-DLC- Posted April 15, 2015 Share Posted April 15, 2015 THE CDC BOOK CLUB IS NOW DISCUSSING THIS FINE LITERARY WORK BY DEB. A steamy jaunt (or pile), this story will take you on a journey. It's a western, rolled in with suspense with a little bit of fairy tale thrown in in a happily ever after way. Then it fades off into extreme time wasting with some Mad Magazine on crack thrown in for good measure. Anyhow, please enjoy this ? and please, feel free to contribute with some of your own offerings. Nightmares. Heartburn remedies. I expect this thread to die out early, so have given myself 5 stars and will be haunting you with some of my own further submissions later. I already have some songs in the works. Be warned. She woke up, feeling different than most days. The sun was shining through her window and, although this always perked her up after a long, cold winter, there was more to it than that. Something special was about to happen and she knew it. She felt it in her Boninos and from deep within her burrows. She dragged herself out of bed early, as she couldn’t sleep…she was restless. She made some strong coffee, then poured it into her favourite Orca mug. Go Canucks Go. Damn, no cream…but we are Canucks and we believe. We can make this work, skim it is. Hip check. A busy day ahead of her, she would make sure she followed the routine…the rituals. She prepared for her daily travels: she would make sure ONLY her Canucks travel mug would be the source of road coffee. It had to be. Water would only pass her lips through her 40 year commemorative water bottle. She would die and ruin any chance of success if it didn’t happen this way. She knew that. She also readied her beer stein, knowing that a celebration later would only be proper if she drank from that trustworthy, decrepit freezer mug. Again – death would ensue should she stray from the program. (And probably if she drank from dat mug, but she was a real woman. Vancouver girl, she's taken transit). Besides, she drinks Kokanee. She was all about taking risks, but not today. Today she had to follow the script and ignore the tug of her heart(burn). No straying. Her brain was on hold and she on auto pilot. Her passion, unbridled, as this game had captured her long ago and had whisked her away and she knew what had to be done. Her loins were ready. Tenderloins, marinading in the fridge for the BBQ. And garlic bread. Mmmmmm There were no red flags today. Actually, only car flags...hers had long been set out as she waited for the right time. Four of them, but only one to be applied for now. Must not be lusty. One per round. She knew the drill - she understood it, but not all did. Some wanted it all, right here and now, and lacked patience and restraint. She’d seen them, with their flags all hanging out all over their cars , but she understood the magic of waiting. Of holding out. She knew it wasn’t their fault that they couldn't...that they had spring (playoff) fever and suffered from premature flagging. They couldn't hold back. But not until game day, not all at once. The unwritten law was not lost on her, even if the car keys were. All hint of red was swiftly discarded from her home in preparation for the big night ahead. It was trashy and belonged there. Bob Hartley hypertension crimson and shades of Calgary embarrassment were all promptly tossed. Mark Gioredano. Johnny get yer gun bloodshed red. Every stitch of it. She found a large trash bag for red sweaters, t shirts, flaming hot sauce. To stuff Bob in. She took a moment, and great comfort in the fact that her blood was actually blue, not red. Only oxygen could change that and so she hadn't breathed in months...all down the stretch. And she wouldn't...not until it was all said and done. She refused to exhale and her face would eventually turn blue to match her blood. Lips, fingers...all blue. Bloody attractive, but she'd rot in hell before giving in. Blue hell, not red hell. She then realized it was time to start getting ready and was facing the daunting task of "which jersey" to wear. She went to her closet that was really a curtain rod that she hung her jerseys on and thought hard about it. It all was resting on her shoulders. Had to be something seductive and sexy, yet could pummel guys. Her tried and true Bieksa was rough around the edges and had juice spills. Pineapple. But it had never steered her wrong, despite the number falling off. Rawr Her new, Burr jersey was her lucky rink sweater..it was a gift for her birthday and a little more pristine. Had a few crosscheck marks, but it also had the LB and Johnny Canuck pins that possessed a secret allure of their own. And that super triple extra large men’s knockoff Trevor Linden jersey that she scored at a discount and could swim in?