GAMBLING CITY - Gambling Satires by Josh Wilde

BigTimeBingo - EXCLUSIVE BONUS $15 No Deposit + 350% to $500 Bonus on 1st Deposit

Rialto Casino - EXCLUSIVE BONUS: $10 No Deposit Required

Josh Wilde
Gambling City

Gambling Satires by Josh Wilde

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. Congressional Morality
2. White House Meet
3. The Druid Casino
4. A Labor Day Picnic
5. The Prophet Melvin
6. Not Banned in Boston
7. Football, American Style
8. Constable Guido Cohen, RCMP
9. Mike and Kathy -- An E-World Love Story
10. Crimebusters in Search of a Crime
11. Josh's Advice Column
12. Great Pumpkin Busted! (As in Arrested, not as in Broken)
13. Let's Talk Turkey, Miles!
14. Adding a Touch of Torture
15. Can't Anybody in Florida Count?
16. Silent Night, Gambling Night
17. Grand Opening: Le Casino Des Snobs De La France
18. My Wilde Resolutions
19. Josh's Free Gambling Advice
20. A Sadistic Day at Customer Support
21. Customer Service -- Eden-Style
22. Exclusive -- Phil Will Phudge The Forecast
23. Kathy, The Soap Opera, Part II
24. Red, White, And Blue Casinos
25. Purim -- My Kind of Holiday
26. So Very, Very, Correct!
27. March 17th -- San Patrico's Day?
28. Big Jules Gets Brut(US)alized
29. What? Me Speak with the Easter Bunny?
30. Guess Who is the April Fool!
31. Audit Time at the Sadists' Casino
32. Bonanza!
33. It's Not The Same Anymore, Comrade
34. A Visit to Grandma Mildred
35. From Here to Fort Dix
36. The Macabre Casino
37. To Boldly Go...
38. Gamble Airlines
39. Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs, Pigs, Woodsman, etc.
40. The First Fourth
41. Death of a Casino

Congressional Morality
Copyright 2008, Josh Wilde

A few days ago, I was visiting Washington for the Annual George Bush Pretzel Festival, when I got an urgent telephone call from Sen. Howard Babblelot, chairman of the Senate Committee on Morals and Other Kewl Stuff.

"You've got to get over to my office immediately," he urged. "It is a matter of the highest national importance."

Babblelot arranged for the Capitol Police to give me an escort -- allowing me to break all speed limits and ignore traffic lights -- so there would be no delay, and a short time later I met with him at the Congress.

"What's the problem?" I asked. "Spies? An environmental disaster? Are we about to go to war?"

"Worse," said Babblelot. "On line slots!"

"Sluts? On line? You mean internet pornography?"

"Not sluts, you idiot," he said. "Slots. The kind where you put your quarter in and if three cherries appear you get a dollar. They are destroying the country. You're a reporter -- you have to do something to help stop this tidal wave of immorality. The very fabric of our nation is at stake. Pretty soon youngsters will be throwing all their money away on internet gambling and have nothing left when they want to buy joints."

Babblelot poured himself a double Scotch from a bottle he had purloined from Air Force One, and told me that he had spent the last year investigating gambling from all angles.

"It's my sworn and solemn duty to make certain that I am informed on all important issues," he said.

"Like the situation in Afghanistan?" I asked.

"What's an Afghanistan?"

"Never mind," I said. "It's not important. There are no casinos there."

"No wonder I never heard of it," Babblelot replied. "I have been too busy defending the United States Constitution by spending my time and efforts in places like Las Vegas and Monte Carlo."

"It must be expensive traveling to all those spots," I said.

"That's what your tax dollars are for," the senator replied. "To make certain that Congressmen can take all the junkets they want. Besides, I am not the kind of person to misuse Federal funds on wine, women, and wild living. As soon as the land casinos hear that I am against online gambling they provide all those things as comps."

"But why do you object so strongly to gambling?" I asked.

"I never said I object to gambling," Babblelot replied. "The gaming industry is an important national resource, and I am proud to say that my own state has some of the finest casinos in the country. It is only online gambling that I oppose -- the kind that doesn't give a cut of the take to the Treasury...err, I mean, is not taxable.

"It is a tragic situation," he continued. "Just look at some of these letters I received from my constituents. Here is one from a man who lost $10,000 during a four hour session at one of these computer sites."

"That is bad luck," I commiserated.

"It is even worse than you know," Babblelot told me. "He had been planning on donating that money to my reelection fund in exchange for my rerouting a federal highway to go past his House of Ill Repute. Think of the income those poor girls will lose now because the customers will find it hard to get there!"

Babblelot's phone rang.

"Hi, honey," he said. "No, I'm sorry. I can't right now. I'm in an important meeting. I promise to make it up to you later. We will have dinner at a good restaurant, I will give you your anniversary present, and then we can spend a romantic night together."

"I don't want to keep you from celebrating your anniversary with your wife," I told him.

"Wife? Don't be silly. That was my secretary. Tonight marks the start of the second month that we have been having an affair. Coincidentally, it is also the anniversary of the second month that she has been working for me. But we were discussing more important things -- like how online gambling is effecting the morality of the country.

"Here is a good example," he said, holding up another letter. "A poor woman from the inner city took $25 she badly needed to feed her family and bet it all at one of those casinos."

"Did she lose everything?" I asked.

"No," said Babblelot. "She won. She hit a progressive jackpot and cashed out over $500,000. She immediately quit her job -- leaving me without a cleaning woman! It's things like that which are destroying the national work ethic."

The senator's phone rang again.

"No, Mr. President," he said. "I am sorry, but I will not be able to be there for the vote on the budget. Yes, I know you were counting on me to help get it passed, but I'm going on vacation tomorrow . I'll tell you what -- I'll trade off with Jack Forman. He was planning on voting against it, but I'll invite him to join me in the Caribbean and that way the vote will even out. I'm sorry, but I don't have time to discuss it more right now, I have a reporter here and we're discussing the the national work ethic."

No sooner did he hang up, then his computer beeped twice, indicating that he had an urgent e-mail.

He read it, picked up his phone, and called his secretary.

"Honey, bad news," he said. "Tonight is off. I just got an e-mail from the Pentagon and I will be tied up all evening."

"I didn't know that you were involved in defense planning," I said.

"I'm not," he said. "The letter was from Gen. Bear, an old friend of mine. He just got a promo from Silver Dollar Casino. They are offering a fantastic bonus."

"And you are going to try to stop it?" I asked.

"Are you crazy?" Babblelot replied. "I am going to spend the night online playing blackjack and turning that bonus into a bundle!"

Back To Top

White House Meet

With the United States hosting a summit meeting in Annapolis to bring peace to the Mideast, President Bush decided to bring in some of the leaders for a friendly poker game at his house.

Sparing no expense (namely, we slipped two Hershey bars to the guy who delivered the beer), "Wilde is the Joker" was able to get a transcript of the evening. The invited members included UK Prime Minister Gordon Brown; German Fuehrer...err, leader...Angela Merkel; Ehud Olmert, the Israeli top man; and Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas .

Bush: Okay, everybody. It's dealer's choice poker.

Merkel: Can't we play gin instead? That way I get a chance to pull a blitz.

Brown: It's my deal. Five card stud; queens are wild.

Olmert: "Queens are wild?" I never heard of that.

Brown: Try hanging around the Palace when Fergie's name is mentioned -- you'll REALLY see a wild queen! Ehud, you're high with a jack -- you open.

Olmert: Okay. I'll start with two West Bank settlements.

Abbas: You can't bet them! They're not your territory. They're MY territory!

Merkel: As I remember, Israel won them from you in a poker game back in 1967.

Bush: It's America's position that occupied lands should be returned to their original owners.

Olmert: I am certain that your Indians will be happy to hear that.

Abbas: Okay. I'll let him bet them. But if he wins the hand I am going to start setting off some bombs.

Merkel: "Bombs"? Did I hear somebody mention bombs? Ah, those were the good old days, what with the nightly flights over London and all!

Brown: Maybe, but we'll get our revenge with the invasion.

Merkel: You already had the invasion -- in 1945.

Brown: That was nothing! I'm talking about a serious invasion -- we'll be sending English football hooligans to the next game in Frankfurt.

Bush: Guys, please! If I wanted a night of fighting and arguing I could have stayed home with my Daddy. Let's play some poker. Gordon, you're showing a pair of 6's -- your bet.

Brown: Okay. I'll bet Belfast.

Merkel: Forget it! Nobody will be willing to win and take it. Can't you bet something more interesting -- like Czechoslovakia?

Brown: No way! We lost that in a game in Munich and the next thing we knew you grabbed Poland as well.

Bush: Okay, I'll see your Belfast with New York State.

Olmert: You have got to be kidding! You are willing to risk New York for Belfast?

Bush: Sure. Don't forget -- the Clintons lives there now! Why else would I bet into a low pair when I'm only holding a nine high?

Abbas: I'd love to win this hand. Imagine -- my owning New York! I'm crazy about kosher delis.

Olmert: I didn't know that you are Jewish!

Abbas: Don't spread it around too much -- it could hurt my election chances in Gaza.

Merkel: Hey! Where is Hu Jintao?

Brown: I think it's somewhere near Tokyo.

Schroeder: It's not a place, dumbkoff! Hu is the President of China. Why wasn't he invited?

Bush: That's my fault. I meant to send out for Chinese, but I forgot.

Brown: No problem. I'll call the embassy and have them send over some bangers.

Olmert: That's a wonderful idea. A few hookers liven up any game.

Brown: Bangers aren't hookers. They're English sausages.

Abbas: You are going to feed us British meat? Wow! And they used to call ME a terrorist!

Brown: They're is nothing wrong with British beef. We did a very careful check and found that there is only one mad cow in all of England -- and she lives in Buckingham Palace. Besides, bangers are made of pork, not beef.

Abbas: Then Ehud and I won't be able to eat them -- remember, we're kosher.

Brown: Too bad you didn't invite Nicolas Sarkozy . Say what you want about those French, but they really know how to cater a poker game.

Olmert: Sarkozy refused to come. He's still upset about how the First Gulf War turned out.

Brown: But why? We won.

Olmert: That is the problem. It completely upset the French Army's battle plans -- they are based on quick surrender.

Bush: No problem. I'll call the Canadian prime minister and invite him to the game. He can pick up some Nova Scotia salmon on the way. Err, does anybody know his name?

Merkel: Not me. I'm a politician, not a trivia expert.

Olmert: Look! Trip queens! This is my hand for sure. I'll bet Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and most of Miami Beach.

Brown: Too rich for my blood, I'm out.

Bush: Me, too.

Merkel: I guess the hand is yours.

Abbas: Not so fast. Take a look at my hole card. A king -- and that gives me three of them. I win.

Bush: No, Olmert wins.

Abbas: Why? We never agreed with Tony that queens are wild.

Bush: It doesn't matter. We are playing house rules. And in the White House queens always beat kings -- my Mom decided that a long time ago.

Abbas: This means war!

Schroeder: War? Wunderbar! Just like the good old days! I'll alert the Wehrmacht...err, I mean Bundeswehr...immediately. We'll be in Paris by Christmas!

Bush: Guys, no! You can't go to war over a poker game that I hosted. Think of what it will do to my place in history.

Brown: George, look on the bright side. A world war might even make historians forget about those Iraqi weapons of mass destruction!

Back To Top

The Druid Casino
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

For centuries, men have wondered about why Stonehenge, that great circle of incredibly large stones in England, was created. Some said it was a giant Bronze Age calendar created to honor the sun and moon gods. Others said it was a Druid temple. Last week, however, the noted Oxford professor of archeology, Dr. Milton Furbisher, revealed the truth: Stonehenge is a 4,000-year-old race track and casino.

"Do you see those two pillars near the center?" he asked me as we toured it together. "There were once four of them and we thought that they represented the four seasons of the year. Now we know that they were actually the places where the four cashiers had their booths."

"How did you figure that out?" I wondered.

"From the great number of coins discovered in the ground. Apparently they were not only cashiers, but rather careless ones at that. There are coins there from all over the ancient world -- and from places as far away as Gaul, Egypt, Mesopatania, China, and Israel. The pennies from Scotland are the most interesting --often, you can see the indentations from where they had been pinched."

"And over there," Furbisher said, "is a spot which confused us at first. From the great number of long, blonde, hairs we found there we suspected that it was a bar where local tarts picked up the winners. But later we found out why all the blondes hung out there: It was a blackjack table which allowed you to "triple down" your bet if you took one card when you were holding 21."

"How come there are two separate trails leading in -- one wide and one narrow?" I asked.

"The wide one leads down to a river," the professor told me. "Gamblers used to arrive there by boat and walk up the path. It was made fairly wide because of all the stores along its side. We found twin arches in front of one of them and an ancient statue. We thought we had discovered a Bronze Age idol, but then one of our American students pointed out that it was actually Ronald McDonald."

"And the narrow path? Didn't it have any stores?"

"Absolutely not," said Furbisher. "It was used by people who were leaving the casino -- and they, of course, had no money left. In fact, that's why they didn't walk back to the river; they couldn't afford the boat fare."

"What about the winners? There must have been some," I said.

"Apparently Stonehenge was operated by an ancient tribe from the Island of Sicily," said Furbisher, "and for some reason the winners seemed to disappear. However, we did discover some skeletal remains set in concrete at the bottom of the river."

"What was that?" I asked, pointing to a large, flat, stone with a round end.

"That is very interesting," Furbisher said. "Most of the rocks in Stonehenge are bluestones from Wales or sandstones that probably came from Avebury. However, that one rock is lodestone and probably came from much further away. As you know, lodestone is magnetic and we discovered it has some very interesting effects when a roulette wheel is placed on the round end."

"You mean the Stonehenge casino operators were crooked?" I asked in astonishment.

"Yes," said Furbisher. "They were the spiritual ancestors of the owners of The Sadists' Online Casino."

"You mentioned a race track," I said. "Where was it?"

"It is that large path which encircles Stonehenge," he told me. "We discovered its purpose when we found some parchment pieces which turned out to be parimutuel tickets. We also did laboratory tests on some brown stones and found that they were actually fossilized horse manure. These, of course, were of higher value than the tickets."

"I have to admit," I said, "this is rather disappointing. For years I had imagined the ancient Celts dragging these stones for miles in order to pay honor to their gods. Now you tell me that they were just interested in a crap game."

"Why is that so surprising?" Forbisher asked. "People are people no matter when they lived. Where do you find the most interesting buildings in the world today? Jerusalem doesn't offer a 'Circus Circus'!"

"Still, I would have liked to believe that they were spiritually motivated."

"Of course they were!" exclaimed Forbisher. "Where do people pray more than they do in casinos?"

"But tell me," I asked. "Why, after all the work they went through putting up Stonehenge, did they close it down?"

"That leads us to the most interesting archeological discovery of all," said Forbisher. "Stonehenge Casino went bankrupt because of the competition."

"You mean that someone built a bigger and better casino somewhere else?" I asked. "Then how come we have never discovered it?"

"Because it was an INVISIBLE casino," the professor said.

"You mean..."

"Yes," said the professor. "Not too far from here we discovered some Bronze Age huts. Each had a little table next to a wall. We thought that this was a holy altar of some kind but now realize that it was a pre-historic computer table. Instead of going to Stonehenge, people started to gamble online!"

"That's impossible!" I sputtered. "If the Internet existed 4,000 years ago, what made it disappear?"

"I'm not quite certain," the professor admitted, "but it seems that a company called 'PrehiSoft' came out with a new operating system that kept crashing and civilization collapsed as people did nothing except sit around pressing 'Control, Alt, Delete.'"

Back To Top

A Labor Day Picnic
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Being a gambling commentator for major online sites can have its drawbacks: I spend most of my time in jaded pleasure spas like Las Vegas, Monte Carlo, and the Bahamas. So when I received an invitation from my cousin Jonathan to spend Labor Day with his family in Smallville, their Iowa hometown, I jumped at it - finally, a chance to be with good, decent, folks!

"You sure picked the right time to get here," said Jonathan when I pulled up in front of his house, "tonight Smallville High has its opening game of the season. I'll give you their opponents and a 12 point spread!"

"Hush," said his wife, Martha. "This is no time to discuss football. We have got to get ready for the big picnic - and don't forget, Josh, tomorrow you are going to join us at church."

The whole town turned out for picnic, just like in the movies. Of course, at the time I didn't know that in Smallville "the movies" meant "Peyton Place."

"It's great to see so many of you wonderful people here today," Mayor Cornelius P. Flammer addressed the crowd. "It is a tribute to the great working men and women whose accomplishments we celebrate on Labor Day. Men who worked in the fields before the tractor was invented; who worked in the factories before they were computerized; and who helped make the casinos great by dealing even without automatic shufflers.

"But I don't want you to think that hard work and self-advancement are things of the past," the mayor continued. "Nosirree. Not here in Smallville where we still value the great American work ethic. Why, just this year, Mike Franklin, who made us all proud when he when he quarterbacked the Smallville Stalkers, made the varsity team at State U! And I'm sure that he would have gone on to be one of the NFL greats if he hadn't gotten caught betting on the other team."

"Don't forget my son!" shouted a voice from the crowd.

"Forget little Billie?" replied Flammer. "How could I ever do that? For years, Billie ran the Wheel of Fortune at every Smallville Labor Day Picnic. That experience stood him in good stead, and today he is a professional in Las Vegas, spinning the roulette wheel.

"Of course," he continued, "Billie wasn't the only one whose volunteer work at the picnic opened the doors to a career. How about Mary Spangler? She used to sell kisses for charity each year. Well, folks, I am happy to tell you that I spotted Mary when I was in Las Vegas last week, and she, too, is a pro now. And she hasn't forgotten her home town! If anybody from Smallville visits Vegas, she will be happy to give them a 25% discount."

"Well, Martha, I guess it is time that I visited Las Vegas," said Jonathan. "I sure would like to see Mary again."

"Now, hush yourself," Martha replied. "He's only joking with you, Josh. Why Mary Spangler used to be our baby sitter. Jonathan would drive her home when she finished. Funny thing is, Mary lived only about 5 minutes away but for some reason it would take over an hour before Jonathan got back."

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Kent," said a curly-haired teenage boy. "Are you going to need me this week?"

"We sure are," said Jonathan. "Come by on Thursday."

"It will have to be in the afternoon. School starts this week and I don't want to miss any classes."

"He's such a wonderful boy," Martha said to me. "He's not only a good student but a hard worker. He takes care of our grass for us."

"Not only that," said Jonathan, "but he's even willing to roll it for us for free."

