Stories by Jennie..Bringing You Hockey Slash since March 23rd, 2006! TITLE: Ramblings of a Backup
AUTHOR: Jennie
CHARACTERS: Scott Clemmensen of the Devils and Ryan Miller of the Sabres. Also thrown in there, Serge = Sergei Brylin, Johnny Mac = John MacLean (Devils assistant coach), Paul = Paul Martin, Marty = Martin Brodeur, Colin = Colin White, Johnny = John Madden, Luko = Brad Lukowich, all of the Devils. Phew! :-P
SUMMARY: Scott's ramblings on various items. It's hard to explain, and the sex part comes later. It's basically his constant talking.
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: my attempt at writing a semi-funny fic. i needed a break from the depression that is Jason, Mark, and Henrik. tell me your thoughts, good and bad!


As written on a roll of tape borrowed stolen from behind the bench, and a sharpie borrowed from Johnny Mac.

I�m bored. B-o-r-e-d. A couple of months ago, I got so bored that I made up a game. That was way before the Boston game on Kenny night when I played and we won!! But anyways, it�s to help with my future play-by-play career. I�ll be like Chico. �Here�s Mike �Doc� Emerick and Scott �Clemmy� Clemmensen.� I guess I�ll need a cooler nickname, like Tiger, or Snake. Or Beanpot, because of college. Scott �Beanie� Clemmensen. I just told Luko to call me Beanie and he gave me a funny look. I know he thinks I�m the weird one on the team. He always looks at me when I play my game out loud and say something like Freckles, for Sarge. Marty�s weird, too. He always has to sit by the window when we�re on the bus, because as soon as he pulls into the arena he has to lick the window. But no one ever thinks he�s weird, because his weirdness gets him to be the best goalie in the world. But my weirdness? No, I�m not allowed to be weird because I�m only a backup. Well, you�ll see when I�m a world-famous play-by-play announcer on NBC! *laughs evily* Getting back to my game, it�s like doing the play-by-play, only using the first thing that comes to mind instead of a guy�s real name. For example, Johnny is Smiles. He doesn�t like when I call him that. He doesn�t think it�s macho enough. I�ll play right now. Ahnold (Jagr, cause he talks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.) got his knife (skate blade) caught whacked (funny) in the glass (ice) and took out a constable (ref). Now, find anyone who says that doesn�t sound more awesome.

�Me.� Scott looked up from his journalistic endeavors and locked eyes with Red...er...Paul. �What?� �I don�t think that sounds more awesome. That just sounds weird.� Scott rolled his eyes and turned his back to the defenseman.

Well, aside from Red. He�s just weird. His red hair probably messes with his brain. Either that, or he�s been spending too much time with Tooth (Colin). Everyone knows he�s weird. Ryan just tapped in Morse code against the glass to meet him in the locker room. Well, technically, �come in LR.� I don�t think LR is ladies� room. I don�t even remember how we met. We played them once in Buffalo and he found me after the game, took me to get wings, and made me tell him about Iowa. After that, he wanted to �fuck a farm boy,� and I was happy to oblige, considering he�s hot and I�m hot, so our combined hotness is overwhelming and equals very good sex. I call him Bally, because the 1st time we met, he had this hat with balloons on it and it ju-

As written on the back of an official score sheet and a highlighter.

I�m standing outside the visitors� locker room avoiding the Buffalonians. They�ve hated me since I drove past them while they were getting on their bus and yelled, �How�s sex with Satan?� But I said it like �S-eight-en,� like the Devil. Hah! We�re Devils�okay, moving on. When one of them comes out, I just face the wall and pretend to tie my shoe. Here�s Bally-

As written on the back of a napkin from Burger King and a green pencil bearing the name Christopher.

He thinks my car smells like sex. I thought the Lysol would�ve gotten that out. I should write to them. �You say Lysol is supposed to get the smell out of everything, but it doesn�t get the sex smell out!�

As written on the skin of a sweaty Ryan Miller with a hot Scott Clemmensen finger.

So much for the car un-sex-smelling itself.
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As written on a hairy Scott Clemmensen leg with a cold finger.

