choking on a stale hotdog

As the mighty Big Baller has previously stated, it's time again for that most useless of entities to rear it's ugly, brightly coloured babbon's ass, the Chicago Cubs demise in the Post-season. Granted, that anyone and everyone outside of the fabled lost city of yore knew what would happen should the Wrigleyvillians reach the post-season. That being saaid, those in the Cub fan base refused to listen, and even refuted that hiostory and the past are of no consequence, leading to the premise that whatever was done the day before meant nothing, because, it alas, was also in the past. As we know, well, those with a 2nd grade and beyond sensory education, that those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it. NO, not the jelly-beaned balled denizens of that pig trough on the Northside, the one with the statue of the drunk and the mike wearing elton john glasses (don't leave, I actually like Elton's music a lot). It comes from a curse, whereupon at birth these chuckleheads escape the fetid birth canal with the afterbirth tightly entwined about their tiny heads like some sanctimonious mardi gras ensemblage. So, lets hoist a glass of Guinness to these abominations of baseball, and pray for an early death. May their fans find nirvana deep in the cold waters offshore of their beloved Lake Michigan, down in the briny deep.