Me, God and the Lottery

   I KCQWYT!!!

Can you decode the above statement? I bet you can’t! Never fear, I shall explain it to you.

After much reflection, I have finally come to understand why God has NOT allowed me to hit the lottery the few times in my life that I’ve played, and probably never will. Oh I’ve come close, real close at one point – but I will never hit the jackpot, for one simple reason: I would be an absolute “magmatic” moron. I’d be all over the place. Would I be a liquid, a solid, or something in between? What (mental) state would I be in? No one would be able to tell; But that really wouldn’t matter much, would it? The only thing we would all know for sure is that I would be RICH. 

This is how it plays out in my mind if I hit the lotto for, I dunno, $315 MILLION.

 *Lights fading out, transporting us to the land of M.O.M.*

Malaka Grant came in to work on Friday morning and sat forlornly at her desk, weary from her hour commute in Atlanta traffic. There was an email in her inbox.

“We’re going to scrap the entire presentation. The VP has decided that he wants to go in a different direction. Please begin gathering data for a new 9 week project.”

What the hell? She had already spent 9 weeks working on the other project that had just been scraped! Now they wanted her to begin a new one based on all new figures? She rubbed her temples furiously with frustration. Bits of Black skin on her face came off on her fingertips, the friction was so great. But she decided to shift her attitude. There were millions of people out of work, and she was one of the lucky ones who had somewhere to get up and go to in the morning. There was gas in her car and her mortgage was up to date. She should be “grateful.”

Hunger pangs interrupted her thoughts.

“I’ll just go get something from the vending machine,” she thought, “perhaps a cheese Danish.”

Her chair sighed in relief as she hoisted her girth from her seat. As she rummaged through her purse to seek out the 70 cents she needed, she came across the lottery ticket she had purchased the Friday before. Could today possibly be the day?

“What the heck. I’ll check the numbers when I get back to my desk.”

Fifteen minutes later, she had a hot cup of cheap office coffee in her hands and cheese Danish in her hands.

430 calories and 18g of fat it read. No wonder her ribbed neck looked like a can of cranberry sauce.

With one hand, she Googled the day’s winning lottery numbers, and with the other she sipped on her coffee. She glanced at her ticket.

4-15-26-29-40 Power Ball 3.

 Sweet merciful Jesus. The numbers were a match. Hot brown liquid shot all over the screen of her PC. Hot brown liquid shot through the seat of her pants. She was a millionaire. The stench of her new fortune permeated the air.

“Oh my GOD!” one of her office mates gagged in disgust. “Do you guys smell that? Malaka – did you just take a dump all over yourself?!?”

“Yes nigga!” (she could call her office mates ‘nigga’ now, because she was rich.) “Yes nigga I DID! I took a dump ALL over myself. You know why? Because I’m rich. I’m riiiich!”

She quickly got back into her email system and sent a reply to the person who had sent her the message about the new 9 week project.

“Dear project manager: I KCQWYT! Yeah…. You figure it out.”

The people at her job liked to make up ridiculous acronyms for simple processes or titles. Now that she was rich, she could make up whole new words. She wondered how long it would take her superiors to figure out that she had “quit”. She didn’t care. She was already out the door, waving her soiled pants around like a victory flag and splattering the walls and cubicles with her excrement.

Half naked and headed home, she wondered what the first thing she would do with her money would be. Would she buy that alligator farm she had been pondering over? Would she take her kids on a hot air balloon ride? Heck, should she go get her hair cornrowed? She could finally afford the $80 they wanted at the beauty salon. She pressed her foot firmly against the gas pedal and floored it as God laughed uproariously in heaven.

                                                          Stupid mortal, He chuckled. Those were last Friday’s numbers. She shoulda checked the date!

Should we tell her? asked the Holy Spirit.

Nah, said Jesus. It’s April Fool’s Day. Let’s let her figure it out on her own in the morning.