(I've tried to rationalize the Kings' goalscoring woes. I've looked at charts, I've ran the numbers, I studied the tape and I've got nothing. What do I do now? Where do I turn when I'm completely out of rational options? I'm completely lost and alone. I guess there's only one thing left to do; I guess I need to turn to a higher power, a being who can hear my thoughts and maybe, just maybe, heal my soul.)
Dear Kelly Hrudey,
Are you there, Kelly? It's me, Rudy. Yes, your #1 fan. So... how are you? I am not so well and I need your help. I know you and the courts told me to stop writing you but this is important. And there are no pictures this time so you won't get disgusted. You see, I need your help. The Kings can't score. Yep, your Kings, the guys who once averaged over 3 goals a game, can't score a lick. I know it's probably you punishing them because they're worshiping a false idol (and I agree, Quick shouldn't be wearing your number) but I can't help but think maybe it's my fault. Is it my fault? If it is then I'm sorry for whatever I did.
It's been so long that I don't even remember how you score in the NHL. I watch NHL On The Fly and it seems like I'm watching a different sport. How is that guy open in the slot? Are you allowed to go there? Hey, can you shoot in the corners and not the goaltender's chest? These are the things I ask myself.
It's affecting my everyday life. I'm slumping. I'm dropping dishes, I'm falling down, I'm trying to have sex with belly buttons, I can't do anything right. Is it because I made fun of Tim Tebow? The other 2 people who hate Tim Tebow as much as me are my friends Emilio and Meg. Emilio's a Penguins fan and his whole team is dead. And Meg's team... well the Sharks are OK but Meg has boils all over his body and that's not good.
What is going on? Am I being smited? Is the word smoted? See, I can't even write good no more.
The dictionary defines "Smite" as
If I am being smi(o)ted, I'll do whatever I can to make it stop. I'll actually call that girl and use my turn signal and give that money back and stop making fun of Earl behind his back. I'll go to church and not spend the whole time comprising Kings line-ups on the back of my bulletin. I'll eat my vegetables and admit that it was me that farted and I won't take all the candy from that lazy family that just leaves the bucket outside on Halloween. That's why people do good things, right? So good things will happen to them? Sounds crazy but I'll give it a shot.
Or maybe... shit, I know why you're mad. It's because over Christmas my mom asked me if I wanted to keep my old stuff from my childhood and I said no. That included my Ninja Turtles, my Care Bear... and my poster of you. I'm sorry, Kelly. I didn't mean it. It's just it's weird for a grown man to have a picture of another grown man hanging up in his house. If I constantly talk about how much I love my higher power then people will think I'm weird like that weirdo Tim Tebow. (Shit, sorry) Is that what you want? For me to glorify your name? Because I'll find that poster and hang it proudly if that's what it takes. I'll tell everyone I meet about your power. I'll do anything. ANYTHING. Read between the lines. These lines:
I will have sex with you
Please, Almighty Kelly, just let them score. I don't even care if they win. Just please let them score like, 3 goals. The Ducks scored 7 last night; the Kings haven't scored 7 goals across their last 5 games. Give Anze the strength the get the puck high, give Justin & Jack the vision to actually hit the net, heal Dustin's pancake-induced back spasms, send Jarret to the fiery depths of hell... please, save my team.
Just please. I'm begging you. You can't tell in type but I'm getting choked up. Now I'm holding up my hand, asking you to give me a moment so I can compose myself. Now I'm pulling myself back together to ask you one last time:
Prediction: Kings win, 4-2. Thank god, I can stop being good! (*pushes old lady down a flight of stairs)