"Roll it for you?" I asked. "Why do you need your grass rolled?"

"Because Martha doesn't think that pipes are very ladylike," he replied. "She only takes her grass in joints."

"For some reason," I said, "Smallville isn't exactly what I imagined it would be like."

"You have to remember," Martha replied, "that we are just simple people here. Not like those big city sophisticates you are used to being with. Fancy city things like Margaritas and Harvey Wallbangers aren't very popular here."

With that, she took out a silver flask from her pocketbook and gulped down a few swallows of Chateau Lafitte.

"It's just for medicinal purposes," she said. "It saves me a fortune on arthritis medication."

"I didn't know that you have arthritis," I said.

"I don't ," Martha replied. "See? The Chateau Lafitte works!"

"Uh, oh," said Jonathan. "Here comes Rev. Paisley. Now you are in for it, Martha."

The reverend, a stern looking gentlemen in a dark suit, walked straight up to Martha without saying a word, took her flask from her, and sniffed it.

"I am very disappointed in you," he said.

"I know," said Martha. "I'm very sorry."

"How many times have I told that you have to stop nipping at the Chateau Lafitte?" he asked. "Bolla Bardolino is just as good and a lot less expensive."

"You're not going to give another sermon condemning me for drinking the Lafitte?" she asked. "It was very embarrassing the last time you did it - especially when you told the whole church that it is your belief that the wine that Jesus made from water was actually Bardolino."

"No," said the reverend. "I won't be giving any more sermons about wine. I got into a lot of trouble for that. The bishop heard about it and was furious. He said I had no right plugging Bardolino when I am the local importer. Personally, I think the bishop was just jealous - he's the agent for several brands of Merlot."

"Reverend, I would like you to meet my cousin Josh," said Jonathan."He is a reporter who specializes in covering gambling."

"You mean things like horse tracks and casinos?" asked Rev. Paisley. "I can't say that I approve of such goings on. Gambling is the devil's invention. It takes too much money that could go to better purposes, like giving pay raises to clergymen."

"Josh will be joining us at church tomorrow," said Martha.

"That's fine," the reverend beamed. "It is an especially good day to come. We'll be having our Labor Day special - five bingo cards for the price of four!"

Back To Top

The Prophet Melvin
Copryright 2008 - Josh Wilde

Every year, I go to the Sacred Mountain (a small casino in downtown Vegas) to commune with the Prophet Melvin and learn what is in store for the following 12 months. True, Melvin hasn't been right once, but tradition is tradition, so off I went again this year.

"I've got solid news for you," Melvin told me. "Joe Paterno is going to stay at Penn State next year."

"That's news?" I asked. "Paterno has been head football coach for 37 years and had only two losing seasons. Penn would never get rid of him."

"But this time," Melvin replied, "they're going to make him the university president."

"Give me some solid tips," I urged him, "like, who will be going to the Superbowl this year?"

"I'd love to go," said Melvin. "But do you know how hard it is to find tickets?"

"What's going to happen with internet gambling?" I asked. "Is the Congress going to ban it?"

"I sure hope so," Melvin replied. "It would be the best thing that could happen to the online casinos."

"Best? How?"

"Look," Melvin said, "Congress banned drugs. You can find them all over the place. Handguns are illegal in many American states and you can buy one on every street corner. As soon as something becomes illegal demand for it goes up."

"But won't online gambling succeed even if it is not illegal?" I asked.

"It's doubtful," said Melvin. "After all, nobody passed a law against good airline food, but just try to find it anywhere."

"I'm thinking of going to Atlantic City later this month. Is it a good idea?"

"Only if you want to lose all your money," Melvin told me. "Of course, I don't have to be a prophet to know that -- every time you walk into a casino you lose all your money."

"Do you know any way I can avoid losing?" I asked him.

"Of course," Melvin replied. "Just make certain that you don't gamble anywhere except the MGM Grand in Atlantic City."

"But there is no MGM Grand there," I protested.

"NOW you understand!" he said.

"How will things proceed in the war against terrorism?" I wondered.

"Right now, the Taliban are 20 to 1 underdogs," Melvin said, "but the odds could improve in their favor."

"How?" I asked in worry.

"The French could decide to join our side."

I immediately made a note to sell my war bonds and asked Melvin if there is any hope that the conflict in the Middle East will end during the year.

After recovering from a fit of laughter, Melvin replied, "Wow. You'll believe in ANYTHING, won't you? The chances of the fighting ending there are as remote as they were of Yasser Arafat winning the Nobel Peace Prize."

"But Arafat did win that prize, remember?"

"He did?" Melvin replied in shock. "In that case, rush and make a bet on Osama Bin Laden winning it this year. Terrorists may be on a winning streak."

"As usual," I told Melvin, "you have not been very helpful. Don't you have anything at all that you can tell me for certain?"

"Yes," he said. "Hillary Clinton is going to try to seduce the president in October."

"Now THAT is interesting," I said. "Will she succeed?"

"No," said Melvin, "and it is very sad. It means she still won't have managed to go to bed with an American president!"

Back To Top

Not Banned in Boston
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

For almost 200 years, Boston Equity Trust has belonged to a New England patrician family by the name of Throckmorton. It was thus quite a surprise when I was invited to visit the company's current president, Giles P. Throckmorton VI, in his office.

"I have the feeling you are just the man I've been looking for," Throckmorton said when we met, "to head up our Internet enterprises."

"Me?" I asked in surprise. "I don't know anything about investment banking and very little about the net. I just hang around the online gambling sites."

"That's why we're interested in you," Throckmorton said. "I'd like to hear your ideas on how we can move into online gambling."

"You mean that Boston Equity, which is probably the stuffiest investment firm in the country, is going to open a casino?" I asked.

"No, unfortunately Mother would never allow that." Throckmorton replied. "We are going to stick with our more traditional forms of gambling - like the stock market."

"What does the stock market have to do with gambling?" I asked.

"You have to be joking!" Throckmorton replied. "Just think about it. When you play roulette, you have to choose from only 36 numbers. But there are thousands of stocks! What's going to hit today? IBM? Microsoft? Exxon? Nobody knows - so it is a pure gamble."

"How about investment counselors?" I asked. "Certainly they have the necessary expertise to take the luck out of it for you."

"Don't be silly," Throckmorton replied. "Those idiots have no more idea of what stock is going up than pit bosses do about what number is going to be rolled next on the craps tables. Think about it - if they really knew what stock was going to hit would they spend their time selling on commission?."

"So you want to market stocks like the casinos market blackjack," I said. "How will the Securities Exchange Commission feel about that?"

"I can't see why they would object," Throckmorton replied. "It's already being done. It's called 'day trading.' The only difference is that we will be honest about what we are doing."

"For a start," I suggested, "you can offer sign up bonuses to new customers."

"That's exactly the kind of idea I was hoping you would come up with," he said. "We can offer $500 free with your first deposit of $2,000 or more. Of course, both bonus and deposit will have to be played…err, invested…before they can be withdrawn."

"Another good idea would be to offer special bonuses for people who play the riskier stocks," I said.

"Fine," Throckmorton beamed, "in fact, excellent! That would really stimulate play on the Commodities Exchange. I can see it now - invest $10,000 in pork belly futures and get and additional $1,000 worth of soy bean futures free."

"Good graphics and sound effects are also important," I said. "You can have a sexy blonde stock broker wearing a low cut dress."

"I already have one of them," Throckmorton replied, "her name is Barbie, but my wife doesn't believe I hired her for her marketing abilities."

"I didn't mean real blondes," I said. "Cartoon characters. And you program them to say things like, 'Would you like to double down on your Polaroid investment, or do you want to stand, honey?'"

"Can you really teach a cartoon character how to suggest stocks?" asked Throckmorton. "I haven't even been able to succeed in doing that with Barbie."

"How about advertising?" I asked.

"We already have a fine advertising program," Throckmorton said. "We work with Forbes, Fortune, The Wall Street Journal and numerous other financial publications."

"Forget it!" I said. "The online gambler doesn't have time to read those things. You can take banner ads on gambling portals."

"Why those sites?" he asked.

"Because they like it when I plug them in my columns," I replied. "Besides, your only other choice is spam."

"No Spam," said Throckmorton. "Remember, I was in the Army, I hate the stuff. Besides, I can't see how canned meat is going to sell stocks."

"Then it's all decided," I said. "I'll get to work on it immediately."

"Not so fast," said Throckmorton. "Don't forget insurance."

"You mean you will offer insurance bets, like in blackjack?" I asked.

"No," he said, "I want Boston Equity's insurance division to be part of our online gambling package."

"But what does insurance have to do with gambling?" I asked.

"That's what insurance is all about," Throckmorton replied. "You place a bet that you are going to die during a particular period. We bet that you are going to live. If you win, we pay off at something like 500 to 1, depending on your age. If you are really lucky and die young, you can get as much as 1,000 to 1 odds!"

"Great!" I said. "We can even offer specials - like twice the money if you die in an accident."

"We've been doing that for years," said Throckmorton. "It's called 'double indemnity' and the suckers…I mean, clients…really go for it."

"One last thing," I said. "Your name. It will have to be changed."

"I don't like that idea at all," he replied. "Throckmorton is an old and respected name, I am not going to change it."

"I meant the company name," I told him. "'Boston Equity Trust' is just not an attention grabber. You need something short and snappy."

"Well," Throckmorton said, "if International Business Machines can become IBM, I guess that we can do the same thing. Before long, we'll have the whole country running to their computers to take care of their financial needs at BET."

Back To Top

Football, American-Style
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

With American football becoming more popular internationally I decided to help the inferior people of the world (women and non-Americans) understand this important aspect of life and I went to Knute "Bear" Parsegian, the famed college football coach, for help in explaining it.

"Football is a sacred rite," Knute told me. "It is sad to realize that there are people in this world who don't know what a 'down' is or how the 'spread' is determined."

"I know," I agreed, "and it's actually so simple that there is no reason for anyone to be confused."

"It certainly is," said Knute. "Take the 'downs', for example. "Each team gets four downs. Of course, if they manage to move the ball ten yards or more they get four more downs -- unless, of there is a penalty and a down is replayed, which actually makes it five downs. Often, however, after three downs they decide to either punt or to go for a field goal, so then they don't get all four downs. Should they score, they automatically lose the rest of their downs unless they scored on a safety, in which case the other team has to kick and the original team gets four more. What could be simpler than that?"

"Maybe we should start with the basics," I said. "Why don't women ever play football?"

"Because it is a rough, tough, game, which requires high levels of testerosterone," Knute said. "Besides, we tried letting a woman play center last year. It didn't work. The quarterback took so long on the snaps that his team was penalized 200 yards for delay of game. She also complained that he was too forward with his passes."

"You mentioned the 'spread' -- can you tell us what this is?"

"The spread is undoubtedly the most important part of the game," Knute said. "Without it, the country would have serious political problems. Let's say that Florida State is playing Harvard. Is there anybody in his right mind who would bet on those Ivy League eggheads? Of course not! The entire world would put its money on Florida and the bookies would go bankrupt. The next thing you know the Republicans would be calling for the federal government to bail out them out and the Democrats would be establishing an Affirmative Action program for bookies."

"How does the spread avoid this?" I asked.

"It even things out," said Knute. "In that Florida-Harvard game, for example, the bookies would establish a 400 point spread. That way, if Florida won by less than 400 points, the people who bet on Harvard would win."

"But wouldn't good sportsmanship dictate that Florida not run up the score so high?" I asked. "Wouldn't they put in their second or third team when they saw they were going to win?"

"Actually, in that particular case," said Knute, "I had presumed that Florida had refused to allow ANY of their regular players into the game and were only using the cheerleaders."

"Does football have much of impact on campus life?" I asked.

"Not an extreme impact," laughed Knute. "No school would let the football coach fire the president, for example. Well, if it came to a choice between the Penn State president and Joe Paterno that would be a different story, but that's because Paterno usually has a better year than the president. However, football does have a cultural impact. For example, The University of Mississippi changed its name to "Ole Miss" because of football -- none of its players could spell 'Mississippi.'"

"Doesn't it cause some resentment among the faculty that academic standards are lowered for football players?"

"Not at Mississippi," Knute said. "None of the faculty could spell it either."

"Did you know," I asked him, "that the British think we should not call it 'football'? That is what they call 'soccer.'"

"The British!" sneered Knute. "What do they know? These are the same people who think that an 'elevator' is a 'lift' and a 'trolley' is a 'tram'! I'm not even going to tell you what they call a cigarette -- but if we were to use that same term to refer to a man the entire Gay Rights movement would be down on our heads!"

"But they argue that there is very little kicking in American football, so it doesn't make sense to call it that."

"What would they want us to call it?" asked Knute. "Melvin? Nigel? That would be a heck of a thing, wouldn't it -- 'Hey, guys, about a game of Touch Nigel?' Actually, the name 'football' has a long and distinguished history. It started at the first intercollegiate game between Rutgers and Princeton in 1869.

"Early in the game, Rutgers gave the ball to Josiah Blakely to punt and Princeton tried to block it. Elmer Katswiddle, the Princeton tackle, ran right into Blakely's foot as it was in midair -- so the 'foot' in 'football' was named in honor of Blakely's right foot. In fact, his shoe was cast in bronze and is on display at Rutgers. Today, it is a tradition at the school for young lovers to have their first kiss there after they get engaged."

"And the 'ball' part of the name is in honor of the pigskin he kicked?" I asked.

"No," Knute told me. "Unfortunately for Katswiddle, the steel cup had not yet been invented. He blocked the punt with a very indelicate part of his anatomy. He was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. However,that, too, had a happy ending. Katswiddle gained immortality by having the 'ball' part of 'football' named in honor of his removed left testicle -- which was immediately bronzed and put on display at Princeton.

"For some reason," he puzzled, "it is not a place which young lovers like to visit."

Back To Top

Constable Guido Cohen, RCMP

A few years ago the international gambling craze all centered around the activities of Constable Guido Cohen -- and what he would be doing on October 9.

Guido, a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman (see note, below), is the son of Jewish immigrants from Naples who moved to Toronto in the 1960's. They raised him to respect his religious heritage as well as his national origins and adopted nation. In fact, that is the reason that there is such widespread interest in just how Guido would be spending the day.

That year, by a strange set of circumstances, Yom Kippur (the Jewish Day of Atonement), Columbus Day, and Canadian Thanksgiving all fell on the same date.

"I know Guido well," said Herman Fishbaum, his rabbi. "He will spend the day in Temple and will not have anything to eat or drink -- not even a glass of water. That is what our religion requires, and that is what he will do. In fact, I'm laying 7 to 4 odds on it."

"Columbus Day is meant to be celebrated by drinking vino, eating pasta, and dancing the tarantella into the late hours of the night," argued Massimo Borghese, president of the Sons of Napoli, Toronto Chapter. "Guido looks forward to it every year and he wouldn't think of missing our annual festa. I've already placed over $10,000 on it, and I'll increase the bet if I can manage to mortgage the Tower of Pisa."

"Constable Cohen is an all-Canadian man," said Sergeant Frank Preston, his immediate superior at the Mounties. "This means that he will have a big Thanksgiving Dinner and watch every football game he can squeeze into the day. The guys in the station have been on the phones all week laying bets at their bookies."

When Guido's story broke in the Toronto Star, it captured the imagination of the nation and started an avalanche of betting.

"God bless Guido Cohen," said Joe Running Horse, head of the Native Saskatchewan Casino and Sports Book. "He has done more to stimulate business than the Superbowl and national elections combined. "We're going to make enough on the vigorish to put Jacuzzis into all of our teepees."

The situation even attracted international attention, leading to an unexpected bonus for various online sportsbooks. The Royal Bet reported millions of Canadian dollars and British Pounds being wagered on Guido. Mona Lisa Sportsbook was barely been able to stand up under the crush of Italian Lire being bet. Israelis, too, were busy betting on Guido -- but when they discovered that King Solomon's Casino does not have a sports betting section were forced to turn to the neighboring Egyptian Casino and Sportsbook.

"It's great to have the additional business," said Egyptian Sportsbook president Achmed Taboori, "but what the heck are we going to do with all this Israeli money? It is very difficult to spend shekels in downtown Cairo."

Naturally, where such large amounts are involved, rumors of a possible "fix" start floating.

"We're watching things very closely," said Inspector Jacques Claude Rousseau of the Interpol's Casinos, Sports, and Guido Section. "We are working on a lead that the Italians are trying to put in a fix."

"You mean the Mafia?" I asked.

"No," he said. "The pasta chefs. They are planning on delivering a major tortellini and fettucini dinner to Guido's house on the afternoon of October 9. They have developed a new sauce which they think will constitute an offer he can not refuse."

"How about the Israelis?" I asked. "Are they planning anything?"

"Their Intelligence Service -- the Mossad -- thought of escorting Guido to Temple early in the morning and then blocking it off so that nobody could leave until Yom Kippur was over. They called it off when the Mounties got wind of the plan."

"Thank goodness for the Mounties," I said. "At least you know that they would never get involved in bet fixing."

"No?" mused Rousseau. "Then tell me why the Mounties have assigned Guido to special duties on October 9."

"Special duties?"

"Yes. He has been ordered to watch football games on television to doublecheck that the refs are making honest calls. He will be doing it at the Prime Minister's home and, at the same time, tasting the PM's turkey to make certain it isn't poisoned."

"If he gets that job, there is no way the Israelis or Italians will be able to win the bet," I said. "Why isn't Interpol doing something about it?"

"We are," said Rousseau. "We're getting every member of the force involved! We've been online ever since we learned about the Mounties order."

"Trying to convince them to change their minds?" I asked.

"No," said Rousseau, "hitting the sportsbooks' websites and betting on Canada."

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

Note: Being a Mounted Policeman is a very different thing than being a mounted police woman, although both have reputations for always getting their man.

Back To Top

Crimebusters in Search of a Crime
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

The name tags of the men in the room made me feel that I had landed in a bowl of alphabet soup -- FBI, CIA, DEA, NSA, INS, -- just about everything except AFL-CIO.

"This is the Federal Inter-Agency Task Force on On Line Gambling," explained Special Agent Webster (the guy with the FBI tag), "and we need your assistance in stopping this pack of criminals."

"Why?" I asked. "What laws are they breaking?"

"That's the problem," Webster replied. "We don't know. But we figure they HAVE to be breaking some law. On Line gambling is just too much fun to be legal."

"We think we might have a lead," said the guy with the Drug Enforcement Agency tag. "We understand that an elderly woman in Sacramento got so excited when she hit the 7Sultan's Cash Splash that she took a Valium to calm down. Do you know anything about this?"

