Friday, July 30, 2010

Roman Turek Profile In Courage Award

It's Friday, and that means one thing: Stewardess poon.

What? Huh? Oh, that's right. It's also that time of the week when we award the Roman Turek Profile In Courage Award (the RTPIC)!

So, what happened this week? Let's take a look. Barb Higgins officially announced that she wants to be Mayor Bronco's third term, which was...special. She also dapped the city council, which means she is stupid, or she thinks you are. Honestly, saying Mayor Bronco did a good job is pretty retarded. This guys claim to fame is he bought all the land along the areas he got the city to develop, with your tax dollars, so he could sell it at a fat profit. Class act, that Bronco. And dapping a city council that fired the city auditor after she revealed council was basically stealing and wasting our money? Let's just hope she can get her job back at Channel 3. Keeping on the topic of corrupt politicians, we turn our attentions to the Democrat controlled American Congress. Charlie Rangel, the guy who controlled the body in congress responsible for taxes didn't pay his. That quote from Nancy Pelosi about Democrats 'draining the swamp' in Washington is really a gift that keeps on giving for the GOP. Let's get off left wing nuts and get onto some strippers. A volunteer ambulance company in New Jersey is hosting Lebron James-esque parties, featuring prostitutes and strippers. You know, suddenly universal healthcare doesn't seem so bad.

This weeks winner of the Roman Turek Profile In Courage Award: Brian Bews.

Talk about 'Project Bad Ass', eh?

Mr. Bews is the pilot who decided to try to see if he could shave his face with the wing of his CF-18 Hornet. The CF-18 Hornet is the plane the Liberal Party of Canada is pissed Harper is trying to replace. You know, why replace such a safe plane?

Anyways, we here at Domebeers have the scoop on the whole story. It turns out Mr. Bews is a huge, huge Flames fan. He has a tattoo of the Flaming C on his neck. He has the entire roster of the '89 Stanley Cup winning team tattooed on his chest. He wore a tuxedo with the number 14 sewed into it's back for his wedding. Seriously, the guy bleeds yellow and red, and more recently, black as well.

But Mr. Bews has been overseas lately, fighting the enemies of freedom, because Mr. Bews knows that freedom isn't free. Because he has been overseas and focused on his mission, he lost track of some of the offseason moves made by his beloved team.

When Mr. Bews got back to Canada, he was assigned as a pilot to the Lethbridge Airshow. He was so busy getting resettled that he didn't have time to even click on TSN to catch up on his team.

But high(ish) above Lethbridge, Mr. Bews had time, he thought, to turn on his radio to the local sports channel. Coming out of the speaker was the news that the Flames had failed to buy out Ales Kotalik and Steve Staios. He heard about the reacquisition of Olli Jokinen. He heard about how the Flames didn't have the cap space to sign Ian White.

The shock of all that news was too much, even for a cold blooded defender of freedom. Momentarily incapacitated, he lost controlled his plane. The rest, as they say, is history.

For not killing himself when he heard about the continued mediocrity of his team, Mr. Bews wins this weeks Roman Turek Profile In Courage Award.

Furthermore, I think Peter Loubardias should be fired.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

No Offer Sheet?

It's 40 C out, and we got a pool. Forgive us for not busting out one of our patented 1000+ word posts.

Is anybody curious that with Ian White headed to arbitration, and the Flames with about 650K in capspace available, that nobody has signed the guy to an offer sheet?

Forgive the stock watcher in us, but we always look for the 'why' behind the 'why'.

Is Ian White not viewed as a player worth paying by any other GM in the league, for whatever reason?

Do teams that have the need for the player simply not have the cash to sign him?

Is Darryl Sutter so respected in the good old boy community of NHL GM's that they wouldn't even try to drop an offer sheet on him, for fear of the Cowboy shit kicking them at the next GM meetings?

Listen, we don't know the league inside and out, and we don't feel like pouring over the roster of every team in the league when it is 40 plus outside to determine which teams need Dmen and which teams don't. What a quick look at capgeek shows me is there are good teams with capspace available to sign Mr. White to an offer sheet.

Teams like Montreal and San Jose could grab this guy. Doug Wilson has already tried to pry players away by signing the euro Dman from Chicago to an offer sheet. The Capitals and the Blue Jackets are also teams that could afford to bring in White. Dallas (if they have any money), L.A., Tampa Bay, St. Louis, and even Colorado could take a swing. Our favourite theory would be Edmonton throwing an offer sheet at the 'Moustached Midget' just to turn the rivalry up a few notches.

Of course, we would advise the Domebeer-aholics to take a peak at the CBA. From what we understand, if White really wants 3 - 3.5 million dollars in compensation then it is easy to see why no offer sheets have been offered. The draft picks that would accompany an offer in that price range are easily worth more than Ian White is, we suspect, on the trade market. Would you give up a first round draft pick (and at 3.5, multiple ones) for Ian White? If you would, the Flames just hired a shrink, and you should call them up and see if he will see you for an appointment.

Furthermore, I think Peter Loubardias should be fired.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Life And Times Of Harvey The Hound Volume 1

Domebeer-aholics, say hello to DeathHammer, a member of the vaunted DB crew. DeathHammer is actually the guy who invented Retro Night at the Saddledome. Not bad for credentials. He has also beaten 'Perfect Dark' on Perfect Agent, so he knows something about covert operations.