…perhaps that was fitting? For she knew her team would stay afloat and sink Calgary like soggy chaps. They faced stormy seas against the boys in blue. With her on deck. All blue and sexy and everything. The Flame Lamefish were about to be swallowed up alive out there. Moby dick stuff...stormy seas ahead, Cap'n Bob. Batten down the hatches. Maybe you''d better call someone who is a Gaudreau'er? No? Oh noe. She would go with the Bieksa to start the game. She needed some toughness and knew Bob Hartley was a worm. Best be prepared for that. Her plan being to change after the first period and go with TL for the second (time)….he was back. And making a difference. For the third, she would don her trusty Burr dragon slayer sweater. Because, well…you know. Win da turd. She readied her best bling to make an impression, setting it out on her IKEA coffee table for polishing. ONLY the finest for this occasion…she would spare no expense above ten buck. Nine bucks in, she was invested and all in. She wanted this. And she had to be at her best, and she would be. At least better than the fiery cowgirls hot trotting into her fine city. She'd corral them and send them home. They can't touch this level of friendship bracelet. And so it was she waited. The anticipation was far too much for her to contain. To feel that sweat on her brow, the trembling in her body. It had been far too long. She strolled to the garden to check on things – beautiful. Splended. Perfect for the season. She picked a few of her favourites and brought them in for luck. What do they grow in Calgary again? Oh yes, manure. She recalled that ghastly smell and as the gentle breeze wafted, it once again carried some of that familiar odour toward her that she couldn't shake from the last time they came to town. She remembered it well. But she really thought they'd been Bure'd, deep in the ground never to return..her flowers grew beautifully there in that spot. The fresh fertilizer made sure of that. So how could it be that it was back? The doorball rang….she peered through the peephole. It was them! Calgary! (yes the whole city). The Flamers were back and the smell had been exactly that. She felt her fists and her teeth clench as she opened the door to peer down at them. “I told you not to come back here. You’re worthless, why are you back here? I warned you to stay away”. She slammed the door on them, but it wasn’t long before the doorbell once again summoned her to the peephole. “Really?”. They were reaching a pathetic and new level of lo - they'd come back, in thin disguises that failed to fool or amuse her. Clearly, they were desperate. Besides, had they learned nothing? Vancouverites were clearly out of their league and wanted nothing to do with the dung covered cowboy bootstraps, yet there they were, out on her front porch screaming to be let in. They even brought their posse of Calgary fans....kindling. All five of them, disoriented and lost. In HER backyard. She remembered the last time that desperate little fool named Bob got all blurry and tried to fight his way in. But a man named Jesus Torts set him straight....he was sacrificed...it was all too fresh in her mind. And there he was, Little Bob Blowhard, out there with them. And so it was that she had to call in the reinforcements (her bunnies) to take of business and the Calgary Flames. She stuffed all the little Calgarianites back into their wagon and hitched it up to her way cooler than their car and sped off down the highway, through Canuckland and all the way to Cowtown, where she quickly deposited them back at their barn. And used a lot of hand sanitizer. When she returned back home, her entire group of family and friends had arrived for the event and they lived happily ever after. Is it game time yet? How much MORE time must I wait/waste? Sigh. Guess I'll fill the next few hours folding laundry. GO CANUCKS GO. Let's keep the crazy going, it's almost game time. Back later.. Please do share your own publications (fact or fiction), journal entries, pleas, confessions poetry, report cards, shopping lists and doodles here. This is a place to let it all hang out like a crumbly muffin top. To scream, to cry, to drink. While the confines of Canuck Talk are more serious and affluent, let's keep it real here, as always, in White Noise. **BTW, all this ^ can be yours, as Deb is currently for hire. Link to comment
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