Sunday, February 28, 2010
Ok this is hysterical and I have to share it. I swear some of the stuff you find on the Internet searching for Henrik Lundqvist photos, any photos you haven't seen before, any news you haven't read on King Henry, anything! I have to categorize this as crackfic because it is just crazy.
The Hairdresser and the Rise of the Red Army: Part One
nefarious1729 July 27th, 2008
Summary: Uh, the Swedes want to destroy a non-Swedish Swede and the Russians want to take over the NHL
underneath Whole Foods in Pittsburgh, PA
Jordan Staal ran through the dark, cavernous hallways. His panting breaths reverberated off the stone walls as he ran. Then he skidded to a halt in front of a large door. Pushing it open, he stepped in.
Gary Roberts sat in a throne made of the bones of his enemies, a Fiji water fountain whirring beside him. His steely blue eyes glared at Jordan, “What is it, peasant?”
Purposely looking away, Jordan’s eyes focused on a painting of a white dude with a red beard getting judo-chopped by Gary Roberts. “It’s the bat-phone Gary Roberts.”
Picking up the phone, Gary Roberts just grunted. Then his eyes widened and his head bowed. After he hung up the phone, he glared at Jordan. “Jarome Iginla has failed us.”
hotel room in Toronto, Canada
The door swung open and banged against the wall. Evgeni Malkin waltzed in, “Our plan worked. The NHL is ours!” Alex Ovechkin was coming in fast on his heels. They collapsed onto the floor in giggles, tiny pieces of paper pouring out of their pockets onto the beige carpet.
And Alex grasped at Evgeni, rolling them on the carpeted floor in a fit of joy. “That Greek bastard has no clue, haha!”
Alex ran his hand over the pieces of paper, laughing as he handed one to Evgeni. “No one will know that Jarome Iginla had truly won those awards.”
In a moment of passion, Evgeni looked at Alex’s crotch, “I think you’re hiding something, my comrade.”
Blushing, Alex pulled out the Hart trophy from his opened zipper. “I couldn’t help it.”
Then they kissed until Alex saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror. And he started kissing that instead of Evgeni.
Henrik Zetterberg’s backyard somewhere in Sweden
Nick Lidstrom paced back and forth in front of a giant yellow Post-It stuck to the wood fence. He had a hockey stick in his hand, brandishing it like a teacher’s pointer.
“The first part of our plan went according to…” and he looked puzzled for a moment, “plan.”
He was talking to an assembled group of other hockey players, all of them Swedes. You could tell because they were dressed in light blue and yellow and they were eating tiny meatballs with gravy and lingonberry sauce.
Pavel Datsyuk walked through the sliding glass door, wearing khaki shorts, black shutter shades and flip-flops. “Where’s the pool party?”
Every Swede turned his head in unison toward Pavel’s voice. Lidstrom grinned at him, “Oh, don’t worry, there is gonna be some kinda party. Just have a seat, Pavel.”
Pavel looked around at the men near him as he took a seat next to Henrik Zetterberg. The Swedes were connected to one giant power outlet, the plugs from their backs stuck into the strip. Every once in a while one of the Swedish robots would twitch.
“Oookay, Pavel is here,” and Lidstrom turned around, crossing off something under #3 on the giant Post-It, “now we can continue with the program.”
“Ooh, ooh.” Louis Eriksson waggled his fingers in the air, hoping to gain Lidstrom’s attention. “Ooh, call on me.”
Looking pointedly away, Lidstrom continued with his speech. “We have gained the most important piece of the plan, the Russian Red Army’s support. We can now move into ‘Death Con Phase Five’.”
“But, what if those Canadians [said with such disdain] decide to finally do something about our little plan?” Henrik Lundqvist interjected. “What if they find ‘The Hairdresser’?”
Laughing haughtily, Lidstrom pointed at #1 on the list. “We took care of that before last season even started, Henrik-2.”
All the Swedes started a slow, evil laugh knowing that they had the Canadians by the throat.
Pavel looked confusedly around him, “What is–why is everyone laughing?”
underneath Whole Foods in Pittsburgh, PA…….three hours later
Gary Roberts stood in front of the assembled men. His hands were on his hips as he paced in front of a giant Post-It note stuck to the stone wall of his Gary Roberts-Cave.
“It is time to take drastic measures. We need to send out the Sudden Strike Ninja Assassins.” Someone towards the end of the table giggled and Gary Roberts sent a death-ray glare that way. The giggle turned into a death shriek as Don Waddell was engulfed in flames.
A tentative hand rose in the air, “Uh excuse me Mr. Roberts?”
