GAMBLING CITY - Josh Wilde Gambling Satires

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Josh Wilde
Gambling City

Josh Wilde Gambling Satires

Josh Wilde, whose gambling satires have fans throughout the world, seems to inhabit a very different universe than the rest of us. It is populated by his UIG (Used Italian Girlfriend); his former wife, Dementia, who ran off with the divorce judge who awarded her 98% of everything Josh owned; and 27 bookies who are fighting with each other over the right to break his legs.

You can find a wide range of his excellent gambling satires below. Simply click the article title to be redirected to the article on the page.

1. The Oldest, Established, Permanent Floating Crap Game
2. Booking Your Bonus
3. Bugsy Awards Announced in Vegas
4. Tonight: Larry King Talks With Josh Wilde
5. The Sopranos
6. A Labor Day Tribute
7. A History Lesson
8. Kathy's Happy Ending
9. Good Bye, Costa Rica
10. You Can Hire the A-Team!
11. Psst! Wanna Buy a Jersey?
12. Columbus Day at the Casino
13. Veterans, the Fight is Not Over
14. A Traditional Thanksgiving
15. Don't Bet on Turkey
16. The Online Gaming and Licensing Authority
17. Shlomo, Oy Oy Seven
18. The Evil Ones
19. A Christmas Carol
20. The Week Without the Story
21. Josh Wilde, 007
22. Vote Fitzenjammer, to Stop Immorality
23. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Slots
24. Lucy is Abused by a Bonus
25. Toreador, en Garde!
26. A Few Honest Men
27. Poker Chips
28. Play it Again, Sam
29. Holy Week Tours
30. It's All Greek To Me
31. April 15th Blues
32. Bertha's Revenge
33. Losing, Italian Style
34. Bonus Time at McD's
35. Office of War Odds
36. There Oughta Be a Law
37. Lizzie's Big Party
38. Betting on a Sure Thing
39. Up, Up, and Away
40. The Doctors' Pool

The Oldest, Established, Permanent Floating Crap Game
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Damon Runyon (whose works inspired the musical "Guys and Dolls") was, undoubtedly, one of the greatest journalists of the century. He was able to make complicated things seem very clear, and when I get confused about what I see on the news, I like to turn to him, at least in my imagination, to put things into perspective for me.

"Where is the crap game tonight?" Wild Eyes Nasrallah asked Mullberry Bush.

"It will be in the garage behind Holy Sepulchre," Mullberry told him. "But do not be surprised if many citizens do not appear. The other players are beginning to suspect that you are not being completely honest with your rolls of the dice and some have even gone so far as to express some doubt as to the value of your markers."

"This cannot be true," Wild Eyes replied. "My markers are accepted throughout the neighborhood. Rich-Rich Saud has hundreds of them and has never questioned their value."

"How can you be so certain of that?" Mullberry asked.

"It is easily verifiable," Wild Eyes replied. "Rich-Rich is still with us among the breathing, is he not? If he had said anything to cast dispersions upon the validity of these markers my friends and supporters would surely have used their roscoes to show him the error of his ways."

"Well, Skinny Olmert told me that he is uncertain if he wishes to play with you any longer," Mullberry said, "as he does not have complete faith in your sense of sportsmanship."

"Skinny simply does not have a sense of humor," Wild Eyes replied. "On April 1, in the spirit of the day, I sent one of my people to his home with a box of exploding cigars and Skinny lost his temper."

"I think that is understandable," said Mullberry, "in view of the fact that when the box exploded it took half of Skinny's house down and reduced the population of the neighborhood by 23 citizens."

"But then Skinny sent some of his men into MY neighborhood and raided a poker game that we had going. This was not a proportional response, and both CNN and the BBC had some very harsh words indeed to say about Skinny."

"I have always wondered about that," Mullberry said. "Why do you think it is that these two always side with you against Skinny?"

"Because they are fair-minded members of the press," said Wild Eyes, "and they hate to see oppression and injustice and, even more, they hate to have their headquarters visited by suicide bombers."

Mullberry's phone rang. He picked it up, listened for a few minutes, and then turned to Wild Eyes.

"That was Skinny. It seems that some of your people have put the snatch on one of his airplanes and he would like to have it returned to him."

"Do you see what I mean?" complained Wild Eyes. "Skinny does not have a sense of humor at all! Why should he get so upset about a simple airplane?"

"I think that he is also unhappy with the idea that there are 375 people on the airplane," said Mullberry.

"There are also four of my friends on the plane," said Wild Eyes. "But you do not see me complaining."

"Perhaps that is because it is your four friends who have done the snatching," Mullberry told him.

"Tell Skinny that I will agree to return the airplane if he agrees to come to the craps game tonight and let me win every bet."

"Skinny will never give his consent to such a proposal," Mullberry said.

"I *told* you that Skinny does not play in a fair manner!" complained Wild Eyes. "If I took a plane from Tony the Limey he would immediately give me anything that I want. Jacques the Frog would not only give me what I want but would demand an investigation to make certain that my four people got good service during the flight. Skinny just does not know how to play properly."

"I really wish that you and Skinny would agree on how to play the game," said Mullberry.

"We did," replied Wild Eyes. "We had a long meeting at Oslo's Cheesecake Restaurant and agreed on everything. But then Skinny destroyed the whole agreement by insisting that I actually play by the rules that I agreed to."

"This is, indeed, a sad situation," said Mullberry. "Is there anything that I can do to help solve it?"

"Yes," said Wild Eyes. "You have more tommy guns than anyone else. You can send your entire gang to wipe out Skinny's gang."

"But why would I want to do that?" wondered Mullberry.

"Did I ever mention that I have friends in the Oil Deliverers Union?" asked Stubble. "It can get very cold in your neighborhood if there are no deliveries in the winter."

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Bugsy Awards Announced in Vegas
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Las Vegas was aglitter last night as the biggest names in the gambling business gathered to pay tribute to the stars who walked away with top honors in this year's Bugsy Awards.

Irving Schmaltz, who was given the Bugsy as "Best Actor" for his role in "You Got It!", thrilled the audience with his acceptance speech.

"It was not easy," Schmaltz said. "I had to stand there and look excited as the creep at the slot machine next to mine hit the $1 million jackpot. Hell! That should have been MY jackpot -- I had fed that blasted machine for 15 minutes before deciding it was a loser and moving to another. Then this nerd in the multi-colored Hawaiian shirt comes along and hits on his first pull! Still, I managed to pull myself together, scream for happiness, and tell him how overjoyed I was for him!"

Bubbles Lovelot, who last year narrowly missed being given the Best Actress Award, managed to nail it down this time with her performance in "Wow! You're Wonderful".

Miss Lovelot played an innocent young girl (in itself a demanding role for her) who fell in love at her first glimpse of roulette player Franklin Hopperstedt.

"It would have been much easier if Franklin were a bit younger," Bubbles explained afterwards. "But his being 87 sort of turned me off. Still, when I saw him hitting big time and packing in all those chips, I gave it everything I had."

While it didn't hurt her chances for the Bugsy, there are some who believe that Bubbles gave the role too much.

"She should have taken it easier on him back in his suite," said Vegas Medical Examiner William Biopsy. "Then maybe he wouldn't have suffered that coronary."

Still, all is well that ends well -- Hopperstedt and Lovelot were married at the Las Vegas Quickie Chapel just before his heart attack and she gets to keep all of his money.

"I guess there really is a God after all," said Bubbles.

"Wow! You're Wonderful" also got the Bugsy for Best Supporting Actress, a role handled by Hopperstedt's daughter, Millicent, who played the part of the tearful child at her father's funeral.

"It was a snap," said Millicent afterwards. "I wasn't even acting. I really was grief-stricken. After all, just before the funeral I learned that Bubbles will be getting all of Daddy's money. I waited for years for the old coot to kick the bucket and leave it to me and then this happens!"

The trophy for Best Supporting Actor was given to Kevin Malarchy, a cashier at the MGM Grand, for his part in "Quick Count".

"The trick is in judging just which players don't know exactly how many chips they have," Malarchy explained, "and then short changing them as much as you can without getting them suspicious. Some of the female cashiers have better luck at this than I do, but they have an unfair advantage -- they open a few buttons on their shirts and the customers never even pay attention to what's being cashed in."

The Bugsy Award for Religious Dialog was went to Rev. Burton Hellfire, a Southern Baptist minister, for his inspired work in "Lord, Give Me a Seven!"

Rev. Hellfire repeatedly called upon Divine Assistance to avoid snake eyes while throwing the dice at the Sahara Casino. Hellfire finished the night over $10,000 ahead but stunned the Bugsy audience by announcing that he has since converted.

"A few week later I was at Circus Circus and saw Rabbi Samuel Cohen walk off with $25,000," Hellfire said. "I immediately became Jewish. Hey -- you go with what works best!"

This year's Bugsy for Special Effects was given to Swifty Switchcard, a dealer at Caesar's Palace, who managed to manipulate the deck so as to deal a partner a series of winning hands.

Swifty did not show up to collect his Bugsy, and police are searching the Nevada desert for his bones.

United States Senator Jon Kyl (R-Arizona) was awarded the Bugsy for the Best Comedian of the Year for his role in "I'm Protecting You", a farce which didn't have much success at the box office, but was considered a masterpiece by Las Vegas critics.

Kyl played an idealistic senator who ignored crime, the environment, the energy crisis, and foreign affairs to concentrate all his efforts on the more serious problem of people enjoying themselves by gambling at their home computers.

Wilbur Writewell, who pens all of Kyl's speeches, appeared at the awards ceremony to accept Kyl's Bugsy for him.

"Senator Kyl firmly believes that gambling leads to corruption," said Writewell, "and he wants to keep gambling out of the home in order to keep corruption out of the family. Why, just last week we got proof that a man in Peoria who gambled then engaged in bribery by offering his son $10 if he got an "A" on his math final. And a Louisville woman was playing blackjack on line and then went and had sex. Okay, it was with her husband, but it is the idea that is important.

"Just before I left Washington Sen. Kyl asked me to tell you that he wants to thank everyone who helped him win this award, especially his sponsors -- err, I mean campaign contributors -- the Las Vegas Casino Operators Association."

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Tonight: Larry King Talks With Josh Wilde

Larry: Josh, I want to ask you some questions which I have never put to any guest before: Who the heck are you? How did you get on to my show?

Josh: Your producer was hoping that I could get him some bonuses at different online casinos. I don't know where he got that idea. Unless, of course, it was from the letter that I sent to him.

Larry: Then you own some on line casinos?

Josh: What??? On the salary that I get paid? Ha! I'm lucky that I can afford to even visit the casinos playing for fun. No, I write satires.

Larry: So you are following in the tradition of another Wilde -- Oscar Wilde.

Josh: Let's see: He wound up broke and in prison for homosexuality. I sure hope I'm not following in his tradition.

Larry: But he was also one of the world's greatest satirists. Wouldn't you want to be like him in that way?

Josh: Sure, but my ex wife figures the odds are better that I will up broke and in prison for homosexuality.

Larry: Are you gay?

Josh: No, but while I was married it started to seem like it might be a good idea to convert.

Larry: How did you happen to choose gambling to write about?

Josh: It was the result of a very generous offer from my boss. He told me that in exchange for my writing weekly satires for him, he would not have his underlings break all of my bones.

Larry: While researching gambling for your articles, have you learned anything that can help people win?

Josh: Sure. I found a foolproof system to win big time at gambling. Just open your own on line casino, offer giant bonuses, and then go out of business before you pay out anything.

Larry: But isn't that illegal?

Josh: Not in certain Caribbean and Central American countries. Of course, in these places it helps if you are a personal friend of the president.

Larry: But not everyone can get to know the president of the country.

Josh: Remember -- these are small countries. As soon as the president learns that you have some money, he stops by your house for a visit.

Larry: We used to have almost the same thing here in America -- Bill Clinton would stop by your house as soon as he learned that you had a daughter.

Josh: I miss Bill Clinton. He was a satirist's dream!

Larry: But can't you write about any president?

Josh: Not really. For example, Bush made me fall asleep if I just thought about him! Can you imagine any man being so boring that the most interesting thing about him is that his middle initial is "W"?

Larry: Has becoming a semi-famous writer changed your life very much?

Josh: It sure has. You see, everybody THINKS I am earning a fortune. Insurance salesmen come to my door daily and I have a lot of trouble chasing them away. Pesky collectors for various charities call me on the phone and I can't seem to get rid of them. Golddigging women ask mutual friends to introduce us and someday I may start to discourage that practice.

Larry: You have to admit, there is a certain honor in being famous.

Josh: I know. My boss tells me that if I keep writing, when I die they will name a gambling city after me -- like they did with Mr. Vegas and Mr. Atlantic. But I don't know why they have to wait until I'm dead -- a former Attorney General is still alive and they've name a city after her.

Larry: I don't think that Reno was named for Janet.

Josh: I know. I meant Elephant Butt, New Mexico.

Larry: That's Elephant Butte.

Josh: That's just a local error in pronunciation -- everyone knows that Janet Reno was no beaut!

Larry: What does the future hold for you? Are you going to stay with writing only about gambling or are you going to branch out?

Josh: Well, the New York Times has asked me to go to work for them covering the Congress -- but I think that one set of jokes each week is enough.

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The Sopranos
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Note: "The Sopranos" are NOT to be confused with "The Tenors". For one thing, Jose Carreras is not even Italian, so he could never qualify to be a Made Man. For another, Placido Domingo and Luciano Pavarotti have demonstrated absolutely no talent with either stilettos or handguns. In fact, the only thing that either of these guys can do is sing, and we all know what Tony Soprano would do to one of his men if he found out they were singing!

Pussy: What's happening, Tony?

Tony: Pussy, what are you doing here? We knocked you off! You were shark bait in the Atlantic!

Pussy: Yeah, but that only happens in Episode 26. This station is still showing earlier re-runs.

Junior: This isn't like the good old days at all. Back when I was a hit man, when you did somebody, he stayed done.

Paulie: You're right. Things are getting ridiculous. Like calling a man in his 70's "Junior".

Tony: Look, guys, I called you here for a reason. I decided to go into a new business: Online Gambling.

Dr. Melfi: What do you need headaches like that for, Anthony? Are you crazy?

Tony: I didn't think that shrinks were supposed to call their patients "crazy". Aren't you supposed to use psychobabble like "inverted Oedipal complex" and "repressed feelings of alienation"?

Dr. Melfi: I can psychobabble with the best of them, but if you are thinking of dumping this great racket we have with the TV series to start a casino on line, you're just plain nuts.

Tony: Why? What's wrong with having a casino? It seems like an easy way to make a lot of money. Besides, Sen. Kyl is always saying that the casinos are run by the mob, and I think we have a patriotic duty to make certain that a United States senator isn't a liar.

Junior: Tony's got a point. If a senator can be a liar, there would be no incentive for him to become president.

Dr. Melfi: Don't you idiots know what happens when you open an online casino? First off, you got to give away bonuses just so people will agree to play. Then, if they win, you actually have to pay off and if they lose, they charge back their deposits and you are left holding the bag.

Paulie: Nobody would charge back their deposits to a mob-owned casino! If they did, we would send Christopher and the boys after them.

Meadow: Yeah? And just how do you make a virtual hit?

Tony: Meadow! Get out of this scene! You are my daughter and you're not supposed to know anything about my being a mob boss.

Meadow: Everybody in the world knows you're a capo, Daddy. It's hard to hide when you're on TV every week and the stores are selling "Soprano" t-shirts with your picture on it.

Dr. Melfi: I've been meaning to speak to you about those shirts, Meadow. Don't you think its a bit strange for a teenage girl to walk around with her father's picture on her chest? I think you might have an Electra complex and if you want to come to my office for a few year's therapy I can probably cure you of it.

Meadow: What Electra complex? I just get paid by the manufacturers for plugging the shirts.

Tony: Let's get back to the point. I still think that we can make a fortune by opening "The Soprano Online Casino". Just think of how much vig our loan sharking business can get from people who don't have the cash to pay us.

Junior: It doesn't work that way on line. People make their deposits using Mastercard and VISA and the banks collect the vig. It's a lot more convenient and they only get a slightly higher interest rate than the mob.

Mother Soprano: You should have known that yourself, Tony. How come you are such an idiot? How could I possibly have raised a boy who is an imbecile? And even worse, he treats his poor mother like dirt. After all the sacrifices I made for you!

Tony: Ma, shut up!

Dr. Melfi: No, Anthony, let her talk. Every time she opens her mouth your therapy regresses six months and I can use the business. Haven't you ever noticed that you're my only patient?

Paulie: Of course you have no patients. Who's going to tell all their secrets to a lady psychiatrist? You know how women like to gossip.

Junior: Paulie, that's a very sexist attitude. Dr. Melfi is a professional, and I'm certain that she behaves accordingly. Now apologize to the bimbo.

Dr. Melfi: It's just that people tend to be hesitant about coming to me. They have been ever since one of my patients overran his session and kept Anthony waiting. I still think that Anthony could have just talked to the man afterwards instead of putting a bomb in his car.

Tony: What is this? A democracy? I am the capo and what I say goes! Besides, the online casino is already in business. I opened it yesterday.

Mother Soprano: I know, Tony, and I was your first customer.

Tony: Gee, Ma, you did that for me? And I always thought that you hated me.

Mother Soprano: Could a mother hate her own son? Never! But I wanted to let you know that I hit the progressive jackpot on your slot machine and you owe me $150,000. You got until tonight to pay up or else!

Tony: "Or else"? You're threatening me? Are you forgetting that I am the capo around here?