"No," I admitted.

"How about illegal immigrants?" asked the Immigration and Naturalization Service agent. "Our informers tell that Big Win Casino is hiring a bunch of Costa Ricans who are not in this country legally."

"That's true," I said. "In fact, they are not in this country at all -- they are in Costa Rica. That's where Big Win is located."

"We can look into that end," said the Central Intelligence Agency representative. "It seems mighty suspicious to me that we have a group of Costa Ricans working in Costa Rica -- it is just too much of a coincidence."

"Have you ever gotten a check in the mail for your On Line winnings?" asked the guy from the Postal Service, and, if so, did it have the right postage on it?"

"I hit big at the King Solomons Casino a few weeks ago and they sent me a check," I said, "but it was mailed from the office in the Netherlands Antilles and I have no idea of how much postage it required."

"I guess we can find that out," said the State Department man. "Err, do any of you guys have any idea of where the Netherlands Antilles are?"

"Forget about that," said the Pennsylvania State Trooper. "I guess you rushed to the bank to deposit the check, didn't you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Just HOW fast did you rush?" he asked. "I'll bet we can get these casinos operators on charges of encouraging speeding!"

"What did you say?" Webster asked him.

"I said I'll bet that..."

Webster pressed a button under his desk and three other FBI men came in and dragged the Trooper off under charges of gambling in a Federal building.

"Hold everything," said the Internal Revenue Service agent. "You said that you won -- well, I have your tax records here and you didn't report it -- what's your excuse?"

"I won the money in September," I said, "and this is October. Income tax returns aren't filed until April."

"Technicalities," he muttered, "they always get free on technicalities. It's tax evaders like you who are destroying this country. Pretty soon we won't even have enough money to give federal investigators pay raises."

"I understand," said the CIA man, "that the Golden Reef Casino is giving a $100 bonus to anyone who opens an account. If we can find some federal employees who have signed up, we can get the casino on charges of bribing government officials."

"I don't think that we should start any investigation along those lines," Webster replied nervously. The other men agreed immediately.

"We have already looked into that, " said the National Security Agency representative. "We tapped into the phone lines of all government employees and know exactly which ones have been betting on line. Unfortunately, we can't arrest them all -- there would be nobody left in government."

"You mean that ALL federal employees have on line casino accounts?" asked Webster incredulously.

"Not all," the NSA man admitted. "We couldn't find anyone at the Internal Revenue Service who is betting."

"Of course not," the IRS agent said. "We are too principled to do something like that."

"Actually, principles had nothing to do with it," the NSA man replied. "You guys just couldn't fill out the forms to open accounts -- you found them too complicated."

"Personally," said Webster, "I think the idea of federal employees betting on line is repulsive!"

"Sure you do," said the NSA guy, "but next time you go to the VIP Casino remember not to hit when you are holding 19 -- you're almost sure to bust."

"Guys," I said, "it doesn't look like you need my help here, can I go?"

"I guess so," said Webster, "but before you do, would you mind answering just one more question?"

"All right," I agreed.

"You told us that you hit big last month. Would you mind coming over to my house tonight and showing me how to do it?"

Back To Top

Great Pumpkin Busted! (As in Arrested, not as in Broken)
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde

As every "Peanuts" fan knows, the Great Pumpkin shows up every year by appearing in the world's most sincere pumpkin patch. This year, he chose one in Washington, D.C., and wound up in Federal Court.

"I know it was a stupid mistake," the Great Pumpkin told me as he was waiting to be arraigned, "but this is an election year. I thought all the hypocrites would be out of Washington and on the road campaigning. Unfortunately, I was only thinking about the elected hypocrites and forgot about the appointed ones."

"But what possible charges could they have placed against you?" I asked. "After all, pumpkins have very little use for money, so it couldn't be robbery and given the tiny size of your stem, a sex crime is definitely out of the question."

"They got me on a few counts of contributing to the delinquency of minors," the GP answered. "They said that I encourage extortion and gambling."

"Extortion?" I said in shock. "That is a very serious offense. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I don't consider saying 'Trick or Treat' to be extortion," the GP replied. "After all, what kind of trick can a 7-year-old in a Batman cape do? It is only an expression. In fact, I don't think that even the FBI believes that I extorted anyone. They are only using that charge as a threat, in order to get me to plead guilty to the gambling counts."

"In other words," I said, "they are using the extortion charges to extort you."

"Exactly," he said. "They said that if I admit to encouraging children to gamble, they will go easy on me. If not, they are going to throw the book at me. They mentioned that the gambling activities might well be in violation of the Income Tax Code and they will hand my case over to the IRS."

"What kind of gambling are you involved in?" I asked. "The numbers racket?"

"Don't be silly," the GP told me. "Nobody does the numbers racket anymore. Now they call it a 'lottery' and the government runs it.

"Do you remember 'Bobbing for Apples'"? he asked.

"Of course," I said. "When I was a kid I played it every Halloween."

"Right," said the GP. "Well, the FBI pointed out that in some places, a penny is put in one of the apples and they say that is gambling."

"Don't worry," I said. "The charges are so ridiculous that I am certain that the judge will throw them out immediately."

Just then, my old friend, FBI Special Agent Clyde Webster spotted me chatting with the Great Pumpkin and walked over.

"You shouldn't hang around with characters like that," Clyde said. "He is one very dangerous vegetable."

"Fruit," I said. "A pumpkin is a fruit, not a vegetable."

"Are you kidding me?" Clyde asked in disbelief. "If I make a remark like, 'He is one very dangerous fruit,' the Gay Rights people will have my badge in no time!"

"But why did you arrest him?" I asked. "I can't believe that the Federal government in interested in apple bobbing."

"We're not," Clyde admitted, "but is the one charge that we can get him on that we can make stick. This pumpkin is a threat to the national security and has to be put away."

"Me?" asked the GP in shock. "How could I possibly threaten national security?"

"You go around promoting sincerity in little children," Clyde told him. "Have you ever thought about what would happen in this country if they believed you? The first thing you know, they would be demanding that politicians keep their promises. If every politician kept his promise to cut taxes, there would be no money to pay for the millions of programs they promise to pass."

"But they don't pass most of those programs anyhow," I said, "so it wouldn't matter if there is no money for them."

"True," Clyde told me, "but this way the money becomes available for important things, like giving pay raises to government employees. Besides, what happens when these children grow up? If all the children become sincere adults, where are we going to get the next generation of politicians? Our whole system of government is being put at risk by one overgrown pumpkin!"

"Come on, Clyde," I said. "You can't really be serious about putting the Great Pumpkin in prison."

"Who said anything about prison?" Clyde asked. "The pumpkin is guilty of treason and there is only one answer for that."

"You mean," I gulped, "capital punishment?"

"Let's put it this way," Clyde told me. "Come on over to my house for Thanksgiving -- for dessert we'll be having pumpkin pie."

Back To Top

Let's Talk Turkey, Miles!
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

"I can't tell you how happy I am that you decided to share Thanksgiving dinner with us," Miles Standish said to his guests.

"We look at it this way," said Chief Powhatan, "you're about to take our land, our buffalo, and our women and then stick us in reservations in Arizona. The least we can get out of this is a decent meal."

"What kind of people do you think we are?" argued John Rolfe indignantly. "We would never act that way! We will respect your land and your women and never take them!"

"Oh, no?" smiled Pocahantas as she rubbed her leg against Rolfe's.

"On second thought," Rolfe said, "if we're going to take the buffalo we might as well take the land and women also."

"That's horrible!" objected John Alden. "We are not thieves! We will stay where we are and let the Indians do the same."

"Speak for youself, John," Priscilla Mullins replied. "Personally, there is a little piece of land just south of here that I want for myself. I am going to call it 'Boston.'"

"Boston?" asked Powhatan in surprise. "What do you want with that godforsaken place?"

"I think it would be a great spot for baking beans and banning books," said Priscilla. "We might even start a school or two there. What do you think of 'Harvard' as the name of a university?"

"Personally," said Standish, "I prefer 'Bama.'"

"Don't be ridiculous!" thundered Rolfe. "You can't have 'Bama in the Ivy League. It would massacre Yale in every football game."

"What is a football game?" asked Powhatan.

"It's a game we're going to invent," said Standish. "It's going to have 11 men on each side dressed in helmets and shoulder pads who will smash into each other while they try to move an oval-shaped ball down the field. The most important man in the game will be the guy called the 'bookie'. He will determine the point spread and take the bets."

"That's a silly sounding game," said Priscilla. "You are never going to get any women watching it."

"Of course we will," answered Standish. "The players will be wearing skin-tight pants that will emphasize their rear ends."

"Get me season tickets on the 50-yard-line," Priscilla said hungrily.

"What about dinner?" demanded Powhatan. "Or is that just another lie that you white people have for the Indians?"

"Of course not," said Priscilla. "We have a wonderful dinner prepared. Boiled turkey."

"Boiled?" asked Pocahontas in surprise. "Turkey is supposed to be roasted."

"There's not going to be any roast turkey until somebody gets busy inventing the self-cleaning electric oven," said Priscilla.

"We roast them over an open fire," Pocahontas told her.

"You also live in homes made of animal skins," answered Priscilla, "but don't think that I am going to settle for anything less than a split-level in the suburbs."

"You can't live in the suburbs," Standish said. "They don't exist. We haven't even built any urbs yet, much less suburbs."

"This is a great idea, having a Thanksgiving Day dinner," said Rolfe. "I bet it starts a tradition in the Americas. Every year, families will get together for a fine meal, watch football games, and wait for Santa Claus to end the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade so that the Christmas shopping season can begin."

"That doesn't sound so great to me," said Standish.

"You haven't heard the best part," Rolfe told him. "All the on line casinos will be running special bonuses in the Pilgrims' honor!"

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Priscilla. 'But why should Thanksgiving Day be restricted to America? Why shouldn't England have a Thanksgiving Day?"

"It will," Rolfe told her, "but it won't be in November. The British will feel that they have a special reason for giving thanks and will celebrate it every year -- on the Fourth of July!"

Back To Top

Adding a Touch of Torture
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

I am, of course, very familiar with the major gambling software producers like Microgaming and Boss, but when I heard rumors of a company whose work appears at some casinos without identification, I decided to be a good reporter and dig out all the info. The result: This is the first public revelation of "Marquis Software".

"Did you name it after the Marquis of Queensbury, whose very name is synonymous with fair play in sport?" I asked its founder, Clyde Hockleberry.

"No," Clyde told me. "I named it after the Marquis de Sade, whose work is honored and remembered in the world 'sadism'. We like to think that we are the people who add 'a touch of torture' to online gaming."

"And people want this?" I asked in disbelief.

"A few, maybe," Clyde replied, "but we would never make a living if we depended on the leather whip set. Most of the people who play our games have no idea that we are behind them. You see, all we do is make some minor adjustments to the software that the big boys produce."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Are you familiar with 'Double Magic', the Microgaming slot game?" he asked. "If you get three blue stars you win 1600 times your bet. Of course, that won't happen if you are playing on a Double Magic game which we have reprogrammed."

"You mean that you have gotten rid of the stars?"

"Don't be silly," Clyde told me. "That would be too easy. We kept the stars -- we just made sure that every time you see them they are either one row above or below the pay line. It drives the player nuts!"

"Do you restrict your work to the slots?"

"No," said Clyde. "We handle all kinds of games. For example, roulette. We keep a careful watch on the player's favorite number."

"And make certain that it never hits?" I guessed.

"No, we make certain that it DOES hit," said Clyde, "but only after the player has given up on it and switched his bet. The next spin of the wheel is guaranteed to hit the number he HAD been betting."

"Do you have any game that you prefer?" I asked.

"Blackjack," he said without hesitation. It offers so many variations that it is a sadist's Garden of Eden."

"Can you give me an example?"

"One of my favorites," he said, "is one I like to call 'Crawling Victory'. In it, the player gets good starting cards, like 8 and 3. The dealer starts with garbage -- perhaps a 6."

"I love it when I get a hand like that," I said. "I immediately double."

"Of course you do," said Clyde. "Who wouldn't? With 'Crawling Victory', you are certain that you are going to win. It also has the advantage of keeping up your hopes. You start out with an 11 and then your next card is a 9. You have 20 and are already counting your money. The dealer starts with a 6, and then gets a 2, 3, and 5. He now has 16 and you are in heaven. Then we throw him a 5 and you go into shock."

"I believe that has happened to me once or twice," I admitted.

"Only once or twice?" Clyde asked. "Then you couldn't have been playing on one of my sites. How about the opposite -- 'Crawling Defeat?' In this one, you get the lousy cards to start with and then they start to look better. For example, you begin with a pair of 3's. Your next card is a 2. Then you get a 4 and you are up to 12. Of course, the following card is a 10 and you bust."

"That must really drive the player up a wall," I said.

"Not as much as 'Project 410' does," said Clyde. It is named for the fact that for 10 straight hands, 41 points will be dealt. Each time the player will get 20 and the dealer 21."

"It seems that you have blackjack tied up from every angle," I said.

"I've only told you about the tip of the iceberg," Clyde responded. "We also have 'Popping Aces' -- just when you are sure you have won, an ace pops up in the dealer's hand and turns it into a winner and 'Slow Death' -- where you 'push' five times in a row before finally losing."

"Which of these is your personal favorite?" I asked him.

"Ah," he sighed, "that would be 'Match'. It is wonderful! We deal a 6 and its matching card, a 5. Or an 8 followed by a 3, or a 9 followed by a 2."

"But doesn't it give the player a big advantage when he gets these cards?" I asked.

"Wash your mouth out!" screamed Clyde. "We would NEVER give a match like these to the player. They are reserved for the dealer. If the player starts with a 3, he can know that the next card will be a 9 followed by a 10. There is nothing like a quick and easy 22 to depress him!"

"I'm afraid to ask," I said, "but which casinos use your software?"

"I'm sorry," Clyde told me, "but they insist on privacy. The way I see it, a software maker is like a priest -- and I've taken a vow of secrecy."

"At least tell me this much -- are any of them advertisers on this site?"

"They don't have to advertise," said Clyde. "They get all the publicity they want for free -- on on all the internet gambling bulletin boards!'"

Back To Top

Can't Anybody in Florida Count?
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

"Can I discuss the election with you?" I asked my old friend, Wilbert Hall, one of England's leading bookies.

"Of course," Will replied. "I'm always in the mood for a laugh."

"Do you think the same thing will ever happen again in Florida that happened in 2000?" I asked.

"I don't know, but it was very poorly handled all around then," Will said. "How did they ever expect to get a clear winner when neither side was even offering bonuses for votes? Why should somebody bother casting his ballot if he is not going to get some extra plays on the slots or a free $20 to put on blackjack?"

"Actually, I think that would violate the spirit of the American electoral system," I said. "Politicians in America don't give money for votes. It wouldn't be moral. In fact, they do just the opposite: You give THEM money, and if your contribution is big enough, they will give you their vote in the House or Senate."

"That particular election certainly raised some interesting Constitutional questions," Will commented. "What happens if a candidate gets the majority of the popular vote, but loses the electoral vote? Who wins?"

"That's easy," I said. "The Constitution is quite clear on that. Whoever gets the most Electoral votes is the president. Just like Bush."

"I don't mean who wins the presidency," Will said. "I have a more serious matter in mind. Who wins the bets? Let's say that I bet that Candidate X wins by at least 10,000 votes. X gets 20,000 extra votes but loses the election because of the Electoral vote. Do I win or lose? This is a serious question for bookmakers throughout the world!"

"Could it have implications in other fields?" I asked.

"I doubt it," Will answered. "Fortunately, the rules about who wins a football or baseball game are very clear. It was obviously too important to have a clear winner in these areas to leave any room for ambiguity. The Superbowl, for example, is not just some silly presidential contest."

"Why do you think that there was all this confusion in Florida, when it didn't happen elsewhere?" I asked. "Don't the people there learn how to count?"

"Of course they do," Will replied. "In Orlando, they can tell you exactly how many people attended any particular Disneyworld attraction in the past six months. The Marlins know not only how many people they have at any one game, but also how many hot dogs they ate. At Cape Kennedy, of course, they can not only count, but they can do so backwards -- starting at 10 and ending at 'lift off.' They just save these efforts for things that matter."

"Don't you think it is important to know who the president is?" I asked incredulously.

"Not really," said Will. Oh, sure, the president has some necessary functions, like throwing out the first ball of the baseball season, but even that doesn't really effect the outcome of the game. If you need proof that the presidential election is only an unimportant contest, just look at who covers it: It is left to second rate news organizations like CNN and The New York Times. The big boys, like ESPN or Sports Illustrated, wouldn't touch it."

"That's true," I admitted, "but what happens if America gets into a nuclear war? We have to know who the president is so that he can push the button."

"A nuclear war?" Will asked. "With who? There are no other superpowers left. Do you really think that Liechtenstein is about to declare war on the US? Look -- we live in the high tech age. You can sit in your home in Pennsylvania and play roulette at the AusVegas casino in Australia. You know immediately what number hit. If somebody gets the jackpot at Cashsplash, Microgaming doesn't have to have 35 recounts. The winner knows right away -- in fact, within 15 minutes it is all over the Internet bulletin boards. When things really have some meaning, they are not left in doubt."

"I can't believe that everyone considers the presidential election as unimportant as you do," I told Will. "How about politicians. Certainly THEY think it is important."

"Really?" Will mused. "Who do you think made up those ballots in that Florida county -- the one which confused everybody who wanted to vote for Gore? Politicians, that's who. I'll tell you this -- if they really considered the election important, they would have devised a system which produces the ultimate ballot -- one so simple that it can be understood even by a Democrat!"

Back To Top

Silent Night, Gambling Night
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

"I can't believe it," Santa moaned. "Gambling! That's all the children want! They're sending me tons of letters asking for roulette wheels, slot machines, and wheels of fortune. One kid in Arkansas even asked for an entire casino complete with hookers! Well, I am sorry, but little Billy Clinton is going to be disappointed this year!"

"What do you attribute this to?" I asked him.

"The stock market," Santa said without hesitation. "Last year, the letters were asking for stuffed bulls and bears and toy ticker machines, but after the it was hit so sharply in the past few months, the kids want something safer for their money.

"What about the traditional toys?" I asked. "Aren't they interested in GI Joe or Barbie anymore?"

"Of course they are," Santa replied. "But with a twist -- for example, they don't want GI Joe in battle gear, they want him in a barracks craps game. Barbie is still popular, but just to blow on Joe's dice. I don't know what this world is coming to! Imagine, children who no longer dream of wiping out enemy villages!"

