God-fucking-dammit. Every motherfucking time, this shit happens.
Put a quarter in.
Win a baby shoe.
Have my fucking picture taken by some fat casino photographer, sweating through his fucking powder blue blazer.
“Smile for the camera!” Yeah, I’ll smile for your motherfucking camera, how ’bout you come up to my fucking room and smile for my goddamn pistol, you fucking jelly-filled pig.
Put a quarter in.
Win a baby shoe.
Have some cooze-y casino bar wench thrust a flute of flat champagne into my chest. “Complimentary bubbly for winning the shoe!”
Complimentary bubbly? I’ll give you complimentary bubbly UP YOUR ASS with a colostomy bag, gasoline and some motherfucking Pop Rocks, get the fuck out of my face with this shit.
Put a quarter in.
Win a baby shoe.
Oh, another fucking photo op? Yippy fucking yay, hold on while I get my eyes to mirror the CRAZY FURY I’m feeling inside for putting my fucking money into your asshole machine and winning a fucking shoe for a foot THAT IS NOT MY OWN.
ANDREA?! Get your ass over here and throw these fucking shoes in the trunk with the dead babies I won at the craps table. Motherfucker.
(Picture courtesy of Andrea. This is her husband! I don’t think he’s that angry, though. At least, I hope not!)