Mother Soprano: And are YOU forgetting that back in the 40's I was Lucky Luciano's girlfriend? When he left the country he made me head of The Commission. You may be the local capo, but I am the Capo di Tutti Capi. If you're even 15 minutes late with my payment, you'll be food for the fish.

Tony: Doc, do you see my problem? My mother threatens me. My daughter used drugs just to bug me. My wife accused me of having an affair with you. My sister was sleeping with my worst enemy and my mistress keeps telling me that I need Viagra. All the women in my life treat me like I am garbage. Is there any question of why I am so screwed up?

Dr. Melfi: Anthony, we'll discuss all of this in the privacy of my office. I'll schedule you an additional appointment for 11 am today. You have got to get over these delusions that women treat you badly -- just make certain that you are on time, asshole!

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A Labor Day Tribute
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Too often, we fail to realize just how much we owe to the little people. No, I don't mean leprechauns. I'm referring to the unsung heroes who make gambling possible.

In honor of Labor Day, I'd like to take a moment to pay tribute to all those anonymous workers who toil daily in order to bring us our blackjack, racetracks, and tiddlywinks tournaments.

Online Excuse Makers: Where would cyber casinos be without these dedicated employees? They sit at their computers thanklessly typing out reasons why it was absolutely impossible for the casino to send you your check on time. Among their classics are:

1. Danish players have been cheating us, so we were forced to audit all cash ins from the United States.

2. Our bank ran out of funds but they assure us they will become financially stable in the next few weeks. (This excuse loses some believability when they bank with Chase or Citibank, but is beautiful for the Costa Rican Bank of Eastern San Jose.)

3. The recent hurricane destroyed all of our computers which handle cash ins, but those which deal with deposits are fine, so don't be afraid to keep playing.

4. We sent your money by special courier but his plane was shot down by Iraqi anti-aircraft fire. You will be happy to know that he ejected safely and is currently walking through the desert in order to bring your check to you.

Race Track Touts: Their crucial job -- of making certain that the odds remain balanced by encouraging you to bet on horses that don't have a snowball's chance -- is made even more difficult by the requirement that they disappear after each race. If they don't, unhappy tip recipients are liable to make them disappear permanently.

French Maitres des Salons: These are the guys who wander around the Mediterranean casinos in tuxedos, making Americans feel inferior. When you bet 100 francs ($14) at the blackjack tables, they immediately give you a sneer that makes certain that your next bet is at least 5 times larger. This service increases the take of the casino and frees it to accept 10 franc bets from the French.

Valet Parking Attendants: Found at all better casinos, these people give you the opportunity to take your first gamble before you even walk into the rooms. For a minor charge, sometimes as low as $2, you can risk your brand new Lamborghini by putting it in the hands of a 17-year-old high school dropout who would have passed his driving test last week if he hadn't gotten confused between the brakes and the radio.

Las Vegas Hookers: Why should you risk your hard-earned money on the possibility that a little white ball is going to go into a slot marked "28" when there are 37 others slots it can fall into? By their very presence at your table, these young ladies give you a very good reason!

Casino Security Personnel: In places as far apart as Monte Carlo, Atlantic City, and Reno, these sharp-eyed professionals help keep gambling honest by looking for crooked dealers, pickpockets, and customers who try to switch dice. Those who are unable to spot crooked dealers, pickpockets, and customers who try to switch dice go to work for online casino security, where they capture and ban any players who accept the offered bonuses.

Bartenders: Unlike their companions throughout the world, casino bartenders never stoop to watering down drinks just to increase profits. In fact, this very special breed doubles the amount of alcohol you drink when playing -- just to increase profits.

Casino Clergy -- While not widely honored among their fellow men of the cloth, these dedicated defrocked priests, unkosher rabbis, and former Protestant television evangelists provide a very necessary service to distraught gamblers: They provide them with specially scripted prayers calling upon the Almighty to come up with a progressive jackpot hit or 10 straight passes at the craps table. Although they receive salaries from the casinos, please remember to give them a generous tip should Divine Intervention result in you cleaning up.

Poker Strategy Experts: Highly skilled experts, these knowledgeable card players offer for sale their books on how to win at poker -- absolutely guaranteed. Don't you ever wonder why they spend long, hard, hours at the typewriter pounding out their texts when they could simply sit down at poker tables and be winning fortunes?

Gambling Satirists: Unquestionably the crème de la crème of the gambling world, these truly self-sacrificing professionals do their best to bring a smile to your face, even when you are in the middle of a losing streak. Should you, of course, become a winner, it is considered simple courtesy to send a large portion of your winnings to your favorite satirist, care of "Wilde is the Joker".

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A History Lesson

With the new school year starting, my son, Ken, came to me yesterday with his little note book and asked me to help him with his history homework. He wanted to sit on my lap while we did his assignments together, but I passed on that. After all, Ken is a junior in college and a defensive guard on the football team.

"Who were the Minutemen, Daddy?" he asked.

A college junior and he never heard of the Minutemen? What are they teaching there?

"They are unfortunate men who have problems that require the services of a good sex counselor," I told him.

"But didn't they have something to do with the Boston Tea Party?" he asked.

"No." I explained to him. "The guys in Boston who hang around tea parties have a completely different sexual problem."

"Daddy, are you sure you know about the American Revolution?" asked Ken.

"Of course I do," I assured him. "We fought the English because they wanted us to all wear red coats and pay taxes. Then we became independent and had our own Congress. They solved the problem by raising taxes so high that nobody can afford to buy any coats."

"Why did they do that?" Ken wondered.

"Because Congress always knows what's best for us," I explained. "They realized that if they kept taxes low we would have enough money left over to go to places like Monte Carlo."

"Would that be bad?" Ken asked.

"Of course it would! If everybody spent all their time hanging around European casinos, how would there be any room for congressmen there? The next thing you know, they would be back in Washington passing millions of laws to drive us nuts."

"Is that why Sen. Kyl's law against on line gambling didn't get passed? Because there were no congressmen around to vote on it?"

"That was only part of the reason," I told him. "More importantly, many of the congressmen realized that if they ban on line gambling, people are not going to have anything to do in their houses. Before long they will start watching the news on television and reading newspapers."

"That would make them informed voters," said Ken.

"Exactly! Now you know why Congress was so much against it."

"Maybe we better study the Civil War instead of the Revolution," Ken suggested. "What do you know about it?"

"It was fought between the East and the West," I told him.

"Not the North and the South?"

"Don't be silly!" I said. "What would they have to fight about? But there were serious economic differences between the East, where poker is not allowed in casinos, and the West where they not only have it in Nevada but also in California poker parlors."

"Who won the war?" Ken asked.

"The East did," I told him. The big battle was scheduled to be fought in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. How the heck was the Western Army ever going to find Gettysburg? It's hard enough for a stranger to find Pennsylvania! After a two hour delay of game, the refs called it a forfeit and the East was declared the winner."

"I'm surprised that no Western spies managed to locate the town," Ken said.

"One of them did," I told him. "His name was Abraham Lincoln and he not only found it, but he actually moved there. He then sent a letter to the Western Army which included not only a map but also his Gettysburg address. Unfortunately, he used the same courier service that on line casinos do when they mail out checks."

"You mean..."

"Right," I said. "They promise it will get there some time next week."

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Good Bye, Costa Rica

You may not be aware of it, but online gambling is having a major impact on advertising in other fields. Apparently, as young advertisers gain experience with the casinos, they are able to escape from Costa Rica and Antigua and make their way to Madison Avenue, taking what they gained at the betting parlors with them.

I became aware of this phenomenon when I was extremely bored the other day and actually started reading some of the spam which was sent to me.

                                     *****

Dear OnLine Drinker,

Do you know that Coca-Cola refreshes you best? Yes, Coke is really the refreshingest.

(You have a 97.8 percent chance of being refreshed by Coca Cola. Coke's statistics are monitored by Price Waterhouse.)

                                     *****

Dear OnLine Driver,

Take advantage of our October Special* and let Hertz put you in the driver's seat!

*During October only, when you rent a Hertz sedan, sports car, or convertible, we will put you in the driver's seat ABSOLUTELY FREE. This offer is only good for one person per family; the others must sit in the passengers' seats. More than one person per family sitting in the driver's seat will be considered seat abuse and can result in being banned from Hertz. We will also blacklist you with Avis, National, Budget, Alamo, and National and you will wind up walking, sucker!

                                    *****

Dear OnLine Flyer,

Vote for Delta in Flying.com's "Airline of the Month" poll and win $500!

Yes, forward us your vote confirmation letter and you will be entered in a draw to win $500 (which must be applied to the cost of a Delta ticket within the continental United States and leaving on a Wednesday between 0700 and 0900. This offer is not good during the high season or any month which ends in an "r".)

Two great reasons for choosing Delta Air:

1. Delta offers the biggest bribes to people who vote for it at Flying.com.
2. You know that Delta is best, because more people vote for it at Flying.com than any other airline!

                                   *****

Dear OnLine Tippler,

Let Smirnoff Vodka take your breath away!

If you sign up this month with Smirnoff for our "Swallow and Smoke" promo, Smirnoff will provide you with a free package of Camel cigarettes with every bottle of booze you purchase!

This is an offer guaranteed to take your breath away! (If for any reason the vodka fails to do, the cigarettes are certain to succeed.)

(Do you have a drinking problem? Click HERE for Alcoholics Anonymous, where you will find truly experienced boozers -- let them tell you why Smirnoff's vodka is their favorite!)

                                  *****

Dear OnLine Warrior,

Sign up today with the United States Marine Corps and get a 20% bonus!

Yes, this is your lucky day -- the Marines are looking for a few good men. Just click on the "SIGN UP" button below, and you will be automatically enlisted for four years. BUT THERE'S MORE!!! Send us an e-mail with your new Marine Corps serial number, and be sure to use include "Special Bonus 487" in the subject line and you will be given AN EXTRA 20% bonus. That is 5 years instead of 4.

Then, get the lard out of your pants and fall in line, Craphead!

                                 *****

Dear OnLine Sinner,

Have you tried the Archdiocese of Boston's Online Confession Service yet? If not, open an account today and take advantage of our NEW SINNER'S SPECIAL!

Think of the convenience!   There is no longer any need to wait hours to confess your infidelities, lustful thoughts, adulteries, or ANY OTHER SIN! Now you can do it from the convenience of your home! Just go to our website, click on your sin, and receive your penitence.

BUT WAIT...there's more! For the rest of this month, if you open a "Real Sinner's" account with us, you will get one free sin for every four for which you do penitence. That is the best sinner's offer on the Net!

ABSOLUTION GUARANTEED -- ABSOLUTELY!*

*Note: In order to get absolution you must first do each sin three and a half times, confess, say your penitence, and then go to Mass. We are sorry about this last inconvenience and want you to know that we are working on a CyberMass which will soon allow you to get Communion at home.

                                *****

Dear OnLine Gambler,

Please come to the Happy Times Casino and play with us.

Please excuse the boring writing in this letter but all our ad writers have left us and are now on Madison Avenue plugging deodorants and squeezable toilet paper.

Sorry, I have to go now. Right Guard is offering a special -- three day's protection for the price of two!

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You Can Hire the A-Team!
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

In 1972, an elite military unit was sent to jail for a crime they did not commit. They promptly escaped and have been doing re-runs ever since. If you have a problem, and if you can find them, and if you can supply them with Geritol, you can hire the A-Team!

Hannibal: B.A., the van is stuck. Try pushing it.

B.A.: Are you joking? I was 27 when we were sent to prison -- and that was 36 years ago. If I try pushing vans at my age I'm going to wind up with a hernia.

Hannibal: Listen, we have to get to Vegas. How will we do it without the van?

Peck: There's a university near here. I can use my good looks to charm some co-ed into giving us her car.

Hannibal: Good idea, Face. I just hope you can find a 60-year-old student. The last time you tried charming a girl in her 20's she confused you with her grandfather.

Murdock: We're right near the airport. Why don't I just steal a plane and fly us there?

Peck: I don't know, Murdock. With all the new security regulations it is going to be very difficult to get hold of a plane.

Hannibal: Don't be silly. We're near the Reno Airport. They have no security -- they figure that without it you can get in a bit of gambling just by getting aboard.

B.A.: Why do we have to go to Vegas, anyhow?

Hannibal: The MGM Grand wants to hire us. They are being attacked by terrorists.

B.A.: That's serious stuff, Hannibal. Bombs or anthrax?

Hannibal: Neither. These are very sophisticated terrorists. They figured out a way to get the slot machines to actually pay out jackpots.

Murdock: How do they know these people are terrorists? Maybe they just hit the jackpots by luck.

Peck: No wonder you've been in a V.A. mental hospital for the past 30 years!

B.A.: Do you have a plan, Hannibal?

Hannibal: We've been doing this for three decades, B.A. -- we'll use the same plan we've used in every other episode. We'll confront the bad guys, get captured by them, build weapons from the thousands of things they will conveniently leave around for us, and then we'll wipe out the baddies and leave before the military police arrive.

Peck: I'm not sure that the MP's are still after us, Hannibal. It's been at least 15 years since they chased us. What makes you think they will come after us now?

Hannibal: We're going to be in Vegas. The place is full of gambling, beautiful woman, and free booze. I never met a soldier who wouldn't chase us there.

Murdock: I've got a great idea! Instead of stealing a plane, why don't we just buy one?

Hannibal: And how do you propose paying for it? For thirty years we've been helping poor people and always refused payment because we felt so sorry for them.

Murdock: It's easy. We can get a $100 sign up bonus from an online casino and then just keep playing blackjack until we have enough money.

Peck: I think you've forgotten the name of this show: It's "The A-Team", not "Fantasy Island."

Murdock: It will be a snap. All we have to do is have B.A. build us a computer out of some spare pieces of junk -- just like he builds everything else.

(Two minutes pass while the A-Team theme music is played in the background and you see close ups of B.A.'s hands. Murdock then opens an account at a Microgaming casino, loses a number of small bets at Blackjack, but wins whenever he bets big money. Hey! "The A-Team" always did have imaginative writers.)

Hannibal: That's great, Murdock. When do we get the money?

Murdock: The casino says it will get it to us by special courier -- but they are having problems with their e-cash agent, a hurricane has caused their computers to go down, and they have to run an internal audit first.

Hannibal: Which means what?

Murdock: That for once, this show was realistic!

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Psst! Wanna Buy a Jersey?
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Sen. Jon Kyle, whose bills banning internet gambling have been repeated defeated, is determined to make it illegal this year.

"We're going to pass legislation in this Congress that will make Internet gambling illegal," Kyl told reporters on Capitol Hill. "I'm convinced of that."

According to a story in the Chicago Tribune, "Kyl has two concerns. Unlike making a sports bet in Nevada, a person living in Illinois or any other state doesn't have to make a trip to place the bet when he goes online. And making a bet over the Internet is as easy as buying an autographed jersey or tickets to next week's game. All that's needed is a credit card."

Naturally, when I read this, I became quite concerned. I never realized that it was so simple to buy an autographed jersey.

"It's true," said my old friend Clyde, a Senate administrative aide. "People are buying autographed jerseys every day -- and it doesn't stop there. They are also buying autographed baseballs, t-shirts, and dixie cups."

"Will this scourge never stop?" I wondered.

"Only if the Senate gets involved," said Clyde. "Why, there are even rumors that unscrupulous members of the U.S. Women's Soccer Team are planning to sell autographed bras. You can imagine how big that would be on the porno sites!"

"Why can't they settle for selling autographed balls, like baseball and football players?" I asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Clyde. "This is an all female team. They don't have any balls."

"What is the Senate planning on doing?" I asked him.

"For one thing," said Clyde. "We're going to pass a law requiring people to make trips in order to buy autographed items. Not only will that cut down on their ability to get their supplies, but it will also help the airline industry."

"Great idea!" I enthused.

"Actually, it was Sen. Kyl who first thought it up," said Clyde, "although he had it in mind for gambling. He wants anyone in Nevada to travel to Atlantic City to place a bet while the folks in New Jersey will have to head West."

"Will they be able to both gamble and buy autographed jerseys on the same trip?" I asked.

"Of course not!" said Clyde. "One trip, one pleasure. Now that we have all this additional airport security in place, it will be easy to enforce. I feel sorry for anyone found with both an autographed item and a casino souvenir in his bags."

"How many autographed items will a person be allowed to purchase on one trip?" I asked.

"We haven't set any limits yet," said Clyde, "we're waiting to see how many bets Sen. Kyl will allow during a single vacation."

"Do you really think that your new law will be effective?" I asked.

"Of course!" said Clyde. "Just look how well the laws against liquor worked during Prohibition."

"That law didn't work," I said. "Anyone could buy liquor anywhere."

"Of course they could," Clyde agreed. "But they almost never bought it in autographed bottles."

"What I don't understand," I said, "is how come Sen. Kyl is not interested in fighting terrorism -- everyone else in America is."

"That's not true," said Clyde. "You are slandering a great man! Sen. Kyl made it perfectly clear that he is 100% behind the effort to abolish international terrorism -- just as long as it doesn't take precedence over his effort to stop you from playing blackjack at home."

"Speaking of home," I told him. "I am on my way there right now. I want to do some online gambling before it becomes illegal."

"How about buying an autographed souvenir before they're banned?" asked Clyde. "Would you like to buy an autographed picture of Sen. Kyl?"

"No, not really."

"That's odd," Clyde told me, "neither does anybody else."

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Columbus Day at the Casino
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Every year we mark Columbus Day, a holiday, which for some strange reason, is not overly celebrated on Navajo and Cherokee reservations.

