Game on, mofos. Game on.
And then—. Not of a puck, but of all pretense of sanity. table hockey hijinks mofos
Their sticks crossed in a duel so intense they accidentally tied the metal rods into a knot. For thirty seconds, they just spun in angry little circles, grunting like constipated sumo wrestlers, until Dave had to untangle them with a butter knife. Game on, mofos
“Please,” Jen shot back, spinning her yellow center forward in a 360-degree taunt. “I’ve seen your defense. It’s like a screen door on a submarine.” Not of a puck, but of all pretense of sanity
Then Jen whisper-screamed: “YOU JUST LOST TO PHYSICS, MOFO.”
A blistering slapshot (speed: 3 mph) dribbled to a stop at center ice. Neither moved. “Your turn,” said Jen. “No, YOUR turn,” replied Marcus. They stared at the stationary puck for a full minute. A dust bunny scored before either did.