Gary Roberts turned his head slowly towards the voice, “It’s Gary Roberts.”
Lou Lamoriello cowered in the high-back leather chair. “I’m sorry Mr. Rob – I mean, Gary Roberts.”
Gary Roberts nodded his head, “Go on with what you have to say, slave.”
“The Sudden Strike Ninja Assassins have already been deployed, sir, Mr. Gary Roberts, sir.”
“WHAT?!” Gary Roberts stalked from his Post-It note and grabbed Lou by his collar. “ON WHOSE AUTHORITY?”
In a moment of weakness and fear, Lou pointed across the table at his fellow GM Bryan Murray. “Him! It was his decision.”
Dropping Lou to the floor, Gary Roberts jumped across the wood table and landed on Bryan Murray’s face. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
Sputtering his false teeth out, “I – didn’sht think tshat – itsh – they whould fail.”
And Gary Roberts kicked him once in the ribs for good measure, standing upright so that the rest of the horrified GMs could see his menacing glare. “Why did these so-called assassins fail?” Then he pointed at Darryl Sutter, “You had two top assassins might I remind you. What happened?”
Sutter shrugged and turned his terrified gaze towards the door, “Uh, DionShea, well…”
somewhere in Nashville
Shea Weber was hunched over his laptop, the curtains drawn to shut out the sunlight. Blubbering sobs echoed throughout the house when he lifted his head.
On the laptop screen was that Perez Hilton site, pictures of Elisha Cuthbert and Dion Phaneuf canoodling on the sandy beaches of Hawaii. And that creepy stalker video of them frolicking in the ocean was paused.
Standing up, Shea staggered into the kitchen. He took out a package of Oreo cookies and poured a glass of milk. Tears fell into the milk as he carried it back into his darkened room.
The video started again as Shea’s phone rang. He didn’t even pull his eyes away from the screen to look at the caller ID. Dunking an Oreo into the milk, Shea popped it into his mouth. “How could he do this to me?”
And the wailing and crying started up again as pieces of Oreo cookie sputtered from Shea’s mouth.
underneath Whole Foods in Pittsburgh, PA…….five minutes later
Gary Roberts crossed his arms, “Elisha Cuthbert, hmm.” Then he looked at a tiny notebook on the table near his giant Post-It. “Yes, she’s one of the Red Army’s paid agents. I should have known.”
Throwing the notebook at Jordan Staal sitting on a wood stool in the corner, he turned back towards the table. “Looks like Shea Weber will have to be traded to Florida.”
“No!” David Poile stood up, then realized that he just said no to Gary Roberts and sat right back down.
“It’s the rules. When one agent is lost or brainwashed, the other has to be traded to Florida.” Gary Roberts started a lap around the table, stopping behind Ray Shero’s chair. “You! What happened to the Super Twins? They were supposed to be indestructible.”
Shero shrugged then looked angrily at Ken Holland seated to the left of him. “Marian Hossa left for, um, undetermined reasons.” And he poked Holland in the ribs with a pencil.
somewhere in Mario Lemieux’s House
Sidney Crosby hummed to himself as he ripped a piece of tape from the dispenser. Then he turned towards the wall above his large white round bed. The wall was covered in pictures from the newspaper of a blonde-haired man.
Marian Hossa in the Penguins uniform. Marian Hossa outside his house in Atlanta. Marian Hossa inside his car. Marian Hossa buying clothes from Ross’s. Marian Hossa smacking himself in the head with the side of his hand. Marian Hossa dancing nude with an inflatable penis in Mark Recchi’s garage house.
Every inch of the wall above Sid’s bed was covered in stalker photos of Marian Hossa.
Stepping down from the bed, Sid smiled. Then he picked up his pink glitter-encrusted and bejeweled Barbie phone, dialing numbers by heart.
This is Marian Hossa and I dress for less. If you are Sidney Crosby, hang up now. *Beeeeeep*
“Heeey Marian, its Sid. How are you? Just wanted to call and see if you ever wanted to go to a Leafs game, if you know what I mean. You know my number, call me.”
underneath Whole Foods in Pittsburgh, PA…….five minutes later
Shaking his head, Gary Roberts said, “How sad. He just hasn’t been the same since the injury.” Then he clapped to get the GMs attentions focused on him. “Oh, one last thing, WHAT THE PISS HAPPENED AT THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS?!”
Every GM in the room cowered in fear at the anger in Gary Roberts’s voice. And none of them wanted to venture with an explanation. Each and every one of them averted their eyes, pretending to not be a part of that catastrophe.
Then Gary Roberts stalked over to the heavy stone door, “Max!”