Contrary to popular belief, Columbus did not discover the United States -- very possibly because it wouldn't be established for another 300 years. Instead, his voyages took him to the Caribbean and Central America, where he was enthusiastically greeted by the natives.

"Do you happen to have any gold here?" Columbus asked them.

"Of course we do," the chief replied. "This is really your lucky day. I'm certain that you are going to leave here loaded with gold. And to help you get started, I am going to give you a 25% bonus on your initial deposit."

"Deposit?" Columbus asked.

"Of course," said the chief. "That's how we earn our living in the Caribbean. You give us a deposit, and then play some of our games, and you walk away with a lot more money than you came with."

"But can't I lose?" Columbus asked.

"I hate to admit it," said the chief, "but on some of the other islands you that's possible. Of course, it almost never happens here."

"There are more islands?" Columbus asked.

"Loads of them," the chief told him. "In fact, this whole area is a network of islands. Look over there."

Columbus looked seaward and, sure enough, spotted hundreds of islands. Suddenly, one of them disappeared.

"What happened to it? Where did it go?" he asked the chief.

"That's nothing unusual," the chief replied. "Every so often an island simply vanishes. It usually happens when they owe people a lot of money."

The chief showed Columbus to a table where a little white ball was thrown into a wheel which was spinning. People were trying to guess what number the ball would land in.

"Can I get some free drinks served by half-naked women?" Columbus asked.

"Ah, you've heard the legend," said the chief. "I'm afraid that's just an old tale about a mystical place called Las Vegas, where there are giant buffets, live entertainment, and colored lights that shine throughout the night. Supposedly, it is in the middle of a desert. It's ridiculous. How could a desert possibly have an island?"

Suddenly, Columbus spotted 8 men, whose faces were painted, cooking another man in a giant pot.

"You have cannibalism here?" he asked in shock.

"Those are our only cannibals," the chief reassured him, "they work in our Security Department."

It was obviously Columbus' lucky day -- not at all surprising considering that it was Columbus Day -- and he won five times in a row. He had now more than doubled his money as well as fulfilled all the requirements for the bonus.

"Where do I cash in my coconuts?" he asked the chief.

"You want to cash in?" the chief asked in dismay. "But you're winning!"

The Security Department started looking at Columbus and wondering if he would taste better baked or sautéed.

"I have to get going," Columbus explained. "I have to go out and discover all those other islands or they will never name a city in Ohio after me. Where do I pick up my money?"

"Don't worry," said the chief. "We will send it directly to your bank. Of course, it make take a few days -- we are undergoing an internal audit right now, and there was a hurricane here recently which damaged our cash processor, and..."

"I understand," said Columbus. "I'm certain I can trust you -- I can't imagine an island cheating anyone."

As Columbus sailed away, he looked back at the friendly islanders with fondness. Suddenly, the island disappeared!

"Gee," he said to his First Mate, "I hope they managed to send me my winnings before they disappeared."

"Anybody who arrives in the Caribbean and thinks he is in India will believe anything," the Mate answered.

The next day, the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria arrived at second Caribbean island. Columbus went ashore and asked to sign up.

"Forget it," he was told. "That other chief put you on the blacklist -- and we don't want any bonus abusers here!"

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Veterans, the Fight is Not Over
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

"These are dangerous times," said the Hon. Herbert P. Filibuster in his address to our American Legion chapter. "There are people out there who want to take away the very freedoms that you men fought and died for."

(Actually, none of the men present had actually died in combat, but seeing as this was Veterans' Day and Congressman Filibuster was one of our members, we thought it would be rude to point that out.)

"What kind of freedoms are endangered?" one of our people asked.

"All of them," Filibuster replied sadly. "Including the freedom to have Congress take away your right to gamble on line. We have got to stop these terrorists."

"You mean the Taliban?" I asked.

"Forget about the Taliban!" Filibuster thundered. "I'm talking about the REAL enemy. The terrorists who scare the hell out of Congressmen by threatening not to vote for us if we don't do what they want."

"But isn't that what democracy is all about?" I wondered.

"What? Giving into threats? That's not democracy, that's extortion!" he answered. "How can this great nation of ours get anything accomplished if Congressmen have to worry about losing their jobs if they ignore what the voters are saying?"

"Can you give us any example of this?" the American Legion commander asked.

"Many," Filibuster answered angrily. "Why, just last week I had to cancel a trip to Las Vegas just because a bunch of crackpots demanded to meet with me to discuss federal aid to education. What do I care about education? Do high school kids vote? Do fourth graders make major campaign contributions? It was a total waste of my time. More than that, I didn't get a chance to meet with my Nevada supporters."

"How can you have supporters in Nevada?" I wondered. "You represent a Pennsylvania district."

"Of course I do," Filibuster replied, "and I am very proud to be from the great state of Pennsylvania. But let's face facts, the people here are not very bright. They might not recognize the wonderful work I am doing for them if I don't spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in advertising to tell them that I am doing wonderful work for them. Fortunately, the Nevada patriots are happy to give me this money -- just as long as I help get rid of on line casinos so that Pennsylvanians will be forced to spend their money in Vegas."

"But what's wrong with on line gambling?" I asked.

"What are you?," Filibuster demanded. "Some kind of communist? Don't you realize that this country is in dire economic straights? The airlines are flying half empty. Hotel rooms in Vegas and Atlantic City have their lowest occupancy rate ever. Hookers in Nevada can't find any customers. What will happen to these vital industries if Americans insist on staying in their homes to gamble?"

"It almost seems like an enemy plot," said the American Legion commander.

"It IS an enemy plot," Filibuster replied. "Do you know where all these internet casinos are? In places like the Caribbean and Central America -- enemy countries!"

"Trinidad and Costa Rica are enemy nations?" I asked in surprise.

"Of course they are," said Filibuster. "Why, do you know that in the last election, not one native of either of those countries voted for me? Even worse -- they did not send me campaign contributions. Now, if those aren't hostile acts, what are?"

"I agree with the congressman," said Rev. Hoffsteder, our chapter chaplain. "Gambling is plain immoral."

"Now, let's not go overboard," Filibuster said quickly. "It's true that gambling in your home is immoral and obviously against God's wishes, but there is nothing wrong with good, wholesome, gambling in casinos. Why, just look at the names of these casinos -- one of them is even called 'MGM Grand' and we all know that MGM only produces high level, moral, movies."

"Is there anything we can do to help stop this plan to overthrow the American Way of Life?" I asked.

"Spoken like a true patriot!" Filibuster beamed. "Of course there is -- make certain that you vote. It doesn't matter which party you belong to, just be sure that you vote for me. After all, without me in Congress, those Costa Rican terrorists are going to destroy this nation."

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A Traditional Thanksgiving
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

It has been a long time since the Wilde family had a traditional Thanksgiving dinner together, so I decided to contact everyone to try to set one up.

"I'd love to come," said Grandma Wilde when I called her. "Where are we going to do it -- Circus Circus or Caesars?"

"Grandma, Thanksgiving is supposed to be a family gathering to thank the Almighty for all our blessings. I don't think that a casino is the right place to do this."

"In that case, Joshy," she said, "let me make this little suggestion: Take your Thanksgiving Dinner and shove it where the light doesn't shine!"

Okay. So Grandma Wilde won't be coming. There are still plenty of other members of the family. My next call was to my sister, Lysistrada.

"Are you kidding?" she asked. "I don't move one inch out of my house on Thanksgiving. That's the biggest day of the year -- all the top football games will be on TV and I'll have my kids' college funds bet on them."

"You are gambling with their education money?" I asked in shock.

"What education money?" she asked. "This is money we set aside to bet on college games."

The next call was to Mom and Dad.

"I'm sorry," Mom told me, "but Dad and I are going to be on our second honeymoon during Thanksgiving."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to Monte Carlo and Dad is going to Atlantic City."

"You're going to different places on your second honeymoon?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes," said Mom. "It will be very romantic -- it's exactly what we did on our first honeymoon."

"But how can that be?" I wondered. "You always told me that I was conceived on your honeymoon."

"You were," Mom said. "Now you understand why, when you were a child, we always called you 'that little bastard.'"

Well, at least I knew I could rely on my children. I placed a call to them at the university.

"No way I can make it, Dad," my son, Ken, told me. "I have big plans for that weekend. Four of the girls from Theta Beta Rho are taking me to a cabin they have in the woods and we are going to have an orgy."

My son -- having wild sex with four girls! I couldn't have been prouder.

Then I spoke to my daughter, Dyslexia, and asked her to join me.

"Sorry, Daddy, but I am going to my boyfriend's home for the holiday. His whole family will be there."

What??!! Some creep invited MY DAUGHTER to his house? I'll kill that pervert!

I headed to an on line Chat Room to bemoan the fact that I was going to be the only person in the entire United States of America who was not going to have their family with him on Thanksgiving Day.

I saw her there! "Boop"! (For those of you unfamiliar with chat channels, everybody uses a nick name. Everybody except me -- I could never think of a good one.) I had been flirting with Boop for months. I am in love with Boop! At least, I am as in love with Boop as it is possible to be without actually ever having seen her.

And Boop, I know, is in love with me. She has sworn it repeatedly!

"Boop, my love. I have the answer -- the absolutely perfect time for us to be together: Thanksgiving Day! Just say "yes" and I will fly to your home. Or, if you prefer, I will send you the airplane ticket to fly here. If you feel uncomfortable, I will arrange for us to meet anywhere in the country. The important thing is that on this holiday we will finally be together. Our very love will be a song of thanksgiving!"

"Are you kidding?" Boop replied. "I never go anywhere on Thanksgiving -- and I certainly wouldn't have time to spend with you if you came here. This is the most important day of the year -- the on line casinos offer their best promos and I won't move away from my computer!"

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Don't Bet on Turkey
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

It was something I wanted to do for years -- go to the Kessah Casino in Turkey.

Imagine: A giant casino resort hotel, located on shores of the Mediterranean, loaded with gorgeous Scandinavian women who sunbathed topless on the beach while not at the tables. PARADISE!

Unfortunately, the cost always held me back. It is not cheap to fly to Turkey and while the hotel has the best accommodations and is noted for its gourmet dinners (included in the price), it was always a bit out of reach.

Until, that is, now. Nobody in his right mind is flying anywhere near the Middle East so airfares have dropped tremendously. However, no one has ever accused me of being in my right mind anyhow and when I found out I could get a round trip to Turkey for $500 I jumped at it. Then my travel agent really thrilled me: I could get a week in the Kessah as part of a package deal and only pay $100 more than the airfare!

"Which way to the casino?" I asked the moment I walked into the hotel.

"Are you joking?" asked the receptionist. "The casino's been closed for a decade."

"The casino closed?" I choked. "What happened? Was it an earthquake? A terrorist attack?"

"No," the receptionist said. "The Islamic Party entered the Turkish government and banned gambling. We made the casino into a movie theatre. You'll love it -- we show all the latest Disney films."

"But I flew thousands of miles just to get in some gambling," I protested. "How about just one quick bet -- put a room key in one of your hands and I'll try to guess which one it is. Even money odds."

"Sorry," he said. "It's illegal."

In shock, I stumbled towards a chair in the lobby when I noticed a young boy playing marbles.

SAVED!

"How about one quick game for keepsies?" I asked the 9-year-old.

"Schweinhundt!" his mother yelled at me, before grabbing him by the hand and pulling away.

I went to the bar and ordered two drinks -- one Coke and one rum and Coke. Then I tried betting the barkeeper that I could guess which one has the rum before tasting it.

"Forget it," he said. "Our booze is so watered down that you won't even be able to tell which one has rum AFTER tasting it."

"But your bar is internationally known for its great drinks," I said.

"That was in the good old days, when we used to have gamblers coming here," the barkeep told me. "Now all we get are families -- and the kind that consider lemonade to be a bit strong."

"I understand you are looking to make a bet," said a guy who walked into the bar. "I'll give you five to one odds you don't score with even one woman while you're here."

"I'll take those odds," I said confidently. "My hundred versus your five."

"You might as well hand it over now," he said. "There haven't been any Scandinavians here since the casino closed. The place is so loaded with Germans that at first I thought I was at a Wehrmacht reunion."

"Germans, Scandinavians -- what's the difference? I've already seen loads of good looking blondes in the lobby."

"Right," he said. "You will also find them on the beach. Right next to their husbands and their children. Kessah has been transformed into a wholesome family resort."

"That's disgusting!" I exclaimed.

"It's even worse than you can imagine," the bartender said. "We used to have a wonderful VIP room where big rollers could play in private. Now it is a fitness center with those torture machines that put you in good shape."

"Isn't there any licentiousness and scandal here at all?" I asked wistfully.

"Well, there was that case of the beautiful blonde from Hamburg who came with the Lutheran Church group last year," he said. "It turned out she had a secret life."

"Great!" I said. "Give me all the details! Was it a lover -- did he meet her here?"

"Nothing that juicy," he told me. "But it turned out she was a closet Methodist."

"I can't believe it," I said. "All my life I wanted a wonderful vacation in Turkey and when I get here I find there is no gambling, no loose women, and watered down booze."

"I know what you mean," commiserated the barkeep. "It's ruined my tips. Look, like most Turks, I consider myself a good Moslem, but those fundamentalist fanatics really destroyed things for everyone."

"Well, I'm not going to waste any more time here," I said. "I'm going to call my travel agent right away and get tickets to some country where the fundamentalists haven't been able to ruin things. I wonder if I can get a cheap flight to Afghanistan."

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The Online Gaming and Licensing Authority
Copyright 2008 --Josh Wilde

Having been ripped off by the Sadists Casino, I decided to file a complaint with OLGLA -- the United States On Line Gaming and Licensing Authority.

I was very surprised that the Agency chairman, Franklin L. Phelps, agreed to meet with me in person -- this is not what I had expected from a government agency. But I was even more surprised when I arrived at their Washington headquarters and found that it was located in the back room of a pool hall.

"These are very modest offices for the Federal government," I said.

"We're not part of the government," Phelps told me. "What made you think we are?"

"The name," I said. "After all, you call yourself the US Licensing Authority."

"Of course we do," said Phelps. "After all, we're located in the United States, aren't we? What would you expect us to call ourselves? 'The Russian On Line Gaming and Licensing Authority'? But we are a private organization."

"Then how can you have any power?" I asked.

"That's the wonderful part," Phelps replied. "We don't. This way, we can never abuse it."

"I'm confused," I admitted. "If you have no power, what do you do?"

"We approve and license online casinos," he said, "assuming, of course, that they meet our standards."

"How do you make certain that your standards are being met?" I asked. "Do you do audits of their books or check their software for honesty?"

"Why bother?" Phelps replied. "There's a much simpler way -- we make certain that their check for our licensing fee didn't bounce."

"But I saw your symbol on the Sadists Casino website. It said it was OLGLA approved."

"And that is quite right," said Phelps. "The Sadists Casino is a fine organization which always pays promptly."

"Can you get them to pay me the money they owe me?" I asked him.

"Why would we do a thing like that?" Phelps replied in astonishment. "When I said they pay promptly, I meant that they pay OLGLA promptly. If they don't pay you, then don't give them a symbol for their website."

"If all you do is collect money and give out symbols, then what is the value of your license?" I asked.

"An OLGLA license is extremely valuable," Phelps replied indignantly. "Casinos find it works wonders in convincing players that they are reliable. After all, how can you doubt a site that has been approved by an organization which has such an impressive name?"

"That's it?" I asked in shock. "You're a fake! You're not a real licensing authority!"

"Of course we are," said Phelps. "We're every bit as real as any gaming commission or council you will find on the net."

"You mean that the others are not part of the government either?" I asked.

"Of course not," Phelps replied. "Tell me -- do you still believe in Santa Claus and do you think that a website which calls itself a 'players association' is part of the AFL-CIO?"

"But if you guys can't close down an unethical casino, how can a player protect himself?" I asked.

"For a start," said Phelps, "It might be a good idea not to play at them. Everybody knows who the rip offs are and which casinos are honest -- it is posted on every bulletin board on the net."

"But what about a new casino?" I asked. "If nobody has any experience with them, how can I find out if they're honest?"

"That can be difficult," Phelps agreed. "In fact, it just happened to me. I was offered a great bonus at a brand new casino called 'Happy Bets' and won $1000. They never paid me -- despite the fact that they had been approved by a commission, a council, an association, and my very own Authority."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I took very firm steps," Phelps replied. "I immediately cancelled their license and made a complaint in some newspapers."

"Did it help?" I wondered.

"Of course," Phelps replied. "The newspapsers wrote stories saying that Happy Bets were crooks and they were forced out of business."

"But that didn't get you your money," I pointed out.

"Sure it did," Phelps answered. "The next day the owners of Happy Bets opened a new casino called 'Joyous Bets' and applied for a license. I simply upped the fees to cover the $1000 that they owed me."

"You licensed these guys?" I asked in shock. "After knowing that they are crooks?"

"How can you say such a thing about them?" Phelps asked. "After all, they meet all our standards!"

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Shlomo, Oy Oy Seven
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

A few weeks ago, I got a mysterious message from my Israeli friend, Shlomo. It read: "Must gamble. Quick lesson. Come now."

The message came by e-mail, which really surprised me. Personally, I felt that as one of the top operatives of the Mossad, Israel's spy agency, Shlomo should use more traditional methods, like microdots concealed in hollowed-out cufflinks.

