did you want me to thank your wife?

Let’s face it, the NHL Awards are basically a trainwreck. But I don’t even think it was one of those fun and amusing trainwrecks. Like I didn’t get the same joy out of that wreck like I do when I watch Rock of Love: Refilling My Valtrex or Charm School: I’m Out on Parole. The awards were more painfully awkward than the British version of The Office. Instead of documenting the actual awards, I did a fashion critique. Really I like to play to my strengths.

The esteemed Chaka Khan (Chaka Khan) really is perfect for Vegas, justtttt not for the NHL Awards. There was a weird age gap thing going on. The awards felt like 1993, when Vegas was dying because it still thought it was the era of the Rat Pack. Robin Thicke is so smooth and lovely, but uhm more for the ladies I think. I was actually a bit shocked the NHL couldn’t scrounge up Nickleback. Or even Poison. Then to have the wonderful Michael Buble, or The Buble as he is refered to among my peeps, to not even sing was just a crime. He was a good present, better than Jeremy Roenick who I was expecting at some point to talk Twitter or the Facebooks and the power of fans.

I decided the NHL should just toss a bunch of us bloggers in a room and provide an open bar and then the awards can be done like The Soup. Instead of yelling It’s Miley! I’ll just be yelling It’s Avery! Perhaps Wysh will dress up like Mankini. And because he’ll be scraping the barrell for some cred, Gary Bettman will drop in and any joke Joel McHale has ever made about Ryan Seacrest will be applicable to the tiny hockey fuhr. Reality Show Clip Time would just be the best of fights of the seasons. Chicks Man would obviously be a montage of NHL WAGS. Oh and because of short attention spans, it’d be a half hour long just like The Soup. And production costs would be like 127 dollars. And there would be Spaghetti Cat.

Why am I not in charge of more things? Is it because I stay up super late and get up around brunchtime?