Max Talbot stumbled into the room, clothes and hair a mess. But he stood in the doorway, straight as a board when Gary Roberts growled at him. “Get me that peasant out there perusing the salad bar.” Max started out the door when Gary Roberts said, “Oh wait, not Darryl, he’s here for our, uh, you know. Get the other one.” And Max grinned knowingly before he ran out again.
Ten seconds later, Ryan Getzlaf was pushed into the board room unceremoniously. Gary Roberts cleared his throat, “Hello Mr. Getzlaf.”
Ryan’s eyes were huge as he saw the awesomeness of Gary Roberts in person. He whispered to no one in particular, “Wow, what a man.”
“Would you mind telling us what happened in Halifax?” Gary Roberts sat at the head of the table, prepared for a long tale.
Ryan shrugged, “Well, it all started with a poorly timed bald joke.”
Gary Roberts was not amused, “What started?”
“The threesome I had with Dany Heatley and Jason Spezza.” Then Ryan paused, looking introspective for a moment, “They have wonderful skin but very weak joints.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Gary Roberts yelled.
Finally, Ryan yawned, totally unfazed. “Oh and Mike Green was working for the Red Army.”
“Well, that explains it, you fucking idgit.” Gary Roberts stood up and shooed the young man out of the room. “Now gentlemen, we must begin Plan B-2.”
Sergei Gonchar’s guest house….somewhere in Pittsburgh
A knock on the door interrupted the deliciously wonderful things that Evgeni and Alex were doing to each other. Alex sighed and shouted at the door, “Who is it?”
“Um, it’s Paul. Should I come back later?”
Alex looked at Evgeni confusedly with his whipped cream covered face. “Paul? Who is that?”
Shrugging Evgeni knocked a cherry off of his shoulder. Then he smacked a hand on his forehead, spreading chocolate sauce with the palm of his hand. “Paul Ranger.”
Then Alex jumped up from the bed, “Oh, yeah, we have to pay him today.” He walked to the door and opened it wide for Paul Ranger to step inside. His face turned white when he saw that both Evgeni and Alex were naked.
Sliding out of the bed, Evgeni stood up. “We just wanted – “
Paul put his hands up, “Please Evjenni Milkin, don’t come any closer.”
“It’s Evgeni, you fucking Canadian ass-rocket.” Then Evgeni sighed, rolling his eyes.
Turning to look at Alex, Paul was puzzled. “What did he just say?”
Alex waved a hand at Paul, “You wouldn’t care.” Then he handed Paul a crumpled up twenty dollar bill.
Looking disgustedly at the single sticky bill in his hand, Paul couldn’t believe it. “That’s it?” Alex just shrugged and rubbed a hand absently over his Cheez-Wiz covered abdomen. “After all that I did, only twenty bucks?”
Evgeni glared at Paul, “You ungrateful bastard, all you had to do was tap that overachieving teenager and he went flying into the boards.”
Paul looked at Evgeni again, “I don’t understand a word you’re saying Evjenni.”
“Aaaaahhhhh! I’m going to kill him, Alex.”
Alex smirked and wrapped an arm around Paul’s shoulders, turning him towards the door. “Your job was simple. Read the contract, it clearly states that you only get twenty bucks for the job.”
And he pushed Paul out of the door, slamming it in his face with a loud bang. Alex turned around and grinned at Evgeni, “Now where did I put that ketchup?”
Henrik Zetterberg’s backyard somewhere in Sweden……..two hours later
“We can accomplish our goal in five easy steps.” Lidstrom smacked the giant Post-It with his hockey stick. “Let’s go over them once again.”
All the Swedes in attendance nodded their heads and read their parts.
“Step One: Injure the Next One.” Henrik Zetterberg recited proudly, one eye trained on Henrik-2.
Lidstrom smiled at him, “Very good Henrik-1.” Then he pointed at the next representative.
“Step Two: Trade for all Swedes…mini-steps involved.” Alex Edler stuttered, eyes squinting at the board.
Lidstrom nodded his head approvingly.
“Step Three: Help the Red Army acquire all Russians.” Tomas Holmstrom stated matter-of-factly while he stuck his ass in Henrik-2’s crease.
“Step Four: Crash the NHL Awards Night.” Niklas Kronwall read quickly, fingers typing out a text in a combination of English, Swedish and Finnish on his blue and yellow cell phone.
“Step Five: Get Nicklas Backstrom from the Red Army.” Markus Naslund repeated as he also kept an eye trained on Henrik-2.
Lidstrom stood in front of his favorite Swedes, “And that is how we can destroy Nicklas Backstrom or as I refer to him, the ImitationSwede.”
