Bingo Bango Bongo

Okay everybody. Excuse me for one blog post where I forget to talk about anything substantial and just humor me a little, all right?

Sometime last week Margee posted what turned into a terribly controversial commentfest over whether or not you'd hit Roberto Luongo. I, in my weird newfound love of him, used various tools including that Lola parody (still. amazing.) and my current desktop to argue my case, but I still couldn't convince many of the likes of my fellow bloggers. And once the Ricky D video surfaced I figured I just had no hope. BUT I HAVE A NEW OFFERING ANYWAY!


Okay. Right? Right!? I mean I guess it's no coconut creme pie, but come on, that wistful slightly sad expression, the sitting alone in the benches...the little styrofoam coffee cup! And okay. Okay, MAYBE I see all your points. A little. Sometimes. But - and I may be banking a bit on that upsetting loss and trying to assume that other people are feeling bad for the guy playing his guts out every game (and then some - someone calculate how many games he actually played including all that OT) and still ending up like this - come on, you can't say it's awful, right? And he gave Sabourin that cute little hug when they swapped spots tonight, too. So there.

That said, Giguere is still creepy looking, give me Ilya back if that team has to go any farther, okay? My pools are glad Anaheim took it, but my heart wanted Vancouver. Sigh, oh playoff hockey, the way you toy with my loyalties.