There are no trends. Some would say, during the playoffs, that nothing real exists. We boiled the Easter Bunny on Sunday, a nifty addition to a growing list of domestic pets sacrificed in the name of our cause.
We've turned an innocent train, just a small, clean little choo choo, into a den of sin and drunken excess. We've done everything possible to assure an easy entrance into Hell just based purely on our conduct during the last ten playoffs, or so.
We've been juvenile, disgusting, despicable, redolent.
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