Cursed Chicagoites! Blasted evil Lake People!
Yes, you with your stooped shoulders and measely winds. Ha! I spit on your miserable excuse for a “professional” hockey team. Feh!
May your blades be ever dull, your goaltenders shortsighted, and your Stanleys uncupped. A pox on thee and thine. Success unto you as is unto your miserable Cubs.
Yes, you frosty demon sub-peoples have met your match in this River City Boy, hailing from a land of Real True Hockey. A land where rivers flow big and free. A land of warm honeysuckle, winning baseball teams, and mighty football.
Your Blackhearts are doomed, doomed, I say! Give up now, you cannot win, you festering nightcrawlers, you weak-livered, small-bladder, rat-type creatures. Yes, we know your type — taking Epiladys to your own scrotums for enjoyment!
The St. Louis Blues shall prevail, and crush your shrunken boy-tools into the ice from which they came.
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