The Russians Attack!

Yes, I told you so. And it brings me no comfort. The Flyers lost Game 6 to the Capitals last night, 4-2, just as Nostradamus here predicted.

These last two games remind me of the beginning of Red Dawn, were the Russians are parachuting in and shooting up schools. It just feels like there's no way to stop them. Is your big bearded history teacher talking about the Mongol horde in some clumsy foreshadowing device? Dead. You've got a bumper sticker that says 'You can have this gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers?' A General with a big F-U mustache will come by and do just that. You just killed a deer? You have to drink its blood. Bad times.

It's clear that we need a hero to come banish these Russians from our soil. We need someone to step up and lead. We need one of the Wolverines. Who's available? (Movie quotes below in BOLD, for effect.)

Where is Patrick Swayze? Laid up with pancreatic cancer. We wish him the best, but he's in no shape to hole up in the mountains right now. Who else can deliver that line: "Let it turn into something else!"

Jed Eckert: ...Well, who is on our side?

Col. Andy Tanner: Six hundred million screaming Chinamen.

Darryl Bates: Last I heard, there were a billion screaming Chinamen.

Col. Andy Tanner: There were.

Charlie Sheen, while not currently battling any serious illness (are crabs serious?) doesn't seem like he's the mountain man type anymore. Did you see his new show? Seems sorta prissy.

The Colonel: All that hate's gonna burn you up, kid.

Robert: It keeps me warm.

Jennifer Grey got several nose jobs, and looks unrecognizable. Oddly, she looks a lot better, it's just that she looks like everyone else. She's also grown soft, a far cry from her bazooka-wielding days. She's out.

The Colonel: You think you're tough for eating beans every day? There's half a million scarecrows in Denver who'd give anything for one mouthful of what you got. They've been under siege for about three months. They live on rats and sawdust bread and sometimes... on each other. At night, the pyres for the dead light up the sky. It's medieval.

Surely there must be someone left--someone who can play the hero. Who do we have who's got the moxie, the pinache, the pure guts to pull this off?

Briere: "Mom, the kids at school took my lunch money again! "

I've got a bad feeling about this.