Introducing the Fruglar
The Fruglar is here to rob you of unnecessary expense. He will break into your mind, carjack that new Mercedes you’ve been dreaming about, joy-ride it back to the lot and exchange it for an ’86 Toyota with low mileage. He will lie in wait behind your pointless garden gnome, jump you on your way out the door, steal your lunch money, drop it in the piggybank and lock you in your pantry until you can assemble a meal from your ancient canned goods.
The Fruglar lives life on the edge to the extent that he can get out from under the massive overhead of daily life. He sits at the very edge of the table, where no one can hear his whispered order of “water with lemon” as he sates his hunger on the complimentary chips and salsa and waits for the unfinished plates of his fellows. He drives his gas gauge to the red edge of emptiness to guard against the possibility of reaching Armageddon with a full tank of expensive and flammable gas.
For love and romance, the Fruglar requires neither jug of wine nor loaf of bread, but only her. On his lady’s finger, cubic zirconium sparkles brighter than diamonds, but nothing compares to the rhinestone plucked from those jeans during that shopping spree at Goodwill. The Fruglar's woman looks great in her free birthday suit.
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