I never really used to think of myself as a whore. I mean, I sleep around a lot, and I like it. Who doesn�t, right? I have my favorite guy on each team, and they�re really all I fuck. That�s not THAT many guys. That�s only like..thirty. Some people sleep with hundreds of people! I didn�t think I was THAT much of a whore. But watching General Hospital got the whole train of thought started. Why were you watching General Hospital, you ask? Well, I woke up yesterday morning with a bad case of the sniffles. I thought I was going to be fine, but then at practice, I sneezed all over Freckles. Well, not ALL over, just all over his back. I was getting my pads on and I could feel it start tickling in my nose. So I went to cover my mouth, because I didn�t want my spit all over, but then I sneezed so hard that the force of the sneeze blew my hand away! I think it was a 60 mph sneeze. If you could measure the velocity, it would be..I don�t know anything about velocity. But I�m sure it�d be really high, because it was that strong of a sneeze. Anyway, The Man (capital T capital M) had just come into the locker room, and he just looked at me really funny after I sneezed. I think everyone did. It was like I had the plague or something. I didn�t have the plague! I mean, I had the plague of contagious hotness, but that was about it. So, The Man (capital T capital..okay, you get the idea) looked at me funny and told me that I wasn�t allowed near anyone on the team until I stopped sneezing. Well, this morning before the game, I called him and told him I felt fine and wasn�t sneezing anymore. He told me that I should get my tushy (well, he used another word, but tushy is sounds a lot better than ass. Ass is such an ugly word. That�s why donkeys, which are ugly animals, are named asses. A butt is a beautiful thing! It should be given a beautiful name, and I think tushy is a beautiful name. Okay, I�m totally off topic.) over to the arena. So I said, �I�ll be over there ah..ah..ah..� And I sneezed one of the 60 mph sneezes. We were both quiet for a couple seconds and then I was like, �Yeah..I�ll call you again tomorrow.� So, that�s why I�m sitting on my tushy wearing my sexpants (they�re actually sweatpants, but I always wear them after sex, so I call them sexpants. They have the smell of sex ingrained permanently in them. No amount of Lysol could get that out) watching General Hospital. But, to continue my story, I never really thought I was that much of a whore until I watched GH. Right now in Port Charles, there�s a whole big to-do about the fact that Emily and Sonny are �in love.� Normally, would this be a problem? No, except for the fact that Emily is of the Quartermaine breed, of whom hate Sonny because he �poisoned� Jason�s, their beloved son who lost his memory due to a motorcycle accident caused by his crazy brother, AJ, mind by �forcing� him into his twisted mob world, and Emily was the supposed �good girl� of the Quartermaine clan. But here�s where my whole train of thinking started; sure, all of the characters have sex on GH. But, they all have sex because they�re in love. I don�t think I�ve ever had sex because I was in love. Does that, therefore, make me a whore?

As written on the back of a receipt for $50 worth of gas from a Shell station in Morristown.

I just got off the phone with Bally and he told me he�s flying down to see me. He said, and I quote, �I need to fuck some of your hot ass before we go to Ottawa.� I�m not shitting you. And I thought that I was a whore..

As written on a square of toilet paper with a Bic pen in the bathroom of Ruth�s Chris Steakhouse on West 51st Street somewhere in Manhattan.

I�m at Ruth�s Chris with Bally. I was just sitting on the toilet, minding my own business, when I get a call. I wasn�t actually peeing or anything, I was just sitting there. Sitting on the toilet is a sort of release for me. The cold on my tushy makes me feel all cozy inside. Anyways, my phone starts ringing, so I had to run all the way downstairs with my sexpants around my ankles, and practically tripped over myself, but I got to the phone in time. So, I pick it up, and it�s Bally! He said he was sitting in Kennedy Airport, and I should pick him up because he was too lazy to hail a taxi. Being the bitch I am, I hauled my tushy out of the Garden State, and am now in Ruth�s Chris. This whole this is whacked out. He�s acting like he wants more than sex, or something, but all I can think about is him licking that olive on his martini and giving me the eyes, even though I don�t think he�s doing it on purpose. He�s just sexy 24/7.

As written on the sweaty palm of a shaky Scott Clemmensen palm with a shaky Scott Clemmensen finger.

