Making Bets With Unscrupulous Dogs Named Ethan Hughes

Don't do it. Its not worth your time. They use their slimy, greasy wit to try evade pay up time, only because they always lose their bets because they never think about them for more than four seconds.

If you're wondering why I got off the subject of cars and got off on this odd tangent, let me explain. The other day I made a bet with Ethan that someone else in our class would not show up that particular day. I knew for a fact the person in question wasn't going to show up, because I had spoken with him earlier that day and figured out that he had fallen ill, and advised him to not come to class. We were betting on the sum of $2.00. Generally, we give the absentee until the end of class to show up, as expected he didn't. Grinning from ear to ear, I meandered over to the Ethan, anxious to reap my rewards. I was confronted with a collection of the most nonsensical, Bulls*** excuses on why I couldn't get my money on that day. Being the generous, understanding man that I am, I allowed him to repay me on the following day, provided he add one quarter to the sum, to make up for the inconvenience of not being able to purchase a pop that day.

The next day, I approached Ethan and asked, again, for my money. He told me it ws no problem and he had the money on him, and the second we got settled in our seats, I would be paid. This unscrupulous bastard then zips open his heap of trash sewn together into something similar in shape to a backpack, and brandishes an oblong shaped object, caked from end to end in grime and filth. He hands said object to me, squinting to try and make out whatever the hell it actually was, I was able to make out the familar shape of a soft drink bottle. This bottle was housing what appeared to me as a pile of human feces. Upon closer inspection, I realized that I was actually looking at a collection of pennies. Not just any pennies, these pennies looked as if they had been retrieved from the foulest, most inhospitable environment ever to be found on the face of the planet, Ethan Hughes' crapfest wagon, also known as his car.

If you aren't familar with this infamous plague that ruins the very asphalt it drives over, its no big deal. Just walk outside one day, and follow the undeniable stench of old socks mixed with McDonald's fries, and cheap cologne. You can't miss it. Anyhow, I am now the owner of this nightmare, and I know not how to dispose of it. I am legitimately scared of throwing it away, I fear what it can do to should it be left alone. It might mutate into a foul monster that runs rampant in the streets, choking little babies and elderly women to death just for the laughs. You see, I struck a deal with the devil himself, and I am now in a situation reminiscent of Fordo and his plight with the ring. I must find a way to dispose of this sticky, disgusting bottle of Sunkist, within it a collection of tokens from the devil's chariot itself, and when I do, I will seek my revenge on those who have brought this burden upon me.