The enduring palliative of the Cubs fan is that baseball needs the Cubs fan, celebrates the Cubs fan and is metaphysically enriched for being proximate to the Cubs fan. The Cubs fan is a narcissistic boor.
This history of the last year in which the Cubs earned a championship not only tweaks the volubly agonized Cubs fan but also describes a baseball world lost to the ages. It’s violent, controversial, stupid and totally, totally baseball.
I’m gonna tell everybody you drink Dr. Thunder.
I want to make all steampunk clothing accessories suddenly viable working machinery. I don’t care how many people are scalded with burning oil and dropped to the ground by hundreds of pounds of metal.
I want to sneak into an elementary school and hide notes in every lunch bag that read, “Your father and I are getting divorced.”
For one quarter of one game, I want God to replace Ben Roethlisberger’s head with a fat stupid-looking potato with a beard and see if anyone notices.
I will force Kelly McGillis to set the Guinness world record for most consecutive hours spent playing the bassline to Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away.” She will also do this while dressed all Amish again.