…hey, you know what would be a good Friday Pick ’Em…?

I’m a Duff man

Hey, if Ovechwin and I can talk about shirtless JT60….. :)

Hilary Duff is the better singer; no particular opinion on looks.

Carrie Underwood in a heartbeat.

We’ve got to work on the celebrities that come to the Phone Booth. The Sens get Carrie and Hillary, and we get…. Pat Sajak…

Hey Pat, can you at least bring Vanna with you?

Can we graft Duff’s head onto Underwood’s legs?

I’m just relieved I made it through the Comrie-as-Islander period without letting myself internalize who Duff was nor what she sings/plays/acts/hawks, and I couldn’t even pick out which blonde is her in the above picture.

I’m like the innocents who can’t handle Jack Nicholson’s truth in “A Few Good Men.”

Son, we live in a world that has celebrities. And those celebrities have to be stalked by media with cameras. I have a more frivolous responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for a hockey team and you curse a commissioner — you have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Duff’s clothing/lyrics/movies, while vacuous, probably sell stuff like papers and clicks. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, sells stuff…You don’t want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don’t talk about while watching hockey, you want me stalking those celebrities and feeding them to consumers who don’t get hockey. You need me there to find out where Duff partied, so I can keep people who care about such things away from your precious little sport you hold dear.