Enjoy last place, AP!
Once upon a time, there was a vagina. A vagina with a huge fucking growth.
After a magical month where the vagina was the talk of the town for setting all sorts of postseason records, the vagina and his growth (a parasite with no real use) decided to hold a good old fashion whoring for the rights to the vagina.
The vagina said all the right things. He had his friends in Houston. His family liked Houston. The schools were better than Ruerto Pico, where the vagina was from. He was going to stay here and go into the Hall of Fame as an Astro.
Then, at the stroke of midnight on the last day of the last year of the last millenium of time, the vagina announced that he wasn't going to stay in Houston. No sir. The growth, it seems, was actually in charge. This hideous cancer had suggested that the vagina would be happier paying 14.6% in state/local income taxes and moving to a place that was actually colder than Philadelphia in April. Even though it was, in fact, north of Antarctica.
The vagina was happy. He had a new bunch of friends and a new house and all these endorsement deals. No wait, he didn't. He was miserable. His new team spent a bunch of money on dog shit, he never left his house, and could barely spell
Manhattan after a full season. Probably his Ruerto Pico education.
Anyway, even after all this bullshit and having handcuffed his former friends in Houston, the Astros made the fucking World Fucking Series without him. And the vagina? He was killed by a truck full of razorblades.
The End.
