30

Judging by the fact that I’m still writing this for the scratch that little Timmy provides, I did not win the Powerball drawing. And judging by the fact that you’re reading it, neither did you (people of clout wouldn’t be caught dead reading this horseshit).

Another $½-billion has come and went and neither of us is privy to its benefits. Who does a man have to blow around here to get a taste? Okay, okay, put your hands down, not THAT kind of taste, but a taste of some jack, Jack.

Every now and then, this lottery bullshit reaches these epic heights and sends our lofty dreams a’ soaring. “What would I do with the money?”; “would you quit your job?” Hell, fucking yes you’d quit your goddamned job, you moron. Who in their right mind is still flipping burgers, slinging Big Gulp’s or fluffing the cast of “Spanking Dawn” when you’ve got a cool half-billion in the bank? Well, me for one on the last one, but that’s a dream, not a career.

I love the “I’d still work, I can’t sit at home” crowd and the like. If that’s even remotely true, you deserve for your newfound money to be pilfered by every coworker you encounter in the false name of charity and fake disease, you fucking tool.

Going to work as a giant lottery winner is about as smart as fucking fat chicks with a giant dick. It’s not necessary, my man, you’ve now entered a different echelon.

The fun thing about these jackpots is the fact that they do send our mind racing. While the odds of me eating cottage cheese and pineapple from the glorious inner crevice of Jessica Biel remain better (call me?) than hitting the 6-numbers necessary to complete this feat, it doesn’t stop a very small part of our inner souls from having this odd little tickle that we may just win while we’re in line at the QT (hate that fucking place) buying our chance.

And this is healthy. It provides a sideline to our otherwise mundane existence and a chance to laugh and joke about what we’d do with the money. Midgets riding ponies naked around my lawn for a week…you’re fucking right, my friend! A live screening of “Two Girls, One Cup”…yep, for those of you closest to me. A selfless, God-driven donation to The United Way or a local church of choice….nope, fucks those crooks.

Yep, we spend 3-4 days around the water cooler sharing our wildest dreams and desires. We spend cigarette and porn money on useless sheets of paper that will end up in the garbage for that sliver of hope that we’ll be on the 5-O’clock news holding a giant check while flipping off the world, or maybe that’s just me.

These enormous jackpots of late MUST be energizing our school systems and infrastructure as promised when they were instituted, mustn’t they? Like their casino brethren, the money must be pouring into the community and helping Teddy and Sally be more than ditch-diggers and pole dancers, not that there’s anything wrong with those careers…the latter especially.

This time, some lucky assholes in Arizona and one of our own Missouri brothers were graced by the lottery gods and matched the numbers that likely made them shit down their own leg and jerk off in public (again, maybe just me) when they were revealed. 6-numbers = $½-billion. I got three…seven fucking dollars. This is why you’re reading this bullshit again today.

B-I-N-G-O….KMFP-out!


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