Five People You'll See at the Bruins' Parade

• Sandwichboard Jesuspants. You know who I'm talking about. The scrawny dude with the turkey neck who hangs out at pretty much every sporting event, holiday gathering, or political rally, adorned in plywood decreeing the coming of the end times, silently distributing poorly aligned literature to the drunk and those who don't know enough to avoid him. Sandwichboard Jesuspants wouldn't miss this one for the rapture itself.
• Hockey whores. Also known as puck sluts or, at a certain tech school that shall not be named, interior design majors, these women have slept with the entire team. That bear claw painted on her cheek over three layers of hooker makeup decrees to all that she let the fourth line and the backup goalie run train on her in the bathroom at Sully's after every game. God bless her. She'll be at the Squire later on, so be sure to make it rain.
• Whalers fans. You know who's never going to go extinct? Fans of the Hartford Whalers. These people are nothing if not persistent. Their team died a decade ago and yet they still wear the colors proudly. The Mighty Whale is going to outlast the cockroaches, the Jews, Dick Clark, Ted Williams's frozen head, Twinkies, and everything else modern science tells us can never completely die. They'll be there at the parade with smiles on their faces, but Brass Bonanza will be echoing through their heads. Their loyalty to a departed team is one of the most impressive things I've ever seen. Wait–did I just say something nice about someone here? I must be bombed. Oh, I can still spell? Shit, then I'm just going soft.
• At least one Twittered schlong. You just can't beat the odds on this one. It's going to happen.
• Me. I'll be the guy with one arm over a skank in a cut-off Whalers jersey and the other over Sandwichboard Jesuspants, trying vainly to take a picture of my junk with my iPhone.

Wait, that last one's bullshit. You couldn't pay me to spend my day in a sea of stupid tourists who think it's funny that they're drunk at noon. Amateurs.

Hmm, this was my 200th post on this piece of crap. That's 200 moments you'll never get back, you big dummy. I think that means I win and now I'm immortal or something because I've ingested many pieces of your soul. Yeah, that's it.