The Edmonton Oilers

As many of you may have noticed, I’ve neglected you over the past few weeks the same way most people typically neglect homeless people. Well except during the Christmas season. People LOVE the homeless over Christmas.

So what I’m trying to say is "Merry Christmas, motherfuckers. I’m back!"

But hold off the fireworks and the usual flood of nudie e-mails. I’m afraid my return is fleeting because something special is happening in my life right now.

What is it you ask? I can just imagine what you’re all thinking . . .

Dustin found the love of his life and is pouring all of his pent up sexual frustration into one poor and forever-ruined vagina, isn’t he?

The cops finally caught him pants-less, crying on his balcony and listening to his 2004 graduation playlist, didn’t they?

He’s finally done it. Dustin has discovered the 7-11 Monterey-Jack taquito in a hot dog bun lathered in 7-11 plastic cheese combo. He is now in food porn heaven, and he doesn’t need this website anymore.

A unicorn in the back room poops these gorgeous doughy rolls of goodness out by the dozen. Poor ol' boy needs more fiber.

A unicorn in the back room poops these gorgeous doughy rolls of goodness out by the dozen. Poor ol' boy needs more fiber.

All of the above is false. Well, except the taquito thing.

I’m still forever alone, my left hand is still my best friend, and I couldn’t possibly afford a decent bottle of scotch. The answer for my two week absence is much simpler. Even better, really.

The Edmonton Oilers made the mo-fuckin’ Stanley Cup playoffs! As I write this, they’ve just entered the second round after shit-kicking the San Jose Sharks on the weekend. This is especially great for two wonderful reasons:

1) Fact: San Jose is somehow pro-abortion and anti-abortion at the same time. Worst yet, as a city they killed and then covered up the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. They were all in on it too.

2) Sharks are the worst. They, as an entire species, should be rounded up together, flogged with bars of soap and then fucked to death. That is, after we feed them the entire Kardashian family. And any stupid fucks named Kent.

Many of you won’t care about my Oilers making the playoffs. Some of you might even quit reading this blog post from this point. But you shouldn’t, because the following is a diatribe about a man in love with the only thing that has stayed constant in his life since the age of nine. I think we can all relate to that.

Well, your mom has always been there for me too. But that’s a different kind of love. That’s the kind of love you put your penis into.

My oh-so-real love for the Oilers goes way back. The first time I remember crying was when they lost against the Colorado Avalanche in the second round way back in 1997. It was also the first time I was actually a fan of anything, and it’s really the only thing that’s persisted to this day.

Other than being a fan of tits. I will always be a fan of tits. No one does tits better than I do. Of course, I like some more than others, but ladies – you won the lottery simply by being born. Jesus loves you, and let’s get real here . . . he probably loved tits too.

                                                          Praise the lord!

                                                          Praise the lord!

To just say that I’m an Oiler fan doesn’t quite capture my love for this team, however. I don’t give a shit about any other team in any other sport. I’ve band-wagoned on a few soccer teams in the past, dabbled in football, and drooled over a couple women’s volleyball teams during some of the lower points in my life. I even pretended to give a shit about the Toronto Blue Jays at some point, and then quickly realized that watching baseball is literally like . . 

Well . . . watching baseball. I literally cannot think of a more boring thing to compare it to.

My marriage lasted as long as it did firmly on the back of this hockey team. It gave my ex and I common ground to stand on and something that we both loved to watch together and cheer for. Sure the games usually ended with me scouring the web for anger management courses, but through all the ups and (mostly) downs over the years, I stuck with this team.

If I was dying and the doctor asked me if I wanted someone to provide me a deathbed vigil, I would undoubtedly say: “Find me Connor McDavid. Connor will know what to say.”

"Well, you know, Gene. That Dustin guy, he gave it 110% out there before he died. Real team player. Right to the end.” - The only eulogy I ever want.

"Well, you know, Gene. That Dustin guy, he gave it 110% out there before he died. Real team player. Right to the end.” - The only eulogy I ever want.