"Are you going to be able to get all this gambling stuff ready in time for Christmas?" I asked.

"I think so," Santa answered. "In fact, the elves are offering 9 to 5 odds in favor, but it won't be easy. For example, we have to redo all the Monopoly boards. Instead of the four railroads, we have MGM Grand, Caesar's Palace, Bally's, and The Flamingo. The two utilities have been replaced with Captain Cook's and 7 Sultans."

"What other changes do you have to make?" I asked.

"Almost every game has to be redone," he sighed. "Even simple ones -- like checkers. Black and white pieces are no longer acceptable. Now they want different colored casino chips. And that is nothing compared to chess! Now each side has a Casino Manager, a Manager's Bimbo, two casino buildings, two security guards, two Vegas JP's, and eight grandmothers playing the slots."

"Do you get any requests which really throw you?" I asked.

"There was a boy from Texas who asked for a machine which could count cards in blackjack," said Santa, "but that was nothing compared to what Al Gore asked for -- a machine which could not only count cards, but if you lost could provide a recount."

"Are you going to give it to him?"

"I had decided not to," Santa replied, "but he is appealing my decision to the North Pole Supreme Court."

"Is this true throughout the world?" I wondered. "Do children everywhere want to gamble?"

"There are a few exceptions," Santa said. "In Israel, they aren't asking for many gambling toys for Hannuka but that is because they are betting their country on the PLO being serious about peace. They figure that is a big enough gamble to last a lifetime.

"Also, there is not that much interest in gambling in Europe," he said. "Anyone there who wants to take a risk can simply eat a hamburger. But in America, gambling is THE overwhelming interest this year. It seems that everyone wants to be Donald Trump -- except for Bill Gates; he merely wants to OWN Donald Trump."

Just then an elf came in and whispered something in Santa's ear.

"The odds on my making my Christmas deliveries on time just dropped sharply," Santa said with a worried look. "The elves are now offering 7 to 4 AGAINST it."

"Why?" I asked. "What happened?"

"It's the reindeer," he said. "They've all disappeared. Prancer and Dancer were the first to go, they checked into a room in Reno. I always figured that Prancer was gay, but Dancer is a real surprise to me. Cupid and Vixen are in Vegas -- after a quickie marriage they plan to spend the holidays at The Sahara. Dasher and Comet went to Monte Carlo, and Donner and Blitzen are in Munich."

"Why Munich?" I asked. "There are no casinos there."

"I know," said Santa, "but they're German and beer is a lot more important to them then gambling. They went three months ago for Octoberfest and haven't been heard of since. This isn't the first time this has happened -- several years ago they took poor Rudolf with them and got him so drunk that his nose turned red!"

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "You can't just cancel Christmas!"

"Don't worry," said Santa. "I saw this coming and have a back up plan. This is the computer age, so this year all gifts will be delivered on line."

"Virtual gifts?" I stammered.

"No," said Santa. "I'll be giving the real thing. Everybody can send me an e-mail telling me what his favorite on line casino is and I will deposit the money straight into his account."

"But what if they don't play at on line casinos?" I asked.

"Don't play at on line casinos?" Santa laughed. "Get real! This is the year 2006. EVERYBODY plays on line. Okay. There is one exception: Senator Jon Kyl -- but he isn't going to get any present anyhow; I only deliver to good boys and girls!"

Back To Top

Grand Opening: Le Casino Des Snobs De La France
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

You can imagine my excitement when I got a letter from my old friend, Pierre, inviting me to the grand opening of his new casino: Le Casino des Snobs de la France.

Pierre -- a casino owner! It was hard to imagine. He had been my best friend back in college and was the wildest guy you could imagine. It wasn't enough for him to streak through a football game, no sir. He set a record by being the first soccer player ever to show up at a collegiate game dressed only in shoes and shin guards.

I could just imagine what his casino would be like! Topless dealers, flowing booze, some of the wildest games ever invented -- maybe even slot machines that actually paid out!

I wouldn't pass this up for the world, so I got on line, found a reduced price ticket on Cheapie Charter Airline (motto: "The Lowest Prices Across the Atlantic -- Or At Least As Far As We Can Get") and headed to Paris. From there, I rented a car from Hearse ("The Car You're Dying to Ride In") and drove down to Le Casino des Snobs.

"I'm sorry, monsieur, but you can not park that thing anywhere near the casino," the parking valet told me. "Our parking lot is reserved for Mercedes, Rolls, Lamborghinis, and other makes worthy of Casino des Snobs. You will have to take it to the Low Life Parking Area in town -- or better, drive it off of a cliff into the sea."

"I'll have you know that I am a personal friend of Pierre, the owner," I said indignantly.

"Please don't tell that to anyone," the valet said. "It would not be nice to hold him up to public ridicule."

Ignoring him, I left the car where it was and headed to the casino's main door.

"I'm sorry," said the doorman, "but deliveries go through the back door."

"I'm not a delivery man," I replied. "I am a guest."

"Dressed like THAT?" the doorman asked in shock.

"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?" I asked. "This suit is the latest American fashion."

"That," he said with a sneer, "is exactly what I meant."

"I demand to speak with Pierre," I said indignantly.

"Pierre the janitor?" he asked.

"No. Pierre the owner!"

At that very moment, I spotted Pierre. I couldn't believe my eyes. Pierre, who had gone through college never wearing anything fancier than a t-shirt with a hole and two stains, was dressed in black tie and tails!

"Josh, mon vieux!" he exclaimed. "Come in, come in. And don't worry about that ridiculous outfit you are wearing, I expected something like that and have a tuxedo waiting for you."

"Tuxedo? What's going on here? Are you getting married or something?"

"Josh, this is the Casino des Snobs," he said. "Your suit is perfect for Circus Circus, especially if you want to be mistaken for one of the clowns, but it is not OUR level."

"Pierre, this is ME you're talking to. Josh. Your old college buddy, who remembers you wearing a purple and pink striped gown to graduation."

"That was only a graduation ceremony," Pierre said, "it meant nothing. Tonight you are at a casino opening. THAT requires a touch of class."

"You mean that tuxedos are only required tonight?" I asked, a bit relieved. "Any other time I will be able to come in wearing normal clothes?"

"Of course not," Pierre said. "It just means that because of the opening, we are having some journalists here and have lowered the standards accordingly. On normal nights, simply wearing a tuxedo will not be enough. It will have to be a tuxedo from a top Paris designer."

After switching into the clothes Pierre put aside for me, I headed with him to the casino's dining room.

"This is just like the good old days," I said. "Eating cheeseburgers and swigging some wine with you."

"Cheeseburgers?" asked Pierre in shock. "What do you think this is? McDonalds? Non, my friend, I insist that you try something worthy of Le Casino des Snobs."

He turned to the waiter and told him to bring us both "bifteck hachee avec du fromage" and a bottle of Carignan-Grenache, 1993.

"What are they?" I asked.

"Cheeseburger and wine," said Pierre, "but with names that allow us to charge a fortune. As I said, we are NOT McDonalds!"

"After dinner," I said, "I want to head straight for the slots. Do you have a progressive jackpot here?"

"Mais non!" exclaimed Pierre. "We don't even have any slot machines. They are for peasants! Le Casino des Snobs offers only chemin de fer, roulette, and high stakes poker."

"Oh, well," I said, "I guess I can enjoy myself at the roulette tables. What time do the waitresses in those skimpy outfits start serving the free booze?"

"You joke, of course," Pierre replied. "We have only waiters in tuxedos who serve the finest wine and champagne, but none of it is free."

"That doesn't sound like much fun," I answered.

"You Americans are so crude," Pierre told me. "You have absolutely no idea of what the good life is. Here, in France, we are cultured and know how to enjoy ourselves on a higher level."

"Fine," I said in resignation. "I will try some chemin de fer and wine. Will you be at my table?"

"Me?" asked Pierre. "No way. I have other plans. You can waste your time playing cards with a bunch of boring snobs, but I'm heading for the Folies-Bergere -- this is the opening night of their new nude revue!"

Back To Top

My Wilde Resolutions
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

It's New Year's -- time to make up my annual resolution list. Here goes:

1. I will not use holidays as an easy way out of thinking up ideas for columns. Well, I guess THAT one didn't last too long.

2. I will not double down at blackjack when I am holding a 9 and the dealer is showing a 2. This, of course, will come as very bad news to the online casinos.

3. This year I will NOT be a wimp. I will demand a raise from my boss. I deserve it. Besides, he needs me a lot more than I need him, right? Of course, there are a lot of satirists out there, so maybe he doesn't need me all that much. Okay, no raise --but I will NOT let him cut my salary. Maybe.

4. I will not start the NFL season by betting on the Eagles winning the Superbowl, no matter what kind of odds the bookies are offering. Let's face it, even at 3 million to 1 it is a BAD bet.

5. This year, I will take an educational vacation. I will learn something and improve myself and not just fritter away my holidays like I have in the past. Let's see -- I can visit the museums and concert halls of Europe or I can take a summer course in Advanced Comparative Theology at Princeton or I can -- YES! THAT'S IT!! -- I can develop my gaming skills in Las Vegas!

6. I will learn to keep better control of my temper and not get upset at little things, like when the printer makes some tiny mistake in typeseting one of my columns. "Typeseting"? He did it again! He left out a "T"! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!!! How DARE he do a thing like that? Doesn't that blasted fool pay any attention to his work!!!! I'LL KILL THAT IDIOT!!!!

7. I will spend much less time on the internet and much more quality time with my children. Then again, one need not interfere with the other. There's no reason why my son and daughter shouldn't play along with me when the Hot Gold Casino is having one of its promotion weekends.

8. I will stop this silly internet relationship I am having with that woman in Sweden. She is a married woman and it is plain wrong for us to be exchanging torrid love letters. This will have to stop. It really doesn't matter that she is blonde, 24, and beautiful. Of course, being a gentleman, I will not do it in an impersonal letter -- when is the next plane for Stockholm?

9. I will stop making fun of Sen. Kyl. After all, the man has a right to sponsor a bill banning on line gambling and it is not really his fault that when he was playing football in high school the team didn't give him a helmet.

10. I will take religion more seriously this year and go to church on a regular basis -- at least once a week. On bingo night.

11. I will not make any foolish or stupid bets. I will think out the odds carefully beforehand. This includes canceling my life insurance policy as the odds are really good that I am not going to die this year.

12. I will listen to my doctor's advice and cut back on my drinking and give up smoking completely. No. Wait! I have a better idea. I will NOT listen to his advice. Instead, I will keep the life insurance policy.

13. From now on, when I am gambling, I will quit when I am ahead. Wait. That's not a New Year's resolution. That is the same decision I make each time I go to the casino -- at least, I make it when I am leaving the casino, broke.

14. I am not going to have a number 14. Every silly list you read has a number 14. I am going straight to number 15.

15. I will stop coveting my neighbor's wife. Instead, I will just have sex with her.

16. When I do number 15, above, I will wear a condom. See? I *am* cutting back on my gambling!

17. Next time I am in a game of seven card stud and somebody is showing the 10, J, Q and K of spades and betting like crazy, I will not figure he is bluffing and see him with my pair of 8's -- ESPECIALLY after he says, "if you have any guts, not only will you see me, but you'll raise me".

18. I will resist the urge to empty my bank account to bet against Killer McGoon when he is fighting Sweety Sylvester.

19. The next time I visit the Colosseum in Rome, I will avoid the temptation of making a joke about "This is the only arena where the Lions ever won" -- especially, if the people standing around me are the defensive line of Detroit.

20. Next, I will not resolve to have a New Year's Resolution list with 20 resolutions. I don't care if it is an even number -- I never can come up with that last one!

Back To Top

Josh's Free Gambling Advice
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Being an on line gambling expert, I, of course, make millions of dollars every year simply by wagering. I intend to reveal all the details on how YOU, TOO, CAN WIN MILLIONS OF DOLLARS EACH YEAR SIMPLY BY WAGERING, in my upcoming book, titled, "YOU, TOO, CAN WIN MILLIONS OF DOLLARS EACH YEAR SIMPLY BY WAGERING" and which will be available to you, absolutely free of charge, except for a small fee to cover handling and postage charges ($127.99).

(Even this small, token, fee will be fully refundable if you read the book, follow all of its advice, and are not satisfied. You simply need to return it, unopened, in its original packaging accompanied by a small "return fee" of $126.99.)

In the meantime, however, I am passing along the following free advice, which is worth exactly what you are paying for it:

If your name is Chad, don't bet you will have a safe trip to Florida. Even if you avoid getting punched or hung, you could still wind up pregnant.

Don't bet that you will be able to attend the 20th wedding anniversary party of a British Royal Family member -- ANY member.

If your neighbor wants to bet on the outcome of a World Wrestling Federation match, pass it up -- especially if he is the WWF scriptwriter.

It's best not to make side bets on a blackjack player just because you heard he is really good at counting cards -- especially if you find out he is from Miami.

When your Congressman tells you that it is going to be sunny, it would be a good bet that rain is imminent.

Don't bet that you can tell what food the airline is serving you judging only by the taste and with your eyes closed.

Never put down money that your French waiter is going to say, "Are you an American? Wonderful! I love Americans!"

Don't give odds that you will spot at least 10 students wearing "Ohio State" sweatshirts walking around the Penn State campus. You may, however, find the bodies of one or two.

Don't bet that when your divorced neighbor invites your wife to his house, he really is just interested in learning how to knit.

When your wife goes there, wearing short pants and a peek-a-boo blouse, don't bet that SHE is expecting to teach him how to embroider -- especially if she leaves her needles and yarn at home.

Don't go to see a rerun of Rocky II and bet that THIS time Apollo Creed will win, not matter what odds your bookie is willing to give you.

Don't bet that you can read anything ever written by William F. Buckley, Jr., without a dictionary and/or interpreter.

When your friend ends a two year sentence for criminal fraud on Monday, asks to borrow your car on Tuesday, opens an on line casino on Wednesday, and is driving a new Mercedes on Thursday, do not believe that he is really offering the "best odds on the internet."

Don't play at any land casino where the owner is named Don something and all the croupiers are wearing black shirts and white ties.

If you get on an airplane and the pilot is the same guy you saw the day before at the eye doctor getting extra thick glasses, it would be a good idea to bet $2 on flight insurance.

Don't bet that your favorite collegiate defensive lineman will win a Rhodes Scholarship this year. If he is from the University of Alabama, don't even bet that he can SPELL "Rhodes."

If, when making confession, you hear heavy breathing in the next cabinet, don't bet that it is really kindly old Father O'Malley in there.

Back To Top

A Sadistic Day at Customer Support
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Marquis de Sade Software ("We Put a Touch of Sadism in Gambling") recently opened its own on line casino, and its founder, Clyde Hockleberry, invited me to spend a day at its Customer Support Department.

"You would think that people who select a site called 'The Sadist's Casino' would know they are going to be tortured," Clyde said, "but apparently some idiots actually expect to be treated fairly here -- and that's where Customer Support comes in."

"You mean that Customer Service reverses the unfair policies of the Operations Department?" I asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Clyde. "Customer Service just makes certain that people understand that they haven't got a chance at The Sadist's Casino.

A phone rang and I started to pick it up.

"What are you doing?" asked Clyde. "That phone has only rung 4 times. We never answer the phone until at least the 15th ring."

With a look of expectant glee on his face, Clyde waited until sufficient time had passed and then answered.

"Customer Support. How can we disappoint you? Hmmm. Yes. I understand. You were playing blackjack and the dealer got 21 sixteen times in a row and then pulled a 19 -- and you think there is a problem. Well, you are right. There is no way that you the dealer should have gotten a 19 until at least the 30th deal. We will have to look into it."

He slammed down the phone and turned to me, "Actually, I blame the Customer Support people at casinos like Mapau and King Tut's. Those wimps have really spoiled the suckers. Now they feel they have the right to complain when we mistreat them."

The phone rang again and after waiting the required period, Clyde picked it up.

"What would I care that your winnings haven't be sent to you?" Clyde asked in amazement. "That's not my problem. That's YOUR problem. Do I call you and complain when my foot is hurting?"

"You have a bad foot?" I asked him.

"Yes," Clyde said, "it is an old injury -- I got it kicking a customer who dared show up in person to ask for his money."

When Clyde picked up the phone a third time and heard who it was, a frown immediately covered his face.

"It's one of those no-good bleeding heart do-gooder reporters, he whispered to me. "She's trying to ruin all the fun by keeping us honest."

"Nancy, Sweetie, BABY," he said into the telephone. "It's always great to hear from you. How can I help you?...Wait. I will check on the account...Ah, yes, here it is. Frank Ferndoc of Hannibal, Missouri. I am sorry to tell you that Ferndoc is a crook and that is why we are not paying him. Yes, I know that he deposited $1000 and won another $2000. I remember that day well. Our software was all screwed up and giving customers the blackjack hands that were supposed to be reserved for the dealer. It was a catastrophe. But that is not the reason we didn't pay Ferndoc. We stopped all payments to him because he wasn't playing legally. You see, it is not legal to gamble on line in Missouri.

"We have taken past complaints about us to heart and now we are strictly honest. That means we don't break Missouri state law. Of course, 'gambling' means that you have a chance to win or to lose. By not paying, we make certain that people there have no chance of winning at all. That way they are not gambling. We have even named our new honesty policy after you -- we call it the 'Nancy Rule.'"

He turned to me and I saw that a big smile had replaced the frown.

"THAT should keep her furious for a few days," he laughed.

"Do you have trouble with all the gambling sites?" I asked.

"Not so much with the sites themselves," Clyde answered. "It is all the creeps who write in complaining about how we treat them which bothers me. I don't know which annoys me most -- those who don't give me the courtesy of trying to fix their problems before they go public with them or those who waste my time by making me turn them down and then post their letters.

"But the sites themselves are fine," he continued. "Of course, there are some we like more than others. 'Gambling.com' is sort of neutral but I don't like the idea of 'Gambling Community' -- it is frightening to think of a whole community of gamblers out there comparing notes about us. 'Got2Bet' is wonderful! I love the notion of people who have got to bet, but 'Lucky Gambler' is a horrible idea. The Sadist's Casino is dedicated to making certain that there is no such thing as a lucky gambler."

"How do you get along with the other casinos?" I asked him.

"We have used to have great relations with a few of them," Clyde said. "They had policies very similar to ours. Unfortunately, most have gone out of business. I can't figure out why. The others complain about us and say that we are giving the industry a bad name. That's ridiculous! What is bad about the name 'Sadist'"?