I immediately got on a plane to Lisbon, switched identities, and took a train to Madrid. After a second name change, I hired a car and drove to Milan. From there, I took a bus to Trieste, a donkey to Belgrade, an oxcart to Istanbul and a boat to Tel Aviv. Actually, I wanted to take the boat to Jerusalem, but the captain refused, saying that it was too difficult a sail considering that Jerusalem is about 50 miles from the sea.

"Thank goodness you're here," Shlomo said when I finally reached him. "I have to learn how to gamble -- in a hurry."

"I understand," I said. "After all, I've seen all the James Bond movies. Are you going to destroy an enemy agent by beating him at chemin de fer?"

"No," said Shlomo, "the problem is Hannuka."

"Hannuka?" I asked. "Who's that? A Syrian spy? Are you going to lure him into a poker game and win all the money he is planning to use for a devilish operation?"

"No," said Shlomo. "Hannuka is a holiday -- it starts on Friday and I have to learn how to gamble before then."

"A holiday?" I asked in confusion. "What do holidays have to do with being a spy?"

"Nothing," said Shlomo, "but this is a particularly dangerous holiday. Can you teach me how to win about $250,000 at blackjack?"

"That might be difficult for a new player," I told him. "Why do you need to play?"

"It's the only way I can get enough money in time," he said. "You see, Hannuka is a lot like Christmas, except that it lasts eight days, not just one. Maybe you can show me how to figure out which horses will win at the races."

"Nobody has quite gotten handicapping down to a science," I told him, "but you still haven't told me why you need all this money."

"Until this year there was no problem," Shlomo said. "I worked in the Mossad's headquarters. But last January, they made me a field agent. Naturally, I soon found myself in various pleasure spots of the world meeting gorgeous women."

"Naturally," I agreed. "After all, if there were no beautiful women involved, why would anybody bother becoming a spy in the first place?"

"First there was Venice," he said. "I worked with a dark-haired beauty from the Italian Secret Service named Francesca. After destroying an Iraqi plot to blow up an Israeli freighter in the Venitian harbor, we made wonderful love in a hotel along the canal. When we parted, Francesca said, 'This is January, but remember me in December.'

"I didn't understand at first, but she was referring to Hannuka! Francesca wants me to send her a gift on each of the eight days. She loves perfumes, EXPENSIVE perfumes, and eight bottles will cost a lot of money."

"Not $250,000," I said. "So you don't have to win that much."

"True," said Shlomo, "but Claree in Cannes likes diamonds, Lene in Copenhagen likes furs, and Denise in Maine is into cars. I have to send eight of each to all these women! Thank goodness for Olga in Moscow! She'll be very happy just to get eight loaves of bread!"

"And you expect to win all that money gambling in the next few days?" I asked in shock.

"Of course," said Shlomo. "If Bond could do it, why can't I?"

"James Bond had a big advantage," I explained to him. "He was a fictional character, so his author could make any cards turn up that he wanted."

Just then, a man sat down at the table next to us, and said, "It is a fine day when the sun breaks through the clouds."

"As long as the clouds don't rain on the city," Shlomo answered.

With the passwords completed, the man handed Shlomo a message. He read it and then ate it.

"I have to leave," he said. "I am being sent to Saudi Arabia. There is a group of 100 women there who are tired of how the government treats females and are willing to give us Saudi secrets."

"That's great," I said. "That way, you won't be here for Hannuka and you won't have to send out the presents!"

"No," said Shlomo sadly. "I will be back in two days -- but by then I will have to send out 800 more gifts!"

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The Evil Ones
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde

There is a conspiracy out there to ruin your next Vegas junket. Although the people involved are not part of any official organization, I refer to them as "The Evil Ones". They will start making your life miserable long before you reach Vegas and will continue even on your way home.

Fortunately, I have been able to identify most of them and provide you with the appropriate steps to take in each case.

The SAVIP (Self-Appointed VIP). He considers himself much too important to have to stand on line like other people. You will spot him -- after you have been waiting 30 minutes to check in -- strolling straight up to the counter.

Your Revenge: Wait until 5 minutes before boarding, and then whisper to an airline representative, "There is something very strange about that guy. He speaks English without any foreign accent, but I heard him outside of the terminal talking to a couple of young men in Arabic." He will, of course, miss his flight. He may also miss the next few days.

The Seat Imperialist. He will sit next to you in the plane, and immediately start moving into YOUR territory. Not only will his arm take more than half the armrest, most of it will be on your side. He will put his hand baggage between his legs, meaning that they will spread out to where your legs should be.

Your Cure: Make sure that your arm is pressed firm against his and that your legs are touching. Then, referring to him as "Sweetie", tell him how cute you think he is and ask about the hotel he will be staying at. Of course, this only works if you are a man. Moreover, if he answers you enthusiastically, you are in serious trouble.

The Indy 500 Valet: Instead of being paid for handling casino valet parking, he should pay others. He LOVES taking your car and speeding through the curves and turns of the parking garage, often sideswiping other vehicles.

Your Prevention: Assume that any valet who takes your car is the Indy 500 guy and when you give him the keys, say, "Strange thing about that car -- anytime you get out of first gear the brakes freeze up."

The "You Peasant" Waiter -- He will be found in the casino's better restaurants and will go out of his way to make certain that you are aware that you know absolutely nothing about fine wines or haute cuisine. He will especially enjoy doing this if you are with a woman that you want to impress.

Your Revenge: Speak to the restaurant manager, introduce yourself as the food critic of the New York Times, and tell him that while would love to be able to give them a good review, you were very disappointed to find that the waiter is not knowledgeable about food or drinks.

The Vulturess -- She hovers around slot machines, waiting for people to be wiped out. She is then prepared to invest ten coins of her own in the hope that the jackpot is "due". She especially enjoys winning while you are still close enough to suffer.

Your Counterploy: Start chatting with her and find out when her birthday is. Then, act surprised and let her know that the Vegas Monaco Casino is giving 500 free plays on their SuperJackpot Slot to people born on that day! Watch as she runs to the Vegas Monaco -- or at least spends the night trying to find this non-existent place.

The Big Shot -- He will be sitting at a low stakes poker game, gambling very conservatively. He will, however, bore the hell out of you telling you stories about how he USUALLY playing with the Big Boys. Just the night before, he will assure you, he won over $100,000.

Your Reply: Ask him, almost as in passing, where he is from. When he tells you, announce, "Now that IS a coincidence! I'm being transferred there next week -- I work for the IRS. We'll probably meet when you come in for an audit."

The Fear Monger -- She will sit next to you on the plane on your way home. You will want to sit quietly and contemplate your losses. This will be her first flight and she will insist on screaming out "We're going to die!" as soon as the plane starts taxiing.

Your Cure: Tell her that you are a commercial pilot and you can assure her that there is no danger at all. She can feel safe all the time that the "Fasten Seat Belt" sign is on. If the captain determines that the plane is going to crash, he will turn it off, realizing that it won't help anyhow. She may not shut up immediately, but soon after take off, when the sign is turned off, she will go into shock and not be able to mutter a word.

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A Christmas Carol
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

While visiting London recently, I went to Dickens' Street and entered the famed Scrooge and Marley Casino.

"Merry Christmas," beamed the owner, Ebenezer Scrooge. "It's wonderful to see you."

"I have to admit that I'm a bit surprised," I told him. "I had heard some things that made me doubt that you would be in the Christmas spirit."

"I know," Scrooge told me. "I used to hate the Yuletime --but that was before I was visited by the three ghosts."

"Christmas Past, Present and Future?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Scrooge replied. "How can holidays have ghosts? No, I was visited by the ghosts of Macy, Gimble, and Sears. These wonderful men not only built America's biggest stores, but created Christmas as we know it today -- a wonderful time to make a profit."

"But aren't you missing the true spirit of the holiday?" I asked. "After all, it is better to give than to receive."

"I know," said Scrooge, "and I want things to be good for my players, so I am doing the most generous thing possible -- letting them have the chance to give. To me."

With that, Scrooge took me into the casino's slots room. Our first stop there was a machine called "Santa's Helpers."

"Look at all the elves on the reels," he said. "If three of them land on the payline, you collect the big jackpot: 50,000 Pounds Sterling."

"That will certainly give somebody a merry Christmas," I said.

"I doubt it," Scrooge replied. "We arranged the odds against a payoff like that to be 2 million to one. The way I see it, if somebody starts playing on December 1 and doesn't stop even to eat, he should be due for a winner in the middle of March. Of course, by that time, we will change the name of the machine to "Happy Leprechauns," dedicate it to Saint Patrick's Day, and he will have to start all over."

"Do you have any other special slots for the holiday?" I asked.

"Of course," Scrooge beamed. "We have the "Four Wise Men" slots. If you get all four at one time, you win our super jackpot of 1 Million Pounds!"

"But there were only three Wise Men," I said.

"I know," Scrooge replied. "There are also only three Wise Men on our slots -- that's why we can afford to offer such a generous payoff."

We then walked into the Blackjack Room where the dealers were using what Scrooge called "The Christmas Patter."

"Of course you should double down," one dealer was telling a man who was holding a 5 and a 2. "Don't worry about my Ace. After all, it's Christmas. You're sure to win."

"We are offering a special kind of Insurance during Christmas," another dealer was saying. You don't have to wait until I show an Ace to buy it. You can buy it for the usual price BEFORE my first card is dealt."

"That's just plain thievery," I said to Scrooge.

"Nonsense," he said. "There is nothing plain about it!"

"I'm sorry, but this whole thing doesn't sound kosher to me," I complained.

"Of course it isn't kosher," Scrooge replied a bit puzzled. "Christmas isn't a Jewish holiday -- why should it be kosher?"

"But don't you realize that you are taking a wonderful holiday and ruining it?" I asked.

"Not so," Scrooge objected. "I am taking a horrible holiday and saving it! Look -- every December companies give their employees bonuses, right? What happens to this money? Richer employees spend it to buy faster cars. Poorer ones use it to buy alcohol. Fast cars and booze! Can you think of a more dangerous combination? Fortunately, there are people like me willing to help people get rid of this extra money quickly and safely."

"I never thought of it that way," I told Scrooge. "I guess you really are a humanitarian at heart."

"Of course I am," he said. "And it's not like the money I take in doesn't go to a good cause. I use it all help support underprivileged women in Third World nations."

Just then Scrooge's assistant, Bob Cratchitt, came in to give Scrooge his messages.

"Your mistress in Bangkok called to ask if she should buy a new waterbed before your visit next week," Cratchitt said, "and your girlfriend in Rio wants to know if she can buy a new diamond bracelet."

"Tell them both to go ahead and buy," said Scrooge. "After all, this is the Yuletime."

"Oh," said Cratchitt, "that reminds me: I'd like to take the day off, if it is quite convenient."

"Every year you say that," grumbled Scrooge, "and every year it's just as inconvenient as it was the year before. But take it off if you must, although I imagine you would consider yourself ill-used if I were to dock you a day's pay for it. I tell you, Sir, that Christmas is a mighty poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every 25th of December!

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The Week Without the Story
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

I usually submit my satires in the beginning of the week for Thursday publication. But Monday, this week, I was recovering from the shock of dropping all my bets on Sunday's NFL games and on Tuesday I was doing the same for Monday Night Football. Wednesday, of course, was spent on the telephone explaining to various bookies why I would be a little late in paying them what I had lost on the games. When I woke up this morning (Thursday), I realized that I still had nothing to write about.

No problem. Fortunately, I work for the most understanding of bosses -- Big Tony.

"A bit of the old Writer's Block, eh?" Tony smiled when I explained the situation. "Don't worry, I'm not in the least angry -- this will give me the perfect excuse to replace you with my nephew Melvin."

Having no desire at all to join the giant list of unemployed satirists, I made up my mind to come up with a story by the end of the day. But what could I write about?

Online casinos that go out of business owing you money? I already did that.

Grandma Mildred heading to the track? Not only did I write that once, but she threatened me with an invasion of privacy suit if I ever mentioned her in a story again.

"I know I'm your loving grandma, Josh honey," she told me at the time, "but damned if I am going to pass up my one and only chance to be a victim and collect the big bucks."

I tried interviewing a congressman about the Congressional studies on gambling-related corruption, but couldn't reach one -- they were all in Las Vegas, being comped by the Nevada Casino Owners Association.

"Don't you even THINK of writing about me again," my daughter Dyslexia warned me. "Every time you do, you make me sound spoiled and greedy."

"But, honey, if I don't find something to write about I won't be getting a paycheck and I won't be able to use my credit cards."

"What do I care?" Dyslexia replied.

"If I can't use them," I explained, "then you can't use them either."

"Oh my God! Get busy! Think of something! If you have to, write about me!"

The telephone rang. It was my ex, Dementia. She doesn't call very often -- she considers telephones to be "capitalist inventions designed to take your money while depriving you of the natural pleasure of personal interaction."

Dementia lives on an Oriental commune somewhere near Los Angeles which, she explains to anyone who will listen, "has rejected the false values of consumerism and money and has established an Eden free of greed and avarice."

"What's this I hear about you not having a satire ready for this week?" she thundered. "If you don't write, you won't have the money to send me my alimony."

"What do you need the alimony for anyhow?" I asked. "I thought your commune has abolished money."

"We have," Dementia said, "but we need some when we go off of the commune. We are taking a trip this weekend to Reno to picket the casinos and protest the greed of the gamblers."

"How much do you need for that?" I asked.

"Not a lot," Dementia conceded, "but I figured that as long as I am there anyhow, I might as well play the slots."

With a daughter, ex-wife, and 37 bookies all pressing for money, a lesser man might have panicked -- but not me!

I had served my country well as a soldier, and paid taxes for decades, and knew that the government wouldn't let me down. My first call was to the Veterans Administration:

"Were you disabled in the Army? No? Well, I'm sorry. We can't help you. Next time, play it smart and get shot."

They suggested that I try the Department of Labor:

"According to your records you have been self-employed, selling your stories on line. Sorry, but self-employed people can't get unemployment insurance, even if they are unemployed self-employed."

They sent me to Housing and Urban Development:

"You live in a small town. We only help people in cities. After all, we're NOT called the Department of Suburban Development!"

Health, Education, and Welfare also had bad news for me:

"You're not a member of a minority or a woman. There is no way we can give you money -- unless, of course, you are willing to undergo a sex change operation."

I decided to pass on that and, getting desperate, called the Department of Agriculture. At first, things looked good.

"You say you don't grow wheat, eh? You're in luck. We pay farmers plenty for not growing wheat. Just how much wheat don't you grow?"

I explained that I don't grow any at all and I don't even have a farm.

"Run out and buy a farm," they said, "and then don't grow wheat. Until then, you're not our responsibility."

The Department of the Interior was my last hope. Unfortunately, they told me they only give money to people in Appalachia.

I gave up. I knew what I would have to do: I headed towards my typewriter to pound out a satire.

But I learned my lesson! If I get reincarnated, I am coming back as a single, Oriental, female, disabled Army veteran who has a farm in a big city in Appalachia where she doesn't grow wheat!

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Josh Wilde, 007
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Many of you may not realize this, but writing satires is only a hobby for me. My real job is being a spy -- just like James Bond.

And like Bond, I travel all over the world, gamble in the best casinos, meet the most beautiful women, and chase down the world's most evil criminals.

in fact, that is exactly what happened just last week, when I drove to Atlantic City (in my Lamborghini) to play at Caesar's.

"This is some place," said the guy sitting next to me at the blackjack table. "The last place I stayed at was a real hole in the wall."

"Where was that?" I asked.

"Afghanistan," he answered.

Afghanistan? Stayed in a hole in the wall? Could it be that this guy wearing the white robes and sporting the long gray beard was...?

He was losing heavily and asked the pit boss if he could get credit.

"Of course," he was told. "We're always willing to extend credit to someone who is worth $25 million."

I immediately ran to the telephone and called the FBI.

"I know where Osama Bin Laden is!" I told them excitedly. "He is sitting at the blackjack table at Caesar's. But hurry up -- he may not be there long, he's losing big time."

"How about you?" the FBI agent asked.

"I'm winning -- why?"

"In that case we'll be right there," said the agent. "Those winnings are subject to federal income tax."

By the time I got back to the table, Bin Laden was gone -- so I decided to go look for him.

I went down to the slots area to search and saw a woman holding the handle of a slot machine which had fallen off. She called an attendant to complain about it and was told, "It's supposed to come off -- that's our 'Bobbit Slot.'"

Further wandering took me in to a room where people were playing Keno. A young woman hit for $100,000 and fainted. I raised her head a bit and when she came to, I said to her "Big breaths."

"Yeth," she replied, "and I'm only eigth-theen."

"Is there a doctor in the house?" I yelled.

"I'm a doctor," said one man, "but I can't help her. The hotel asked me to rush to the Royalty Suite. Apparently one of the women in the English Royal Family is feeling sick -- they figure it must be British Mad Cow Disease."

I pushed on with my search for Bin Laden and went to the roulette tables. A woman was screaming, "Yes! Yes!" A few minutes later, she called out, "Wonderful!" Then, with the next roll of the wheel, "I did it again! I can't believe it! I'm in heaven!"

"You must be winning a fortune," I said to her.

"Me?" she asked in surprise. "I haven't won all night."

"Then what is all the yelling about?" I asked.

"That's my husband turning the wheel," she explained, "and I'm doing what I always do with him -- faking it."

But where could Bin Laden be? Finally -- it hit me: Craps! What could be a more fitting place for him to hide?

I rushed over to the tables and met a man from Roswell, New Mexico.

"You just missed him," the guy told me. "He got into a flying saucer and flew away."

"That sounds mighty weird to me," I said.

"Me, too," the guy agreed. "I can't imagine how he got past the Martian security people."

