Sam bought a scratch-off lottery ticket at the checkout counter, something he hadn’t done in ages. As he placed his bananas, his loaf of bread, his carton of eggs on the counter, he caught a glimpse of a glittery dollar sign from the corner of an eye. That was all it took - Sam bought one Million-Million Dollar Winner ticket.
Outside the bodega, leaning against a boarded-up storefront, Sam began to scratch at the ticket with a quarter he plucked from a pocket. He could feel his pulse racing as a word began to come into focus beneath the glittery adhesive, adrenaline coursing through his entire body. He scratched harder, faster, needing to win.
"You’re a butt."
Sam was still, aware of his pulse pounding in his head as he looked at the message he’d uncovered. Surely he couldn’t be seeing what it looked like he was seeing. He hunched over with renewed purpose, scratching off the next line on the card. He felt a bead of cold sweat trickle its way down his back, beneath his shirt. He’d uncovered the next line.
"You make poop and you are a butt. Why don’t you go fart."
A very short moment passed as Sam considered going back inside the store and asking for some kind of refund, even store credit would be fine. A part of him wanted to buy another Million-Million Dollar Winner, just to see if his initial purchase was some kind of bizarre insulting anomaly.
Sam went home instead. He watched television all night without really paying any attention. He had to fart, but he held it in. He wasn’t going to give the ticket the satisfaction.