It doesn’t happen often, but I was inspired today. Inspired by one Craig MacTavish.

For those of you unfamiliar with the name and/or the world of hockey, I suggest you go here first.

While watching this graphic display unfold on SportsCenter at the gym today, I began to wonder about poor Harvey’s reaction. Having just had his tongue ripped out, I’d have thought he’d be showing some signs of pain or suffering. To the contrary, he continued to go about his merry way, regardless of the fact that he would no longer be able to lick his genitalia.

As I got off the treadmill, it struck me. Maybe dogs can shed their tongues, just as they shed their fur. When I left the gym this morning, I was determined to find out.

I went to the local pet store and purchased a cute Scottish terrier. I named him Maxwell after my favorite brand of coffee, Foldgers notwithstanding. Taking li’l Maxwell home, I played fetch with him for about an hour when I realized I had purchased this creature for a purpose; a scientific experiment. I went over to him and attempted to manually remove his tongue. Upon trying to do so, he nipped me good. I yelped and backed up a few steps, tears rolling down my eyes as I realized that li’l Maxwell didn’t trust me quite yet.

I decided to do just as the almighty Craig MacTavish did, and wait to surprise the little stinker.

I apologized to Maxwell for trying to yank out his tongue. We hugged, kissed, and made up. Following the emotional ordeal, we resumed our game of fetch. After a good fifteen minutes, I hummed the stick far across our yard. Maxwell retrieved the stick and began to head back toward me. I knelt down, praising his actions. As he neared me, I went for the stick with one hand, and used the other to try and remove his tongue. Once again, the little bastard bit me. Now I was just frustrated. I dropped the stick and headed back into the house, Maxwell yipping as he followed me inside.

I rewound the footage from Monday night’s game as I petted little Maxwell, trying to figure out where I was going wrong. As I observed the tape in slow motion, I noticed something; an egregious error in my plot.

I looked at Harvey’s size. Then I looked at Maxwell’s. It hit me. I didn’t need just any dog. I needed a giant dog.

I leapt to my feet and put li’l Maxwell in my sweater drawer for safekeeping as I bolted out the door and started my car. I needed to find a giant dog. And I knew just where to look.

Downtown Waterbury.

Some time later, I was walking the streets of Waterbury after narrowly avoiding three drive-by shootings. This, coupled with the fact that I was able to resist the temptations of the various drug dealers had me in good spirits, so I knew that I would get my answers this day.

Then I saw him. Coming down the sidewalk. The biggest canine I had ever seen. He easily stood around 6’6”, and I guesstimated his weight at around 325 lbs. I swallowed hard, perspiration crossing my face as he drew near. I was nervous, yet not afraid. This animal was equal to Harvey’s size, yet I was far larger in stature than the omnipotent Craig MacTavish, so an air of confidence washed over me as our paths drew closer.

Just as I stepped aside to make room for the huge dog on his way, I quickly reached up for his mouth and grabbed his tongue. He drew back in surprise and tried to fight me off. Through his open jaw, I heard him mutter something along the lines of, “What the hell are you doing, kid? Let go of my tongue!” Funny, I had no idea giant dogs could talk.

We danced for a good two or three minutes as I tried to get my right foot on his left hind leg in an attempt to give some added force to my pull. But the enormous beast sucker punched me in the gut with his right paw, and then kicked me in the ribs once I’d hit the ground.

I groaned, nursing my wounds and ego as the creature lumbered off. That’s the last time I try to rip Ron Perlman's tongue out of his mouth.

Coming soon, a real story that actually happened.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.