Cheap Throat: The Diary of a Locked-Out NHLer, Day 76

The Barnstormer has secured the cooperation of a locked-out NHL player who has agreed to document each day he is kept out of action on the condition that we do not reveal his identity. Ever. Read all the daily diary entries of “Cheap Throat” here.

11:40AM — Now, I’m not the kind to gloat, but a certain starlet you def know, an oft-troubled firecrotch whose public embarrassments are occasional but who every single one of you douches would totes love to bang and you know it, so don’t fill the comments with ewwws and I can’t believe you did hers. Losers.

11:41AM — At first she thought I was in Fleet Foxes. She was all, are you in Fleet Foxes, and I was like, you mean am I inTO Fleet Foxes, like the animals. Like hard to catch animals? Thought it was game over after that after she rolled her eyes and asked what I did and then I said what I did for a living.

11:45AM — Turns out, a lot of girls in this town are into hockey players. She was on and on about the Kings’ run, which, in my opinion, may or may not have help enhanced hockey’s image in southern United States, but it 100% enhanced my chances of accessing her vagina. Gotta thank Gary for that one, but ONLY that one. Even a shaved Hobbit gets it right once, but for the record, and it’s a stone cold fact, playin’ in the show won’t get you laid in Nashville. Not unless the NASCAR driver, the wrestler, the college ball prospect, the college b-ball prospect, the MLBer, NBAer, and grizzly lookin fuck with the record contract have all left the party. Then it’s down to you and some roadies and more oft than not it’s the roadies who are leaving with the ladies.

11:46AM — Correction. Gotta thank Wayner for that.

11:47PM — LA not so much. Not with a recent Cup here. God I won some money on that series.

Right. This little Starlet, let’s just call her Starla from here on it. Anyways, nice girl – drive like a maniac but I guess you have to around here. Her place is not far from [name redacted]’s. Everyone’s in the Hills.

11:48AM — Anyways we hit her place and she pours four fingers of some 30 year old single malt and throws it down like it’s her job and I’m trying to switch from awkward Jason Bourne to suave James Bond mode but she’s runnin the show here workin me like I’m putty in her hands. About three of those later she asks me what I thought of her last film – I say I haven’t seen it and she’s all fuuuuuck you. So I’m Swayze in a corner so I start quizzing her about hockey – I’m like what’s offside then, and she tells me I’m offside and I thinkin I’m striking out here and this is gonna be a long hilly walk back to the War Horse but she’s walking closer and when she’s about an inch from  my face she tells me she has this guilty pleasure and asks if she can trust me…I say yeah, although every part of me that’s not my dick is worried she’s gonna get her weird on, but she cozies over to the stereo and throws on, of all things…yeah you guessed it. I mean that shit is so highly addictive.

11:49AM — Panties were basically swinging from a fan and there’s a shard of tumbler in my back I still can’t reach.

12:00PM — So yeah…LA. Might lay low and regroup here for a while. Place seems good for the soul y’know. Also, just found out, a thousand bucks in to each of these money games. Organizing some gear tomorrow and ice time. Know a few boys who ain’t in Europe or the K-Hole who will definitely be down for this.

12:15PM — But first things first, LA is no place for the War Horse and frankly after all the wear and tear, she could use a rest. Maybe I’ll ask Zac to wash it. He was doin a good job on his own car there. But yeah, I see a rental in my future with a retractable roof and a few hundred angry horses under the hood.

3:30PM — Hate to admit it. I mean  I do. But when I was goin’ drills with Starla, it had been ages since I’d gone drills (I mentally annulled whatsherface in Italy so that doesn’t count) and the three quads of scotch were helping keep the sailors in the submarine, but when Starla was yellin’ not to stop because she wasn’t there but was close and as a gentleman with a shard of glass in his back I didn’t want to disappoint her. Naturally. Only I was close and real close and she’s blazing hot, I mean blazing, and she’s chewing on my ear like she’s a lion and I’m some sick kill easy slain cow she’s tellin’ me to give it to her….

3:30PM — I had to do something.

3:31PM — So you think of someone ugly yer fuckin, right?. Someone horrible. And shaved. And Hobbit-like. I imagined I was some medieval gladiator and he was some ugly woman from a village and I was able to hold out til she came and I knew she was coming because she suddenly had a mouth like John Tortorella after a blown call. Ugh. Anyways…credit that one to Bettman too I suppose. Cuz Starla and I got a date tomorrow night too. Says she wants to stay in. Nothing outside. She’s flying for a shoot or something and will be away for a week and this is her last night and wants to lay low. Sent me a text. She’s got a pool and not a lot of clothes and I have a shitload of time. You know how Grapes always gives kids advice on Coach’s Corner? Well kids, when a lady you just blasted tells you she wants to see you because it’s her last night in town. It means she wants to go drills. Unless she’s mormon or something, then she wants you to meet her parents. And cousin-uncles.

3:33PM — Gotta call agent…Fuck that. Text agent. Gotta swing some kind of deal to LA. Or Anaheim. Not San Jose. Hockey gods just don’t award cups to towns named after Mexicans. Not bein’ racist, just stating facts.