It’s rare for a predatory form of low-stakes gambling that feeds primarily off of the nation’s poorest citizens who can least afford to play, and who are often willfully ignorant of the disastrous odds stacked against them as they pursue the American dream of fabulous, transformational wealth with little to no effort, to be so damn cute.
I do like the idea of the lottery as being a form of philanthropy. “Oh, if I could only win the jackpot then I could finally open that charitable cigarette butt recycling facility I’ve always talked about, where they would take the last little bits from every butt and reconstitute them into new, whole cigarettes, which I would sell at no profit, like Paul Newman with his salad dressing. Living the dream. What’s that? No, that will be all thanks, just the thirty tickets, this bottle of bleach, and pack of Newport Ultra-lights.” I also like that there is finally an ad that directly targets the millionaire-widows-who-leave-their-fortune-to-their-cats and says “Hey, don’t be selfish. You can squander all your money helping unappreciative animals right now, while you’re still alive.” Besides, what’s the point of even doing that if you’re not alive to see the disbelieving looks of betrayal and revulsion on your loved but not loved enough one’s faces?