Politics and Shame

No, Like Seriously, It's a Shaem [sic]

Stacy Pawlowich

Chapter One: The Man

OK, so when I was a kid I loved waiting in the line up at the grocery store. My grandmother would always get me that Sesame Street magazine and I loved Sesame Street. You know what else I loved? Fucking A — it was hockey and I played it as much as I could.

I was a year younger than the other kids at my skill level so every other year I would be on the shittiest team in the annals of hockey. That's right. Every other year I was left back with the incoming cretins from the lesser rung.

When I was on that team I was good. For that year I was real good. The rest of the retards on my team couldn't even stand up on their skates but I was good. We always lost but fuck that because I was the star player. I was the Wayne Gretzky to their Hartford Whalers.

Chapter Two: The Fisherman

The town that I lived in was pretty white bread — that is except for the single Asian family that ran the Chinese food restaurant, every small town has one. He never said “Me luv you long time.” Not once.

And Theoretically the hockey team selection (A-Team=Good and B-Team=Spastics) were chosen purely based on skill level but low and behold all the rich kids made it onto the A-Team and me, along with the mongoloids, were on the B-Team. Anyways the Chinese kid was on the B-Team one year, along with me, and boy was I really fucking good that year and occasionally our team would play games in the city and one time that Chinese kids father bought the whole team and their parents a meal at McDonald's after a game.

The next year that kid was on the A-Team. But he deserved it because that Chinaman was hot shit, almost as hot a shit as me but fuck my parents for not being rich and getting me onto the A-Team.

Chapter Four: The Seaman

So anyways I quit hockey because eventually all the spaz-bots hit their growth spurt and I, in my slight but elegant frame, could not compete with those big dumb mother-fuckers.

So I hung up my skates for good, at the age of 12, and eventually got a job writing on one of those really dark and ironic cartoon shows aimed primarily at college age boys. I drink Starbucks, hate my wife and still watch Sesame Street with my youngest kid. My other son is a fucking terrible hockey player and he's turning out to be a little prick too. There's no more sportsmanship — though there is more sincerity these days and if that sticks I might be out of a job some time very soon.