Hey there, scratch-off guy. Funny seeing you again. Seems like every time I stop at my local Quik-E-Mart you are at the counter redeeming your winning scratch-offs.
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What's that? You won $5 with that batch? Super! Only cost you $15, so that's not a total wash, is it? Now if I could just pay for my soda and stuff...No? Not finished? Well, that's fine. I guess I could hang out for a bit. Man, it really IS hard to pick which scratch-offs you want.
I mean, they are all so tempting, and they have those cute little names like Texas Twister, Fat Cash and Bah Humbucks. Oh the decisions. They are all so brightly colored and shiny!
I have an idea. Why don't you buy the one called Dumb Fucks? Because that's what you are if you think you are EVER going to come out ahead on your little card-stock gambling substitutes.
Wait. I'm sorry. I am just having a little sugar crash. Hence my stop here at the convenience store. Go ahead and gamble your disposable income. Not my place to judge.
By the way, have you noticed that the line is now 4 people deep? We're all waiting on you to make up your mind. I'd ask if you pulled this shit in line at the post office, but let's face it. You don't look like the stamp collecting type. Not unless stamps came with a little graphite covered section that gave you a chance to win $5, right?
Come to think of it. I've seen you at the cable company, paying your bill. No need to buy stamps when you can spend all day driving around the city paying your bills...in person...late.
Oh great. You've pulled the trigger on the Deal or No Deal scratch off. That's cute. Its just like the TV show, and it has a ton of little things to scratch off. Wait, don't start fishing in your pocket for change! Dear lord, how can you think its OK to sit and scratch that right there at the counter.
Jesus H, man. Can we just fast forward to the 15 minute process whereby you try to communicate to the clerk which whiskey-flavored cherry cheroot miniature cigarillo you would like to purchase?? I know you and the clerk love that little routine. You pointing vaguely to the quasi-cigarette flavored tobacco section and saying helpful things like "those" or "over there" -- the clerk sort of parroting everything you say in a vague mumble and looking over his shoulder with a vapid smile and blank stare.
Come to think of it, I don't need a soda. Think I'll just head home and stick my head in the oven.
Thanks, scratch-off guy.