Phil Parent
Sorel, 'fant d'chienne!
Now let's talk about Max Pacioretty, master loser Max Pacioretty.
He's this f***ing close to just starting crying on the bench.
You're a p***y, Pacioretty. A straight up grade-A p***y that doesn't have the balls it takes to be a star. He doesn't have the heart either. He's a peripheric player waiting for his opportunities to cherry-pick. The only reason he's captain is because said cherry-picking allowed him to be good enough when it didn't matter that his p***y personality became palatable for the front page of the magazines and the paper. He's all surface, he's all nice guy and cherries, but inside there's nothing but a heartless grand ol' p***y.
He's this f***ing close to just starting crying on the bench.
You're a p***y, Pacioretty. A straight up grade-A p***y that doesn't have the balls it takes to be a star. He doesn't have the heart either. He's a peripheric player waiting for his opportunities to cherry-pick. The only reason he's captain is because said cherry-picking allowed him to be good enough when it didn't matter that his p***y personality became palatable for the front page of the magazines and the paper. He's all surface, he's all nice guy and cherries, but inside there's nothing but a heartless grand ol' p***y.