Thanks, Mr. Ref! My Dad Says You’re A Blind Jerk, But I Think You’re Swell
Ah, Pee Wee hockey.
You know, if you always wanted an ant farm, but your mother wouldn’t let you have one because of that unfortunate series of incidents you had with the pet turtles, you can get your ant farm fix by going to a pee wee hockey game and sitting as far up in the bleachers as you can get.
2 thoughts on “Thanks, Mr. Ref! My Dad Says You’re A Blind Jerk, But I Think You’re Swell”
Forty years ago I was, for a time, a Zamboni operator in one of our local arenas. I wasn’t a hockey fan; but it was a job; and I used to look forward to the permits that included the ages shown above and younger. The smallest ones were the best: plenty of high drama and low humour. When the buzzer went, they would invariably head for only ONE of the opened exit doors, with theatrical result.
Good times, Sippy; thanks for the reminder!
I wanted to play hockey when I was a kid.
My father wanted me to get a good nights sleep and grow up with all my teeth. Since he had the car, he won.
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