In the words of Earl Pitts: Uhhmerican "You know what makes me sick?"
Lottery Ticket Purchases should be limited to non rush-hour periods.
So, as the great procrastinator that I am, I let the fuel gauge needle fall below the "empty" tic-mark on the gauge to the "You really want to walk home tonight, don't you?" zone. So before making my daily trek home through countless assholes, whores, dicks, and bitches(I label them according to the level of their driving; categorizing them from stupid, to lazy, to outright outrageous, the most vile, of course, being the 'c' word and the 'MF' word.), I had to hit the 7-11 on the corner to fill up.
Four Simple Words
All I wanted to do was chug some petrol into the 'beater' and go home. It was such a simple task, really. Go in, say 'Hi.', be greeted by the foreign, but friendly and polite (I'm a firm believer that the world has manners. We do not.) clerk, and say those four simple words.
"Twenty on pump two."
I couldn't do that. Not if my socks were on fire, causing me to thrash around and knock a hornet's nest down, to their great ire, causing the little beasties to ravage my body with repeated stings, because they can inflict multiple attacks, whereas the common bee cannot(thank you discovery channel, you've enlightened and terrified me).
Why couldn't I do that, you ask? I'll tell you.
Because Gomer in line in front of me was buying lottery tickets. This guy, and it's the same guy everywhere, proceeded to go through a spiel that took a full fifteen minutes. Here is the guy. Between forty and fifty, pinstriped Oxford shirt with sweatstains, plaid shorts, white socks complete with hole in the heel of one of them, sandals, and heavy gold chain. He always shuffles his bills for two minutes to see what he can just GIVE AWAY to the state Lottery board.
Hmmmmm. Give me a Lotto Texas ticket. Cash Option. No, Make that a quick pick(where the numbers are auto generated), No, let me fill out a manual ticket AT THE COUNTER, AND buy a quick pick. Oooh, lets see what scratch offs I can buy with the singles left over. I'd like that one......and......that one.....and..............................that one.....................and......no, not that one.............that one...............oh, and that one.
This guy really wants two in the head. If it took any more time, LBG could very well have not have made it to Dallas Honda to pick up his newly modified Dobra, as I was his chauffeur over there so he could ride it away to his ritualistic 'bike night', and that would just not do.
I'm calling the Governor tomorrow. Ticket sales from 0900 to 1130, 1330 to 1630, and 1830 to 2200, when the numbers are called. Is that so irrational? I think not...
So, as the great procrastinator that I am, I let the fuel gauge needle fall below the "empty" tic-mark on the gauge to the "You really want to walk home tonight, don't you?" zone. So before making my daily trek home through countless assholes, whores, dicks, and bitches(I label them according to the level of their driving; categorizing them from stupid, to lazy, to outright outrageous, the most vile, of course, being the 'c' word and the 'MF' word.), I had to hit the 7-11 on the corner to fill up.
Four Simple Words
All I wanted to do was chug some petrol into the 'beater' and go home. It was such a simple task, really. Go in, say 'Hi.', be greeted by the foreign, but friendly and polite (I'm a firm believer that the world has manners. We do not.) clerk, and say those four simple words.
"Twenty on pump two."
I couldn't do that. Not if my socks were on fire, causing me to thrash around and knock a hornet's nest down, to their great ire, causing the little beasties to ravage my body with repeated stings, because they can inflict multiple attacks, whereas the common bee cannot(thank you discovery channel, you've enlightened and terrified me).
Why couldn't I do that, you ask? I'll tell you.
Because Gomer in line in front of me was buying lottery tickets. This guy, and it's the same guy everywhere, proceeded to go through a spiel that took a full fifteen minutes. Here is the guy. Between forty and fifty, pinstriped Oxford shirt with sweatstains, plaid shorts, white socks complete with hole in the heel of one of them, sandals, and heavy gold chain. He always shuffles his bills for two minutes to see what he can just GIVE AWAY to the state Lottery board.
Hmmmmm. Give me a Lotto Texas ticket. Cash Option. No, Make that a quick pick(where the numbers are auto generated), No, let me fill out a manual ticket AT THE COUNTER, AND buy a quick pick. Oooh, lets see what scratch offs I can buy with the singles left over. I'd like that one......and......that one.....and..............................that one.....................and......no, not that one.............that one...............oh, and that one.
This guy really wants two in the head. If it took any more time, LBG could very well have not have made it to Dallas Honda to pick up his newly modified Dobra, as I was his chauffeur over there so he could ride it away to his ritualistic 'bike night', and that would just not do.
I'm calling the Governor tomorrow. Ticket sales from 0900 to 1130, 1330 to 1630, and 1830 to 2200, when the numbers are called. Is that so irrational? I think not...
1 Comments:
and i appreciate you making it back on time. you should have given him two in the back of the head. i'm a firm believer in being polite, but sometimes you just have to speak up (which i know you aren't prone to doing, but really should start). just toss your twenty on the counter and let Gomer continue planning his future.
and speaking of bike night, yours was there. and not just yours, but your modified to what you WILL do. i was about ready to give up dobra. lowered with custom back shocks, the Hard Krome pipes (the ones you like) and fully chromed out bars and a custom, lowered seat. it was like a spotlight came down from the sky from god ("thank you, god...") and pinpointed this bike. if you don't hurry up and buy your bikey, i'm gonna have to kick you in the nuts.
hugs
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