I mean, If I had the choice of whether to go to Mexico for a two-week all-inclusive vacation for free, or go to one Oiler playoff game by myself and sit by a poopy-smelling dude with cheesy boobs and a breathing problem, guess what? I would choose the latter.

I am an insane person. I understand this. Just let it be. Let me be a fan.

And so I’ve been partying my face off. After months of cutting back on spending, working out and being a more productive and better person, everything has fallen apart. This is why I have been absent, dear readers.

If you remember, I was kicking ass at DDP Yoga, and even made a bet with Loudaddy Johnson that, to be honest, wasn’t THAT fucking challenging for me to win. Well, if my current progress is any indication, I’ve royally fucked up and I’ll have a cute little butterfly tattoo somewhere around this time next month. Fuck me. Just fuck, fuck, fuck.

But I can’t help it. I just don't have the time for that shit, or the sobriety doing good things entails! The Oilers haven’t made the playoffs in eleven years, and we’re finally in it and we might actually have a chance to win it all this year.

Edmonton, my home, my city, has come alive. The air tastes different. Less fat people are walking around. The hookers are giving out free, frosty-knuckled hand jobs to anyone wearing an Oiler jersey, and our Mayor, Don Iveson, has gone serious PIMP mode, wearing cool hats and making the local ladies weak in the knees with his growing playoff beard.

This is the mayor of one of Canada's largest cities. Fact: He eye-fucked all of his political opponents into submission and we all watched it happen, waiting for our turn.

This is the mayor of one of Canada's largest cities. Fact: He eye-fucked all of his political opponents into submission and we all watched it happen, waiting for our turn.

This city is on FIRE! If you live in Edmonton, go out and enjoy it! Be a part of the atmosphere. Grab a few brews, be merry. Have sex with me. Visit your local small pubs and bars and support them. Find me on my Snapchat (dbilko) and come have sex with me. Be nice to your neighbours.

You don’t live in Edmonton? Come visit. Because there is no city in the world like it during playoff time. This is mainly due to its residents spending the entire previous seven months of winter trying to force their bodies into hibernation without turning into fat people, and playoff time is like our release back out into the world. It’s especially crazy this year because of Edmonton's playoff drought, and we’ve been absolutely starving for it.

Nomnomnom!

If this playoff run keeps going, there’s literally going to be nothing left of me by the end of it. The FIRST ROUND almost killed me, and I have little doubt I will soon be financially, emotionally, physically and sexually crippled. So I did what any person in this desperate situation would do.

I started a GoFundMe page.

That’s right, a GoFundMe page. I need your support to keep me alive through this run, and I promise every god damn dime will be spent on liquor and condoms. This is my pledge to you, faithful readers.

What’s in it for you, you ask?

If I find my lovely Oiler wife along the way, I will track your ass down and invite you to our wedding someday. My GoFundMe page will be like a running wedding invite list, no matter how much or little you donate. And just think about the return! It’ll be an open bar, you’ll get a prime rib meal, and YOU could find your future husband or wife there.

Also, if this is even minutely successful, I’m going to find a suitable awesome person or worthy charity and start up another GoFundMe page down the road. Believe it or not, this blog has been remarkably successful so far (thanks to all of you), and my reach is growing with every post. Apparently, people like reading about a divorced, 30-Something man’s trials and tribulations in the dating world and beyond. You’re all sick fucks, but I think that’s why we love each other. We’re all a little weird in one way or another. That's being human.

So get me drunk and fund my exploits. It’ll be the funniest $5.00 you’ll ever spend, and who knows? You just might get invited to the wedding of the century.

You’ll be insane for doing it, but I’ll pretty much be a homeless dude at this rate anyway. And we all know what the best argument for giving homeless people money is, right?

“If I didn’t give him that money, I was probably going to spend it on booze anyway.”

My general level of coherence as the days progress. If this isn't success, then I'm not too sure what is.

My general level of coherence as the days progress. If this isn't success, then I'm not too sure what is.