Just a little information for the public: If you are a purchaser of lottery tickets and especially scratch-and-wins that you dither over for twenty minutes before making up your mind on what to purchase, and if there is a queue of 20 people behind you at the till at which you are making your dumbfuck purchase, be forewarned that I have put a curse on you that holds that not only will none of these tickets be winners, but also that no future lottery ticket purchases will ever be winners.
Take that Mr. or Mrs. self-indulgent ditherer. This person should also know that if my curse doesn’t work and they do win I am obligated to hate the winner for eternity. I’m like that.
I might add that I have a slight fear that somebody might have cursed me in the same manner considering my luck with any lottery purchase.
Often the ditherer is on the far side of elderly and moving into the one last stop stage of life. Why do they bother? If they were to win big there isn’t much time to indulge all the passions that lack of funds prevented. Are they going to leave the big winnings to some layabout ungrateful bastard heir?
Do I indulge in such purchases myself? Sometimes. I don’t know why. It’s ridiculous. Daffy, because I never win anything. I once won $100 on a scratch-and-win. I figured I’d peaked then so there was little point in playing again. But, I do buy the odd ticket, although I subscribe to the theory that my chances of winning are about the same whether I do or don’t buy a ticket. The ticket money’s paid in by saps like me or the ditherers go, of course, to the huge golden handshakes given to lotto execs when they pull the pin from an obscenely well-paying (ha!) job.
I didn’t grow up in the era of gambling. In fact, when I was younger there was no such opportunity to acquire tickets to gazillions. There was, of course, the famed (or infamous) Irish Sweepstakes ticket. I recall being rather shocked to learn taht my father bought such things. It meant he was dealing with mooks who were breaking the law by selling them. Sort of an early form of crack dealers.
In truth, damn near everybody bought those and risked (theoretically) getting busted. Though I reckon it was those doing the selling who ran the risk of being busted. Sort of in the manner prostitutes are treated in their transactions wherein the johns get off the hook but the bad girls are busted. But that’s a whole other matter.
Once, in the spring of 1981 a touring companion and I were strolling along the streets of Killarney, Ireland. We passed a shop that had a sign in the window stating that Irish Sweep tickets were available. We went in. My friend said to the proprietor: “I am surprised that you advertise those tickets so openly.”
“Where the hell do you think you, son? It’s the Irish Sweepstake and you’re in Ireland.”
Exactly. A different time and ethic. I think I preferred it. In those days I didn’t get hung behind people when I wanted to buy a newspaper, and I wasn’t obliged to place a curse on otherwise well-meaning, albeit hapless, souls.