The phone rang again.

"The Sadist's Casino, chief Sadist talking. You say that you were playing and that you hit a jackpot on our slots but it didn't pay off? How do I know you are telling me the truth? I have the feeling that you are one of those guys who call up all the casinos when they lose and try to trick their way into some money. Yeah, I know all about cheats like you! Why should I trust you? So forget about getting paid -- you're not going to rip me off. But look, now that I have you on the phone, Your Holiness, I was wondering if we could work out some arrangement where The Sadist Casino can offer Absolution as a sign on bonus..."

Back To Top

Customer Service -- Eden-Style
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

I recently published a story about Customer Support at The Sadist's Casino and was immediately bombarded by a ton of letters urging me to visit the Eden OnLine Casino support center. All the letter writers told me that Angelica, the woman in charge, is exactly what her name implies: An angel. I decided to go even though I would have been more impressed if all those letters had not been written by Angelica's mother.

"Are you a disappointed customer?" Angelica asked when I walked in the door. "I am SO sorry. I promise you that I will do everything possible to help you. In the meantime, would you like a little snack and something to drink? I can send out for caviar and champagne."

"No," I said, "I'm a reporter and I stopped in to see how Customer Service works here at Eden."

"Oh," said Angelica. "I'm certain that we're no different than any other casino. We just want to make certain that all our customers are happy all the time."

The phone rang and she picked it up.

"How can I help you?" Angelica asked. "Yes. You are absolutely right. It IS very misleading. I am sorry that we confused you and you lost so much money. I will refund it immediately and add a $100 bonus for your trouble. No, don't be silly. ANYBODY could make the same mistake -- when a game is called 'Blackjack' it is perfectly understandable that you expect to win whenever you are dealt a black jack."

"Are you always so helpful to your customers?" I asked in surprise.

"Of course," said Angelica. "They are all such wonderful, sweet, people that it is impossible not to want to help each one."

She was interrupted by another telephone call.

"What?" she asked, a bit stunned. "Someone at Customer Support was RUDE to you? That's unforgivable! I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. I know that this won't make up for it, but please let me arrange for a Las Vegas vacation at our expense -- it is the very least we can do."

"I imagine that you will fire whoever insulted that customer," I said.

"I would love to," Angelica replied, "but I can't. He works for a different casino. He was very nasty to that poor woman -- just because she had opened 318 accounts in order to get the sign up bonuses."

"But if the problem was at another casino, why did you give her the vacation?" I asked.

"Because, as much as I hate to say it, I don't think that horrible man will ever give her one," Angelica replied.

"But how does the Eden Casino ever make a profit if you give back money to people and pay for vacations?" I wondered.

"A profit?" Angelica asked. "Who can care about making profits when there are unhappy people out there? People go to casinos to win money and if they don't do that then the casino is not doing its job and doesn't deserve to make a profit."

Three people wearing hospital uniforms came in and Angelica lay down while they inserted a needle into her arm.

"One of our customers in San Francisco wrote saying that he needs an operation," Angelica explained, "so of course I promised to donate blood and have it sent to him."

The telephone rang a third time. One of Angelica's assistants picked it up and told her in an awed voice, "It is the Pope!"

"Good afternoon, Your Holiness," she said. "What? That is a fantastic honor, but I really can't accept it. For one thing, don't I have to be dead before you can declare me a saint? Besides, I'm not a Catholic. But I really do appreciate the offer."

"The Pope wants to make you a saint?" I choked.

"Yes," said Angelica. "But I couldn't accept -- and I was too embarrassed to tell him the real reason."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm not," she blushed, "a virgin. A customer named Melvin had a problem at the roulette tables and came here to complain. I tried offering him his money back and even threw in a very large bonus, but he just wasn't satisfied. I hate to have anyone leave unhappy, so...."

"You mean...?"

"Yes," Angelica admitted. "I guess it comes under the heading of 'Customer Relations' -- and you would be surprised how many of his friends have since opened accounts with us!"

"And I'll bet that a lot of them have had complaints and want to speak to you personally about them," I said.

"Why yes," Angelica replied. "How did you know?"

"Did it ever cross your mind that their complaints may not be real?" I asked. "That they just want the kind of bonus that you gave to Melvin?"

"Of course not!" Angelica replied in shock. "They wouldn't do a thing like that -- it wouldn't be honest!"

Back To Top

Exclusive -- Phil Will Phudge The Forecast
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

My non-American readers will doubtlessly believe that I am (as usual) putting them on, but Feb. 2 is really and truly Groundhog Day, an American institution wherein a small furry animal looks around, spots (or does not spot) his shadow, and as a result the country prepares either for Spring or six more weeks of winter.

This momentous event takes place at Gobbler's Knob, a small hill outside the thriving metropolis of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, and the entire nation holds its breath as Punxsutawney Phil, the aforementioned rodent, goes shadow hunting.

"Bet on Phil seeing his shadow this year," my friend Stanley confided to me the other night.

"Why would you possibly want six more weeks of winter?" I asked. "Haven't you enough snow shoveling for one year?"

"That has nothing to do with it," Stanley told me. "I have money bet on that groundhog's shadow. BIG money. I heard it on good authority that the fix is in."

"Phil is fixed?" I asked in shock. "Who would possibly fix a groundhog's forecast? And how could they get Phil to agree to fudge the forecast?"

"I have friends who have friends," Stanley told me authoritatively, "and they are close to Don Mario Palermo -- the Punxsutawney Mafia boss -- he rigged the whole thing."

"Punxsutawney has a Mafia boss? How can that be? It is so small that it doesn't even have any Italians!"

"I know," said Stanley, "Don Palermo is actually Jewish, but he changed his name -- he didn't think that 'Don Seymour Hirschberg' sounded very Mafioso."

"But why did Don Palermo bother fixing the forecast?" I asked.

"One of the online sportsbooks was giving good odds," Stanley explained. "Now that the NFL season is over, they are getting desperate for something for people to bet on. Don Palermo figured that if he got in a lot of money on Phil seeing his shadow he could afford to buy a retirement home in Miami -- that way he could escape the additional six weeks of winter."

"And Phil is willing to go along with this? Did Don Palermo make the rodent an offer he couldn't refuse?"

"He tried," said Stanley, "but groundhogs are particularly difficult to frighten. They figure that they can always jump back into their hole and no wise guy is going to get his $1000 suit filthy by trying to squeeze in after them."

"So what did Don Palermo do?"

"First, he offered Phil a bribe," Stanley said. "But that didn't work. Groundhogs have very little use for money. They mainly eat nuts and other things they find lying around the forest and almost never buy sports cars or take trips to Las Vegas."

"That must have really depressed Don Palermo," I said.

"Only for a while," Stanley told me. "Then his consigliere informed him that February is groundhog mating season."

"In other words," I said, "Phil is liable to be rather randy on Groundhog Day."

"As randy as Bill Clinton would be after a month alone with Hillary," Stanley confirmed. "So Don Palermo made a few inquiries and found a particularly sexy blonde groundhog by the name of Phyllis."

"You're kidding me."

"No," said Stanley. "Really. She is considered the Michele Pfeiffer of groundhogs. She is also dying to be in the movies. Don Palermo promised to make her a star."

"He is going to have to deliver a lot of horse's heads to get any studio to agree to do a remake of 'Cleopatra' with a groundhog taking Elizabeth Taylor's role," I said.

"A few months ago folks in Philadelphia actually believed that the Eagles had a chance of making it into the Superbowl," Stanley pointed out. "If people in Pennsylvania can be that gullible, what do you expect from one of their groundhogs? Phyllis bought it hook, line and sinker.

"She has already let Phil know that if he announces that he saw his shadow, she is going to give him a mating season that he's going to need all year to recover from!"

"That story is ridiculous!" I said. "I don't believe a single word of it. You must think that I am some kind of idiot."

At that very moment, I spotted Phil coming out of the Punxsutawney Pharmacy, carrying a large, economy, size package of Viagra.

"Stanley, what did you say is the name of that sportsbook which is offering the Groundhog Day odds?"

Back To Top

Red, White, And Blue Casinos
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

The Stars and Stripes was waving and the CD blasted out "The Star Spangled Banner" as I entered the office of Willard T. Patriot, owner of the Patriot Casino Corporation, a collection of All-American casinos located in Slovakia, Costa Rica, Honduras, and Macedonia.

"I am so glad that you could come," Willard greeted me. "I wanted you to be the first reporter to learn about our two newest casinos -- The George Washington Casino in Tanzania and The Abraham Lincoln Casino in Kazakhstan."

"Don't you ever plan to open any of your All-American casinos in the United States?" I asked.

"Of course," said Willard. "After all, I am as loyal an American as you will find. Remember, I am a war veteran!"

"Which war did you fight in?"

"The same one that Presidents Bush and Clinton did," said Willard. "But I don't like to brag about my military record. I just mentioned it to point out how patriotic I am. I realize the importance of keeping jobs and businesses here in the US -- in fact, next year I am even planning on considering the possibility of perhaps buying an American-made car. Maybe."

"Then why are all your casinos overseas?" I asked him.

"This allows me to keep up one of the most treasured of all American traditions," Willard replied, "avoiding taxes."

"When are your two new casinos going to be opened?" I asked.

"When else? On Presidents' Day, of course -- this year it falls on February 19."

"I never could understand that," I said. "Presidents' Day celebrates the birthdays of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln -- but they were born on Feb. 17 and 22."

"It's simple," Willard explained. "February has two other holidays, Groundhog Day and Valentine's Day. Neither of these, however, is a school holiday. The National Education Association, which has the goal of improving the level of education in America by giving teachers higher salaries and more days off, objected to this. In order to placate the teachers, the country invented Presidents' Day. It always falls on the third Monday in February in order to make a 'bridge' -- a three day weekend. This particular holiday, therefore, is known as 'The George Washington Bridge.'"

"Do people ever object to you naming gambling casinos after American heros?" I asked Willard.

"No. Why should they? Many things are named after great Americans. There is the Kennedy Space Center, the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, Mount McKinley and The Addams Family, just to name a few. Why, even the capital of our country is named for a president."

"That's true," I admitted. "Although I sometimes wonder what George Washington would think of Washington, D.C., being named in his honor with all the lying and cheating that goes on there."

"D.C.?, hmm...wait a second."

Willard picked up his phone and made a quick call to his Public Relations Office.

"Frank? Willard here. You know those brochures we had made up on the two new casinos? Yeah, well, we are going to have to make a change. Washington, D.C., is the nation's capital -- not Lincoln, Nebraska."

Willard got up from his desk, walked to a cabinet, and took out some pictures.

"Let me show you what the new casinos look like," he said. "This is The George Washington Casino. We're very proud of it. It is a combination theme park and casino based on Washington's actual home in Mount Vernon, Virginia. The main casino building and hotel, of course, is the big mansion and the smaller buildings, which are replicas of Washington's slave quarters, will serve as rooms for people who only play at the cheap slots."

"You're going to build a Southern slave plantation in Tanzania?" I choked.

"I sure am," Willard said proudly. "We are even going to plant some cotton and hire people to dress up like slaves and sing Spirituals while they pick it."

"But Tanzania is a Black African nation," I protested. "This is NOT going to go over well there."

"Are you sure?" Willard asked. "I thought it was part of what used to be the Soviet Union."

"No," I said. "You are confusing it with your other new casino in Kazakhstan."

"You're right," said Willard. "I guess I will have to switch names. The Kazakhstan casino will be called 'George Washington' and the Tanzania casino will be called 'Abraham Lincoln'. That should go over well. After all, Lincoln freed the slaves. We'll just announce that the mansion was Abraham Lincoln's birthplace in Illinois."

"That's not very accurate," I said. "Lincoln was born in a tiny log cabin."

"Imagine that!" said Willard in awe. "Lincoln's birthplace started as a tiny log cabin and worked its way up to become a giant mansion. It's success stories like that which make me really love America!"

Back To Top

Purim -- My Kind of Holiday
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

I recently flew to Jerusalem for a well-needed spiritual revival. Yes, I will admit that I am not always the most saintly and religious of people, but being aware of my shortcomings I have been looking for a chance to atone. I realized that I had found it when I heard about the Jewish holiday of Purim -- in which you are required to gamble and get drunk.

"I've come for a meaningful religious experience," I said to Rabbi Ari Bar-Mazel as I walked into his synagogue. "Where are the booze and cards? And does Purim by any chance involve broads?"

"Purim is still a few days off," Ari told me, "but, yes, it does involve broads. The Talmud teaches us that there are many broad meanings to all of our festivals."

"No," I said, "I meant women. Are women involved in Purim celebrations?"

"Of course they are!" Ari responded. "After all, Purim is in honor of Queen Esther. She saved the Jews of Persia after becoming queen by winning a contest in which the king slept with a different woman each night for a year. That is recorded in the Bible. What is not recorded, however, is the fact that when the contest was over the king was in traction for a year while he recuperated."

"I guess that in order to celebrate the holiday today women act out Esther's part," I said in anticipation.

"Only the younger ones," said the rabbi.

"That's okay," I said. "Remember, I come from America, the land of Bill Clinton -- age makes no difference to me."

Shlomo, one of Rabbi Bar-Mazel's students, came in to tell the rabbi he was needed elsewhere. The rabbi made his apologies but promised that Shlomo would answer all of my questions.

"The rabbi was telling me about the booze, gambling, and wild orgies involved in the Purim celebration," I said. "I can't wait to start."

"You really should have a check up before the holiday begins," Shlomo said. "After all, having sex with a bunch of women in their 20's can be a big strain."

"I'm sure that I can do it," I told him. "But maybe I should get into shape first."

"No problem," Shlomo assured me. "We still have a few days left. I'll ask some of the women to get you in training -- they'll start you out slowly and then build up to the point where you are ready to handle a full-fledged orgy."

"That sounds wonderful," I said. "I *knew* that I was going to like this holiday!"

"It won't be easy," Shlomo warned me. "Besides the women, there is the gambling. All of our synagogues are turned into Casinos for Purim and you will have to spend hours at the craps, roulette, and blackjack tables. And remember -- the rules are different for Purim -- we change the odds to put them in your favor."

"Wonderful!" I said.

"But can you do all of this while drinking?" Shlomo asked in concern. "It is a very big part of the day. Chivas Regal, Bacardi, Smirnoff's, and Dom Perignon flow like water."

"Don't worry," I said in anticipation. "I can handle it. But maybe you should call those women now so I can start my training."

"I'll get on it right away," Shlomo told me. "One question though -- are you Jewish?"

"No," I answered. "Is it required?"

"I'm afraid that it is," he responded. "We will have to arrange for a quick conversion for you. It will only take a few moments."

"Is it like a baptism?" I asked.

"Not quite," said Shlomo. "You'll have to be circumcised."

"I already am," I said, "so that won't be necessary."

"I'm afraid it will be," Shlomo said. "Your circumcision was not a religious one. It will have to be done over."

"But how can I be circumcised twice?" I asked.

"Don't worry," Shlomo said. "There's always something left to be cut off. Wait here, I'm going to my room to get my Israeli Army Commando Knife and I will do the job myself. I haven't had to use that knife for a while -- I just hope it isn't too rusty."

When Shlomo left the room, I jumped through the window and ran down the streets of Jerusalem as fast as I could. I pulled an old lady out of a taxi, got in, and told him to head for the airport. Thirty minutes later I was on airplane out of the country and still shaking with fear.

**********

"You told him WHAT?" asked Rabbi Bar-Mazel.

Shlomo repeated the story to him.

"But there are no orgies," said the rabbi. "The only females involved are the little girls who dress up like Esther. It's true that we have some small gambling -- but it is only a lottery and the drinking is generally not more than a few glases of wine. As far his having to get circumcised again, well that is just ridiculous!"

"I know," said Shlomo, "but you forgot the best part of Purim: We are required to pull practical jokes!"

Back To Top

So Very, Very, Correct!
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

"I guess I have reason to be proud of myself," Alex said to me, "after all, I own and operate the world's only PC casino."

"Don't be silly," I answered. "There are plenty of online casinos."

"I don't mean 'PC' as in 'personal computers,' he corrected me. "I mean it as in 'politically correct.' We are a five star casino and hotel -- and the PC Casino is the only one in the world absolutely guaranteed not to offend anyone."

"I bet the losers get offended," I laughed.

"We DON'T use that word here," Alex replied. "Don't you see that 'loser' has a very negative impact? We prefer to call them 'luck impaired.' It makes them feel much better."

"I don't know how much better a luck impaired person feels when he bets three hundred dollars on red and the roulette ball lands on black," I answered.

"I can't believe how many mistakes you made in that one sentence," Alex said in shock. "Have you no sense of decency?"

"What did I do?" I asked, a bit stunned.

"To start off with," Alex explained, the word 'person' is sexist. It means 'for each male offspring.' What about female offspring? Strike it from your vocabulary! In the future, say, 'a luck impaired individual.'

"'Roulette', too, is sexist," he continued. "The 'ette' ending is French for indicating a diminuitive female. We do not have 'roulette' at our casino, we have 'roul.'"

"But roul is played the same as roulette, isn't it?" I asked him.

"Almost," said Alex, "but we don't have red and black -- those were the other two mistakes you made in your sentence. Both colors are connected with racial minorities. Imagine how an Afro-American would feel if he heard someone yell, 'Hey! I just hit Black!' Instead, we use purple and orange."

"Aren't you afraid that a North Irish Protestant might be offended by the use of orange?" I asked.

Alex ran to the phone and made an emergency call.

"Get to the roul tables immediately and change the orange to tan," he said to his head of maintenance.

"I imagine that you also changed the 'Black' in 'Blackjack,'" I ventured.

"Not only the 'black' but also the 'Jack,'" he replied. "After all, it is sexist."

"Do you call it '21'? I asked.

"What? And be ageist? Of course not! We call it 'Faces and Aces'.

"Did you know that an 'Ace' is a pilot who has shot down 5 enemy planes?" I asked him.

"Oh, no!" cried Alex. "We can't have a game named after a war term! The military is NOT considered PC at all!"

I started to light up a cigarette and Alex looked as if he would have a stroke.

"There is no smoking in the hotel or casino," he said. "Tobacco is very un-PC!"

"Aren't you worried about offending smokers?" I asked.

"Of course not," said Alex. "Smokers are the only people in the world who it is perfectly proper to insult and abuse."

A telephone call came in and Alex answered it.

"Okay," he said, "you better send them up to my office -- but politely."

"This is one of the less pleasant parts of my job," he told me. "Two of our guests were spotted taking sheets from one of the rooms and I am going to have to deal with them."

