CALGARY – For the record, Avery – unsolicited – stepped in front of a bank of microphones in the visitors’ dressing room yesterday morning and said: “I’m really happy to be back in Calgary; I love Canada. I just want to comment on how it’s become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds [Elisha Cuthbert]. I don’t know what that’s about, but enjoy the game tonight.”

Hey Sean, you think Emile Hirsch was happy when he found out that you were thrusting your seething body toward Elisha Cuthbert after they dated? No, we all thought Emile had her bagged after that sex education vid during the prom, but then you figure skated your way in and fucked it all up. And once you got her, did you think she liked you for your sensitive side & fashion sense? No again; she wanted to fuck a big, retarded ice skater. So I say this to you Sean: that’s why they are called Puck Sluts, grow up and play hockey. As for Emile, I got your back dog, so I threw together some Sean Avery slander that would make Michael Moore shit white: (see video below)

NORTH HALEDON, N.J. – A message in a bottle tossed into the ocean off Barnegat Bay has turned up in North Carolina — 39 years later. The note was sealed in a Schaefer beer bottle. It was dated Aug. 17, 1969 and read: “If found notify the North Haledon Fire Co. 2.” Mark Ciarmello and his 3-year-old daughter found the bottle along a beach in Corolla, N.C., 400 miles from where it was released.

No one person has ever managed to visit Las Vegas without looking up with squinted eyes and saying to your friend, “Who the Fuck, is Danny Gans?” I obviously did the same after seeing the Strip furnished with more Gans‘ signs than potable toilets. It is a freakish phenomenon: in Vegas people are willing to pay $250 for heavy doses of Danny Gans, but then when they leave they don’t want to know him. I can’t say I’ve ever let him pipe out his act in front of me, but with deep research I found out it is as meaningless as it seems. Gans bombards you with a gallery of Mike Myers impersonations and back flips that leaves the crowd with enough fervor to unload their purses into slots and embedded electronic bar poker machines at the Mirage. I’ll tell you what, if I ever see Gans outside of Nevada, I’d have enough fervor to hit him with a quick headfake/ballshot combo. And give me a heads up if Gans doesn’t perform like he photographs, so I could take this post down.

A friend of mine told me this:

I’ll start believing what I hear on weather.com just as soon as people start believing Plaxico Burress‘ name is Harris Smith. On the current 10 day forecast, they post a 50% chance of rain for this Sunday. Really? Why not just come out and say you have no fucking clue if it is going to rain. I’d rather log onto their web site and load up a video of Al Roker popping out in the middle of a random news report, right, cue the video…

When the first sports team I followed won the championship (NY Yankees 1996), I was happy, but the journey was over and felt a bit of emptiness. Teams fight all year to win, whether it be a World Series, Superbowl or even Stanley Cup while devoted fans follow. After all the ups and downs during the seaon, the joy of victory only ends up lasting for about as long as Eli Manning in bed. To correct this, I propose that winning teams wear flashy championship jerseys the whole next season to remind fans, opponents, and opponents’ fans that yes, we fucking won and we are the defending champions. I sick of fans of shitty teams saying, “well that was last year, this is a new season.” Think about how much sweeter winning would be knowing that it will be rubbed in everyones’ face the entire next season. The obvious downside is if the Florida Marlins via 98′ were forced to wear flashy gear while dropping a 54-108 (.333) record, it would be about as brutal as this glorious escalator leap transitioned into face plant:

I bet if you looked close enough at the faces of the guys holding first down posts you would see a crew including Ed Hochuli, Phil Luckett, Scott Green, and why not…Tim Donaghy. How accurate are they really? The camera zooms in on the down field post and makes you believe that they are measuring with enough precision to build a bomb. But what people forget about is that the post 10 yards back is being carried about and placed without precision on where they estimate the original line of scrimmage to be. This is like measuring the size of your dick by holding the base of a tape measure up by your chin and looking down. The measurement to the tip will read a specific number, but it is dependent upon an unverified starting spot. Point is, I think that coaches should start challenging whether or not that back scrimmage post in properly placed, especially when the result is that the ball is centimeters short or long.

Washingtonpost.com — According to several reports, Burress accidentally shot himself in the leg. The Giants indicated in a written statement released today that Burress, 31, had suffered a wound to his right thigh in “an apparent accidental shooting” and was released from a New York City hospital this afternoon. The Giants indicated in the statement that they were gathering facts about the incident and had been in contact with NFL security officials, and added that the shooting “could become a matter for law enforcement officials.”

Back in August during the fantasy football drafts, I made it clear that Burress was a bad pick because there is a high probability that he would shoot himself in the dick around week 13.

To Commemorate Plax’s Croch Attack, a fresh dick shot video:

THE ASSOCIATED PRESS — A 17-year-old supermarket employee who found a bag with $10,000 in it at his work’s bathroom returned the money, much to the owner’s delight. Baraniuc says the first thing he thought about was keeping the money, but he then remembered his father’s lectures about working hard for yourself. He turned in the bag to the store’s manager, who then called police. Police say the $10,000 were Fred W. Smith’s life savings, and he was carrying the bag because he was moving. “I’ll send you a little reward,” Smith told the kid