Ahh, living in the District of Columbia during the State of the Union Address.

A night of reflection, a night of promise, a night of road closures, security measures, and an empty Camelot (sike!). Or an opportunity to go check out the only professional (cough) sports franchise in D.C. (lead by the badest, richest Ruskie in America) take on a team once lead to glory by Martin Sheen’s son. Naturally any true friend of the program will roll with the latter and commence pregaming immediately post 9 to 5 haste at the Rocket Bar.

$3 Dollar PBRs. A fiscal crime in most parts of the country. Pre-game Happy Hour deal of a lifetime in DC.

Pre-hockey Skeeball. Pretty sure this is a serious tradition in Scandinavia. No tickets dispensed here. Just pride.

No. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out what the $4.50 “Pounder cans” were.

Let us note here that the Verizon Center finds itself at the Epicenter of Chinatown in Washington. The Nation’s Capitol #1 destination for a $35 round trip ride to New York and unsightly dead ducks hanging in street side windows.

Well an unfortunate mistake made by many not familiar with the area is that they assume the Chinese lettering that flanks the shops and restaurants in the area simply reiterate the English name at hand. After conferring with the Chinese Embassy (via their website), this is simply not true, take for example the Verizon Center’s own sign:

This actually reads, “Beware of Gilbert.” Whatever that means.

“What’s the matter? TGIFridays wait too long?”

“Dumb Fat American.”

“We will help you lose the pounds you gained at McDonalds via diarrhea.”

“When you are too classy to shop at Wet Seal…”

En route to FACE-OFF (not starring Nic Cage or John Travolta). Bucket drumline on the street. You’ll have to take my word for it. We call these below average for a reason and that reason isn’t to be cute.

Oh Hai Mister Police Horsie. You’re sweet when chained to a trailer.

And you are terrifying when on the loose and not passing out ice cold Bud Light.

UNLEASH THE RED. But please contain your other colors.

Wut.

In this area 8 don’t mean Earnhardt. It mean OVECHKIN.

Fake sleeve tat. If you are too big of a baby to get a real sleeve tat. Baby.

Hockey. Soccer for people who like fights and not moving their neck so much.

Nicklas Backstrom. Money Eastern European name for future main bad guy in Die Hard 5.

The (mighty) Ducks. If that is GOLDBERG in the goal, the Caps are DOOMED.

There is the King of the Russia House. And here is his girlfriend.

The Juice is Good. Yeah. It does say. And it may or may not have cost my cell phone standard text messaging rates to say it (and yes for some reason “View my Below Average Photo Essay at FriendsoftheProgram.net immediately after the game” was rejected).

Leeettttsss gettt readdddyyyyyy to… skate vigorously.

Alex Ovechkin 40 years from now will be very rich. Rich enough to build a time machine. Rich enough to build a time machine to watch himself in his prime by traveling to this game. Allowing me to take this picture to post on the internet. Allowing present Ovechkin to view on the interwebs. Causing a paradox, that if Doc Brown is correct will end the world. Sorry.

Dan Jansen. Sure why not. #nbcolympiccrosspromotion

You’re gonna want more cowbell.

And you gonna want those BRASS KNUCKLES…

ROUND ONE

ROUND TOO

ROUND THREE

ROUND FOuuuuuRE

ROUND FIZZZIVE. Ssrly. This reminds me going to Columbus Cottonmouth games, where nobody in Muscogee County had a damn clue what the rules of hockey were, we were just there for the draft beer and to see those Canadian dudes knock teeth out via blunt fist force.

Can’t remember if I mentioned it or not, but it is 5 to 1 at this point for the CAPS and the hay is in the police horse trailer barn for win #8 in a row.

Now if I could only hitch a sweet shotgun ride home from D.C.’s finest after some first class HOCKEY (assuming they are done with the Code Arenas locker sweeps)…