"You mean they are thieves?"

"Please, not 'thieves', rather 'unauthorized adopters of property.'"

The two came into the office, with the sheets wrapped around them.

"There is some kinda mistake," said one of them. "These ain't your sheets. These are our clothes."

"You wear them?" Alex asked. "Are you ancient Romans?"

"Nope," the spokesman replied. "We are Ku Kluxers."

"The Klan? In my hotel casino? Never! Why you people hate EVERYBODY. You are anti-Black, anti-Semitic, anti-Catholic, anti-foreigners..."

"We sure are," the spokesman agreed. "I'm glad to meet a fella who knows so much about us. Maybe this is the right place for us to hold our Annual Klonvention."

"I really doubt it," Alex replied.

"We would need the hotel for a week and have to rent every single room," said the Klansman. "More than that, our members really like to gamble, so you will probably have to get extra staff for the casino."

"As I was saying," Alex continued, "I really doubt...

"Last year, we dropped a couple of million dollars at the tables."

"I really doubt," Alex continued, "that you will find a better place for your Klonvention. You're going to love it here."

"Just tell me one thing before we sign the deal," the Klansman said, "What does the 'PC' in your name stand for?"

"It means 'Pretty Closeminded'", Alex replied. We don't let the wrong kind of people in here. None of those damned foreigners or inferior minorities."

"Wonderful," said the Klansman. "Just one last thing -- a lot of us are from tobacco country. I sure hope you are not one of those weirdos who doesn't allow smoking in his place."

"Of course not," said said. "In fact, I was just trying to decide where we should put the booth with the free cigarettes -- near the blackjack or roulette tables."

Back To Top

March 17th -- San Patrico's Day?
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Being in the mood for some good Valpolicella, I walked over to the "Bottiglia di Vino" bar and was surprised to see the owner, Ernesto, taking down the pictures of Enrico Caruso and replacing them with advertisements for Guinness.

"Welcome to the Shamrock Inn," Ernesto greeted me. "How do you like our new look?"

"What's happened here?" I asked. "The Bottiglia di Vino was always my favorite watering spot!"

"You can't expect an Irishman to own an Italian bar," Ernesto told me.

"You mean you've sold it?"

"No" said Ernesto. "I've converted. I've become Irish."

"I don't think you can do that," I told him. "Besides, it would make you the only Irishman ever born in Napoli."

"I don't care," Ernesto said. "The Irish have been very good to me and I want to join them. I figured this is a very good time as Saturday is St. Patrick's Day and The Shamrock Inn will make a fortune."

I asked Ernesto for a red wine and completely ignoring my request he poured me a green ale while explaining what made him decide to make the switch.

"To start off," he said, "my son, Quasimodo, has been accepted to Notre Dame on a full football scholarship. Pretty soon he will be one of the starting line of the Fighting Irish."

"That's wonderful," I said. "What position is he going to play?"

"Hunchback," Ernesto replied.

"Are you sure you don't mean fullback or halfback?" I smiled.

"No," Ernesto said. "Hunchback. The Disney Corporation paid for his scholarship and donated a new science building to the university on condition that they change his position's name from 'tailback' to 'hunchback'. The way they see it, every time the sportscaster says 'Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame,' they'll be getting major publicity for their movie."

"And that's the reason that you want to become Irish?" I asked.

"Only part of it," said Ernesto. "The Irish have been truly wonderful to me. So much so that I'm planning on flying to Dublin next month for a visit -- I am going to go to the Alitalia office tomorrow to buy my ticket."

"I don't think that Alitalia flies to Ireland from the States," I said. "They only go to Italy."

"Why not try Air Lingus?" said a woman sitting near me.

"I'll not have any of that kind of talk in here!" Ernesto said in shock.

"What are you talking about?" the woman asked. "Air Lingus is the Irish airline."

"I'm sorry," Ernesto said a bit abashed. "I'm new at being Irish and I don't know these things yet. I thought you were suggesting something new in inflight entertainment -- a way to keep the stewardesses happy."

The woman stormed out of the bar and Ernesto continued his explanation of how why he decided to convert.

To celebrate Quasimodo's scholarship, I took a trip to Las Vegas," he said. "I was losing a bit of money, but not too much, when I walked into Fitzgerald's Casino. By the time I left I was $5000 richer."

"Did you hit a jackpot at the slots?" I asked.

"No," he said, "but I heard on the news that my Microsoft stock had gone up."

Father O'Malley, the parish priest, walked into the Shamrock Inn and joined us at the bar.

"Father, please explain to Ernesto that it is impossible to become Irish by converting," I said.

"It is?" the father asked in surprise. "Then I had better cancel the ceremony."

"I saved the best part for last," Ernesto told me. "I won the Irish Sweepstakes!"

"You won $50 million!" I exclaimed.

"No, I didn't win first prize," Ernesto continued. "I won $240,000 though -- and that certainly is enough for a simple Irish boyo like myself."

"Naturally, you'll be donating half to the Church," Father O'Malley said.

"Father, I've decided to become Irish -- not to become a saint!"

"Ernesto," I said. "You've convinced me. With your luck, you SHOULD be Irish! Come on, I'll take you to dinner to celebrate."

"Wonderful!", said Ernesto. "I could use some good linguini and cotoletta ala Milanese. Perhaps we can start with some antipasto."

"I don't think so," said Father O'Malley. "Remember, you're Irish now. Corned beef and boiled cabbage is more in order."

"Corned beef and BOILED CABBAGE?" Ernesto choked.

"And remember," said the father, "the Irish don't drink wine with dinner -- but you can down some warm beer."

"Warm beer!," yelled Ernesto. "Mama mia! No e possible! Dio, questi irlandese! You're all invited back here in this winter -- we're going to have the best San Gennero Festival ever -- right here in the Bottiglia di Vino!"

Back To Top

Big Jules Gets Brut(US)alized
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Note from Josh Wilde: By a strange coincidence, every year the Ides of March and March 15 fall on the same date! Therefore, I thought this would be a fitting time to publish the original verson of William Shakespeare's classic play, "Julius Caesar."

Scene -- The streets of Rome, specifically the Via Veneto.

ACT I

Soothsayer: Caesar, beware the Ides of March!

Caesar: What did the soothsayer say?

Brutus: He said some sooth.

Calphurnia: He told you to beware the Ides of March -- whatever the heck that is.

Caesar: I think it is a new slot machine at The Colosseum. I am going to stick to "Gladiators' Gold Slot".

Brutus: How come a classy play like this is discussing slot machines?

Calphurnia: Because The Colosseum promised Shakespeare a bonus if he managed to work a plug into the script.

Caesar: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.

Brutus: He is going to keep going hungry until he learns that you don't double down when the dealer is showing an ace.

Calphurnia: Caesar, don't go to the Senate today. I had a bad dream last night -- I fear it was an omen.

Caesar: Fear not, wife. I have no plans to go to the Senate. I must, instead, spend the day in a diplomatic meeting with a foreign head of state.

Brutus: That's the wrong play -- Cleopatra is not in this one.

Caesar: On to the Senate!

Marcus Antonius: Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears!

Calphurnia: Wow! He must have really dropped a bundle at Caesar's Palace.

Brutus: I must hie to the Armani Emporium and on that very spot, where we have oft climbed the walls and battlements to see great Pompey, negotiate the purchase of a bare bodkin.

Calphurnia: He sure does speak funny! What did he say?

Caesar: He wants to buy a designer knife.

Brutus: Hail and farewell, Caesar.

Caesar: Go, gentle Brutus, and while you are there, pick up a knife for me, too.

Brutus: Great Caesar reads my mind!

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

Scene: The Senate. It has no chairs as Hillary Clinton has taken them all home.

ACT II

Cassius: This must be a special day. All the senators are wearing their finest togas, knives, and submachine guns.

Juliet: Excuse me. Can you tell me where I can find the Senate Ethics Committee?

Cassius: Aren't you supposed to be in Verona with Romeo?

Juliet: Romeo dumped me when he learned about my job as Caesar's intern. In fact, I'm supposed to testify about that today.

Cassius: I'm sorry, but the Ethics Committee has been cancelled. The Senate couldn't find any members who had any ethics.

Kyl: I have ethics! I have plenty of ethics! I have ethics up the ying yang! My ethics include banning gambling and anything else that people might enjoy -- and if the Senate doesn't do it I am going to hold my breath and turn blue!

Cicero: Cassius, are you sure that it's CAESAR we want to knock off?

Brutus: Hail, Senators! Are you prepared for the day's events?

Cicero: Verily. We have the daggers ready and Cassius organized a pool on exactly how many stabs it will take until Caesar is dead. I think I am in luck -- I drew VII.

Kyl: This is wrong! I am against it! I wanted to have "VII" in the pool!

Gore: Can I get involved in the pool?

Brutus: Sorry. This is for senators only -- and you don't even have a job. Besides, this play already has enough gore.

Cicero: I'm glad he's not in the pool -- if he lost, he would demand a recount of the stabs. Then we would have the Tribunes tied up for months while they tried to figure out just what constitutes a valid stab -- does the skin have to be broken or is an indentation enough?

Brutus: Well, somebody is going to have to count them -- who will it be?

Cicero: Georgeus W. Bushus.

Brutus: That's a real problem. What will he do if there are more than 10?

Cicero: He will take off his shoes and use his toes to count.

-------

Scene: The Senate. Now the stone columns are gone. Hillary took them, too.

ACT III

Caesar: What's on the agenda for today?

Brutus: We're just finishing organizing a pool.

Caesar: What for? Never mind. It doesn't matter. I'll take number XXII.

Brutus: If you win, you are going to have a heck of a time trying to spend it!

Caesar: Did you buy that new Armani knife?

Brutus: I sure did. Do you want to see it?

Cicero: And mine?

Cassius: And mine?

Publius: And mine?

(The senators encircle Caesar and proceed to stab him, while Sen. Kyl tries to restore morality by banning bingo.)

Caesar: Et tu, Brute?

Brutus: Of course. Why should I always have to be left out of the fun? Besides, I hate people who show off by speaking Latin!

Soothsayer: Caesar, I warned you about the Ides of March. See? It DID turn out to be your unlucky day!

Caesar: Not really. Look! XXII stabs! I won the pool!

Back To Top

What? Me Speak with the Easter Bunny?
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

I was at my favorite Vegas blackjack table a few days ago when a rabbit hopped up to me and asked, "Are you Josh Wilde?"

"You're..you're a rabbit!" I said, a bit stunned.

"Gee, thanks for telling me," the rabbit said. "I might have gone through life thinking I was a hippopatamus! OF COURSE I am a rabbit."

"Martha, did you see THAT?" an elderly gentleman asked his wife, pointing at my table. "I can't believe my eyes! That dummy chatting with the rabbit just split 7's against the dealer's 10!"

The waitress approached our table and asked me, "Would you care for another cocktail?"

"No thanks," I said, "I think I have had too many as it is. You wouldn't believe what I have been seeing!"

"How about you, sir?" she asked the rabbit.

"I'll take the usual," he answered.

"Right," she told him. "One double carrot juice."

"Doesn't anybody except me think that it is strange that this rabbit just came in here and started talking to me?" I asked the dealer.

"I certainly think it is odd," the dealer said. "A rabbit should have more sense than to ask gambling advice from someone who plays as badly as you do."

"I'm not here for advice," the rabbit said. "I came to be interviewed."

"I rarely interview animals," I told him. When I was a political reporter I interviewed a lot of asses, but rabbits are not really my speciality. Maybe you should talk with Doctor Doolittle."

"Don't you know who I am?" the rabbit asked indignantly. "I'm the Easter Bunny! I'm big news at this time of year."

"Then maybe you should talk to a religion reporter," I said. "I only handle gambling stories."

"I have more gambling stories than you could imagine," he told me. "For example, do you know that the annual Easter Egg races at the White House are fixed?"

"That's old news," I told him. "Everybody knows that Bill Clinton used to work it so that a girl would win -- especially if she was just about the right age to become a White House intern. But when George W. was in office he made sure that the contest was completely honest -- he was too afraid that the Democrats would challenge the results in the Supreme Court."

"How about the Easter Parade in New York?" the bunny tried. "I can let you know who the Grand Marshal will be."

"Donald Trump," I said. "The mayor had no choice. Trump told him that if he wasn't chosen as the Marshal he would repossess Fifth Avenue."

"How about inside information about where the matzo will be hidden at Lord Rothschild's house for the Passover seder?" he asked.

"I know that Passover and Easter fall at about the same time," I commented, "but isn't it a little outside of your field?"

"Business has been slow recently," the Easter Bunny admitted, "so I've been branching out."

"Sorry," I told him. "But I don't really think that you can give me any info that would be of interest to my readers."

Dejected, he hopped away and I went back to my blackjack game. A few minutes later, I heard a voice ask me, "Eeeh. What's up, Doc?"

I looked around and sure enough -- sitting in the very chair which the Easter Bunny had just vacated -- was Bugs Bunny!

"What is this?" I said. "National Rabbit Convention Week? This place is hopping with hares!"

"I just thought I would give blackjack a chance," Bugs told me. "I'm feeling pretty lucky today -- I just noticed that I have four rabbits' feet!"

"Sorry that I jumped at you," I apologized. "I guess that pesky Easter Bunny got me uptight. He kept trying to get me to interview him. What could the Easter Bunny possibly have to tell me about gambling?"

"I know what you mean, Doc," Bugs replied. "He can be a real nudge. Why, just a few moments ago he wanted to tell me the exact minute that Microgaming's Cash Splash jackpot will be hit on Easter Sunday. Why would anybody care about that?"

Back To Top

Guess Who is the April Fool!
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

I am not new at this fathering stuff, having started some 20 years ago -- so I *know* that I am going to be the butt of all the April Fools' Day jokes at my house and was really prepared for them.

My son, Ken, started things off early in the morning.

"Dad, wake up. You have a telephone call. It's Michele Pfeiffer! She says she has been reading your column and knows how much you want to meet her so she wants to make a date with you."

Yeah. Right. Ken is getting soft if he expects me to fall for THAT one.

"Just tell her to quit bugging me or I'll file a complaint with the police for sexual harassment," I told him.

I wandered downstairs where my daughter, Linda, was playing on the computer.

"Guess what, Dad? The computer makes some great sounds when you play blackjack at Noisy's Casino and lose! I keep hitting no matter how much I'm holding just to hear them! It's a good thing that you told the program to remember your password otherwise I might never have discovered this. How many deposits will they let me make from your credit card?"

"I think its good for about $10,000," I said, "but when you run out of money just let me know and I will give you another card."

These kids must think I'm an idiot! They're going to have to do much better than that if they want to pull one over on me.

The phone rang. It was my ex-wife. She told me that she has given up her life with the Hare Krishna and wants us to get remarried again. She said she was even willing to break up with her boyfriend, Nehru.

"Sure, honey," I told her. "I'd like nothing better than having you back home. I miss the nagging and the fights. But don't hurt poor Nehru's feelings, just bring him with you."

I have to admit this was a bit of a surprise -- I never realized that she had a sense of humor. I guess the kids put her up to it.

I headed over the bank to transfer some savings into my checking account before things started bouncing and was greeted by old Mr. Wagnall, the bank manager.

"Josh!," he said. "Congratulations! I couldn't believe the news when I heard it!"

"What news?" I asked.

"Don't you know? Casino Classic had a special "Lucky Draw" and you won! The transfer arrived this morning -- $500,000!"

"Send it back to them," I demanded. "Easy money is the Devil's trap -- it drains you of all ambition and stops you from working. I will have nothing to do with it."

Old Mr. Wagnall! He never even smiles, much less plays practical jokes! I wonder how the kids got him to go along with this prank. They must have agreed to open new accounts.

On my way out of the bank I ran into Bill Franklin, the commanding officer of my local National Guard unit.

"This is really a coincidence, Josh," he said. "I was going to call you this afternoon. I got a TWX from the Pentagon. They are looking for guys with your MOS to volunteer for a year's active duty in Iraq. Of course, I know there is no way you are going to do it, but I just wanted to warn you that there is a slight chance they will call people up if there are no volunteers."

"What do you mean I won't do it?" I asked. "How can I refuse when my country needs me? Let the Pentagon know that I am ready to ship out at any time -- and tell them that if they want, they can make it two years instead of one!"

I really have to hand it to my kids. I thought they were getting soft, but it seems that they really went all out this year! I didn't think they could do any better until I got a phone call that afternoon from somebody claiming to be a "Percival Clapmeister" from the IRS.

"You forgot to sign your tax returns when you sent them in," he told me. "But it's not a major problem -- you just have to come down to the office to take care of it."

"Forget it," I said. "There's no way I am going to waste my time fooling around with any of you idiot bureaucrats. If you want the form signed, do it yourself. At least that way you will be earning a tiny bit of the overbloated salary you get from my tax money."

"If you don't sign these papers today," he warned me, "you are subject to arrest for failing to file."

"Wonderful!" I said. "Put me in a federal penitentiary! Then BOTH of us can avoid work and have Uncle Sam support us."

I don't know WHO the kids got to play "Percival Clapmeister" but he was good!

That night, at dinner, I figured it was MY turn to gloat.

"Your April Fools' jokes didn't work," I told them. "I saw through them all!"

"I don't know what your talking about," said Ken, "but we didn't pull any jokes. Why would we? It's not April Fools Day. This is March 31 -- you're a day ahead of yourself."

Just then, there was a lot of noise outside of my door. My ex was standing out there with Nehru and a group of IRS agents were arguing with some soldiers about who has rights to me for the next two years. Mr. Wagnall was holding a list of credit card debits from Noisy's Casino wondering how I was going to cover them, now that I had sent back Casino Classic's wire.

The only one who wasn't there was Michelle Pfeiffer -- there was no way she was going to take a chance of being arrested for sexual harassment!

Back To Top

Audit Time at the Sadists' Casino
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

I have been reading on the bulletin boards that a few casinos have recently delayed paying their customers while they are conducting audits. I wasn't worried about this until I received a letter from The Sadists' Casino that my own $10,002 cash-in ($10,000 representing my deposit, $2 being my winnings) would also be late.

"Sadists' Casino is currently undergoing an audit. This requires us reviewing millions of cash-ins made over the past year and, obviously, we can not make any further payents during this process. Please be assured that this is merely a routine bookkeeping procedure and your cash-in will be processed as soon as it is completed."

Being thus assured, I headed off to have lunch at my local, friendly, Chinese restaurant. When the bill came, I assured the waiter that "I am currently undergoing an audit. This is a routine bookkeeping procedure and both the bill and your tip will be paid when it is completed."

