If you think killing penalties is hard, you should try washing your underwear in the sink. I shouldn't complain. I'm playing hockey, and I've got a new place with the key-clacking nerd. Even though my end of the season reward was unrighteously given to a more deserving player, even though I want it really really really bad. On the plus side, I have already earned two whales. I showed my mom, and she was very proud of me. If I had a fridge, I would put those two whales on it. But I don't, so I put them on the cooler me and the reporter nerd are using to keep the beer and tendies fresh. Carbs and protein shall full the Whale to victory this year.

No, I'm not calling myself the Whale. That's just short-hand for the Whalers. Is not Whale two letters shorter than Whalers? Then shut up, Mr. Middle-school journalist club. And stop talking to me. You know I type what I say.

 And you don't have to remind me that the team is off to a slow start. That's why I'm drinking before and after practice, to fuel myself. With carbs. Check the food pyramid, Mr. Community-College-Graduate.

It is still early in the season, my fans and followers, and my people-pleasing nature means I'm going to try at least five-percent harder this season to gain recognition from my peers. I need the validation my father never gave me because he preferred football, and I did not. Like really did not. Well dad, look at your son now. I'm living my dreams--not your dreams, MINE.

I swear, one day he will get the tickets I leave for him at the box-office every home game.

I mean come on, you couldn't even give me a good home life? I swear you simulation puppet-masters are the worst. 

Don't tell me the scores from today. I know the scores from today. I was on the ice trying to not have the Whale be shutout again. I did not get distracted by the pretty girl by our bench. I missed that check because the sun was in my eyes. Hey, nerd, if this is a simulation hockey league we can simulate a sun in a closed arena. Oh hey! I earned three more Whales. See, my love for gold stars outweighs scantily clad hockey fans. I mean the sun. I looked directly at an eclipse one time, and no permanent damage. True story.

Now go get us dinner, or you'll never get the laptop back. 

So the simulation hasn't been kind to Vancouver so far, my beloved Whale family, but it can't hold us back forever. Like the fabled whale that resurrects itself in its own fire, we too shall rise from the sea stronger than ever.

Shut up, I told you to get dinner. I know whalers killed whales. Its a metaphor. Maybe if you would use a couple, those hockey reporter romance stories you've been trying to get published would stop being rejected. Yes, I read them. What else was I supposed to do in the offseason when we were living in a van. 

I mean, the plot is strong, but your characters are weak. Your main leads have zero chemistry. Enemies-to-lovers still need some sort of spark, otherwise their eventual fornication will seem implausible, and housewives everywhere will scorn you. 

Anyways, tomorrow is another day. We shall come together with all the strength of the might sperm whale.