Heathcliff is a goon out on the ice. If you try to step on one of his forwards, he'll high stick ya, real quiet-like. As a result of this unmitigated badassery, Heathcliff spends a majority of his time in the Penalty Box, which is conveniently labeled for those of us who don't understand one of the simplist things in hockey. Instead of playing the fucking game, Heathcliff's Owner Boy quips about a Wheaties box.

Well you're goddamn right Heathcliff isn't going to be on the Wheaties box. Seriously. No. Fucking. Shit. He's a cat, you idiot! Cats don't play pro sports. Cats don't participate in the Olympics. Cats just prance around the West-fucking-finster Cat Show and pose for funny pictures.

I hope God realizes that it's been too warm for a lake to freeze and you summarily drown.