“Ooh, ooh.” Loui’s hand was raised high in the air, hoping to catch Lidstrom’s attention now. But Lidstrom ignored him even harder, purposely looking in the air above his head.
“What about the Red Army? How do we know we can trust them?” Mikael Samuelsson rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his pregnant belly as Daniel Alfredsson looked lovingly at him.
Lidstrom pointed at Johan Franzen, “Earmuffs on Pavel, please.” Johan did as he was told and held his hands over a startled Pavel’s ears. Then Lidstrom continued, “We have Pavel whom the Russians want more than anything. And once they get him, they will take over the NHL as per our agreement.”
“Ooh, ooh.” Louis was a persistent little bugger as he started to jump up and down to get Lidstrom to call on him.
Still ignoring the waving hand in his face, Lidstrom looked at the fence. “Any other questions?”
Mattias Ohlund cleared his throat, “What are we gaining with this deal?”
Lidstrom laughed, “We are getting that fraud of a Swede, Backstrom, so that we can destroy him. Our great Swedish IKEAn name shall not be tarnished by that ImitationSwede.”
“Ooh, ooh, Mr. Lidstrom call on me.” Loui was dancing in front of Lidstrom at that point
Exasperatedly, Lidstrom pointed his hockey stick at the young forward. “WHAT?!”
“May I use the restroom, Mr. Lidstrom?”
“GO BEFORE I EAT YOUR SPLEEN!” And as Loui went running, he yelled after him, “Take Joel with you, you Swedes have to stick together in Finnish Texas!”
underneath Whole Foods in Pittsburgh, PA…….the next day
Gary Roberts pointed at the giant yellow Post-It behind him. “This is Plan B-2.” A complicated flow chart was graphed on the Post-It, complete with names and pictures.
“But that’s for really bad emergencies only. We shouldn’t be using that.” Obviously Glen Sather did not understand what had happened to Bryan Murray.
Glaring at the Sather, Gary Roberts said, “I do not have to explain to you why we must use Plan B-2, but I believe that you know why.” And he looked pointedly at Brian Burke.
Kevin Lowe stuck his tongue out at the other GM. “Haha, you got in trouble.”
Burke crossed his arms and huffed. “I am rubber and you are glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks on you.”
Gary Roberts slammed his fist onto the table, “ENOUGH!” Then he took in a breath, “Okay, we need to list all of the rookies to begin this army.” He looked at Jordan sitting in the corner, “Get these men paper and pencils, they’ve got a lot of work to do.” Then Gary Roberts turned his back on the table and muttered to himself, “I must awaken The Hairdresser. Fuck.”
Glaring momentarily at Gary Roberts’s back, Lowe mumbled indistinctly, “Guess I can’t go to my timeshare in Boca now.”
Evgeni Malkin’s restaurant in Russia
“Order, order please.” Alex stood up at the head of the dinner table, tapping a spoon against his wine glass. When everyone had finally quieted down, “Your most merciful and talented leader wants to speak.” Then he sat down.
Evgeni stood up and looked at all the Russians assembled at his restaurant. “Evening gentlemen. I just want to congratulate each and every one of you for a job well done at the World Championships.” There was cheering and laughing until Evgeni had enough and held up his hand. “There is one last part of the plan to put in place.”
All attendees gasped as they all turned to stare at the rookie, Nicklas Backstrom. Only Alex Radulov stared long and hard at the blonde. Nicklas gulped down the wine he had sipped and then smiled slightly because he had no idea what they were saying.
Walking around the table to place a hand on the kid’s shoulder, Evgeni touched Anton Volchenkov on the nose. “I am sorry Nicklas, but you must be sacrificed so that we can reach our ultimate goal. I want a Stanley Cup and so does everyone here, whether we have had one, like Federov, or we have not won one, like me.”
Nicklas bowed his head, “I understand. It’s for the good of the Red Army.”
Laughing Evgeni shook the rookie’s shoulder. “No, it actually is not. We’re just selfish and the Swedes wanted you even though you are not a real Swedish robot like they are.”
And Nicklas blushed at his secret being told to everyone at the dinner table. He was not made in IKEA like the others, that was why his hair was only average, not spectacularly coiffed like other Swedes.
Continuing his speech, Evgeni circled the prison table. “With Pavel Datsyuk added to our ranks, the Russian Red Army will be indestructible.” He tapped Fedor Tyutin on the shoulder then got a glare from Alex.
“Once Pavel is with us, the NHL is ours. Muahahahahahah.” The Russians followed Evgeni’s lead and let out a terrible and in unison laugh.
Nicklas sighed to himself, “Mamma mia.”