Baby, pretend, kinda sorta real arguments.. sharing "what are you gonna do today, tomorrow, for Christmas, next week, in October", yada. Thanks to the miracles of science and the genius of Alexander Graham Bell, we've admittedly behaved like a few teenage girls in winging multiple messages a day.
That was a way too long to their predicted reaction from the 1-800 BETS OFF thing: I foresee "I CALL BS".... or, "FINALLY, IT BETTER BE!" "BELIEVE IT WHEN I SEE IT."
This blog is about gambling, so, if it ain't your thing, Snagglepuss is over there (stage left) in line at the Ameristar Buffet, you're welcome to join him now if you like, no hard feelings, at least that's what the odds say. I've heard the crab legs are to-die-for... me, I don't eat that crap.
Two things together. Scratch that, three. One, my friends' concern for me gambling, and, I am thankful folks care. Two (and three) my reaction to their concern, coupled with an exhibited past history of throwing songs in this stupid blog...... As in, this time, borrowing from that deep voiced Eric Burdon and the Animals.. (Oh, and I was today old when Wiki learnt me his middle name is VICTOR!) The song.........
"It's my life and I'll do what I want."
I love rock and roll, put another dime in the juke box...... no, wait, that ain't it. I love blackjack, put another chip in the blackjack circle........
Gambling, is an extreme rush for me. I mean, the closest thing i can compare it to is.. (VICTOR! STOP!).. hey, I was just gonna say a box of Thin Mint GS Cookies.. I was.. Well you can tell everyone I'm a down disgrace, drag my name all over the place... ahm, I don't care anymore.
It's lifelike, in that it's full of "OH NO"s and "HELL YEAH"s! The thrill of Victor(y), the agony of the ATM machine.
It's like telling the Hippie "You can't do that!" WATCH ME! There's joy, glee in that, or can be. Sure, at times, inward thought is "Damn, maybe they're right, maybe I shouldn't."
This much I can tell you. Anyone who tells you "I'm really good at gambling." Or, "Nine times outta ten, I win" is lying through their teeth. Sure I've lost more than I've won - but it's kinda sorta my version of a cardiac workout. A forget the rest stress test.
If I'm sitting at a blackjack table........ I ain't thinking about my car approaching 200,000 miles.... my hip that ain't hip and needs to be replaced... I'm living life, with blinders on to the bad crap. How harmful can that be? OK, $ure, I get it. I have literally, sat at a blackjack table for over 24 consecutive hours, no breaks other than to pee. Nuh uh. UH HUH.
The Good, the Bad, The Ugly.
My favorite experience......... is, once...... sometime in a November, mebbe ten, twelve years ago...... I won over a grand at the blackjack table. The saying "Pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered" echoed in my brain - so, I got up and walked straight to the cashier, got real money for my chips. Simultaneously, two pretty shady looking characters that had been standing behind, watching, followed me.
Suddenly, the rush of a BIG WIN was overcome by "Will it be a knife or a glock that does me in?".... "Say, (cashier lady), I know this isn't a GREAT amount, but, I was wondering if you offer an escort service to my car?" "Why yes, we do." She picks up phone, calls someone...... And in a flash...........
This dude... all of 5'3", mebbe 120 lbs... looked to be onea those you KNOW would be picked last in PE for a fun bout of Dodge Ball........ more cardiac palpatations. But, he was carrying, so... hey, let's go. No one followed us, but I was so damn nervous I couldn't remember where I'd parked.... which door I came out... He ended up getting another guard to pick me up in a pickemup truck, drive half an hour until we found my car.
Whew.
I immediately, drove across the highway to what used to be a pretty nice Holidome (Holiday Inn with a big ole dome over the pool)... I threw down my hunnerds and said "I wanna book six rooms for my family for Christmas Eve." Twas one'a my fave-or-right Christmas's, so much where i might text my college buddies "Nanny nanny boo boo, stick your head in dog doo."
The bad....... Several times of going thru a couple hunnerd before I could whistle dixie... going to ATM for three hunnerd more...... the hang dog walk of shame to my car... gas gauge on fumes.....Oh sh*t, wunner if I've got enough on my debit card to buy enough gas to get home?
The ugly. It gets worse Victor? Mebbe. Blackjack losses don't all come at once. It's, the Ameristar Casino song, game plan, "Ole McAmeristar has a farm, E I E I O... and a on this farm there sat some pigs... E I E I O... we deal, they, "here a chip, there a chip, everywhere a chip chip." LOSERS. THEY'RE ALL (me included) LOSERS! But....
When you have a bookie. (Victor, you have the right to remain silent.) You know me, I can't do that. There was a guy, or so i heard, that took bets on football, basketball, the price of tea in China, you name it. Soooooooooooooo.........
February 2nd, 2014. The Super Bowl. For quite some time, everything Peyton Manning touched, turned to gold. I was in the "Hey, gimme some'a that" mode... Divorced (so no "Victor, DON'T do that")... had a few extra bucks... Playing the Seahawks... "This'll be gravy!"
Very cockily, "Here's a hunnerd, put it on the Bronco's please." I'd never bet a hunnerd at once before.
Invited a slew of buddies to my apartment to watch the game. Even Googled howinthehell to make Rotel.. including using italian sausage, my fav, along with "a splash of milk'" recommendation from some chick I worked with. Chick, said lovingly. Here a chick, there a chick, everywhere a chick chick, call me misogynist if you like, I equate to FRIEND, said lovingly.
So... enough chairs... filled with buds... I splurged for the pop, beer, cheese dip, chips, some sliders.. I mean hell, I was gonna win a hunnerd anyways....... then.......
12 seconds into the game. Manning, readied to put his golden touch on a long bomb, moments after hollerin' out his normal "OMAHA OMAHA"........ and......
The damn center SNAPPED IT OVER HIS HEAD. Into the End Zone. Safety, Seattle. 2-0. And it just got worse, and worse and worse, 43-8 final.
Oh well. I stopped gambling for five years. OK, three months, but i did stop.
Which brings us to today. My frat bros, our texts. I've texted them like five times "I'm quitting". It's what we gamblers do. Good intentions, quick deposit fingers, just $5 more today, THEN, I'm done.
Victor, this is getting boring, and I don't gamble. Sorry, you be stuck.
So......... December 1, 2025. Missouri gets online betting. Oh sh*it, or to me and Austin Powers, "YEAH BABY!"...
This site gave you $300 in bonus bets if you bet $5. That site gave you $350 for $5. And annuder. Hog heaven, I was in. I literally, paid for my grandkid's Christmas. (Maybe I should just gamble around Christmas eh?)
And then, like any gambling, reality sets in. I ain't on house money any longer.
I be po'. Victor, TMI. I don't care. I ain't got unlimited resources. I work a bit. I love my job at the golf course, i do.
At least for the short term, I will continue to gamble. Not every day, and, not very much ($5, MAX $10) I have notebooks, I read for two hours on a single game, folks and their predictions, and then I bet.... watch the game.... it's a rush....... sometimes I win....... sometimes I lose.... sometimes I lose.... sometimes I lose.
"Gambling has brought our family together. We had to move into a smaller house." Tommy Cooper
I wouldn't hurt a flea, I really wouldn't. I've just always had an affinity for doing things between the legal lines that maybe the Harper Valley PTA would roll their eyes at. I likes eye rolls. Watch me. Right Marty Feldman?
Well you can tell everyone I'm a down disgrace, drag my name all over the place... ahm, I don't care anymore.
Love, Victurd
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