As we move forward with our human quest to comprehend the many wonders beyond the scope of our Earthly existence, we also look inward and still continue to discover some remarkable aspects of humanity itself. Through research and evolution, we have continued to refine our understanding of the human species and its culture, making important classifications that help distinguish ourselves and provide us with a broader depiction of mankind. And so, I give you, the Butts'n'Betsians.
Butts'n'Betsians are typically middle-aged, because it requires an extensive period of incessant drug and alcohol consumption for their mutation.Indigenous to the Bay State and the surrounding areas, the Butts'n'Betsians are a subspecies of the widespread and more common whitetrashius americanus. Like zombies to flesh, these raspy-voiced degenerates instinctively flock towards the scent of fresh cigarette packs (butts) and scratch tickets (bets), which are their primary sources of sustenance. It is best to avoid them in their natural habitat as they can become a public nuisance, specifically by loitering and making discomforting conversation-starter comments, emitting second-hand smoke from low-grade 100's mixed with a repugnant stench of cat-piss-stained-even-though-they-may-not-even-have-a-cat furniture, and most commonly by causing excessive wait times at the register in any place that sells lottery tickets and cigarettes.
It is fair to say that any Massachusetts native or perhaps visitor has encountered a Butts'n'Betsian at least once in their travels, usually by standing in line at a towny-patron convenience store or local food mart. The experience begins as you are patiently waiting behind one of them in line to purchase a gallon of milk and/or other consumable items (they have developed a knack for always being in front of you in line), and then all of a sudden your eardrums begin to pulsate by the croaky, buzzer-sounding, thick Boston-accent-vocalization of an endless request of what they believe to be a strategic selection of scratch tickets. For instance, you may hear something along the lines of, "Lemmie get ten numbah thewdy fives, two numbah thewteens, six numbah twenny twos, faw regulah quick pics, five powabawl quick pics…eeeehhhhhhh" and so on and so on until you begin to contemplate a murder-suicide scenario followed by a more realistic notion of an angry complaint. Then, finally the soothing thought of abruptly dropping your items on the floor and storming out bides you a few more sane moments in line.
But it doesn't end there.
There is also the typical miscalculation of the difference between winners they turn in and the new scratch tickets requested, which is usually the fault of said Butts'n'Betsian. While this rare species has certainly developed a refined pallet for their individual tastes of scratch tickets and cigarettes, they do have a weakness for simple math and cannot seem to grasp the concept of very low odds. At last, you know this life-obstructing experience is over when they finish off the order with their chosen brand of smokes (many of their behaviors begin and end with a cigarette).
My first encounter was of the female variety, also known as a Butts'n'Betsy, which was middle-aged and dressed as the quintessential 1990's female: denim button-down shirt, classic fringe (the Massachusetts Mullet), unplucked eyebrows, stonewash jeans, and walking sneakers. I first felt the pull of the dark side when she began to rattle off quick pics (they were not quick) as if she were some kind of lottery-scientist-calculus-gambling expert. With every screeching ticket scan by that blue bastard of a lottery register, I fell deeper and deeper into the black abyss of anti-social desires…but I digress. The point is that Butts'n'Betsians are typically middle-aged, because it requires an extensive period of incessant drug and alcohol consumption (along with cigarettes and scratch tickets) for the mutation from subculture to a distinct specie to be completed.
If you happen to encounter one personally, you may find their domiciles to include dusty window sills with missing/cracked venetian blinds, a cheese and pizza-crusted microwave that is missing the spinning plate, scummy bathrooms with ripped toilet seat padding and shower curtains teeming with life, outdated and cheaply-framed Boston sports figure posters, and perhaps some offspring (Butts'n'Babians) crawling around on a shaggy rug of which the original color is unknown. Now you may be thwarted by the mixed smell of ash and wet dog hair, but if you continue to explore you may also find four different remotes missing batteries (only one of which actually controls something), at least one room with 1980's cheap wooden panel walls, and a bed that has not been made in five years. Upon opening the refrigerator, you might see a lonely O'Douls in the back shelf with no fucking idea why it's in there; a few purple teenie drinks as the red, blue, and orange ones are gone; a half-eaten McDonald's burger poorly enclosed in the original wrapping; and possibly four to seven cans of Narragansett beer. In the freezer, freeze pops from two summers ago, Neapolitan ice cream with only the strawberry flavor remaining (if it has actual strawberries in it), and some UFOs (Unidentified Frozen Objects).
If you're brave enough to spend the night, you may discover a sunken pull-out bed couch with broken springs and a bar that works your sleeping back like Satan's massage parlor. If you need to use the bathroom (which is rarely used for actual bathing) and then wash your hands, there will be no soap near the sink, for you will have to go digging into the nasty shower for that half-disintegrated bar of gluey soap. But not to worry, this is a thriving environment for the Butts'n'Betsians and it has allowed them to flourish for many generations, most of which are tightly frozen around the Boston city area like the rings of Saturn. In fact, they have become one of the Bay State's defining features.
And so they will live on in the legacy of Massachusetts, home of the ugliest American accent, the most taxes for mere existence, the most intense road rage and insurance rates the world has ever seen, and most importantly, the Butts'n'Betsians.