By DeathHammer

It was a typical game day. Cocaine, vodka, prostitutes, and a long nap before the game. He was in section 215 this time, when Jarome blew a slap shot past the pasta addicted Bobby Lou. Everything was as usual. But the way it caught his eye, the way the violent dance of the flame called out to him brought him back, back to a time when he wasn’t the best dam mascot in the NHL (with the biggest penis).

All he could hear were the shells landing, gun fire, and the unforgettable sound of innocence being raped.

People call this place Columbia, but Harvey knew its real name: Hell.

He knew he was here for one reason, and one reason only, to kill Mendoza.

Mendoza had taken the country over, making it a haven for drug smuggling, terror training, and (c)oiler recruitment. Harvey’s orders were simple, kill Mendoza and as much of this administration as possible. And he was to find out who the mysterious Alpha was.

In his briefing with the head of the CIA, Arnold Schwarzenegger had told him about this Alpha and his possible connection with Mendoza. Harvey was to confirm the connection, if any, and then kill Mendoza.

“This is not a revenge mission, Harvey,” the barbarian said. “I know he killed your family, but you need to remember you are a professional being paid for a job. You fight as a professional, you’ll complete your mission; if you kill for blood down there they’ll use your body like you were a school girl visiting the Bernardo house.”

Harvey knew Arnold was right, but wasn’t sure he cared.


The Air Force did its job. Now it was Harvey’s chance to get into Mendoza’s stronghold.

He kicked in the door without remorse, using gunfire as his flashlight. 5, 6, 7 men dead? It didn’t matter to Harvey, as long as he could see their blood, because that’s the only thing that satisfied him at this point.

The first floor was cleared when he stumbled upon the half-dead pile of puke Mendoza called a bodyguard.

“Where is he!?” Harvey demanded.

“Top floor, with Alph...” The bodyguard couldn’t finish as more and more blood poured out of his mouth.

As Harvey walked toward the final show down, he could hear the dying bodyguard moan “Help me… mercy please.”

Harvey scoffed but then knew better. He turned back to the POS still grasping to life. “Mercy? Why, of course.” Harvey became overjoyed when he saw the fear in the shit eating bodyguard’s eyes, then his mouth began to foam as he reached for his C4. Harvey attached it to the rag doll of a human, and then decided to send him up the elevator to the top floor.

Harvey pressed the up button on the elevator, sending it to the top floor, and then went back to his sweet ass super jet to see the fire works show.


The top floor was totally wiped out, and the building collapsed faster then anyone’s respect for Dion Phaneuf upon meeting him.

"Just like the Stampede," Harvey thought to himself as he began to start up his 21st century pussy wagon. Arnold was right. He worked professionally and survived, killing both Mendoza and Alpha…. But that’s when he saw it: the helicopter. He could smell the stench of fear from Mendoza. It was unmistakable.

Harvey fired up his sweet ass jet and began his chase. 50, 40, 30 meters away from Mendoza’s copter. Harvey had no more rockets, and his machine guns were jammed. Harvey knew he’d have to jump onto his enemy’s helicopter.

With one shot Harvey remembered his dead family, sneered, and positioned his jet perpendicular to his foe. At the perfect angle, he hit the eject button, and launched himself into the enemy helicopter. It was totally bad ass, Die Hard styles.

“Har…Har… Harvey, I thought you... you…”

“Left?” Harvey interrupted. “You know there are two things I can’t stand in this world, pasta addicted goalies, and drug dealers who piss their pants when met with justice.”

“Spare me Harvey, please. I didn’t… I didn’t kill your incredibly hot wife with huge knockers.”

That shocked the usually stone walled hound. “Liar, trying to save your life with lies?”

“It’s true, it’s true” the pee stained Mendoza cried. “It was…”

“WHO!?!” Harvey demanded.

“Alpha!!!” Mendoza yelped.

Shock flowed throughout his body. All these years tracking down Mendoza, a total waste.

“Who is Alpha?” Harvey said, stabbing through Mendoza’s hand with his knife.

“I don’t know, I swear!” The pants pisser cried. Harvey turned the knife to ‘Doza’s nuts.

“All I know is the he says ‘'SKEEEYORES’ when he signs off, and tells me where something called Adam Pardy is from.”

Harvey knew that’s all he’d get from this scumbag. He then flew the copter upside down, and dropped Mendoza slowly feet first through the blades. So fuck’en gangster! The pain he knew Mendoza felt was more than satisfying. Harvey flew back to Vegas to rack up the pussy miles.

“Mr. Hound, can I get a picture of you and my kid?” A gentle fan asked.

“Of course, of course. I am just a mascot, after all.”

Written by DeathHammer. Posted by AZR.

Furthermore, I think Peter Loubardias should be fired. So does DeathHammer.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

No New Girls, Dome Beers?

No, no new girls this week, Domebeer-aholics.

The crew is in Arizona and we don't have access to our balling ass repository of hotties.

You will have to live with the current crew of hotties for the next week. Boo hoo.

But there is good news: New features!

It's called The Life And Times Of Harvey The Hound, and it's fucking awesome. Look for it this week!

Furthermore, I think Peter Loubardias should be fired.