---------------

Note: I had a very difficult time convincing my editor to run this story.

"It's too unbelievable," he said to me. "Satires are one thing, but they have to have at least some basis in reality. No one will ever believe that you drove a Lamborghini!"

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Vote Fitzenjammer, to Stop Immorality
Copyright 2008, Josh Wilde

Eddie Fitzenjammer, who has repeatedly run for various offices and always lost, knocked on my door yesterday to ask me to vote for him in a special election our town will have on Tuesday.

"I'm running for Town Morals Secretary," Eddie said. "And I'm pretty certain to win."

"I didn't know there was such a post," I told him.

"Neither does anyone else," he said. "It's been unoccupied for the past 200 years. I happened to find out about it while I was digging through the town by-laws. Not only does no one else know that there is such a job, but no one else is running for it -- and that leaves me pretty confident."

"Does the town really need a Morals Secretary?" I wondered.

"Of course we do!" stormed Eddie. "If we don't have one, everybody will continue to do whatever they enjoy doing -- and then where will we be?"

"But what will a Morals Secretary do?" I asked.

"He'll make certain that everyone remains moral," Eddie explained. "For a start, I'm going to get rid of all the online casinos in town."

"But there are no online casinos in town," I said.

"In that case," Eddie said, "I'll get rid of all the online casinos that are not in town."

"How will you do that?" I asked. "Will you declare war on Barbados and Costa Rica?"

"I thought about it," Eddie said, "but apparently there was a slip up when the town by-laws were written and they made no provision for an army. I guess I'll have to wait until I'm president to attack. But I can still make certain that nobody in our town plays at any of these casinos."

"How will you do that?" I asked.

"For a start, I'll pass a law making it illegal for any bank in the town to honor credit card debits made to online casinos."

"Eddie, there are less than 1,000 people living here. There are no banks in the town. Everybody goes to the city for their banking."

"That does make it more difficult," Eddie conceded, "but there are other ways to handle the problem. We have telephones here, don't we? I'll make it illegal to use telephones in this town to place a bet."

"But how will you know if people are violating the law?" I asked.

"Simple," said Eddie. "We'll hire people to tap every phone in town. We'll know what everyone is doing and saying. That not only ends the problem of online betting, but it also will make it impossible for anyone to plan any other immoral activities on the telephone."

"That's going to be mighty expensive," I said. "Where are you going to get the money to pay for all of this?"

"Simple," said Eddie. "We'll do what every other government in the country is doing -- make money from gambling taxes. We'll tax all the casinos and race tracks in town."

"It may not have caught your attention," I said, "but we have no casinos or race tracks here."

"We will," said Eddie proudly. "I've already contacted Bally's, Trump, and a few other outfits. They said they will be happy to build casinos here. And there is no reason why the high school football field can't be turned into a race track."

"Do you know what this will do to the town?" I asked. "We only have one road and it will be jammed with traffic. Instead of our beautiful woodland scenery, we'll be staring at garish neon lights. The easy money at the casinos will attract underworld elements and pretty soon we'll find brothels on Main Street."

"I know," said Eddie, "but as Morals Secretary it will be my job to put a stop to the practice of betting in the privacy of your home and if casinos, race tracks and brothels are the price we have to pay for it well, it will be worth it to know that our town will be a better place to live."

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Harry Potter and the Chamber of Slots
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

As much as it embarrasses me to admit it, there are, undoubtedly a few Muggles (non-magical people) among my readers. And while they might have heard of Harry Potter, they probably know very little about him.

Until very recently, I would have suggested that they read the books that a Ms. J. K. Rowling has written about Harry. I was positive that Ms. Rowling was a witch herself -- because she certainly had many of the details about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and the wizard lifestyle correct.

Then I decided that I could write a better Harry Potter story than Ms. Rowling could -- a fact which the publishing world seemed to dispute.

Undeterred,I decided to call it "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Slots" and placed it in a hitherto-unknown casino in Hogsmeade (which as every Harry Potter fan knows is the only all-wizard village in all of England).

******************************

"Expello!" shouted the young man with the scar on his forehead as he aimed his wand at the slot machine. It immediately shot forth hundreds of gold coins. Harry Potter smiled as he collected his money.

"You can't do something like that," said Hermoine, his young witch friend. "You are a good wizard. In fact, you are so good that every kid in the school considers you a rat fink."

"I know," said Harry. "I am not keeping this money. I'm only testing out the security of the slots for the casino. If not, the evil Lord Voldemort might come in here and cheat the casino."

Hermoine shivered as she heard Harry mention the Dark Wizard's name. Most magical people refused to even say it -- they referred to Voldemort only as "You-Know-Who". His evil knew no boundaries. He cast horrible spells on people. He murdered at random. He even abused online casino bonuses!

"You don't think that You-Know-Who would come to the Chamber of Slots?" she asked Harry. "After all, this is a public place and the Wizard Police might spot him."

"They haven't spotted us, have they?" Harry replied. "And we're two 14-year-old kids in a casino!"

"Make that THREE 14-year-olds," said a voice from behind them. They turned around and spotted their best friend, Ron Weasley. He was accompanied by a blonde woman in her 20's who was wearing a low cut dress and too much make up.

"This is Bubbles," he said, as he introduced her.

"Pleased to meet'cha," Bubbles mumbled.

"Bubbles works in the casino," Ron explained. "She's a hooker."

"A hooker!" exclaimed Hermoine. "You can't have a hooker in this story. Our books are read by children!"

"What's wrong with bein' a hooker?" Bubbles replied indignantly. "When people come inta the casino I take their coats and hats an' hang 'em up on hooks."

"Do you see anything strange about that slot machine?" Harry asked, pointing to a nearby one which featured gremlins, goblins, and ghouls.

"Not really," said Ron. "The gremlins are screaming, the goblins are yelling, and the ghouls are moaning -- but none of that is unusual in this casino."

"But the machine paid off three jackpots in the past hour," Harry said, "and that doesn't happen in ANY casino!"

"Do you think that You-Know-Who has anything to do with it?" asked Hermoine.

"I'll find out," said Ron. "I'll use a Greed Probe. You-Know-Who is the greediest wizard who ever lived, and if there is any greed in anyone here, a light bulb will appear over his head. GREEDUM REVEALUM!"

The moment that Ron pronounced these words, light bulbs appeared over the heads of every person in the casino.

"I guess it's back to the old drawing board," Ron moaned.

"Let me try an Ultimate Evil Probe," Harry volunteered. "It will only show very evil wizards. If there is one here, fireworks will go off, sirens will sound, and the entire Glenn Miller Orchestra will appear over his head playing 'Moonlight Serenade.'"

"Why so elaborate?" asked Hermoine.

"It doesn't really matter in the book," admitted Harry, "but it will be fantastic for the movie version."

Harry waved his wand, pronounced "EVILUM OUTTUM" and the resulting noise and fireworks were fantastic. So was the orchestra -- which was right over Bubble's head.

"You are Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked in surprise. "You are one heck of a lot better looking than I had expected."

"Actually," she replied, "I am Lady Voldemort. I am just as evil as my father, but I think you'll find me a lot more fun in the sack."

"The joke's on you," Hermoine said righteously. "Harry and Ron are good and decent. They would never abandon all they believe in for just a little loose sex."

"SHUT UPDOM!" Harry and Ron said simultaneously, putting a Silence Spell on Hermoine.

"Come on, boys," said Lady Voldemort. "Let's get out of this one-horse wizard village. Together, we will be boffo in Vegas!"

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Lucy is Abused by a Bonus
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde

Lucy: Waaa!

Ethel: Why, Lucy, honey, whatever is the matter?

Lucy: Ricky says I can't go to Atlantic City and gamble!

Ethel: That's probably because this is the 1950's and gambling won't become legal there for another 30 years!

Lucy: Well, I don't care. I don't have a job, Little Ricky doesn't require more than 45 seconds of my time in any episode, and watching Donna Reed on TV is boring. A girl has to do something to pass the time.

Ethel: Why don't you just do what every other married woman does? Have an affair -- that's what I'm doing.

Lucy: AN AFFAIR? With who? The only man in this building is your husband, Fred, and nobody would sleep with him.

Ethel: I can't argue with you there.

Lucy: By the way, who are you having your affair with?

Ethel: I can't tell you. But I am going to spend most of the evening with him -- oh, and Ricky left a message for you -- he will be working late tonight.

Lucy: Good. That gives me more time to do something. Do you know that nice Bill Gates boy from down the block? He was here a short while ago.

Ethel: You are having an affair with him?

Lucy: Don't be silly! The American public would never accept having one of their idols sleep with a boy who just graduated college.

Ethel: Anne Bancroft will be very disappointed to hear that.

Lucy: Anyhow, Bill has invented something called a personal computer and he's letting me do some gambling on it.

Ethel: You're going to gamble here. In your own house?

Lucy: Only if I can get some good bonuses.

Ethel: But where will you get the money to bet with?

Lucy: That's the beauty of it. You don't need money. The casinos give you sign up money to play with and you never gamble a cent of your own.

Ethel: Wow! You're going to be history's first bonus abuser!

Lucy: And after you win, they send you the money by Fedex.

Ethel: But it will be about 20 years before Fedex starts operations.

Lucy: That's perfect timing! I understand it takes many of these casinos that long to send out the checks. Okay. Let's try it out. First I type in "WWW"...

Ethel: What does that mean?

Lucy: I think it means "Who Wants Women?" Bill and his friends look kinda strange.

Ethel: Then what do you do?

Lucy: I type in the name of the casino I want. Bill suggested one called "Happy Havana".

Ethel: If you're going to play there, you had better hurry up. Havana won't be happy after Castro takes over.

(Lucy lights up a "Lucky Strike", immediately addicting another 500,000 Americans, gets a big smile on her face, and starts playing. An advertisement comes on. Surprise! It is for Lucky Strike!)

Ethel: Wow! That was a long commercial break!

Lucy: Too long! I lost $30,000!

Ethel: How did you lose? I thought you weren't going to deposit anything.

Lucy, Well, I wasn't. But they offered a very special bonus with your first deposit of $30,000 or more -- 100 acres of land in Florida.

Ethel: Oh, Lucy, don't you know those Florida land deals are always a big fraud? It's all swamp! That idiot husband of mine bought some 10 years ago and we just use the stock certificates for wall paper. Nobody would ever buy them from us -- after all, who would want to build anything in Buena Vista, Florida?

Lucy: Yeah, I guess you're right -- it was a pretty Mickey Mouse offer.

Ethel: But how are you ever going to pay them $30,000? You don't have that kind of money.

Lucy: I know. But we came to an agreement. They accepted this apartment building instead.

Ethel: Lucy! This building doesn't belong to you! Fred and I own it.

Lucy: Look, during the commercial break, you went down to your apartment to fool around with Ricky -- and what you were doing to him down there, I was doing to you up here!

Ethel: I bet you think that Ricky and I won't ever do it again, right? Well, I have news for you, Lucy. Ricky and I will be having sex at least once a week for the next 50 years -- that's the beauty of re-runs!

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Toreador, en Garde!
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

For the longest time, I have been wanting to date my bookie, Maggie.

I had never actually met her, as she only takes bets over the phone, but I was fascinated by her voice. The only way to describe it is "silk in sound." I have tried asking her to dinner, to movies, to ski vacations -- nothing.

Not, at least, until this week. After putting down some bets, I asked if she wanted to see "Carmen" with me.

"Who is she?" Maggie asked.

"It's an opera," I said, "about a gypsy and a bullfighter."

Maggie shocked me by accepting!

I spent all day congratulating myself on my charming personality, which had obviously thawed her ice, but when I picked her up at her house I found out the real reason she accepted.

"I love sports," she said. "All kind of sports -- and I've never been to a bullfight. I'll give you three to one odds right now on the matador."

"That wouldn't be fair," I said. "I know a little about bullfighting and happen to know that the bull's chances are pretty slim. In fact, no matador has ever lost two fights in a row -- probably because no matador has ever been around after losing the first one. Besides, I told you -- we're going to an opera, not a bullfight."

"I thought the opera part was only the pre-game show," Maggie admitted. "Maybe you better tell me a little about it."

"It starts," I said, "when Carmen and another girl get into a fight, and Carmen is arrested."

"Why?" Maggie asked. "Didn't they have permission from the Boxing Commission?"

"Carmen cheated a bit," I explained. "She pulled a knife."

"Wow!" said Maggie. "If the ref hadn't spotted that, it would have put the odds way up in her favor!"

"Anyhow," I continued, "a young soldier named Don Jose is assigned to take her to jail, but he falls in love with her and lets her go. He is sent to prison in place of her, but when he gets out he immediately runs to be with her."

"I they stole that idea from 'Days of Our Lives,'" Maggie said. "I'm sure I saw it there first."

"This is where the matador comes in," I told her. "His name is Escamillo and nobody knows he is a matador. They think he is a 'toreador' which is quite strange, as there is no such thing."

"That's not so strange," said Maggie. "I can't tell you how many of my clients think they have a system to pick winners at the race track, and there is no such thing either."

"Carmen immediately falls in love with Escamillo," I continued, "and he and Don Jose get into a fight."

"But Don Jose isn't a bull!" Maggie objected. "How can Escamillo fight him? Athletes should stick to their own specialty -- I bet Escamillo looks ridiculous waving a red cape at Don Jose."

"He looks a little better the next day," I agreed, "because that's when the bullfight is scheduled. Escamillo shows up with Carmen on his arm and Don Jose grabs her and tells her how much he loves her."

"This Don Jose guy is really an idiot," Maggie said. "No man has ever managed to get a girl away from a jock on the day of the big game. He should have waited until it was over -- especially if the bull had won."

"Maybe you're right," I agreed, "because Carmen tells Don Jose to shove off and he stabs her to death."

"Does he do it well?" Maggie asked.

"I don't understand," I said.

"Don't you know anything?" Maggie replied in despair. "If he killed her at the bullfight and did it well, the audience would award him both ears and the tail."

"It was too late for that," I answered. "In fact, that was the reason that Don Jose killed her -- she had already given Escamillo her tail."

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A Few Honest Men
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

George Washington, who was known for never having told a lie, was born on Feb. 22. So was Lord Baden-Powell, the founder of the boy scouts.

Naturally, being a firm believer in astrology, upon learning this, I immediately decided that people born on that date would be great poker Members. My beliefs were confirmed when I learned that Robert Young was also born on Feb. 22. How could the actor who played both Robert Anderson in "Father Knows Best" and "Marcus Welby, MD" possibly lie? These are the ideal suckers -- they can not bluff.

I immediately put an announcement in our village newspaper: "In honor of the Father of our Country, I am hosting a poker game on Friday for people born on Feb. 22. Free food and drinks."

The first to show up was kindly old Father O'Malley. Perfect -- especially when he confirmed that he did not belong to one of those orders which take a vow of poverty.

The next to knock on my door was Professor Straitman from the local community college. He teaches Ethics. How much better could things get?

That was answered for me with the arrival of Mike Wagner, the volunteer chairman of the village Community Chest. I could see my winnings piling up already!

Frank Magruder, who owns the General Store, came in. Frank once overcharged me 10 cents on some nails by accident and not only returned the money the next day but brought me a case of Scotch as a guilt offering. I will never forget Frank's honesty -- and planned to really make it work against him that night.

I have to admit that the final person surprised me. John Hoffsteder! John is a lawyer! Could this be right? Could there actually be such a thing as an honest lawyer? Then I remembered -- John is so well-thought of by his colleagues that he was elected president of the county Bar Association. More than that, there was a story in the paper recently that the Governor is considering appointing John to the state Supreme Court. John is certainly a man I can trust -- and therefore the perfect patsy for poker.

The very first hand set pace for the evening.

I dealt five card draw. I figured that with no cards showing at all, the chances for bluffing would be best.

Father O'Malley, who had taken 3 cards, opened for a quarter and then crossed himself. I knew that his pull could not have been very good -- not if he felt the need to pray for 25 cents!

The professor, who had taken one card, started to call and then changed his mind. Obviously, he felt that it would be unethical to make us believe that he had filled out his straight, flush, or whatever. He folded.

Frank bumped the bet to a dollar. I had to wonder about that. Frank had taken two cards -- so the odds were that he was holding either three of a kind or a high pair with an ace kicker. I had three jacks, so I could probably beat him.

Then Hoffsteder raised Frank's bet by another dollar! You don't get the Governor thinking about appointing you to the Supreme Court if you are a dummy! Hoffsteder knew what Frank was holding just as well as I did. Then I remembered -- Frank hadn't taken a card. He had a pat hand! I folded -- and so did everybody else.

Throughout the night, Hoffsteder seemed to draw the kind of cards that most people only dream of. Of course, I didn't get to see them very often, as we generally folded. But you could tell from his betting just how good each hand was. Towards the end of the evening, it was clear that he was going to be the big winner.

Until, that is, the last hand.

Hoffsteder dealt. Five card stud. I was high with a queen and opened for $5. What did I have to worry about? I had another queen in the hole.

Everybody at the table called -- no one raised. Hoffsteder certainly looked weak -- his up card was an 8.

The second up card was dealt. My queen was still high and I made the bet $10. Again, everyone called and nobody raised.

The third up card left Father O'Malley as the high man. He had an ace showing. He checked, and I knew my queen was still good. I raised the bet to $25. Everybody dropped out except Father O'Malley and Hoffsteder. I knew that the father was hoping for another ace, but couldn't figure out why Hoffsteder was staying around. He showed that original 8, plus a 2 and a 10. He couldn't be going for a straight and his suits were mixed, so a flush was out.

