NO ONE CAN TAKE THIS MOMENT AWAY FROM ME GODDAMMIT

I am so excited because I won all my bets.

"I won all my bets!" I keep shouting. "I won all my bets!" I'm walking to Hambone's house, actually skipping, and the sun is barely up.

Hambone, that fucker. Screw him. He showed me how to set up a sportsbetting account, how to transfer money into it, the works. And the whole time he was making fun of me, calling me an idiot, saying how betting was a man's game. What a fucker.

I always wanted to be a big shit pro gambler like they got in Vegas, with, like, really cool shades, and a bitch on each arm. I'd have a really shiny car, too, and money out the ass. And those bitches on each arm would fight over who was going to go down on me first and I would say "Now, girls," and make them do it at the same time because I saw that in a porno once and, man, wouldn't that just be the bomb?

I'm tired of being such a fucking loser, living in mom's basement, getting fired from all my convenience store jobs for drinking beer out of the cooler. Fuck that life, man. It's time for me to grow up.

Hambone, yeah, I guess he's my friend even though he's a douche-nozzle. We've been hanging out since we were kids. I've always had a crush on his hot sister Emma, too, but she won't touch me because I'm Asian and says I got a small wang, which is NOT TRUE.

Hambone always bets the games. He's always talking about spreads and overs and unders and total points—mysterious, complex shit like that. "Lemme try!" I'd say to him and he'd tell me to fuck off, to get out of the fridge, to go home and eat my own damn food. "Oh, come on," I'd say. "Lemme try. Pretty please?"

Yesterday he finally helped me get set up, thinking it was SO FUNNY, and going on and on about how I'm going to lose all my money and whatever.

Then I went home and got on the ESPN stats page and did my research and placed my bets. Four of them. Pro hoops. And you know what, Hambone, you pasty white butt sniffer? I WON THEM ALL.

Ha, ha. Take that.

No one's up yet at Hambone's house because it's, like, 6 o'clock in the morning. So I beat on the door. "I won all my bets, Hambone, you bitch!" I shout. "Get up, fucker!"

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I go on the door, but no one answers. "Chickenshit!" I shout.

Above me, the upstairs window opens and his dad pokes his head out. "What the hell do you want?"

"Tell Hambone to get his lazy ass up!"

"You get the hell out of here," he says and throws a shoe at me. I dodge it easily because I'm part ninja, then run and hide in the bushes.

About 10 am, I go back up to the door slowly, sore from squatting for so long and covered in ticks. I bang on it again. "Oh, Hambone," I sing. "Time to get your what for, buddy."

But his hot sister Emma answers the door instead and I instantly get a really hard boner. Like I said, I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember.

"Hey, baby," I say, all cool-like. "I won all my bets."

"You freak" she says, playing hard to get like all girls. "Were you the one pounding on the door at, like, 3 o'clock in the morning?"

"No, it was 6. Where's Hambone?"

"He's not even here. He stayed at his girlfriend's house last night."

"Well, I won all my bets, baby. You wanna go get a Coke or something?"

"Get lost, freak," she says and slams the door in my face.

Whatever. She totally wants me.

I head home smiling, still really happy because I won all my bets.