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The Game

Little Shit: “Impossible! How did you win?” The boy smashes his hand into the table

Pompous Dick: “It’s really quite simple, you see. I won when you threw the dice. I knew you had a one in six chance of rolling a eight on the sixty-three sided dice. However, it was a one in three hundred chance to roll a twenty-one. All I needed to do was make sure you rolled a four-twenty for me to win which is a one in six hundred and sixty-six chance of doing. How would I know you would roll a four-twenty? Simple, I did the math. If you take the square root of a circle, divide it by potato, multiplied that answer by 2 and find the circumference of the die and then nuke an orphanage and find the remainder using the remaining children alive after three years and divide that by the amount of child deaths. You then take that and find the equilibrium of T-Rexes to virgins eaten at Jurassic Park and then use the pythagorean theorem using that by how much copyrights Taylor… I think I’m legally not allowed to say her name without paying a fine. And then find the area of that and the simps who were born nineteen-ninety-nine. Add that to the wage gap and how many asshats are on that blue bird and then multiply it by Gisnee. That’s how I won.” He said.

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Little Shit: The boy looked at him like he had just heard a shitty review for why that latest Wonder Women movie definitely wasn’t an average piece of shit that made no sense if you think longer than ten seconds, “What the fuck did you just say? That is just a bunch of random words.”

Pompous Dick: He smiled, “No shit. You really think I would nuke an orphanage? I mean twenty bucks is twenty bucks.”

Little Shit: “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Pompous Dick: “Or is it?” He smirked. “Anyways, I guess that means you’re all my slaves now…” He took a deep breath, “Well that’s going to be one awkward family reunion.”