"Augh!" Papyrus screeches, as his third draw in a row is a Draw Two. "This is very statistically unlikely! What is this?"

But he reaches out, complying with the instructions on the card glaring sullenly at the discard pile. If anybody giggles at his ill fortune, he just crosses his arms and scowls more intensely. It's like he used up all his good fortune rescuing Sans, and now all the little things of life are tripping him up. Weird changes to his sleeping habits, horrible luck in all the games they're playing...