The Blackhawks Are Really Mature
You know it’s one thing to use the word “gay” when you’re walking down the street with some friends, spot a puppy nibbling on a bone in the sunshine, cool breeze flowing over you and say “I feel so gay right now.” Maybe you’re playing frisbee in the park, picnic basket off to the side, barely legal teenagers prancing around in their bikinis off in the distance and you yell out to the heavens “This day is so gay and I can’t contain myself!”
Or maybe you’re a Chicago Blackhawk player who just won the team’s first Stanley Cup on the worst clinching goal in the history of sports, and instead of celebrating graciously in the showers with your lathered up, muscly teammates, you decide it would be cooler to call the opposing team’s least gay player “gay.” Wouldn’t karma be so much cooler if Chris Pronger walked into the locker room, dragged Patrick Kane by his cute, curly hair and pork plowed his anus with so much force his nose and mouth bled uncontrollably? Now THAT would be gay. In a good way.
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