This morning, the missuz talked me into going to the fair for an hour, two tops! But it’s going on fourteen hours now and I ain’t even gotten a smoked turkey leg yet. Plain and simple, she refuses to leave until I win her a prize. Problem is I guarandamntee all these here games are scams because do you ever see anyone winning shit? Hell no!
I tore my shoulder throwing five bajesus million ping pong balls left, right, and center, but not one made it into a goldfish bowl. I made a damn fool outta myself whacking-a-mole, all for a stuffed panda with mange, but that only added to the callouses on my hand. I tried winning a poop emoji keychain by knocking over some milk jugs, but they were more bottom-heavy than the Kardashians. I’m captain of my bar’s dart team and couldn’t even pop a stupid balloon, which is proof that them damn carnival darts have less punch than the Tractor Juice the bartenders, Tubby and Tiny pour over at Uncle Daddy’s Saloon; I’m telling ya, she will NOT accept that we was fleeced. The FBI, Federal Trade Commission, and IRS ought to get involved in this slick operation, if you ask me.
Anywho, I ran outta cash in the process and need your help so we can go home. My plan is to buy a goldfish outright by bribing the carnie. I bet he’ll do it for a couple hundred. That feller don’t look too bright.