The last card was dealt. I got a 6. That gave me two pairs -- queens up sixes! Gold! Father O'Malley didn't get his ace, so I didn't have to worry about him getting two higher pairs. Hoffsteder drew an 8. He was now showing a pair of 8's -- but he had no card showing higher than my queen.

I bet $100. Father O'Malley dropped out. Hoffsteder saw my bet and then raised $500!

"I don't want to take all your money," he said to me, "but I have to honor my trip 8's. Even if you have a third 7 in the hole, there is no way you can win. I suggest you drop."

Now THERE is a gentleman, I said to myself. He probably figured that I had two pairs and he could have lured me into losing big time. Instead, he gave me fair notice. I made a point to invite him to every poker game I host -- his luck was good tonight, but that had to change and if he insists on being so honest I can really rip into him in the future!

Hoffsteder helped me clean up after the game and so was the last to leave the house.

"You had some run of luck with those cards tonight," I said to him.

"No, I didn't," he replied. "I pulled garbage the whole evening."

"You mean you were bluffing?" I sputtered.

"Of course," he said.

"But not on that last hand," I insisted. "You had trip 8's."

"No way," Hoffsteder said. "I only had a pair. My hole card was a 4."

"But, you couldn't have been lying," I protested. "You were born on Feb. 22 -- the same as George Washington!"

"No," Hoffsteder admitted. "I lied about that, too. I was really born on Aug. 9 -- the same as Bill Clinton."

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Poker Chips
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

I recently had the honor of interviewing Dr. Julius Fiscal, chairman of the Economics Department of Harvard University, and Nobel Prize winner for his work in currency fluctuations.

"How do you see the current economic picture?" I asked Fiscal.

"Not good," he said. "Not good at all. Nobody has a yen for Japanese money anymore. The Swiss franc has become a joke because Switzerland is the only major western European country not to join the ECU and the Euro is a joke because all the other countries did join it."

"How about the dollar?" I wondered.

"It's not even worth 50 cents," Fiscal said sadly. "Let's face it -- who wants dollars when Enron had billions of them and still went bankrupt?"

"What do you think is the world's safest currency? I asked.

"Poker chips," Fiscal said.

"Poker chips?" I asked in wonderment. "But it is play money -- it has no value."

"Exactly," Fiscal replied. "Therefore it can't lose its worth. Besides, it is in a unique situation to become the world's only money."

"I think you will have to explain that to me," I said.

"What is money?" Fiscal asked rhetorically. "Faith. If you have faith in a currency it is worth something -- otherwise it is meaningless. The dollar used to be a gold coin. People trust gold, so they wanted it. Then it became a silver coin. Okay, you can't fill a tooth with silver, but it still has its value. Then the dollar became a 'silver certificate' -- a promise to 'Pay to the bearer on demand' $1 worth of silver. If you believed that the United States Treasury had a dollar in its vaults, you trusted the money.

"But what does the dollar bill say today? Only that it is 'legal tender for all debts, private and public.' What does that mean? Nothing! So why should anybody trust it? The European currencies are even worse. The Swiss only tell you that 'This banknote is protected under penalty of law.' And the Euro? Take a look at what is written on this 50 Euro note: 'BCE ECB EZB EKT EXP'. I have no idea of what that means, but I think it is secret code for 'Whoever takes this money in exchange for anything of value is an idiot.'"

"What does all that have to do with the poker chips?" I wondered.

"It's simple," Fiscal answered. "If the value of money is dependant on how much you trust the issuing authority, you have to ask yourself one question -- who do you trust?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you trust the Swiss?" Fiscal asked. "Remember -- these are the same people who put holes in their cheese to make sure that you get less. So why would you want their money?"

"I never thought about that," I admitted.

"Or British money -- do you put much faith in it?" he continued. "Do you know how much it costs just to get a taxi ride in London? Pounds of the stuff.

"The Germans, themselves, didn't trust the mark so they switched to the Euro," he continued. "Ditto for the Italians with the lira, the Greeks with the drachma, and the French with the franc. But what is the Euro? Just paper backed by the mark, lira, drachma, and franc."

"Poker chips aren't backed by any of these currencies," I said.

"Exactly," said Fiscal. "A poker chip is backed by something much better -- the solemn word of the casino."

"But a casino isn't a government," I protested.

"And that's my point," said Fiscal. "Because its not a government it doesn't have to have an army, or build roads, or give out welfare checks. It just gets in tons of money from gamblerrs and spends a few dollars on buffets. This gives it a solid financial basis -- and as any economist can tell you, that is the crucial thing for a sound currency."

"I still don't understand," I said. "A poker chip is not real money. You can't put some chips in your wallet or hand some to the grocer."

"So what?" Fiscal responded. "Most money today only exists in computers. Let's say you borrow $300,000 from your bank to buy a house. Do you ever actually see the money? Of course not -- it is just transferred from your bank's computer to the bank that the seller uses. And what about all the purchases you make with your Visa or Mastercard? Real money is going the way of the dinosaurs. So if you are going to use fake money, why not use one that admits it is fake?"

"Thank you, Dr. Fiscal, for explaining all of this to me," I said. You are a genius! You've convinced me -- the poker chip is the only currency worth having. I want you to know that I really appreciate you taking the time to give me this interview and I am going to arrange to have mu publisher send you some poker chips immediately."

"Err, could you do me a favor?" Fiscal responded. "Tell them to forget about the chips and just slip me a few dollars instead."

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Play it Again, Sam
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Strasser: Welcome to Rick's Cafe Americain.

Ugarte: Isn't it unusual for a Nazi officer to be the doorman at a casino?

Strasser: Yes, but they said I wasn't ruthless enough to work in casino security.

Ugarte: Where can I find Rick? I want to give him some stolen letters of transport.

Strasser: He is at the roulette table, fixing the game so that a young couple will win and the wife won't have to cheat on her husband in order to fly out of Casablanca.

Ugarte: Wow! The airlines here really do have strange ticketing rules!

(The camera moves to inside the casino where Rick is talking to Ilsa.)

Rick: Here's looking at you, kid.

Ilsa: That's the fourth time you said that so far, can't you come up with something new?

Rick: I will...as time goes by.

Dooley: Mr. Rick, two elderly gentlemen were at the craps tables, lost all their money on our fixed dice, and blew their brains out.

Rick: In this mixed up world we live in, two people don't amount to a hill of beans.

Dooley: But these gentlemen were Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill. What should we do?

Rick: Start investing in German war bonds.

Ilsa: Rick, you have to give my husband that letter of transit. Without it, he won't be able to get on the plane to Las Vegas.

Rick: But if I do, you will fly away with him. You're part of his work -- part of what keeps him going.

Ilsa: How can you say that? He's a drag queen on a Vegas chorus line.

Rick: I know -- and you lend him your dresses. Like I said, you're part of his work.

Renault: Rick, as the commanding officer of the French police here, it's my job to keep the casinos honest. I have to close you down for cheating.

Rick: You mean just because I decide on what number the roulette ball will land?

Renault: No, I can live with that. But I just learned that the so-called champagne that you are selling is really Asti Spumante, and no French officer can turn his back on that!

Rick: Can it wait until tomorrow? I am busy today. I have to sell my casino to that fat guy, Signor Ferrari.

Renault: Great. I will shut it tomorrow. I've always hated that guy. As soon as he owns the place, I will arrest him and beat a confession out of him.

Rick: Don't be ridiculous. Since when can a Renault beat a Ferrari?

(The camera now switches to the Orchestra, where a bunch of Nazis are gathering.)

Rick: What is the problem here?

Strasser: We were minding our own business, singing traditional German folk songs about invasions, murder and plunder, when this Laszlo fellow told the orchestra to drown us out by playing the French national anthem.

Rick: Unforgivable. This is an American bar. From now on, they will restrict themselves to the McDonald's jingle.

Laszlo: If it's all the same with you, I would prefer hearing the Germans sing -- I'm against globalization.

Rick: It doesn't matter what you like. You're not going to be here long, anyhow. Just as soon as I kill Strasser, you and your wife are getting on the plane to Las Vegas.

Ilsa: But I don't want to leave you, Rick.

Strasser: And I'm not particularly fond of the other part of your plan.

Rick: Ilsa, if you don't get on that plane with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.

Ilsa: Why?

Rick: Because Laszlo has invented the atomic bomb. He has to deliver it to the Americans so that they can win the war. He's carrying it in his suitcase.

Ilsa: Wow. We are REALLY going to have problems with the airlines security people! Besides, I love you, Rick.

Rick: We'll always have Paris, kid.

Strasser: Maybe not. Right now, WE have Paris.

Ilsa: I don't want to go. I want to stay here with you.

Rick: I forgot to mention that in addition to the bomb, Laszlo has also developed the perfect system for winning at blackjack. He's going to make a fortune in Vegas.

Ilsa: See you around, Rick.

Renault: Rick, you really are an idealist. Sending off a beautiful woman like that to be with her husband. I suggest that you and I join the Free French Forces who are fighting for freedom and democracy.

Rick: Are you crazy? I don't even like the French. They're rude!

Renault: But the army camp is full of soldiers who want to gamble. As a captain, I can arrange for you to open a casino on the base -- and you still have the loaded dice from your casino.

Rick: Louis, this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

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Holy Week Tours
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Frank Voyager, my local travel agent, is a Born Again Christian. He is also an Orthodox Jew. He sees the combination as being good for business.

"This way, all the churches and synagogues in town come to me for their travel arrangements," he told me. "In fact, not one of them goes to any other agent."

"That's probably because you have the only agency in the village," I reminded him. "Of course, it also doesn't hurt that you are chairman of the Baptist Church Travel Committee, The Blessed Virgin RC Church Pilgrimage Council, and the Beth El Synagogue's 'Oy, It's Time To Go To Israel' Forum."

"Look with the travel business in the condition it right now, I'll join any group to help business" Frank replied. "I was considering becoming an atheist also, but where the heck do they go?"

"Is Holy Week helping with business?" I asked.

"It sure is," Frank told me. "Just yesterday, the Oy, It's Time To Go To Israel Forum decided to spend Passover in Las Vegas."

"They're not going to Israel?" I asked in surprise.

"Are you nuts?" Frank answered. "Haven't you been keeping up with the news? It is too much of a gamble to go there."

"What about the Catholics?" I asked.

"They have decided to visit the Mapau Casino during the Easter break."

"But Mapau is an on line casino," I objected. "There is no such place."

"The priest is a Jesuit," said Frank, "and based his decision on the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas. Basically it comes down to this: Unbaptized babies who died used to go to Limbo, but the Church has since decided that Limbo doesn't exist. If those babies could go to a place that doesn't exist, than by going to a casino which does not exist, you would be obtaining the state of grace of an innocent infant."

"Could you explain that a little more to me?" I asked.

"I very much doubt it," Frank admitted. "But what do I care? I have already sold them airplane tickets to Mapau and a week's stay in the hotel. Seeing as there is no such place, that is a clear profit for me."

"Are all the members of St. Mary's signed up for the trip?" I asked.

"All except Mrs. Panigutti," said Frank. "She was going to go to Lourdes for a miracle cure, but then decided she didn't feel well enough to make the trip."

"And your Baptist group," I wondered. "Where are they going?"

"I've made arrangements for them to fly to Iraq," Frank said.

"Iraq!" I exclaimed. "But there is a war going on there. Besides, there is nothing there but desert and this time of year it is broiling hot. There are all kinds of shortages and, worse, of all, they don't have a casino."

"I know," said Frank. "But all Baptists are convinced that when they die they will go to Heaven and they figured that Iraq is their only chance to see Hell."

The phone rang and Frank picked it up.

"Yes?" I heard him say. "But, you can't...I already made the reservations...But what do I do with the tickets?...Okay...I understand...but I wish you had given me more notice."

"That was the Presbyterian Church," Frank told me sadly. "They had scheduled a gambling junket to Monte Carlo, but now they cancelled. It seems the pastor gave a sermon and they changed their minds."

"Did he tell them that gambling is immoral?" I asked.

"No," said Frank. "He just talked about the doctrine of Predestination. But now they figure there is no point in gambling if all the games are fixed."

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It's All Greek To Me
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

While on a tour of the Parthenon in Athens recently, I was surprised to hear my guide, Theo, refer to one section as "the craps room."

"I didn't realize that they had indoor plumbing in ancient Greece," I told him.

"Not that kind of craps," he explained. "The kind where you stand at a table and throw dice."

"In a temple?" I asked in surprise.

"Temple? What gave you the idea the Parthenon was a temple?" he asked. "Oh, I see -- because of all the gods here. Well, the Parthenon was actually a casino and the gods ran the place."

"You're kidding me," I said. "Jupiter ran a casino?"

"Of course not," Theo replied. "Jupiter was Roman. Romans didn't run casinos, they did all their betting at the Colosseum. But the Greeks loved casinos and Zeus was the Big Pit Boss."

"I thought Zeus lived in a big palace on the top of Mount Olympus," I told him.

"How do you think he could afford such an expensive place?" Theo said. "He raked in drachmas by the millions from suckers who came here on organized junkets from places like Mesopotamia, Babylon and Thrace. In fact, these were so popular that some people came from Thrace thrice.

"Were these ordinary people or the rich and famous?"

"Both," Theo replied. "In fact, according to legend, Aristotle himself gambled here."

"I would have thought that a philosopher would have known better," I said.

"Not THAT Aristotle. Aristotle Onassis. Of course, he wasn't accompanied by any of the Greek goddesses. He came with an American deity -- Jackie."

"Was the Parthenon like the Vegas casinos?" I asked.

"In many ways, yes," Theo told me. "Of course, the entertainment was much better. It's hard to beat an act like Aphrodite. When she stripped, NOBODY could take their eyes off of her."

"She was that beautiful?"

"Of course," said Theo. "But more than that -- she was known to be a bit of a ham and if anybody looked elsewhere they were immediately turned into swamp mosquitoes. The only person who was exempt was the Cyclops. He was in charge of security and watched the gamblers. People knew that you better not cheat here, because the Cyclops had his eye on you."

"Did all of the gods work at the casino?" I asked.

"Most of them did," Theo told me. "Apollo was in charge of the lighting. Medusa ran the hairdressing shop and Hercules, of course, took care of the VIP parking at the Augeian Stables."

"Did the casino attract hookers like those in Vegas do?"

"There were a good number of houses of ill repute in the area," Theo admitted. They were open six days a week, but never on Sunday -- Melina Mercouri was the goddess of culture and wouldn't permit it. Anyhow, they all went out of business."

"Why?" I asked.

"The Colossus of Rhodes spent a few days in town and the girls all quit. It wasn't for nothing that he was known as one of the seven wonders of the world."

"Did they have card counters at the ancient blackjack tables?" I wondered.

"No," said Theo,"but they did have a bigger problem. A family by the name of "Oracle" from the city of Delphi used to win constantly at the roulette tables. It almost seemed that they knew which numbers would be hit. Finally, the casino had no choice -- it had to ban the Oracles of Delphi."

"Was the Parthenon Casino the only gambling spot in Greece?" I wondered.

"Yes," said Theo. "Of course, Turkey is right next door and it had its own betting spas. I'm sure you've heard of the most famous -- the Trojan Horse Races."

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April 15th Blues
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

"Sit down, Mr. Wilde," IRS Auditor William Assessor said when I entered his office. "I'm sure that this will only take a few minutes of your time -- and you will be able to start your prison sentence immediately afterwards."

"You mean that you think I cheated on my taxes?" I gulped.

"Of course you cheated," said Assessor. "Everybody cheats. It is part of the American Way of Life. It's crucial our economy -- your cheating gives me a job. Then, when I prove you cheated, you help employ prison guards. In fact, last year only 3 people in American didn't cheat and we immediately arrested them as foreign spies.

"Now, I see here that you reported winning $1000 gambling on line. How much did you REALLY win?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"If you really won $1000, you wouldn't mention it," Assessor answered. "I figure that you had to win at least 10 times that much and were starting to feel a bit guilty."

I took out a photocopy of the $1000 check I had gotten and told Assessor that I resented his implications.

"I would never cheat," I said. "I know how much the government is relying on my paying my fair share. Do you think I want to be responsible for the Navy not being able to afford $300 toilet seats?"

"What about your satires?" Assessor asked suspiciously. "Do you really expect me to believe you were paid so little for your stories?"

"Well, I will admit I didn't tell the truth there," I answered. "Actually, they only paid me half of what I reported -- I exaggerated it because I was embarrassed."

"I can understand that," Assessor replied. "Yesterday we had a homeless guy in here who only made money by cleaning windshields at traffic lights. His net was higher than what you earned."

"Fortunately, I said, "I had some other jobs -- like handling public relations for several congressmen. I explained that they weren't really cheating on their wives, but merely investigating adultery for national security purposes."

"I know," said Assessor. "That's what made us suspicious of you in the first place. Anybody who spends so much time on Capitol Hill has got to be a crook."

He looked through my file, pulled out a page, and put it in front of me.

"What's this about?" he asked. "What makes you think that you can claim Donald Trump as a dependent? I don't care HOW much you lost at the Taj Mahal slots!"

"The Donald Trump I am referring to is my son," I explained. "I changed his name to help him get comps in Atlantic City when he gets older."

"You must think you are pretty smart," Assessor said to me, "but in the long run, nobody can beat the IRS. How do you explain this deduction for $4000 for a trip to Monte Carlo?"

"It's a charitable contribution," I said. "The international travel situation has hit Monte Carlo very hard, and I tried to do my bit by going there and losing my money in the casino. I figure this is my duty as an American -- otherwise we will have to give the prince foreign aid."

