I was recently standing in line at my local Speedway gas station (Motto: “It’s been 2 days since our last restroom stabbing!”), attempting to buy an uber-healthy lunch consisting of a gallon cup of soft drink (diet, for what it's worth) and a meat pastry purporting to be in the “pizza” family, when I noticed the man on line in front of me apparently had no item to purchase, but was waiting with a bill of an indeterminate amount clutched in his hands. Sighing into my Big Gulp, I reflected that this could only mean one of two things:
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Lotto Fever
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I was recently standing in line at my local Speedway gas station (Motto: “It’s been 2 days since our last restroom stabbing!”), attempting to buy an uber-healthy lunch consisting of a gallon cup of soft drink (diet, for what it's worth) and a meat pastry purporting to be in the “pizza” family, when I noticed the man on line in front of me apparently had no item to purchase, but was waiting with a bill of an indeterminate amount clutched in his hands. Sighing into my Big Gulp, I reflected that this could only mean one of two things: