Crummy chumps. Those rotten dirt clods! I'm hopping mad -- so perturbed my face is breaking out in the hives, and I'm sure to spend the rest of the week-end with an oatmeal-covered cloth resting about my head and neck.
The reason for my dismal mood? Those hucksters in the Boston ticket offices of Red Stockings Incorporated. Those Huns have taken the last of my Saturdays with their infernal waiting rooms and phony promises of "ticketing chances for matches through-out the upcoming base-ball season!"
Thanks for nothin', ya crumbums. Phooey on you.
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