The neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip flickered like a madman’s eye as the city’s hustlers and hangers-on swarmed the sidewalks like ants at a picnic. The air was thick with the smell of cheap cigars and desperation, the sound of slot machines beeping their mechanical lullabies echoing through the casinos like an eerie choir. It was a city built on the back of dreams, and on this particular evening, those dreams seemed to hang in the balance as the clock ticked down to showtime. The greatest sports comedy show on the Strip, Punch Lines, was about to begin its latest installment, and everyone in attendance knew that the night’s featured guest, Lucky Ass, had a big announcement to make.
Standing atop a makeshift stage adorned with a pair of crossed hockey sticks and a life-sized cutout of a goalie in mid-flinch, Lucky Ass surveyed the crowd with an air of practiced nonchalance. His trademark fedora was cocked rakishly to one side, a joint dangling from his lips. He wore a suit so sharp it could’ve doubled as a weapon, and his eyes, behind a pair of oversized sunglasses, sparkled with the kind of confidence that only a true gambler could possess.
Just then, before his big announcement he was distracted by the sight of Vera Djikmans perfect bubble butt! The 21-year-old blonde bombshell, clad in a tight pair of jean shorts and a low-cut top that barely contained her ample assets, sashayed past him, tossing her long, wavy hair over her shoulder as she went. Her every movement seemed to hypnotize Lucky Ass, rendering him momentarily speechless.
“Oh, come on, Lucky,” he muttered to himself, trying to regain his composure. “Focus on the game. That’s why you’re here.” He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly through his nostrils, and fixed his gaze once again on the crowd. The energy in the room was palpable, the anticipation almost tangible. Everyone was waiting with bated breath for his big announcement.
Finally, Lucky Ass announced, “Bet on the Edmonton Oilers to score more than 4.5 goals +160.”