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The primary goal of this site is to provide mature, meaningful discussion about the Vancouver Canucks. However, we all need a break some time so this forum is basically for anything off-topic, off the wall, or to just get something off your chest! This forum is named after poster Creeper, who passed away in July of 2011 and was a long time member of the Canucks message board community.
Chef Boi RD wrote: ↑Sat Oct 30, 2021 6:10 pm
I was assaulted once, a young stripper was taking a soapy bath in the strippers dressing room, bathroom door open, candles burning, I was in the adjacent room watching TV. My parents left me alone to drink it up in the bar below, I was 12 at the time. She started calling out to me, telling me to “come here”, I did, all nervous like. She was revealing her breasts, teasing me, asking me to wash her back. I was damaged for life, scarred! I needed counseling after that. Took me awhile to recover
House of the Rising Dink
There is a pub and it’s a dive,
It’s called The Number Five,
And it’s been the stop,
Of many a poor wop,
And yet the Dude abides.
No shock, our end is here
We choked again, yes that is certain
Again, its plainly clear
For that Dumbass face, it should be curtains
For fans, the building full
Post season games, we've lost in all ways
Still, much more than this
We did it Kyle's way
Regrets, more than a few
Yet not enough, for the CC Brethern
We did, as we always do
Every year, without exception
In the end, we lose of course
Hated by all, on the Hockey highway
And lore, create much more
We did it Kyle's way
And yes, the whole time you knew
Always we bite, far more than we can chew
And through it all, Tuna had no doubt
We'd choke it up and spit it out
Again faced it all, could not stand tall
And did it Kyle's way
None of us are men, what have we got
All years round 1 and all for naught
Always fall off, our fucking wheels
And to all teams
We always kneel
Let the record show, we take all the blows when playing Kyle's way
The tragedy-sniffers are all
about
they get up in the morning
and begin to find things
wrong
and they fling themselves
into a rage about
it,
a rage that lasts until
bedtime,
where even there
they twist in their
insomnia,
not able to rid their
mind
of the petty obstacles
they have
encountered.
They feel set against,
it’s a plot.
And by being constantly
angry they feel that
they are constantly
right.
You see them in traffic
honking wildly
at the slightest
infraction,
cursing,
spewing their
invectives.
You feel them
in lines
at banks
at supermarkets
at movies,
they are pressing
at your back
walking on your
heels,
they are impatient to
a fury.
They are everywhere
and into
everything,
these violently
unhappy
souls.
Actually they are
frightened,
never wanting to be
wrong
they lash out
incessantly
it is a malady
an illness of
that
breed.
The first one
I saw like that
was my
father
and since then
I have seen a
thousand
fathers,
ten thousand
fathers
wasting their lives
in hatred,
tossing their lives
into the
cesspool
and
ranting
on."
- Charles Bukowski, They Are Everywhere