I’m JUST NOW able to stomach what happened last night enough to wade back through the filth, without having an anger-induced seizure and falling over.

Let’s get this over with.

There’s lots of ways I could have spent my Saturday night.  For example, not watching a glowing screen display a Shakespearean tragedy on ice, toying with my fragile emotions until I’d drank as much Maalox as beer.  And after the Flames’ eerily familiar last minute clinching goal, drinking Drano was beginning to present itself as an equally palatable option.

Drano is not needed in the Regehr household – those clog-free pipes flow like the wind, baby.

Each period presented its own uniquely putrid story, so I’ll be taking a page out of the great PumperNicholl’s book and breaking down Game #27’s foul legacy one period at a time through the magic of social media.

Never forget… this was tweeted before the game:


The lead story of the first period? Well, there was that play where… ahh, who am I kidding? I was nodding off for this 20 minutes, saving my energy for the complete shitstorm that was brewing deep within Scrivens’ inner ear.

(humble brag of the century award)


So, this happened.

I think it was really the second slip and fall that really got me…
cue the Benny Hill music once again, Kings…



We all remember what happened in the third period, no need to drag this turd out any longer. First Justin Williams scored a beauty of a wrister just inside the post for his 200TH CAREER GOAL.

Everyone is freaking out about this…
but Tom Hanks was just telling his agent that he wants to do a Ben Scrivens bio-pic.

Incredible! I knew the Kings could come back to score exactly one goal against the elite Calgary Flames! Surely this will turn the tide of the game for good, restore balance to the universe, prove that good triumphs over evil, make all right in the world and–


So, last night I learned that the universe’s profound sense of cruelty is not without a disgustingly Calgarian sense of irony. Once again, former LA King Michael Cammalleri twists the knife at the last possible moment to send me into a Lipitor-eating fury. Kings lose in classic heartbreaking fashion.

You know what? F*ck this. Meet me in St. Louis (or even in Staples Center, versus St. Louis).

Tufficult out.

-King Tufficult (@KingTufficult)

As a child, King Tufficult liked to hang out at Iceoplex to watch his dad’s summer skating group that included many gloriously mulleted individuals. Some of the people attached to those mullets played for the early 90′s LA Kings. It was destiny. Since then, King Tufficult is best known for extensively traveling in Europe during the Cup Finals and writing “The Post” after Game 6 of the 2014 WCF. If you're a glutton for punishment, you can follow King Tufficult on Twitter @KingTufficult.