Afternoon, folks. As you no doubt are aware from our day of circle-jerking, today is MYFO’s birthday. Since I won’t be around to actually celebrate with you fine people (I’ll be in Detroilet for one of Deadspin’s Patented Pants Parties), I’ve decided to write one of my patented stream of consciousness rants to give a giant finger to everything about the past year in MYFO and beyond that has pissed me off. My stream of consciousness had brought you such fine works as Sean Avery Chronicles, MYFO’s Open Letter Series, Pittsburgh sucking a big cock, and the NHL Shop Uncovered. After the jump, see my own special version of the year in review.

Fuck you, cock knockers to the Pittsburgh Penguins fans who can’t take a fucking criticism. How’s that team of yours look now, fuckers? The Lightning have half your players, Armstrong is gone, Hossa was a hired hitman who couldn’t hit, and ConkBlock is going to be tag-teaming your sorry corpse with Osgood.

Screw You, Douchebags to everyone who thought this Koules shit in Tampa wasn’t going to come through or be interesting. He traded 75% of the team. I think he may have sent a popcorn vendor to Ottawa for a forward.

Blow me, dicksnuggler to Kokusai Green. Rot in prison, mother fucker.

Get bent, assholes to everyone who didn’t enjoy the Russia/Canada deathmatch last year. It was golden.

Suck my toe, sister-fuckers to the turd burglars that don’t like the Sean Avery pieces. To all the people who e-mail me and tell me my writing can’t be taken seriously if I swear every other line, I refer you to Balls Deep.

Go to hell, whore to ex-girlfriends who stalk via blog.

Fuck off, greedy bastard to Scott Neidermeyer. Die in a fire.

Eat my shorts, dicklicks to all you fuckers. That Manny Legace piece was fantastic.

Thanks, man to my anonymous source at the Lightning who got me free tickets to the college hockey tournament in town, and sent me trade/free agent tips so I could feel like an actual journalist.

Grow up, asspounders to the Bible Thumpers who got all pissy at us for invoking the name of Hockey Jesus. It made for a fantastic shirt.

Choke on a cock, fudgepackers to the NHL Shop. Fuck you guys.

Bite the curb, animal-fucker to Scott Burnside for talking about his Oscar Pool during the Trading deadline.

Attention all Pittsburgh fans who comment on months-old posts saying HAW HAW YOU WERE WRONG–eat shit: I called the Hossa scenario. So go fuck yourselves.

You better be worth all this shit, ass fucker to Steven Stamkos. You’re more hyped than Aerosmith’s last tour. You better be Last Scion of Hockey, or I’m going to personally kick your ass.

I hate every single one of you, you cuntrags to the people who actually liked the Carey Price bit. I have to actually make that a running thing now. Thanks, fuckheads.

And, finally, FUCK YOU, YOU ASSRAMMING COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKING DOUCHEBAG FROM THE CUNT OF A TWO DOLLAR WHORE to Gary Bettman. Why? Because fuck him. That’s why.

Thanks for sticking around for Year One in the MYFO Project. This time next year, we’ll start prepping to go to Vancouver for the Olympics.