Creeps and Sub-Prime Brokers

I stopped at a gas station last week.   I was filling up my Honda Odyssey.  A well-dress dude drove up in a Toyota .  He walked up to me and asked for a dollar.

Creep:  I’m a subprime broker who lost his job, and I need dollar for gasoline.

Me: A dollar?!?  That won’t get you anywhere, dude!  (Thinking that a dollar won’t buy even a half gallon of gas.)

Creep: I need a dollar real bad.

Me: So you say you’re are a subprime broker who is out of a job, right?

Creep: That’s right.

Me: Well! That’s a good line, but it don’t work with me. (I stepped around him and walked toward the Valero Station to get a soft drink.)

Creep: (following me) Are you saying that I am lying?  I’m not lying!  It was not a line!

Me: Ok! OK!  That was a bad line, but you still don’t get money for me, creep!  (I continued walking into the gas station and the Creep stays outside.)

Creep:  (Suddenly bursts into the station yelling at me.)  I am not lying to you!   I AM out of a job!

Me: (Pointing my finger inches from his face.) GET AWAY FROM ME, CREEP!

CREEP: (Walking away!) I’ll  be waiting for you outside!

Me: Go ahead, Creep!  (I make my purchase and leave. I find Creep waiting for me outside beside his car.)

Creep:  I got your license plate number.  I’m going to come and KILL YOU!

Me: I have a .30-30 rifle with a scope.  You better not get within a 100 yards of me, Creep!  (I get in my car and drive away, leaving the subprime broker Creep by his car.)