The waiter ran to the kitchen and returned with a meat cleaver, informing me that unless I paid right away, one of my testicles would be placed in Column A and the other in Column B.

Ah well, he is new in the country -- he really doesn't understand how these things work. He is not a sophisticated businessman such as myself and the people at The Sadists' Casino. Feeling sorry for him (and a bit protective of my aforementioned testicles), I paid the bill and left.

I went over to my bank to explain to kindly old Mr. Wagnall, the manager, why my account will be so overdrawn.

"Please be assured," I told him, "that as soon as my audit is completed I will cover the outstanding debt."

"I'm assured," Mr. Wagnall replied. "I'm plenty assured. I also have the mortgage on your house and that assures me completely. In the meantime, we are charging you 18% yearly interest, compounded monthly, so not only am I assured, but I will also be able to afford to redecorate my office.

"Incidentally." he continued, "you are the third person this week to tell me the same thing. I wonder how many idiots the Sadists' Casino has on its roster."

It really annoys me to hear people insult The Sadists' Casino. After all, it has one of the most generous bonus programs on the internet -- and some day its customers are going to actually see some of that money. Didn't they assure me?

When I stopped into my pharmacy to pick up my prescription, I told the owner that I would be paying for it as soon as my audit was completed.

"I've heard THAT one before," he said, grabbing the package out of my hand. "You get your medication when I get my money."

"But you can't hold back a life-saving prescription," I objected. "Where are your medical ethics?"

"Life-saving prescription?" he laughed. "Viagra?"

"You don't know my girlfriend," I told him. "If I don't come back with the Viagra, I'm dead."

"It's not my fault," he said with an evil smile. "I've just decided to have an audit. That means I have to count every pill in the pharmacy -- and, of course, none can be given out until the procedure is completed."

On my way home, I ran into my Melvin, my accountant.

"I was just notified by the IRS that your tax returns are going to be audited," he said.

"That's wonderful!" I told him. "That means I don't have to pay any more taxes until the procedure is completed! I hope it takes them years."

"Are you kidding me?" Melvin asked. "It means that unless we can justify each and every deduction you made, you are going to be hit with a very big bill."

"Well, I have all the receipts," I said confidently.

"That's not the problem," Melvin said. "I'm worried about The Sadists' Casino -- I warned you that you can't claim them as a dependent -- no matter how much you lost there last year."

"Speaking of The Sadists' Casino," I said, "how long do you think it will take them to complete an audit of several million cash-ins?"

"It's difficult to say," Melvin replied. "They've hired my nephew, Irving, to do the audit but they have to wait until he graduates and passes his CPA exam before he can start."

"You mean that the audit won't even begin until June?" I asked in shock.

"June?" laughed Melvin. "Hardly. Irving is still in high school. Figure on some time in the next decade."

When I got home, I sat at my computer and sent an e-mail to Clyde, the manager of The Sadists' Casino.

"I am currently undergoing an audit and therefore have to cancel any charges that I made on my credit card to you, retroactive for the past two years. Please be assured that this is merely a routine bookkeeping procedure and the money will be sent to you as soon as it is completed."

I had barely sent it when my phone rang. It was Clyde.

"What are you trying to do?" he screamed. "We'll make sure that you are blacklisted all over the Internet! What kind of fool do you think I am? Nobody stops paying simply because of an audit!"

Back To Top

Bonanza!
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Little Joe: Guess what, Pa? I just met the woman I am going to marry!

Pa: I'll give 9 to 5 odds she gets killed before the end of the show.

Adam: That's not fair, Pa. All the women we fall in love with get killed before the end of the show. Let's make it interesting -- pay double if she gets it in an automobile accident.

Hoss: But the automobile hasn't been invented yet.

Adam: So what? The writers of this show are such idiots that they'll never know it!

Pa: Boys, we don't have time for such foolishness. We have a busy schedule today -- we have to fence in the north 40, demonstrate our ecological awareness while cutting down all the trees on The Ponderosa, and wipe out crime and corruption in Virginia City -- and that's BEFORE the commercial break.

Little Joe: But when am I going to find time to get married?

Adam: You have to learn to control that hot New Orleans blood in you, Joe. Just because your mother was a French Creole doesn't mean that you have to let sex dominate you!

Little Joe: That's easy for you to say! Your mother was from Boston -- you never want sex.

Hoss: Where was my ma from, Pa?

Pa: That's a good question, Hoss. You were born while I was fooling around with a lot of women. I never did figure out which one was your mother.

Hop Sing: Mister Cartlight! Mister Cartlight! Hop Sing need speak with you, chop chop!

Pa: Hop Sing has been living in this country for 40 years. Isn't it time that he learned to speak English?

Adam: I guess those Chinese just can't manage it, Pa.

Hop Sing: Don't be asinine, you imbecile. I can speak English as well as any of you -- and a lot better than Hoss. It's not my fault that the bigoted director wants me to talk so idiotically. Besides, I am not really Chinese. I'm Japanese -- and I've just bought out the entire Ponderosa -- so you fools will have to move off.

Little Joe: But you can't run the entire ranch yourself, Hop Sing.

Hop Sing: I don't have to. I'm going into partnership with a man named Bugsy Siegel -- he wants to open a casino-hotel here.

Pa: That's ridiculous! This is Nevada. They would never allow gambling here!

Hop Sing: I told him that. He said he would take care of the problem by comping the governor and the entire legislature.

Pa: You can't get away with this! My boys and I will fight for every inch of this land. The Ponderosa is our home and we are not about to see it turned into a sleazy honkytonk. Besides, the Cartwright name means something in Nevada. We stand for honesty and morality!

Hop Sing: We'll be bringing in thousands of beautiful showgirls and you each be given your own private suite.

Pa: That sounds honest and moral enough for me!

Adam: Pa! We've got to stop this! Gambling will destroy Nevada. The next thing you know the buildings will all have neon lights, there will be bordellos in the middle of town, alcohol will be flowing freely and the casinos will be advertising progressive jackpots. Who will want to come here then?

Hoss: Just about half the country, that's who.

Adam: They'll even have Wayne Newton singing!

Pa: By God, you're right! That will destroy Nevada!

Hoss: What will we do, Pa?

Pa: We have to plan for the future, son. I am going to get some astronaut training so I can star in "Battlestar Galactica." Adam, you head to Harvard Medical School so you can become "Trapper John, MD".

Little Joe: And me, Pa?

Pa: You're going to play an angel in "Highway to Heaven". You won't need any special training for it, but I suggest that you stay away from Bugsy's bordellos.

Hoss: Did you find a job for me, Pa?

Pa: I sure did! They said with your name and your weight, you'll be perfect for the starring role in "Mr. Ed".

Adam: It's really sad to think that this is the end of Bonanza!

Hop Sing: Don't worry Adam. I convinced Bugsy to name a slot machine in its honor. From now on, whenever people hit the jackpot on it, they will yell "Bonanza!"

Adam: But will they know it is in honor of Pa, Little Joe, Hoss and myself?

Hop Sing: Of course they will -- the biggest jackpot will be paid out for hitting four lemons!

Back To Top

It's Not The Same Anymore, Comrade
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

On May 1, the traditional Communist day of celebration, I flew to Moscow to learn if there have been any changes now that the only Marx honored there is Groucho.

As luck would have it, my guide was Vladmir Ivanovich Koslenskov, who under the Soviet regime had been Director of Five Year Plans, one of the most prestigious jobs a Communist could have.

"Can you believe it?" Vlad asked me. "I used to be someone important. Now I am reduced to showing Americans around Moscow. Whatever happened to the good old days, when we had purges and political prisons, and people like you were locked up and tortured by the KGB?"

"Why would they have locked me up?" I asked him.

"You are a filthy capitalist spy, aren't you?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I'm a journalist. I can't afford to be a capitalist."

"Journalist, spy -- it's all the same thing. Okay, what do you want to see? Our nuclear research centers? Our space center? Our submarine bases? In the new Russia everything is open and free -- assuming, of course, that you pay the hefty admission prices."

"Actually," I said, "I am mostly interested in going to your casinos."

"Casinos?" asked Vlad in shock. "What kind of a spy are you? I hope when you get home your CIA sends you to a good forced labor camp!"

"There are casinos in Russia, aren't there?"

"Of course we have casinos," Vlad replied proudly. "In fact, casinos were invented in Russia. The first casino was started by Bugsy Segalovich in Las Vladivostok. Under the Communists, we even had a special game played here that was played no where else on earth -- Russian Roulette. Stalin used to give everyone a chance to play it just before they were arrested."

"Are the casinos the same now as they were under the Soviets?" I asked.

"Nyet," said Vlad sadly. "Like everything else, they have deteriorated badly. Today, if you go to a Moscow casino you will see some people winning. We never allowed this in the good old days."

"If they couldn't win, why would they go to the casinos in the first place?"

"Because it was a lot more fun than spending the evening in the Gulag," Vlad told me.

"Does the Moscow casino offer any special bonuses?" I asked.

"Of course," Vlad replied. "Bonuses were invented in Russia. The first bonus was offered by Tsar Nicholas. If you and your brother were executed, the Tsar executed one of your friends at no extra charge."

"What kind of bonus does the casino offer if I don't want to be executed?" I asked.

"Our slots offer a special 20 to 1 bonus," Vlad told me. "For every dollar you put into the slots, you are given 20 Russian rubles to play with."

"That does sound good," I admitted.

"It would sound even better if the dollar were not worth 23 rubles," Vlad said.

"Are there any online casinos in Russia?" I wondered.

"Certainly," said Vlad. "After all, internet gambling was invented in Russia, by our famous St. Petersburg corporation, Microgamsov. Of course, the casinos themselves are not located in Russia itself. They are in the South Pacific islands."

"Why?" I asked. "Is it illegal for them to operate in Russia?"

"No," said Vlad. "But if you had a choice of being in Moscow or Tahiti, where would you be?"

Just then, Vlad's cellphone rang.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, comrade -- err, Mr. President."

"Good news?" I asked.

"Wonderful," said Vlad. "I am no longer a tourist guide. I have been given my old job back -- I am in charge of Five Year Plans again. President Medvedev has just given the most important assignment; I have five years to devise a method to pay off Russia's national debt."

"How are you going to do that?" I wondered.

"It's simple," said Vlad. "After all, I have five full years and all I have to do is hit the Cashsplash jackpot once!"

Back To Top

A Visit to Grandma Mildred
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

If there is one thing too sacred to satirize, it is mothers. And if there is one day too sacred to even make the slightest joke about it, it is Mother's Day.

Therefore, as Sunday was Mother's Day, I decided not to write anything humorous this week and instead flew to Florida to visit Grandma Mildred, the matriarch of the Wilde Family.

Believe it or not, this was the first time I had ever met my own grandmother! She moved down South in 1946, right after Grandpa Wilde died, and for some reason I had never gotten around to making the trip. But as her 100th birthday is not all that far away, I felt that this is the right time.

I asked for her at the Shady Palms Retirement Home, and was told by a octogenarian named Mrs. Murphy that Grandma is "out spending some time with the Little People."

"Surely you don't believe in leprechauns," I smiled.

"What leprechauns?" Mrs. Murphy replied. "I meant jockeys. She's at Hialeah trying to get some tips on tomorrow's races."

Hialeah? Jockeys? Mrs. Murphy must be mistaken. This can't be MY grandmother, who I always pictured as sitting on a rocking chair with her knitting! Still, I drove out to the track to find out for myself.

"Sure I know Mildred Wilde," one of the trainers told me when I got there. "Only we call her 'Wild Mildred'. There is NOTHING that old broad won't do! You'll find her at the bar -- but it's still pretty early in the day so she won't be soused yet."

When I went into the bar, I spotted her immediately! My own, greyhaired, sweet old grandma! She got up from her table, walked right over to me, threw her arms around me and gave me a big kiss.

"Grandma," I said, "it's so wonderful to finally meet you!"

"'Grandma?'" she replied. "Oops! I thought you were the pizza delivery man. Sorry about that kiss! So you are my grandson! What a pity -- you're really a hunk!"

"Grandma, you're 99-years-old. Don't you think its time that you stopped chasing after younger men?"

"That's what your mother has been telling me since 1946," she replied. "Why the heck do you think I left Pennsylvania and never came back? That woman is a real killjoy -- she must have gotten it from her father."

"Grandpa? I always thought he was the fun loving type -- why else would they have given him that silly nickname? 'Pinwheel?'"

"That wasn't his nickname while he lived," Grandma explained. "I had it placed on his gravestone because I knew that is what everyone in Heaven would call him. You see, the last thing he said to me before he died was, 'Mildred, if you are ever unfaithful to me I will turn over in my grave.'"

"Are you SURE you're my grandmother?" I asked. "I always thought of you as the family type -- after all, you had eight children."

"Well," she replied, "I've always enjoyed gambling. And there were no birth control pills in the 1920's -- so what I REALLY liked doing was a bit of a gamble!"

"But you must have loved Grandpa very much to have all those children with him," I said.

"He was okay, I guess," she replied. "But not as good as Mr. Esposito from down the street. Or Dr. O'Brien, for that matter. Haven't you ever wondered why some of your aunts and uncles are blonde, others have brown hair, and one of them is Chinese? Don't tell me you're as dumb as your grandfather!"

Just then, a man in his 40's walked in and asked, "Mildred, are you ready to go?"

"Josh," Grandma said, "this is Roger. He is the manager of the Shady Palms Retirement Home."

"I'm glad that you came," I said to Roger. "Frankly, I don't think that a bar at the Hialeah Race Track is the right place for my grandmother. It's good that you are taking her back to the retirement home."

"Actually, I'm not," Roger told me. "I'm taking her to Las Vegas for the weekend."

"The Shady Palms Retirement Home has outings to Las Vegas?" I asked, a bit stunned.

"No, of course not," he answered. "This is just for me and Mildred. I've arranged for a suite for us at the MGM Grand."

I pulled Grandma aside and whispered to her, "Do you see what he's up to? When a man that age starts showing a romantic interest in a woman who is almost 100, he's only after her money!"

"Of course he is," Grandma said. "Why do you think that I told him that I have several million dollars in the bank?"

"I never knew that you were rich!" I said.

"I'm not," Grandma replied. "But Roger thinks I am -- and that's almost as good!"

Back To Top

From Here to Fort Dix
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

My family has a long and proud military history.

In the American Revolution, my great ancestor, Miles Wilde, served as aide-de-camp to one of the Colonies' most distinguished generals, Benedict Arnold.

During the Civil War, Beauregard Wilde made General Sherman's conquest of Georgia possible. Of course, Beauregard's superiors in the Confederate Army were not particularly thrilled with his efforts.

During the first world war, my mother's uncle held an important naval command. Even today, whenever ships' captains gather, they discuss him in awe: Admiral Charles Tuna, also known as "The Chicken of the Sea."

Nor can I forget my very own father, Franklin Wilde. He fought with MacArthur in the Philippines. He fought with Patton in Sicily. He fought with Bradley on D-Day. Poor Dad just couldn't seem to get along with ANYONE during the war.

As this week marks Armed Forces Day, my thoughts were turned back to the 1960's, and my own military service -- and the man who forever altered my life: First Sergeant Oscar Sanchez, the greatest drill instructor in the history of Fort Dix's Jungle Survival Course.

Fort Dix's course was not one of those snap jobs like the Army gave the Rangers at Fort Benning or the Special Forces at Fort Bragg. Those courses were for creampuffs who were worried about how to find food in Central America or Southeast Asia. The Fort Dix regimen was for REAL MEN -- the kind who would get the tough assignments, like surviving in the jungle of Las Vegas.

"You ain't gonna like me," Sergeant Sanchez yelled at us our very first day in barracks, "cause likin leads to lovin', and lovin leads to screwin', and you ain't gonna screw with me!"

With that he ordered us to disassemble our roulette wheels, clean them thoroughly, and reassemble them blindfolded.

The next day, we were issued our basic weapon -- the one shot Derringer.

"Your weapon is your life," Sanchez told us. "Keep it oiled. Keep it clean. Mainly, keep it hidden in your sleeve in case you are ever caught cheating at poker."

Day after day, Sanchez turned up the pressure. We were ordered to run 10 miles and then deal a round of seven card stud, making certain that we gave ourselves four aces. Then he had us climb a mountain (in itself a difficult trick as Fort Dix had none) and make three straight passes at craps.

That's when I started worrying about Tex, the guy who slept in the bunk below me. Instead of making the passes at craps, he made them at me.

Sergeant Sanchez seemed to concentrate most on me and a guy we called "Brooklyn". Actually, Brooklyn wasn't really from Brooklyn, N.Y. He was from Intercourse, PA, but who was going to call him THAT?

One day, Sergeant Sanchez called us both into his office.

"You guys think you're pretty smart, don't you?" he snarled.

"No, SERGEANT!" replied Sanchez in a military voice.

"Well, yes, now that you mention it, I do consider myself rather intelligent," I replied.

"You guys listen to me," Sanchez said. "When I was going through training, things were REALLY tough! We had to learn good because we knew we were the people this country was relying on to take Asia back from the Japanese. We learned it all -- rifles, mortars, bazookas -- everything an infantryman needs to be a complete fighter. Now it's YOUR turn to protect your country."

"But, Sergeant, why are we learning how to deal cards and throw dice?" I asked. "After all, who are we going to try to take Las Vegas back from?" I asked.

"Who else?" Sanchez replied. "The Japanese!"

Back To Top

The Macabre Casino
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

Note: Mom made lousy apple pie. So, I guess, did the mothers of all the other guys in my unit. Unlike the soldiers in all those old World War II movies, none of them were willing to fight and die for it. But they did fight and some did die. When I remember them, what comes to mind is the "gallows humor" that they shared. It is to the memory of these men, those who came back and those who didn't, that this week's column is dedicated.

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

"It's our greatest idea ever," enthused Edgar Allen Popertski, CEO of The Macabre Casino. "It will revolutionize on line gambling -- and what better day to come out with it than Memorial Day?"

"As far as I understand," I told him, "you've renamed your games in honor of famous battles."

"Oh, no" said Edgar, "we've done much more than that. We've made up completely new games to take advantage of the blood and gore that people love so much. After all, the generation that grew up on 'Street Fighter', '3D Karate', and those other heart-warming computer games is starting to gamble on line -- and we want their business.

"They're going to love our new games," he continued. "Take Belleau Woods Black Jack, for example. "It's going to be a major hit."

"There's nothing new about blackjack," I pointed out.

