Like the vast majority of Alabama workers (and soon to be every state in the country), I have no retirement. The closest I get to a “pension plan” is to buy twenty lottery tickets every drawing. Sure, it’s a bitch to fill up my monster gas-guzzling truck and drive all the way over to Georgia to buy my lottery tickets (Alabama is one of the last states in the country to have no lottery or any form of gambling, along with Alaska…which is less a state, than an outpost for fugitives who want a job in the oil industry), but if you factor in the 640 million I am sure to get by doing it, then a couple hundred dollars is a steal!
I’m less concerned with when I will win the lottery, and more concerned with what I will buy when I do. Behold, a list of things my savings can buy…whenever I get ahold of some savings…
1. My own Hooters franchise except the women will be fully nude and do elaborate dances instead of taking twenty minutes to fill up a water glass because they’re shitty waitresses that no one ever corrects because they’re at Hooters. So basically it’ll be a strip club except the disgusting strip club food (which Chris Rock accurately described as “Not fit for a starving Ethiopian child”) will be slightly better than Hooters.
2. A swimming pool filled with beer. Not exactly sure what you could do with it, but I’m envisioning a grand ten minutes of “Hell yeahs!” “Oh…hell no Bubbas!” and high-fiving with all the guys at the hunting club before a much longer stretch of awkwardness where we don’t know whether to drink the pool or swim in it, and pretty soon our enthusiasm fades with each fizzing bubble…but damn what a glorious initial reaction!
3. Walking into a state park with a bag full of cash, bribe a park ranger with five times his yearly salary, and go hunting deer with machine guns in the middle of summer. After killing all the deer, there will be a period of melancholy at figuring out deer aren’t that hard to kill, and I’ll import cobras, tigers, jaguars, and kimono dragons into the wilds of Alabama for some good hunting. If this also proves not dangerous enough, I will simply start wearing hoodies and carrying a pack of Skittles around untrained, over-armed, racist-as-hell Neighborhood Watchmen.
4. Speaking of racist-as-hell, I’ll also want to give back to my Alabama community, and deport all the Mexicans out of the state in a giant Airstream trailer. At first, they will not be so easily lured into the bus, but I’ll just tell them that I want to share my lottery winnings with all the hardworking, under appreciated, and unfairly maligned members of the Latino stripe. When they buy that shit, I will shut the door from the outside, and have my personal butler—-the fairly criticized Jeff Gordon–drive them back to…uhhh…name a place in Mexico and that’s where. He’ll drive as fast as he can, which, per usual with Jeff, will be much slower than Dale Earnhardt could have done it.
5. Start “I hate Jeff Gordon” club.
6. Start “I hate Yankee Teas…Such as Snapple or Honest Ade or Any Tea Without Two Pounds of Sugar In It” Club.
7. Contact Pamela Anderson’s manager…inquire as to her exact position on being a sex slave for hire. [Note to self: If she is not there yet, give it a year…this woman couldn’t hold on to Kid Rock, who looks more like a Myrtle Beach pimp everyday.]
8. Donate the rest to the only “Science” Bubba wants to see, and that’s the effort to bring Dale Earnhardt back from the dead.
So that’s it…I guess now’s the part where I ask you to share or sound off in the comments section, but since no one ever does that, I’ll just pretend that my list is too good to be improved upon.
All waitresses at Hooter’s are pretty bad but, I still eat there!