"But you presented no cancelled checks for the trip," Assessor countered.

"Of course not," I said, "I didn't write checks. I just charged everything on my Visa card from my secret Swiss bank account."

"If you are as poor as you say," Assessor challenged, "then why do you have a secret Swiss bank account in the first place?"

"Because there is no point in having a Swiss bank account that is not secret," I explained.

"That makes sense," Assessor agreed.

"I'll tell you this," I said. "I think it is a scandal that the IRS picks on innocent Americans like me. I'm just a poor working stiff who makes out an honest return, pays his taxes, and barely manages to scrape by on the money that is left over. I drive a 12-year-old Ford, live in a tiny house that badly needs repairs, and can barely afford even the necessities of life, much less any luxuries."

"I'm sorry," said Assessor, obviously moved. "I really had no idea. I guess you are that rarity -- a truly honest man. I want to give you my sincere apologies for suspecting you."

We shook hands and I was about to leave his office when his secretary came in.

"You had a telephone call from your chauffeur, Mr. Wilde," she said to me. "He says your Rolls is fixed and he wants to know if you wants him to bring it to your condo in the city or to your country villa."

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Bertha's Revenge
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

A short while ago an attractive 20-year-old Georgia woman named Errica won $59 million in the lottery. Obviously, a girl with good lucks, better luck, and loads of money is living a charmed life. I wondered, however, if a more ordinary girl had ever won a major lottery, and then I learned about Bertha, an Alabaman who is a bit more of a typical youth. In other words, she has spent much of her short life being screwed over by an awful lot of people.

Josh: Have you heard from a lot of old friends since winning the money?

Bertha: It's funny you should ask. Just this morning, I got a telephone call from Bobby Ray's mom. Bobby Ray was the captain of our high school football team. He dumped me when I was a sophomore to date that trampy cheerleader Debbie. Anyhow, Bobby Ray's mom just wanted to tell me that when he heard about my lottery win he used a really expensive Austrian pistol to blow his brains out.

Josh: What a tragedy! You must be very upset.

Bertha: Yeah, right. Who do you think bought him the gun?

Josh: I guess it could have been worse, he could have blown Debbie's brains out before turning the gun on himself.

Bertha: Bobby Ray was always pretty good with a gun, but he sure wasn't expert enough to hit a target THAT small! Oh, did I tell you that I ran into Mr. Tinsley the other day? He was my high school math teacher -- he always used to make fun of me and say that I would never amount to anything.

Josh: I bet he is really embarrassed now.

Bertha: He is really NOTHING now. I told you I ran into him -- with my brand news Rolls Royce. Actually, I ran into him going forward and then in reverse -- several times. That's the nice thing about having money. My lawyer assures me he can convince a jury that it was just an accident -- and that Mr. Tinsley was at fault for having the nerve to be in the way of a rich woman.

Josh: It seems that the people who weren't too nice to you are dropping like flies.

Bertha: No, don't be silly. Not ALL of them. Like that Mr. Westerman from the local department store credit department. He turned me down for a credit card last month, but he's still in perfect health.

Josh: I bet he would be very happy to give you a credit card now.

Bertha: He doesn't have to. I bought the store two days ago. I sure hope Mr. Westerman likes his new job cleaning the toilets.

Josh: Have you made any charitable contributions with the money?

Bertha: Of course I have. The bishop told me that the church building badly needed repairs, and I agreed to pay for it myself. Speaking of the church, did you know that Rev. Babbitt has a new posting? Gee, it seems like just yesterday that he called my mom to tell her that my skirts were much too short. For some reason, the bishop has decided to send Rev. Babbitt on a five year mission to Afghanistan.

Josh: How about your plans to travel? Do you have any?

Bertha: I want to go to Rome next week.

Josh: Will this be your first trip to Italy?

Berth: Wow! Do they have a Rome there, too? No. I meant Rome, Georgia. I understand that the Wal-Marts there is running a great sale.

Josh: With $59 million, I didn't think you would have to worry about sales.

Bertha: Josh, a girl can't be too careful with her money. I'm afraid that $59 million just won't stretch like it used to. It's all that government spending. I tell you, the Democrats are just ruining this country with their wild spending. I'm switching my registration to the Republicans next week.

Josh: If you feel that way, why did you remain a Democrat until now?

Bertha: Because until now they were only ruining the country by spending other people's money. Now they are using MINE!

Josh: Do you think that you might run for office yourself?

Bertha: No, but I do want to play a part in community affairs. On Monday, I'm going to be sworn in as Police Commissioner. The mayor is appointing me because he thinks that a woman might bring a new perspective to the job and that as a young person I could make the police more responsive to the needs of youth. There is one other reason but I can't seem to remember exactly what it was -- oh, yeah! -- because I donated $100,000 to his re-election fund.

Josh: Do you have any plans for what you will be doing there?

Bertha: I sure do. The first thing on my agenda is to rid the police department of Kruption.

Josh: Don't you mean "corruption"?

Bertha: No. I mean Kruption. Officer Fred Kruption. Last year the creep gave me a speeding ticket when I was only going 5 miles over the limit. Then he made a joke about women drivers. I am going to fire him on Tuesday and then hire three new female cops whose first job will be to follow him every time he gets into a car. They're going to write him up for every tiny mistake he makes -- and sign the tickets with lipstick.

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Losing, Italian Style
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Delectia, my Used Italian Girlfriend, is vehemently anti-gambling.

"It is not only wrong," she tells me constantly, "but it is idiotic. How can a grown man take chances with the money he works hard to earn?"

Needless to say, she was not thrilled when she learned last month that I was going to take my vacation in Atlantic City, Miami (for the day cruise gambling ships) and Campione d'Italia -- with its beautiful nature and even more beautiful casino.

"Stupido!" she screamed at me before launching into a string of Italian nouns which, even if you could understand them, this site would not allow me to print here.

Of course, I saw things differently. I knew exactly how much I could afford to lose gambling: $500. That was my budget and I would not go over it by even one cent. If I won, obviously, I would feel free to splurge with my winnings, but that is a different story.

I did well on the cruise ship. I cashed in with a $400 profit. The next morning, I went to one of the top men stores, tried on a silk shirt, but didn't like the color. The salesman showed me some others, same manufacturer, same size and I bought four of them -- and that wiped out my winnings. No matter -- Delectia is always telling me that I don't know how to dress. This would show her: they were made by a top Italian designer.

From there, I headed to Atlantic City. The cards at Caesars were really hot for me. (Unfortunately, the incredibly beautiful blackjack dealer was not, but you can't have everything.) I left with $1500 more than I came and knew exactly what I was going to do with that money -- I have always wanted a Rolex. True, you can't buy a new one for $1500, but I had seen a used Rolex at a watch shop on the Boardwalk and ran to buy it. Again, my winnings were gone -- but so what?

No matter what Delectia may think, I do not waste my money. A flight from the Atlantic City Airport to Milan would have cost me $1200 one way if I had taken a major airline all the way. But by taking a small airline to New York, and getting on Delta there, I was able to make the trip for only $600.

At least, that was the plan. My flight out of Atlantic City was delayed when the TSA security people discovered that one of the passengers was carrying a gun. They would not let him on board. The captain would not take off without him -- apparently he was one of the sky marshals and had to have that gun with him. We got into New York an hour after my Milan flight left. I was told that my reduced-price ticket to Milan was good only for the reserved flight. A new one ran me an additional $1100.

I started to panic, and then remembered my Rolex. When I got to Europe I would be able to sell it. Even if I only got back what I paid for it, I would be in good shape. That's the good thing about buying quality goods, they have great resale value.

Delectia flew up from Rome to meet me at the airport in Milan. We went to Avis to pick up the car that I had reserved.

I carefully checked the contract. I'm no fool. I know that Europe is different and that you can get hit for a big bill if you don't buy both the regular insurance plus an additional insurance to cover the deductible. The contract clearly said that I had both ("Collision Damage Waiver" and "Super Collision Damage Waiver.")

"See?" I said to Delectia. "I don't take silly risks. I restrict my gambling to the little that I do at the casinos and I never lose more than I can afford."

Although still not thrilled about my gambling, Delectia agreed to go to the casino with me -- chiefly because it had a wonderful restaurant downstairs and the next day we would be able to drive across the border into Switzerland.

We checked into a hotel near the casino and started to get ready -- European casinos, after all, require you to be dressed nicely to lose your money. Delectia saw my new silk shirts and asked me how much I had paid for them. When I told her, she was shocked.

"A hundred dollars per shirt? In Italy, you could buy them for half of that. Why would anybody on his way here buy imported Italian shirts in America?"

I had no really good answer for that and things didn't get better when I tried to put them on. They were gigantic! I could have used each of them as a silk tent. When I told Delectia that I had tried on another shirt which had the same size marked on it, she just looked at me in pity.

I put on an old cotton shirt and we headed for the casino. Again, I was a winner. Not much, but $250 is still money.

We drove into Switzerland the next day and I went to a watch shop that specializes in Rolexes to find out how much they would pay for mine.

"About 1 Swiss Franc," the watchmaker told me. "That is 50 cents in your money."

"But I thought Rolexes kept their value," I said stunned.

"They do," he said. "But not if they have written 'Made in China' on the back. You have been -- how do you Americans say? -- ripped off big time."

The rest of the trip was ruined. At least for me. Delectia seemed to have a marvelous time reminding me every few minutes what an incredible idiot I am.

About a week after I returned home, I received a letter from Avis in Milan. They had billed my credit card for $1000 in damages to the car. I called them immediately and told them there were no damages.

"That is not what our records show," they said.

The insurance I bought from them apparently meant nothing to them and my bank told me that car rental agencies have special contracts which prevent charge backs. Delectia's lawyer in Italy said we could win the case, but it would cost more in legal fees than it was worth.

"You said you wouldn't lose more than $500 on this gambling junket of yours," Delectia told me on the phone. "You won $400 in Miami but lost it on the shirts. You won $1500 in Atlantic City but lost it on that silly watch. You won $250 in Campione but you paid $1100 for the new plane ticket and $1000 to Avis. All together, you lost $1850. I TOLD YOU THAT GAMBLING IS STUPID!"

-----

Note from Josh: Satires are often based on real life. I did buy those shirts in Miami and had to wind up giving them away. My flight was not delayed, but the pilot told me the story of a United Airlines flight in Chicago which was not allowed to take off because security wouldn't let the sky marshal on board. Avis in Milan did charge me the $1000 and my local Avis office, where I made the reservation, tried for a month, without success, to get Milan to explain why. Finally, my local Avis office decided to return the money to me itself. Oh -- and that Rolex? I was offered it for $35 in the bazaar in Istanbul -- where the seller tried to convince me that "China" is a city in Switzerland.

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Bonus Time at McD's
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Being a bit of a bargain hunter, I was very happy when I received an e-mail from Gobbling.com, offering me a free Big Mac with my next purchase of a Cheese Quarter Pounder at McDonald's.

I rushed down to the nearest Twin Arches and found its manager, my old buddy Mac, on duty behind the counter.

"I want to get my free Big Mac," I told him, handing over a copy of the e-mail.

"No problem." Mac replied. "But first, of course, you have to buy your Cheese Quarter Pounder."

I ordered it, along with a Coke, and handed him my credit card to pay.

After giving me a short form to fill out, which included not only my credit card number, but my address, home and work telephone numbers, and the three-digit security number on the back of the card, Mac handed me my Quarter Pounder and Coke.

"What about my Big Mac?" I him.

"Not so fast," he said. "You haven't met all our Terms and Conditions yet."

"Terms and Conditions? What are they?"

"They're clearly written on our website," said Mac. "They're right there in the tiny type. I'm sorry about this, but because of abuse by a small number of hamburger eaters, we had no choice -- we had to set these requirements.

"To start with," he said, "did you ever get a free hamburger from us in the past?"

"No," I admitted. "Does that disqualify me?"

"Of course not," Mac replied. "But it would have disqualified you if you had gotten one. Now you have to answer a few questions to prove that you are really you."

"But you've known me since high school," I protested.

"That doesn't matter," Mac replied. "There is no favoritism here. What was your mother's maiden name?"

"Wilde," I said.

"But I thought that was your father's name," Mac said.

"It was," I told him. "They were both named Wilde."

"THAT certainly explains a lot," said Mac.

"Why do you need all this information just to give me a Big Mac?" I asked.

"This is for your own protection," Mac solemnly informed me. "It guarantees you that somebody else can't come in here, impersonating you, and get a free hamburger."

"Why do I care who gets a free hamburger?" I wondered. "Besides, if you really wanted to protect me, shouldn't you have demanded all of this before taking money from my charge card?"

"It's a matter of principle," Mac replied. "We are an equal opportunity restaurant. We willingly take money from anybody."

"This is ridiculous," I said. "Keep your free Big Mac. Just give me a refund."

"You want to do a charge back?!!" Mac sputtered. "Do you have any idea of what that means? We will have you blackballed in every quality dining establishment in the country -- you'll never get a burger or fries again!"

"Forget what I said," I backtracked in fright. "What do I have to do next to get my Big Mac?"

"All you have to do is eat your Cheese Quarter Pounder," Mac replied. "Three and a half times."

That was it. I gave up. I headed for the door without even taking a sip of my Coke. On my way out, however, I heard Mac on the phone to his buddy, Whopper, who manages the local Burger King.

"If that Josh Wilde guy comes into your place, keep a close eye on him," he warned Whopper. "I think he's a burger abuser."

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Office of War Odds
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

The name of Maj. Gen. Howitzer P. Wager may not mean much to many Americans, but he holds one of the Defense Department's most important positions: He is in charge of the Office of War Odds (OWO).

"Have a seat," Gen. Wager said as I entered his office. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I've been very busy -- things are not going well with the war in Afghanistan at all."

"But I thought we were winning," I said in shock. "Don't we have the terrorists holed up in caves?"

"We ARE winning," said Wager. "That's the problem. We're winning so well that the odds are running 200 to 1 in our favor."

"What's wrong with that?" I wondered.

"Everything!" Wager replied. "Sure, it's nice to get good odds on a bet, but nobody is going to risk his money on such a long shot. Remember -- we have to pay for this war, and the only we can do that is by collecting on bets made against us."

"You mean that if the odds were better, Americans would actually bet against their own country?"

"Not too many," Wager admitted, "but it is really the foreign bettor we are after. The Japanese love to bet and they have never quite forgiven us for defeating them. The British also enjoy betting and still resent us saving them. The Saudis, Kuwaitis, and Arab Emirate states would love to see us lose and they have plenty of oil money to put up."

"But I thought that those Arab countries were our friends and were anti-terrorist," I said.

"Wow!" Wager exclaimed. "Could I get great odds against THAT!"

"What are you planning to do to lower the odds against America winning the war?" I asked.

"I already have feelers out in Paris," Wager replied. "I am hoping to get the French to join us. With the French Army at our side, we are sure to lose some standing among the bookies."

"Will that be enough?" I wondered.

"It's only the start," said Wager. "The next thing we're going to do is put the Syrians in charge of our military planning."

"But Syria has never won a war," I said.

"Exactly," the general replied. "With them in charge, the odds against the terrorists will drop sharply. They may even become favorites."

"But we will still win, won't we?" I asked a bit nervously.

"Of course we will," said Wager. "After all, we have the world's strongest army, navy, and air force. But I'm working on that right now. I'm going to scrap the Navy."

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

"Because in the four years that I was at West Point we didn't win one single football game against them. I've never forgiven them for that. Of course, it could have been worse. At least I won all my bets."

"When you were at Army you bet on Navy!" I said in surprise.

"Yes," said Wager. "I collected big time on those bets -- but it might be better if you never mentioned it to anyone -- the other guys might wonder if that had something to do with my throwing intercepted passes."

Just then the phone rang.

"Yes, sir," Wager said. "I am working on it right now, Mr. President. I have just sent out orders pulling all Special Forces out of Afghanistan and replacing them with Enron executives. That should go a long way towards evening out the odds."

"You know," I told him, "there is a much easier way of reducing the odds against the terrorists."

"What is it?" Wager asked eagerly.

"It's simple," I said. "Just draft all the Las Vegas odds makers and then order them to set the odds to whatever you want."

"Impossible," Wager said sadly. "If we do that, there will be nobody left to set the odds for pro baseball and football games. It would end all gambling on those games. Americans may be willing to fight and die for liberty, but there are certain sacrifices which are just too much to ask of them."

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There Oughta Be a Law
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Ally: Why won't you ever give me what I want...What I need?

Billy: Because that's a slot machine you are talking to. It never gives anybody what they want.

Ally: You can't talk to me!

Billy: Why not?

Ally: Among other reasons, you're dead. You died a couple of seasons ago.

Billy: You walk around imagining that half the top jazz stars in the world are having private conversations with you and you complain about a visit from a dead boyfriend? That's it! I'm leaving!

Ling: Who were you talking with?

Ally:: I started to have a conversation with the slot machine, but Billy interrupted.

Ling: Why would a slot machine want to talk to you, anyhow? Have you noticed how skinny you are? Slot machines only like beautiful women...like me. Watch.

(Ling starts stroking the slot machine. Its handle appears to start growing. She pulls on the handle and thousands of coins pour out.)

Ling: Its easy.

Richard: My love! My one true love!

Ling: It's over between us, Richard.

Richard: I didn't mean you. I meant money. I definitely heard the sound of money.

Ally: That slot just hit a jackpot.

Richard: It's not nice to talk about Ling like that...besides, it is pronounced "slut".

Ally: No. I meant the machine. It just paid out.

