensburgh), Vern (You Lay on the ice like a Broad), The Suburban Rob Rossis, Nicholas (PSAMP) and Cotter (One for the Other Thumb).

Here are the posts that I hope will live in infamy:

An Introduction to Pittsburgh Penguins Fan Fiction.

Would you like some shirt with your cleavage? How about a sports logo, too?

Dan Bylsma, Fashionista Extraordinaire

Gay, just the way you like it.

How the fuck does this exist?!

Penguins and Poems and Poems and Penguins

A Crosby Celebration

A Staalsy Celebration

From Russia with Love

Penguins Vs. Thrashers: The kind of game that makes you want to show Petr Sykora your V.

So there you have it. I wrote you a rather somber post because I wanted to give you a proper good bye. But the truth is, the day I become too serious to write a fart joke is the day when I'm doing everybody (including myself) an injustice. And I don't mind admiring this next season from the stands and not my pretend press box where the nachos and beer are free and Eric Godard gives complimentary lap dances. You see, Scott Hartnell will always be a douchebag, Sidney Crosby will always be one of the best in the NHL, Max Talbot will always be the most clutch ho in hockey, and we at least have another season of Bill Guerin being our designated old guy.

This past year was my pleasure.

GO PENS.

Consider this a strange caricature...

I've been up to a little bit of guest posting.

What kind of Stiletto is your favorite hockey player made out of? Check it out over at Wrap Around Curl.

Latest statement from the Roethlisberger Legal Team: "Bitch, please."

Yesterday an article came out in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette which featured Big Ben’s law team dropping the gloves in hockey speak, or in VH1 cat fight speak, neatly taking out his earrings, removing his weave, putting his high heels aside, and giving his acrylics an extra press.

In the recent past, emergence of this confession by Andrea McNulty’s friend took Andrea’s already shaky case (no concrete evidence, no police report, a somewhat delayed reaction and the fact that it’s only a civil case is a bit of a head-scratcher) and well, just made her seem like a bit of a crazy.

So to put this in terms of my lazy summer, pitting Andra McNulty’s weak case against Ben’s collection powerhouse lawyers is like me walking by a filming of Rock of Love Bus, leaning in to the VH1 cameras and lying to capture my fifteen minutes of fame. Allow me to demonstrate:

“I… I thought we were just going to shoot more Soco, but then Brett Michaels asked me to retouch his eyeliner. And as soon as I stepped in close he put his bandana weave on my head with out my consent and started telling me that he’s always wanted a girl with hair as pretty as his… ”

“Why isn’t there video evidence of this?” The VH1 camera man asks me. But, before I can answer, the doors to the bus open and this walks out.

Shit, I’m thinking. I didn’t expect him to have an entire team with him armed with miles of acrylic nails. Hard, silicon nipples stare me down, and I know that if they go for my hair, I don't have a weave on top to soften the blow. Just when I'm thinking that if I choose fight over flight I can probably pop a boob or two, a flash of ashy orange blinds me and I pass out into the street. I should have known better then to plan my attack on tanning salon day. (end VH1 fantasy)

Over before it started, just like Big Ben’s case seems to be turning out. Now, I’ve been watching way too much shitty TV, so lets reinvent some of Ben's arguments with a bit of daytime television flair. Still from the aforementioned article.

“[Andrea McNulty] boasted to her friends and co-workers that she had consensual sexual relations with Mr. Roethlisberger and was happy about that. Plaintiff was also not afraid or apprehensive about the prospect of an unplanned pregnancy, but expressed to others that she hoped that she was pregnant by Mr. Roethlisberger."

The lawsuit "is designed to exploit Mr. Roethlisberger's celebrity status,"

"Her psychological breakdown appears to be the sad by-product of an affair with a married man whose wife apparently concocted a scheme to have plaintiff fall in love with a fictional soldier and be abandoned by him to create heartbreak and instability."

Basically, what Ben's law team is saying is this situation is fucked up enough to one day be a quality episode of Divorce Court. I heart Judge Mablean.

Announcing the Patrick Kane Blingee Expo

Because it's the off-season, and also because this is the best NHL mug shot to come along since Jordan and Eric Staal's in 2007.

Patrick Kane and his cousin are being charged with second-degree robbery, fourth-degree criminal mischief and theft of services after beating the shit out of a cab driver when he couldn't make change out of $15 for a $13.80 cab fare. What the fuck did they drink? Full story at Puck Daddy.

So far we have, of course, the classic mugshot, but also a picture of Patrick Kane giving puppy eyes out of the police car window. Kane gets props for having the extra police picture, while Staal gets props for having his mugshot in color. Right now, I'll call it a tie.

Make a Blingee, email it to hockeyfootballandstilettoshoes@gmail.com and I'll post them as they roll in. (SEND A LINK NOT AN ATTACHMENT)

From the lovely Wrap Around Curl:

From yours truly:

Either baby Jesus is being generous this off-season, or he's making up for all the Ben Roethlisberger rape case bullshit.