Oh boy. So, we walked outside of the restaurant when I sneezed all over him. It was weird. He didn�t run away, he just laughed, then gave me a tissue. Then, he looked at me and kinda smiled, but it didn�t really look like he was smiling. His eyes were all crinkled like he was smiling but he wasn�t actually smiling. It was really weird. Then, he just said, �Be my boyfriend.� He just said it. He didn�t even ask the question. I feel like I�m an old enough foagie that I deserve to be asked that question. Actually, I�m not foagie. I�m like George Clooney: getting hotter with age. I mean, look at him; he�s like sixty and he�s hotter than he was on his E.R. days. I think he looked like a loaf back then, with that Greek warrior style haircut. Anyways, I guess I looked like I was really surprised or upset or something, because he said really quietly, �Forget I said anything. I�ll see you later,� and walked away, and I haven�t seen him since. Normally, I could just forget, but this is like a bad episode of Will & Grace: you want to forget, but you just can�t.

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Dear Scott,

This is one of those letters that people write but never send. I don�t know, maybe someday I�ll give this to you, but not right now. I really thought that this time could be it. But, you know what? I�m not mad at myself, or even upset. I�m just kind of...ambivalent. Of course I�m upset. I�m pissed off more than anything. But I�m not as upset or pissed as I thought I�d be. Overall, I think you�re scared. You haven�t played in so long and you believe your career is over. To compensate for that feeling, that feeling of worthlessness, you abuse your body. You have sex with anyone who�ll look at you sideways, just to know you�re not a piece of shit on the bottom of someone�s shoe. Well, you know what? I don�t think you�re a piece of shit. I think you�re a bar of Ghirardelli chocolate, one of those really big $50 bars with the caramel oozing out of the center. That�s why I said what I did. I really can�t see myself being with anyone who�s straight and narrow and all suit and tie, because I�m not like that. I�m an eagle, flying down the Colorado River (even though I�m in Buffalo, but whatever), just doing my thing. To be honest, I don�t think you even thought about it. I keep thinking it was a mistake for me to say it, but then I think about what we could be and I push that thought out. I want to be with you, and not just for your sex.

Bally

As written in the blank spaces of a brochure for Paris Las Vegas.

I, Scott Clemmensen, can honestly say that I have never been in love, and I�m proud of that fact. Actually, you know what? I pat myself on the back. Not too many people can say that they�ve never been in love. And hey, have I ever gotten hurt? No. I just do my thang, and I keep on rolling along. I�m like a train. I choo choo and don�t stop choo-chooing until my stop comes, and then I bang a hottie. I�m the Scottie Hottie train. But still, sometimes I watch a movie and I want someone to cuddle with, instead of fuck. Like yesterday, for instance. I was watching The Notebook with Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling (he�s got that tortured soul hotness going on. He�s so fucked up, but just so fuckable. On the scale of fuckability, he ranks in at a..99.9. I have to take off .1 point because I don�t think he�d fuck me. But hey, if he experienced by good looks and charm..) and the one part where they kiss in the rain and Little Scotty always salutes the TV, I think about how much I want to be Rachel McAdams and kiss someone like that and know that someone loves me; not just for my good looks and charm, but for my personality and smarts and love for all things chocolate.

As written on the back of a December 2003 issue of Sports Illustrated.

I got a letter from Bally today and I did something I�ve never done before; I cried over a guy. Strange, right? And it wasn�t those tears you get when you have something in your eye; it was full on waterfall boo-hoo tears. Brian and I were going to have some beers and watch the game and he heard me crying from outside and practically broke the door trying to get himself in. He thought I was having a seizure or something. Anyway, I ended up spilling all my feelings about Bally and how I wanted to be with someone but I didn�t want to be with him just for the sake of being with someone but because I really liked to spend time with him. He�s everything I could ever want from a guy. But getting back to the letter, it was basically him telling me his feelings about that night. I think I cried because he hit right on the mark. All of those things he said were bottled up inside of me just waiting to burst and I was using sex to push them away. I just don�t want to admit he�s right because then that�ll mean-

As written on a sticky Scott Clemmensen back.

I think you�re brave. If I was in your position, I couldn�t sit for months at a time, not knowing if my job was secure or not, especially at your age. Not that you�re old or anything. Well, older than me, but not Chelly old. You�re like George Clooney; not age wise, but hotness wise. I wish I would have sent that letter sooner. It feels so good spooning with you. Your butt pushes right up against my pelvis, but it just all fits so well. I like that you�re comfortable being naked all the time. I like a lot of things about you. Most of all, I like that I�m here in your apartment writing on your back because it just feels so right.

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