I pity the foo who plays against the Mighty Ducks

This is my ritual for tonight's game. I got the idea when I was driving on my way to my friend's house so we can head to the gym. Gonna watch the game tonight while drinking with a bro.

A victory in tonight’s game will ensure that the Mighty Ducks advance to the next round of the playoffs. So it is essential that I call upon a formidable being to assist in their ascension. After listening to the horrible cries of the netherworld to see which demonic force has gained prominence in the constant war for supremacy, I became possessed by the spirit of Amy Winehouse. I snorted enough coke to kill a rhino and shot up enough H to put down an entire slum of junkies. I surely would have died had I not intoned the rite of detox by visiting Charlie Sheen through astral projection. All was not lost. For in my narcotic induced delirium Amy Winehouse spoke to me of an astral gate that ancient shamans visited when they needed the inner and brute strength to crush their enemies.

When I opened the gate I wandered into a keep built for a future king. I found many gold chains. As I was instructed I then attempted to place one around my neck. An extremely powerful hand emerged from the gold chain. It seized me by the throat and nearly crushed my windpipe. “What you doing in my house foo!?” As I regained my vision and replayed his question in my mind I saw the body of none other than Mr. T materialize to accompany the arm that was floating in the air just a moment before. “I seek your help. I need you to give the Mighty Ducks the strength to overcome the Los Angeles Kings tonight.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a gold ingot as tribute to the Mohawked Mountain of Muscle. “Well, alright. Just next time knock or I’m gonna replace your head with yo ass.”

He then threw me into a portal that he punched into the air and I emerged back to my ceremonial chambers. In my hand was a note from Mr. T instructing me on what ritual I must complete in order to lend the Ducks his might. I purchased a Flavor Wave Turbo oven, cooked a burger and steak, and then fed it to some “poor foo living in the ghetto” as it said on the note. At the witching hour I felt my body convulsing, my eyes rolling back into my head, and my muscles rippling and ready to burst through my clothes like the Hulk.  With the voice of Mr. T I yelled “Mighty Ducks, I will lend you my strength tonight. I will weigh down the Kings with all of the gold chains I have. I pity the foo who has to play against you.” When I awoke from the possession I found a message written on my bathroom mirror in black marker “Your punk ass better stay in school and away from drugs.”