POST UPDATE:

Thanks to the wonderful JSt11:

From the fabulous Archi at The Handsome Man's Guide to Fashion:

From the fantastic AmyB:

From the magnificent Brad at This is Getting Old:

From the talented Nicolas at Pittsburgh Sports and Mini Ponies:

From the brilliant Dani at Sabre Kallisions:

Glitter Graphics

Celebrating Mr. 87

So as you all know Mr. Sidney Crosby had his 22nd birthday yesterday. Not wanting him to feel neglected (just incase Geno is too wrapped up in beach sex to make his birthday phone call), I decided to do some shopping at put together a little birthday package from HFSS with only the most awesome of presents.

So, Sidney, I wanted to start off by buying you a drink. Oh stop pretending that you drink Crown Royal, I've gotten wind of you dumping out the drinks that Max gives you and pulling one of these out of your pocket instead. And then you blow into the straw to puff up the empty package so that you can try to pawn it off on Marc Andre Fleury like it's a full drink. Oh, I've got the Club Diesel spies.

Next, I got you these cute things to plug in the holes in your crocs. Aren't I such an accepting friend even though I obviously have a much better sense of fashion? And you can even share them with Sergei Gonchar, too!

Since you seem to like the old school, I got you these awesome poppers. It's so you can annoy your friends on the plane, and then when your future children ask for an xbox, you can give them this fun game instead!

Wrap Around Curl got you a Skip It. Your teammates will be so full of envy. Especially that Kris Letang.

Oh wait. It seems that I have one more present left here in this bag...

Uhhhh, oops. Don't know how that got in there. Uhmmm. Disregard that. I'll just, uh, ahem, take that back.

Wait. What's that, Sidney Crosby? You got a jet ride for your birthday? And then you cut your cake in front of a crowd of people with a fucking sword? (accounted for wonderfully by the puck huffers)

Oh. Well fuck me. Nevermind. You know, if you're not going to use the Skip It, I might be able to incorporate it with the Jack and cuffs for when I see Eric Godard later. Uh, no questions. Happy birthday!

From Russia With Love

As you may have read, our favorite young Russian has dished the dirt about us hideous American women. Found via Puck Daddy:

"I'm extremely fortunate that I met a Russian girl in America. It's difficult to look at a lot of the local women. You get the feeling that just don't take care of themselves! There are an awful lot of heavyset ones. But Russian girls have nice trim figures. I couldn't imagine myself being with an American girl."

Harsh words for the roughly 155 million women across the states. It makes me think that he’s never seen College Girls Gone Wild, or the fine dames filing up the Rock of Love Bus because you know, us American girls can have fake titties, weaves that would make Tyra proud, and eating disorders, and daddy issues, too. But whatever. Varlamov obviously doesn’t want to listen to reason, and no matter what I say he’s going for the chick who will still fake an orgasm when he suddenly goes limp like game seven round two, or a girl that’s not going to tie his rat tail to the bedpost and then yell “FIRE” when he sleeps. (Tim Gunn told me to?)

So to find out what us ladies are up against if we ever want a fine gentleman with Varlamov’s lack of follow-though or a mouth that doesn’t close like Malkin’s, I took to the internets and found this: A Russian mail-away bride website. Game on.

First, the pictures.

Meet Juilia. Judging by her printed weight Juilia’s diet consists of American paper bills and semen. But don’t worry. That just makes her even hungrier for her new fiancé. And when she rips your button-up shirt off with her teeth, well, buttons are like skittles to Russian women. A girl’s gotta eat.

Alena likes to get all dolled up so she can roll around on her bed in fits of sexual desire while she waits for the perfect American man to pay for her. If the website is correct, she can’t wait to respect her new man while she dutifully cooks and cleans for him and has his children.

So American men, are you liking what you’re seeing? Sick of those American women that want to do things like wear clothes? You’d rather skip the dinner date and go straight to the sex, and then watch her clean the bathroom in a thong when you’re done? Good, because there’s guides on the website just for you. Here’s how to win over your woman:
1) Look and dress rich.
2) Live rich.
3) Pretend to listen when she speaks.
4) Give her things.

With all this self indulgence, you’d think you’re reading hockey fan fic! And, there’s even a little button under each profile picture (next to the button for the live sex webcam) that enables you to mail her things while the dating is in the online stages. (Suggestions include diamonds. Or the other crystal.. meth. The secret of super housewives)

You see, in the States we have this hilarious show on VH1 called Megan Wants a Millionaire but Russian girls get to do this awesome TV show every day in real life. And while Megan hitting the jack pot would be something associated with all of that true love emotional bullshit, a Russian bride hits the jackpot when they pull an Anna Nicole Smith by finding an old guy, scoring that US citizenship, and then watching the will work its pretty magic.

Originally when I wrote this post, I was thinking of taking out a loan, ordering 10 or so Russian Brides, having them compete Paris Hilton style to be my BFF, and then deporting them at eliminations. But then after my investigation I realized the only thing that I envy about these women is the awesome “present” button they have on their profiles. Blogger, it’s time to get with it.

Disclaimer: The last time I wrote a post with such a harsh mocking tone, I got kind of slammed. What I'm REALLY poking at is the way that Russian Culture portrays and views its young women. I'm just admittedly playing dirty.