Kosta Koufos 18 Points Full Highlights (1/3/2017)

Kosta Koufos, dressed in a heavy black overcoat and with a black ski mask over his face, burst through the front door of the Walgreens brandishing a handgun. “This is a robbery!” he shouted, running up to the nearest cashier, a middle-aged woman, and pointing the gun at her. There were screams as patrons ran for the exits and thuds as employees dropped to the floor to hide behind shelves and counters.

When the woman instinctively opened the drawer of her cash register in order to give Kosta the money, he shook his head annoyedly and jabbed the gun at her. “Not the money, you dumb bitch! The Rogaine! Give me the Rogaine!”

The cashier was so surprised by this request that she didn’t act for several seconds. “Aisle two,” she eventually sputtered, as if she expected Kosta to get the hair-growth product himself.

“Get it for me. No funny business,” Kosta commanded, still pointing the gun at the woman’s chest. The woman shakily walked out from behind the counter and walked to the aisle of the store that stocked hair-care products. Kosta followed her, poking her in the back with his gun to make her move a little faster. He needed the Rogaine soon, very soon, or all would be lost.

“H-h-here you go, sir,” the woman said, grabbing a few boxes of Rogaine and handing them to the robber.

“YES! FINALLY!” Kosta shouted ecstatically as years of pent-up frustration were all at once alleviated. “A full, thick head of hair is finally mine!” Forgetting that his mask was a vital part of his disguise, he ripped it off his head. The box of Rogaine was torn apart as Kosta desperately tried to get at the product contained within. Once the can of foam was in his hands, he immediately began to apply it directly to the top of his head, creating a small mountain of white foam.

The woman had run back up to the front, no doubt noticing the distraction of the burglar. Kosta made sounds of immense pleasure as he rubbed the foam into his balding scalp. “Hair for Kosta, hair for Kosta,” he muttered feverishly, his eyes closed in bliss and the gun lying harmlessly by his feet.

When the police arrived to arrest him, Kosta was on his fifth box, and his entire naked body was covered in a thick lather. “Hair, hair, hair…” he spluttered through a mouth full of the foam. “Kosta needs hair…”

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