Richard: Of course it did. That's why they have slots here. There would be no point in playing with them if they didn't give you money. Watch.

(Richard starts explaining to the machine why it should pay out. After 5 minutes, the machine pays off just to shut him up.)

Richard: It's easy.

Ally: What is this? Can EVERYBODY hit the jackpot except me?

John: Of course.

(John slowly fills a glass with water and then makes his nose whistle. The machine knows it has no chance and immediately pays out.)

John: It's easy.

Elaine: Are you all talking about me again?

Ally: What makes you think that?

Elaine: I heard the word "easy" repeated several times.

Ally: They were referring to the slot machine. It keeps paying out for them -- but never for me.

Elaine: That's the premise of this entire show: Everybody keeps getting some except you.

Ally: It's not fair. I'm the star. Why shouldn't I have a little happiness every now and then?

Nelle: Because with women who look like Ling and me hanging around, who would even bother noticing you?

Ally: I'm used to having men reject me, but why should slot machines? It's not like they're human...they don't have hearts and brains.

John: What does that matter? Elaine has no brain and Ling has no heart, but that never stopped them from hating you.

Ally: That's it. I'm going to get this casino shut down. I'm a lawyer, so I know how to do it. I am going to bring a sex discrimination case against it.

Richard: Why a sex discrimination case?

Ally: Those are the only cases our law firm ever handles -- are there other things that are against the law, too?

John: I think there are. I remember hearing something about them in law school -- on one of those few days that I visited it.

Nelle: Maybe you could get it closed on public health grounds. Tell the court that losing all the time is driving you crazy.

Ling: That would never work. The judges here in Boston all know that Ally was crazy before she ever set foot in a casino. Maybe she could get it shut on the grounds of race.

Ally: Race?

Ling: Sure. The Boston Marathon is being held next week and if all the runners stop into the casino for a few hands of blackjack or spins of the roulette wheel it will ruin the race.

John: I think that she might have a case under the First Amendment to the Constitution -- freedom of speech. With Ally's lousy luck she never has a chance to say, "Wow! I won!"

Elaine: I doubt that will work, John. But I think I found a legal loophole that will allow her to get the casino closed.

John: You? Don't be silly. We are all highly-paid lawyers and we can't come up with anything, how will you? After all, you're just a secretary.

Elaine: But I think I found a technicality.

Richard: As one of the senior partners in this firm, I take objection. What would a dumb blonde like you know about legal technicalities? Even Ally doesn't know any and she's a dumb blonde with a law degree.

Elaine: Maybe you're right, but I still think its worth a shot. I'm sure we could find some judge in the city who would be willing to order the casino closed on these grounds.

Nelle: Okay. I'll bite. What is your silly idea?

Elaine: We could just point out that gambling is illegal in Massachusetts.

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Lizzie's Big Party
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

A few years ago, England celebrated the 50th anniversary of Queen Elizabeth's coronation. Not many people, however, know that Elizabeth never wanted a nationwide party. Instead, she wanted to spend the weekend in Vegas.

"We can make it a family affair," she said to Prince Phillip. "Just you, me, and the kids. It will be good for Charles to play blackjack -- it will be the first time he will ever have been allowed to make his own decisions."

"Charles?" wondered Phillip.

"You remember him," said Elizabeth, "the one with the big ears."

"Oh yes," said Phillip. "I had thought that if Disney made a cartoon about one of my children they would call him 'Prince Charming' -- I never dreamed it would be 'Dumbo'. But is a family trip really a good idea? Wouldn't we have to invite that horrid Camilla Parker Bowles woman?"

"Over my dead body!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Charles would rather like that," said Phillip. "He could finally get that job promotion he has been hoping for."

Elizabeth picked up the phone and called the Royal Chamberlain.

"Make reservations for the entire family to fly to Las Vegas," she said. "And make sure you get us comped at the hotel. No, it won't be necessary for you to include Fergie -- I think she's already there working as a cocktail waitress."

"Too bad his name isn't Richard," she said to Phillip. "I've always rather fancied Richard Chamberlain."

Just then, Prince Charles walked into the room.

"Charlie, get packed," said Elizabeth. "We're going to Las Vegas and you're coming with us."

"Gee, Ma, I don't wanna," said Charles. "I don't like to gamble. I never have any luck at anything. In 1990 I made a big bet that I would be king before the end of the decade and look what lousy luck I had -- you're still alive."

"That's enough, Charlie," she said. "I told you that you are going to Las Vegas and that is that."

"But why do I always have to do what YOU want?" Charles asked. "Why can't I ever do what I want?"

"Shut up, Charlie," snapped the queen. "You're beginning to sound just like your father!"

Princess Anne came into the throne room and was furious.

"I just heard that we're going to Las Vegas," she stormed. "I'm sick of flying around with this family. The rest of you all sit in First Class and you make me go Tourist."

"It's the airlines' fault," Phillip explained. "They said you are too ugly to fly First Class. In fact, it was only our royal connections that got you out of flying in a kennel box."

"I am NOT ugly!" Anne objected.

"Think about it," said Elizabeth. "When you were a teenager you heard the story of the Princess and the Pea and wanted to find out if you were a real princess -- but you couldn't even find a pea willing to go to bed with you."

"Personally, I think that going to Vegas is a fine idea," said Phillip. "As long as I don't have to play poker. The last time I played I found myself holding four queens."

"What's wrong with that?" Charles wondered.

"Listen," said Phillip, "I have spent over 50 years being miserable just from holding one queen -- there is no way I want to let it become worse."

The phone rang and Elizabeth picked it up, listened for a moment, and then said, "Crap!"

"No, it's called 'Craps,'" Phillip explained.

"I said 'Crap' and I meant 'Crap,'" Elizabeth responded. "That was the Royal Chamberlain. "He told me that none of the casino-hotels are willing to comp us. He said they are still annoyed because the last time I was there I took all of the towels from the room. Well, I'm not going to dump $1000 or so on room rentals."

"Too bad we thought about this so late," said Phillip. "If we had enough time, we could have sublet the palace while we were gone."

"But, Ma, you're the richest woman in the world. What's the problem in paying for a hotel room?" Charles asked.

"How do you think I get to stay the richest woman?" Elizabeth countered. "I guess there is no choice. We'll just have to have a nationwide Golden Jubilee celebration instead."

"But that will cost tens of millions of pounds," said Anne. "It seems silly to spend that much just to avoid a hotel bill."

"That's because you just don't understand matters of finance," the queen replied.

"You mean that the cost of a Jubilee Celebration is simply an investment that will be repaid by increased revenues from tourism?" asked Anne.

"No," said Elizabeth, "I mean that the Government will pay for it -- not me.".

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Betting on a Sure Thing
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde

Years ago, the advice given to Americans who wanted to strike it rich was, "Go West, young man, go West." Today, they are running South -- specifically to Mississippi where juries are giving mega-millions to anyone who can think of a reason to sue anyone else.

Deciding to cash in on this bonanza, I renewed my passport, got inoculated against smallpox, pellagra, and beri-beri, and got on the plane to Biloxi. Moments after landing, I was grabbed by a salesman from the noted law firm of Duem, Suem, and Screwem, and hustled off to their office.

"Welcome to Mississippi," Arthur Suem greeted me when I entered. "Who do you want to sue?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I guess it really doesn't matter as long as they have a lot of money."

"Now THAT's the attitude that helped make this country great," said Suem. "First, we have to find somebody who has caused you some damage -- it's one of those legal technicalities. Have you had any bad experiences recently?"

"I dropped a few hundred dollars at the blackjack tables at Ballys in Atlantic City," I said. "But I guess that was my own fault. I kept splitting face cards."

"Wash your mouth!" Suem exclaimed. "Nothing is your fault. Ever. How about all those people who smoked for 30 years and then sued the tobacco companies? If Marlboro is at fault for you lighting up, then Ballys is at fault for your stupid playing."

"But doesn't it matter that I played in New Jersey?" I asked.

"Of course not," said Suem. "Ballys has a casino down here, so we can wipe their tables clean. Just wait 'til I tell the jury how you and your family couldn't eat for a week because those monsters lured you into losing all your money."

"Actually, we ate pretty well," I admitted. "The hotel comped us for room and board for the whole stay."

"The fiends!" Suem cried. "They filled you with steaks to raise your cholesterol level. That should be worth a half million easy. Then they gave you cakes and ice cream which put you in danger of being overweight. That's another half million. And, worse of all, they served you wine, which put you at risk of becoming an alcoholic. Let's throw in another million."

"That's two million dollars altogether!" I exclaimed.

"I know its not much," Suem apologized, "but maybe we can raise it a bit. It's just a shame that you only lost a few hundred dollars."

"I'm not a very big gambler," I told him. "I guess I'm just afraid that I will lose more than I can afford."

"So the casino places you in an environment of fear, eh? That can be extremely harmful. You could easily wind up with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. That should be worth another million easily. Of course, we might even do better if I understood exactly what you went through. How do you play blackjack?"

"It's a simple game," I said. "You have to get closer to 21 than the dealer without going over. You are dealt two cards and then you either stand or take a hit."

"You mean that if you don't want to stand they assault you?" Suem said in shock. "That's wonderful! I can see a jury coughing up another $3 million without even blinking. See? We're already up to $6 million already. But how does the dealer know if you went over 21?"

"In some places your first card is dealt face down and at the end of the hand he turns it over," I said. "But in Atlantic City all your cards are dealt face up."

"You mean that the dealer exposes your cards without your permission and without even having a search warrant?" asked Suem. "That's an invasion of your privacy and a violation of your rights under the Fourth Amendment. We can tack on another $3 million right there. Tell me, do they allow you to pray that you will win?"

"I'm sure they do," I said, "I see people doing it all the time."

"That's a shame," said Suem. "If they didn't allow it we could sue them big time for violating your freedom of religion. Now we can just get a little out of them for allowing prayer in a public place. After all, casinos are run by the State Gaming Commission and that makes this a clear case of refusal to separate church and state. The best we can get for that will be another half million, but even so we are now looking at $9.5 million."

"Are you sure about all of this?" I wondered. "Somehow, it doesn't seem right for me to be taking so much money from them when they didn't really do anything wrong."

"What are you, some kind of anti-American fanatic?" Suem asked. "Are you trying to undermine the very basis of our legal system?"

"No," I said hastily.

"That's better," he said. "Just one last question -- did you endure any physical damage to your body in the casino?"

"I burned my fingers a little when I let my cigarette burn down too far," I said.

"Jackpot!" exclaimed Suem. "They allowed you to smoke -- and I can always collect big time when it comes to cigarettes. On top of that, the jury will want to compensate you for your pain and suffering. I think we can safely say that you will walk out of the courtroom with at least $25 million."

Just then, Suem's phone rang. He picked it up and started stuttering, "But you can't...it's not right...I will fight this to the Supreme Court...How could you do such a thing?"

"Bad news?" I asked.

"That was my neighbor. My rotweiller got free and ran into his house and bit him. He's in the hospital now and he is planning to sue me for the medical bills. It's people like that who are ruining this country by chasing after the easy buck. That damned Communist!"

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Up, Up, and Away
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde

The crisis in the air travel industry resulted in my old friend, Charlie Messerschmidt, being laid off from his job as Director of Fares Formulations by Luftwaffe Airlines and his subsequent move into the casino hotel business.

"It's great to see you again," Charlie greeted me as I walked into his office. "I hope you are staying here at the hotel."

"I haven't made any reservations," I said. "I thought you would be able to help me with that."

"No problem," said Charlie. "Just tell me if you want to stay Tourist, Business, or First Class."

"What's the difference?" I wondered.

"Tourist is our basic room," Charlie said. "You get a bed too small to sleep in and food that is completely inedible. You also have to go down to the casino to gamble.

"In Business, you get a bed which is a tiny bit bigger but much better food. It's a great deal -- you get two good meals a day and you only pay $1000 more. More than that, we put a slot machine in your room.

"Of course, if you really want to live it up you can stay in one of our First Class rooms. You get a king size bed, gourmet meals, all the liquor you want and your choice of three different movies to watch. Not only do you have your own slot machine, but a dealer will come up to the room if you want to play blackjack. First Class would run you about $6000 a night."

"I guess I will stay in Tourist," I said. "How much will that cost me?"

"Our basic rate is $37 a night," said Charlie.

"Great. Let me have it for four nights," I said.

"Impossible," Charlie said. "That rate is only available if you stay between 7 and 14 nights. Our next lowest rate is $84.50 per night."

"I guess that will have to do," I said.

"No," said Charlie. "It won't do. Today is a Thursday. In order to get that rate, at least one of the nights must be a Tuesday."

"Isn't that a rather silly requirement?" I wondered.

"Of course it is," Charlie said proudly. "Why do you think I was so good at my airline job?"

"Well, I'm not going to be here on a Tuesday, so what will the room cost?" I asked.

"We have a youth rate for $97," Charlie said, "but you have to be under 18. Of course, under state law minors aren't allowed to stay at casino hotels, so nobody actually gets a room at that price. I guess the best rate that I can give you is $185 a night."

"That's pretty steep," I said, "but I guess I have no choice. I'll take it."

"You realize," said Charlie, "that is a discounted rate, so there are certain restrictions which come with it."

"Like what?"

"For example, when you play Blackjack, you have to split face cards and take insurance."

"But only suckers do that," I protested.

"You also have to buy new clothes in the casino's store," said Charlie, "and anyone who is sucker enough to do that is certainly not going to mind a few bad bets at the tables."

"What would I have to pay in order to be allowed to bet like I want to?" I asked.

"That would be our full price Tourist rate," said Charlie. "It comes to $647.50 per night. Of course, just like with all our other rates, you have to add $8 per night for security and $11.30 for airport tax."

"Why do I have to pay airport tax at a casino hotel?" I wondered.

"Because I like airport taxes," said Charlie.

"Do I get Frequent Bettor points if I stay here?" I asked.

"Of course," said Charlie. "You get 1 point for every dollar you bet. If you get 10,000 points you are eligible for a free night at any time except our blackout period, which runs from May 1 until April 29."

"That's a rip-off!" I objected.

"If you think that is a rip-off," Charlie replied, "keep in mind that when somebody tries to use his Frequent Bettor points on April 30 we tell him we are already fully booked."

"You mean that nobody ever gets to use them?" I asked.

"Of course they do," said Charlie. "They can use them to upgrade rooms. Of course, this is only true if they take the lower category at the full price, stay on a Monday, don't have more than 5 consonants in their names, and fill out a Keno ticket every 6 hours and 37 minutes."

"That's really confusing," I told him.

"I know," Charlie agreed. "Why do you think that people stopped flying on Luftwaffe Airlines?"

"Fear of terrorists?" I ventured.

"Don't be silly," he replied. "They just couldn't figure out our price list."

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The Doctors' Pool
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Having suffered from minor pain in my right ear for the past month or so, I stopped into my local medical center to get it checked.

"There's no question about it," said my GP. "You have a blockage of the canal between your inner and outer ears."

"You're sure about that?" I asked.

"Of course," he replied. "I know my job -- I pride myself on being a true professional at all times. In fact, I'll give you 7 to 4 odds on it."

I never pass up a long shot, so he called the Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist to come in and settle the bet.

"Blockage? What blockage?" sneered the EN&T guy. "This is being caused by a deviated septum. This man needs an operation."

I was so thrilled at winning my bet that I didn't even ask for a second opinion before agreeing to be cut open. My GP, however, was not letting me off that easy.

"This guy is a quack," he told me. "I want you to take a CT scan before I pay off."

When the scan results came in, my GP called an internist to look at them.

"You see this dark spot?" the internist asked. "That a polyp in your sinal passage.. It will have to be removed."

"That spot isn't a polyp," said a passing radiologist. "It's a spot of dust on the film."

"Aren't we losing sight of the important question?" asked my GP. "Who wins the bet?"

"Nobody," said an allergist who had come in to borrow my GP's nurse. "His symptoms are classical for allergic rhinitis. I'm surprised you guys didn't know that. I'll put $200 down on it right now."

"How about if we set up a pool?" the EN&T guy suggested. "We all put down $200 and winner takes it?"

"What about me?" I asked.

"Sorry," said the EN&T guy. "You can't be in the pool. You're not a highly educated physician -- so you might know what is actually wrong with you."

Word of the pool spread through the medical center. An optometrist joined in, putting his money on an eye infection which could have traveled to my ear. A urologist was certain that it was some type of sexually transmitted disease and, given its location, the other doctors stopped whispering to me.

A dentist pointed out that infected dental roots often send pain to the ears and a podiatrist felt that the problem might well stem from my feet. A proctologist had his own theory and wanted to examine me before putting down his money but I told him to take his probe and shove it up HIS.

The cancer specialist didn't bother seeing me, but when he heard that I smoke he joined in the pool and immediately become the odds-on favorite.

"How are we doing to settle this?" I asked.

"There's only one man who can give us a definitive answer," my GP said. "Dr. Mortimer Goldblatt."

"I think I've heard his name," I said. "Is he famous?"

"He's on the news quite a bit," the GP said. "He's the county coroner."

"You mean the guy who cuts up dead people?" I asked.

"Right," said the GP. "He'll perform the autopsy."

"Hold it!" I objected. "There is no way that I am going to die just so that you people can run a pool on what caused my ear ache."

"That's not a problem," the cardiologist explained. "As of right now, 15 different specialists have examined you. Not only did each of them give a different diagnosis, but each one will be sending you a separate bill. In my professional opinion, as soon as you total up how much you owe us, it's 20 to 1 that you'll have a fatal heart attack."

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