The Ankle: God, We Hate It

Oh man, do not get us started on the ankle. That bastard still owes us $350 from that time we all went to that Indian casino up by Tacoma. “Give me all your money,” the ankle said, “We have a foolproof system for winning craps.” Turns out, you can’t even roll a 13 in craps, and poof, all our money was gone. We hate you, the ankle.

Here are some more facts about the ankle:

  • Come to think of it, the ankle owes us $60 in gas money from that trip, plus it never paid us back for the ticket to see Huey Lewis & The News, and that was like, a hundred bucks right there.
  • Not to mention that $2100 the ankle still owes me for that time it borrowed our car and managed to drop the transmission right on I-5, by the Tumwater exit.
  • And then we had to sit at that weird Dairy Queen for four hours waiting for AAA, and some kid kept playing “The Stripper,” which really weirded us out because like, it’s a fucking Dairy Queen, right? Who does that? And hey–the ankle never paid us back for that Peanut Buster Parfait, either. Fuck you, the ankle.
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