"There is in this game," he said. "The player becomes Gen. John 'Black Jack' Pershing and orders his men out of the trenches and 'over the hill'. The cards determine how many he can send and if he sends more into No Man's Land than the Germans do, he wins. Of course, if he sends more than 21 men he automatically busts and his entire command is wiped out."

"It sounds bloody," I told him.

"Thank you," said Edgar. "We certainly try to give all our games a high enough quotient of the gruesome. How about our 'Rhine Roulette'? You send a mortar into a Rhine bridge which has 38 Wehrmacht soldiers on it. Each one has a number and you bet on which will be the first to drown. Of course, you can also chose to make an even money bet, like whether it will be an officer or an enlisted man."

"That's sick!" I exclaimed.

"You're really too kind," replied Edgar. "But don't forget to include that in the story you're writing. Remember, we have to attract the kids who used to watch 'Nightmare on Elm Street' and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer.'"

"Do all your games involve killing?" I asked.

"Most," said Edgar, "but we do try to have a little bit of variety. That's why we're offering 'Korea Craps'. You're a sergeant in charge of infantry squad and all of your men eat K-Rations. You roll the dice to see how many of them get diarrhea -- after all, that's why we call it 'Craps'. If it is either 7 or 11, you're a winner!"

"Does the player always take the part of an American soldier?" I asked.

"This is our first edition," said Edgar, "so we went after the biggest money market. Let's face it, not too many kids in Iraq or Hanoi have VISA or Mastercharge. Of course, we plan to expand soon. We have a slot machine on the board which will go over great in Tokyo. It's called 'Pearl Harbor'. If you hit three American battleships you win the jackpot!"

"Will your games be available in languages other than English or Japanese?"

"Of course!" Edgar replied. "We certainly couldn't enter such a field and forget the Germans!"

"Who will they be attacking?" I asked.

"It really doesn't matter," said Edgar. "They'll be happy wherever their bombs land."

"Did you have any unusual problems in developing the games?" I wondered.

"Only with our French and Italian versions," Edgar replied. "The players couldn't win at all -- no matter which Frenchman tried it, he immediately surrendered. It was even worse with the Italians -- they kept trying to switch sides."

Edgar's phone rang and when he heard the news a big smile crossed his face.

"That was our Research and Development Department," he said. "They've just put the final touches on our greatest game yet -- 'Nagasaki Nukes'. It is a sort of a lottery, for multiple players. We drop the bomb and you guess how many people we wipe out. Who ever gets closest wins!"

"Isn't there ANYTHING to be in such bad taste that you wouldn't make a game out of it?" I asked in disgust.

"Of course," said Edgar. "We certainly wouldn't name a game after Woodrow Wilson."

"Why not?" I asked in wonder.

"Wilson said that the first world war would be 'the war to end all wars,'" Edgar replied. "Thank goodness he was wrong!"

Back To Top

To Boldly Go...
Copyright 2008

Years ago, I decided to learn a foreign language and so headed for Alabama. It was there that I first met Judy, my Beautiful American Girlfriend (BAG). She was just a very young woman then and she shyly asked me if I would like "to go where no man has gone before."

Excitedly, I replied in the affirmative and she took me into her house, extinguished all the lights, sat next to me on her sofa -- and turned on "Star Trek":

Scotty: Cap'n, I'm givin' ye all I got, but the engines canna take any more.

Kirk: What are you talking about? We're just cruising along at impulse power.

Scotty: The search engines, Cap'n. How many casino bonuses do ye think they can find in one day?

Kirk: Mr. Sulu, take up a standard orbital.

Sulu: You mean a standard ORBIT, Captain.

Kirk: No, I mean a standard Orbital. Orbital Casino. They have no specials right now, so just I'll just play it in a standard manner.

Uhura: Subspace message coming in from Star Fleet. They say that the Romulans are attacking the Neutral Zone. This means intergalactic war!

Kirk: Your opinion, Mr. Spock?

Spock: We can reach the Neutral Zone in 9.313 hours, Captain.

Kirk: No, I mean your opinion about this hand. Should I double down? I'm holding 9 and the dealer has a 2.

Spock: Captain, it seems highly illogical to me for you to be concerned about blackjack in the middle of a war.

Kirk: Spock, the entire Romulan fleet is in the Neutral Zone and they are equipped with cloaking devices that make them invisible. I can take the Enterprise over there and we can get blown to bits or I can stay here and play blackjack. Now which seems more logical to you?

Spock: Take a hit, Captain. But never double a 9 against a 2.

Uhura: Captain, Star Fleet says that the Romulans have captured Rigel 7. That's the planet whose casino offers the biggest progressive jackpot in the Universe.

Kirk: Mr. Sulu, lay in a course for Rigel 7...warp 9.

McCoy: Jim, you are going to risk getting the ship destroyed just for a chance at a jackpot?

Kirk: Of course not, Bones. The Rigel 7 casino also has the galaxy's best looking cocktail waitresses.

Troi: Captain, may I suggest that when we get there I try to make empathic contact with the Romulans? Maybe I can avoid a war like that.

Kirk: Don't be silly. That would never work. Besides, you're not even on this ship -- you're from "The Next Generation".

Troi: I travelled back in time. I had already had sex with every male in my time period. I figured that I would try Scotty and thus go where no WOMAN has ever gone before.

Scotty: Cap'n, no. You canna let her do it. I've heard all about her and my engines would never take the strain.

Troi: In that case, let's keep going to Rigel 7. Maybe they have an opening for another cocktail waitress.

Spock: Captain, sensors indicate that a strange, hairless, creature is materializing in the transporter room.

Kirk: Damn! Why can't Jean Luc stay on his own Enterprise? Okay, I guess you had better beam him up to the bridge.

Picard: Thank goodness I got here in time, Kirk. You are about to make a tremendous mistake.

Kirk: Don't worry, I would never have let Troi get anywhere near Scotty.

Picard: No, I mean about the war. According to the history books, you get to Rigel 7, get attacked by all of the Romulans at once, the Enterprise is destroyed, and you don't live long enough to take advantage of the July 4th promos that all the casinos will be offering.

Kirk: Do you have any suggestions?

Picard: Yes. Send Troi ahead in a shuttle craft. Make certain that she gets there several hours before you do.

Kirk: You don't really believe that foolishness about her empathic powers heading off a war, do you?

Picard: Of course not. But I know Deanna. By the time you arrive all the Romulan men will be too tired out to fight.

Kirk: Thank you, Jean Luc. You have saved the Enterprise and most likely the entire United Federation of Planets. But could I ask an even bigger favor of you?

Picard: What is it?

Kirk: Flying all over space with a guy with pointy ears is no way for a grown man to act. I'd like to retire but I need some financial stability. Could you look in those history books and let me know who's going to win the Superbowl for the next ten years?

Back To Top

Gamble Airlines
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Gamble Air, which has been advertising the lowest fares in the sky, asked me to stop by their offices so that they could explain their "Casino Flight" program.

"I'm Baron Manfred von Richthofen, the president of Gamble Air," the company's CEO said as I entered his office.

"Not THE Baron Manfred von Richthofen?" I asked in shock. "The Red Baron himself? The World War I flying ace?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said von Richthofen. "Do I look like I'm over 100 years old? The Red Baron was my great grandfather. But I decided to follow his tradition and put the risk back in flying."

"I'm not certain that I like the idea of risky air flight," I told him.

"All air flights are dangerous," von Richthofen replied. "Gott in Himmel! The only thing holding up those multi-ton jet planes is the theory of aeronautics. What happens if you are cruising at 30,000 feet when some physics professor somewhere suddenly disproves the theory?"

"You have to be joking," I said.

"Well, maybe I am," the baron answered, "but next time you are flying somewhere, just ask yourself how many times YOU have made a mistake in your job. Then realize that if the mechanic who fixes the engine, the air controller who guides your pilot in, or the pilot himself make one silly mistake you are apple sauce."

"I never thought about it that way," I said. "So why do you want to make flights even more risky?"

"I don't" said the Baron. "I just want to give you some fun with the risk -- and at the same time keep the price of tickets down. I've achieved this by offering in-flight gaming."

"You mean you have a casino in the airplane itself?" I asked. "With blackjack, roulette, craps, and all the other games?"

"No," said von Richthofen. "We offer a completely new type of gambling -- one based on the actual risks of modern air travel. For example, you can play 'luggage roulette'. You get a list of 37 different cities and you have to guess to which of these your suitcases are being sent. If you hit, you get paid 36 to 1 odds."

"You can also bet on which city YOU will land in," he said, "but the list isn't quite a big. Generally a flight from Paris to New York, for example, will only land at one of five cities. Boston, Philadelphia, Washington or Baltimore if there are problems at a New York airport, or Melbourne if the navigator really hung one on the night before."

"Don't Paris to New York flights ever land in New York?" I asked.

"Once in a rare while," the Baron conceded, "but not often enough to bet on it."

"What other kinds of bets do you offer?" I asked.

"We have some great ones involving meals," von Richthoften said. "We give you a menu with two choices -- fish or meat. Then you sit near the rear of the airplane and ask for your favorite. If the stewardess doesn't tell you that they are out of it, you win double your bet.

"Or, you can sit in the front of the plane and be served a meal blindfolded. If you can guess what it is simply by the taste you win."

"That sounds pretty easy to win," I said.

"Don't be too certain," he told me. "No one has won yet. Remember, this is AIRLINE food we're talking about.

"We also have a wonderful game involving who will be sitting next to you. Just before you get on the plane, you have look at all the other passengers and guess which one will be your partner."

"That's no gamble," I said. "Just look for the fattest man, and if he is loud and a bit drunk, you are certain to get him."

"Hmmm," said von Richthoften, "you must have played this game before!"

"Do you have any games involving whether the flight is a safe one?" I asked.

"Yes," the Baron replied. "We will offer three to one odds that your plane will not crash."

"Only three to one?" I asked in surprise. "That doesn't sound very encouraging to me."

"The odds go down even further if one of the passengers is a nervous-looking young man, carrying a bag he won't let go of, and muttering in Arabic."

"Don't you have anything with better odds?" I asked.

"Of course," said the Baron confidently. "We have one game which offers million to one odds. All you risk is one dollar to be a millionaire!"

"That sounds like my kind of risk," I said. "What is it?"

"Do you know those safety movies we show -- the ones which explain what to do in case of a crash?"

"Yes," I said.

"These are generally cartoon characters in the movie," he said, "and they are happily smiling as they put on their life jackets and get into the crash position. Well, if your plane is about to crash and there is even ONE person on the flight who is smiling, you win the million!"

"Aren't you afraid that you may have to pay out big time with this?" I asked. "What if 20 or 30 people on the same flight make this bet and then one is foolish enough to smile in order to win?"

"We thought about that," the Baron confirmed, "but then we realized that after the plane goes down, nobody is going to be around to collect anyhow. See? There's a bright side to EVERYTHING!"

Back To Top

Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs, Pigs, Woodsman, etc.
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde

Once upon a time, there was a magical city which was light throughout the night, where people became rich without having to work, and where giant meals where given away free at buffets: It was called Las Vegas.

Las Vegas was the home of many beautiful women, who were called "show girls". They were even called show girls when they were really hookers, but that is another story completely. One show girl, called The Queen, prided herself on being the most beautiful woman of them all. Every day, she would pick up the Las Vegas Sun, and say, "Paper, paper, on my desk, tell me whose beauty is the best!"

(Okay -- so "desk" does not really rhyme with "best". It was the closest she could get. Las Vegas show girls are hardly rocket scientists.)

Then she would turn to the gossip column and beam with joy when she found herself being mentioned as "the city's top beauty."

All this changed, however, the day that The Queen read an item which said, "Vegas is just agog over Snow White, the incredible beauty who recently joined the MGM Grand's chorus line. Everybody from casino owners to the smallest bettors agree that she is the most beautiful woman in the city."

The Queen was enraged! She stormed into the office of her hairdresser, Mr. Tony (who, by coincidence, was also called a queen), and demanded that he make her more beautiful than Snow White.

"There's a limit even to my abilities, Sweetie," Mr. Tony told her. "You really are getting on in years."

The Queen smacked Mr. Tony with her purse (or possibly his, the details are not very clear) and immediately decided to take care of Snow White with a poisoned apple.

(Author's note: If this story seems to be getting mixed up between Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, that is because I can never remember which is which. "Cinderella" also confused me. I could never figure out why a prince wanted to start working as a shoe salesman.)

The Queen soon found out that Poisoned Apples are not listed in the Las Vegas Yellow Pages. In fact, even though the city's slots are awash in lemons, oranges, and cherries, there are no apples -- poisoned or otherwise -- in Vegas. Still, she was in luck. While flipping through the telephone book, she noticed an advertisement for "The Mob" and immediately called them and had a contract put out on Snow White.

The hit man who got the job mentioned it to his girlfriend, Goldilocks, who also worked at MGM, and she immediately warned Snow.

"You gotta hide in the forest," Goldilocks told her.

"The forest!" exclaimed Snow. "Vegas is in the middle of the desert. Where am I gonna find a forest?"

"Listen, honey," Goldilocks said, "this city has a rebuilt Venice, a make-believe New York, and an ancient Rome. Finding a forest should be child's play."

Snow ran out of the casino, jumped into a cab, and told the driver, "Take me to the forest, quick!" A few minutes later they arrived at the Forest Forest Hotel-Casino and Snow White went inside.

She immediately took the elevator to the Penthouse and knocked on the door of the suite where the Bear family was staying.

"I'm a friend of Goldilocks," she said when Mama Bear opened the door, "and she said you would help me."

"Goldilocks? THAT tramp!" stormed Mama Bear. "First she got into my husband's bed and then my son's. Hell, she even tried getting into MY bed -- forget it, lady. Get lost!"

Dazed, Snow knocked on the door of the next suite. When the door opened, she found the place was being occupied by seven dwarfs with German accents.

"We're the Gnomes of Zurich," one of them explained to her. "You must be the hooker from the escort agency."

"No," Snow White told them, "I'm a poor, sweet, innocent Las Vegas show girl being chased by The Mob. Can you let me hide here?"

"That depends," said the Chief Gnome. "Will you give us a better price than the hooker?"

"Forget it!" Snow White answered. "I'd prefer being wiped out by The Mob."

Snow White then went to the third suite and the door was opened by a handsome woodsman.

"You're not wearing a red cape and carrying a basket," the woodsman complained. "I *always* tell them to send me a girl wearing a red cape and carrying a basket."

"Wow!" Snow White exclaimed. "There really are a bunch of weirdos staying in this hotel."

Finally, at the last suite, the door was opened by a wolf. Snow White was not surprised. Las Vegas has a lot of wolves.

"My, what big eyes you have," she said.

"The better to see you with," said the wolf.

"That's not a bad pick up line." Snow White told him.

Snow White walked into the suite and, the next morning (Hey! What did you expect from a Las Vegas wolf?) told him about The Queen.

"She is old and evil," said Snow White, "although she does manage to stay beautiful. I gotta find out who does her face lifts."

The wolf, who was a Made Man (or at least a Made Canine), put in a call to The Mob and got the contract cancelled. Then, to get The Queen safely out of town, he called a Hollywood producer and made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

You don't believe this story? Don't take my word for it. Just turn on your television set and you can see the evil queen yourself -- she plays "Alexis" in reruns of "Dynasty".

Back To Top

The First Fourth
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde

"I can't believe we're spending July here in Philadelphia," complained John Adams. "There's absolutely nothing to do in this town -- and there won't until somebody invents basketball."

"When in the course of human events...," Thomas Jefferson began.

"You CAN'T start it with THAT," Benjamin Franklin objected. "Even if intercourse IS a human event, there no place for it in the Declaration of Independence."

"Guys, can't you hurry up with that thing?" Adams whined. "The sooner you finish, the sooner we can get the heck out of here and head to Atlantic City. Think of it -- the beach, the cool sea breezes, the progressive slots at the casinos!"

"This is too important to rush," Jefferson retorted. "If we don't get it right the Continental Congress will never vote for it and we'll remain British. That means our descendants will have to suffer through tea and crumpets, Mad Cow Disease, and looking at topless pictures of Fergie."

"How are you doing on the list of complaints against the King?" asked Franklin.

"How about this one?" Jefferson said, "He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people."

"That is a serious problem," Adams agreed. "Without those laws they'll never be able to build the hotels on the Vegas strip."

"And I have a line in here about making the legislature meet in 'places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant,'" Jefferson continued.

"Can't the King make up his mind?" Adams asked. "Does he want us going to Vegas or not?"

"Here's another complaint I want to add," Jefferson continued. "He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people."

"I think that's a little unfair," said Franklin. "After all, the King can't be held responsible for everything done by the English football hooligans."

"I like the line you have in there about people being created with 'certain unalienable rights' and that "among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,'" Adams said.

"I'm already having trouble with that one," Jefferson said. "Some members of Congress are afraid that it may cause them problems when they try to ban on line gambling."

"They want to ban on line gambling?" Adams replied in shock. "Without Fourth of July bonuses and promos, how will the country celebrate?"

"Rev. Jonathan Witherspoon suggests it be a day of solemn prayer," said Franklin. "Whoever let that religious nut into the Congress anyhow?"

"And Francis Lee wants to see the day celebrated by giant picnics," Jefferson continued. "With pork chops and smoked Virginia hams being served to everyone. By the way, did I ever mention that Lee owns one of the biggest farms in Virginia? They raise pigs and smoke hams."

"I think that's horrible," said Adams in disgust. "Imagine, trying to use Independence Day to increase his business profits! I won't have it! Instead, I suggest that the day be celebrated with fireworks."

"By the way, John, a message came for you this morning. One of your ships just returned safely from its trip to China. Your cargo of fireworks is waiting in Boston Harbor," Jefferson told him.

"What day should be set as the official Independence Day?" wondered Franklin.

"How about some time in early September?" suggested Adams. The weather is neither too hot nor too cold. It is perfect for watching fireworks."

"No good," Jefferson replied. "It will conflict with the beginning of the NFL season and nobody will pay any attention to the holiday."

"May is good," said Franklin. "There are no other holidays in the month and the teachers will be happy to have a day off. How about May 1?"

"May 1!" thundered Adams. "What are you? A communist?!!"

"How about if we use this date?" asked Jefferson.

"July 4th?" said Franklin. "I guess it is okay."

"Okay?" answered Adams. "It is better than 'okay'. It is a stroke of genius. It is a fantastic public relations gimmick -- what could be better than celebrating the Fourth of July on July 4th!"

Back To Top

Please visit the Gambling City Facebook page and “Like” us by clicking the link at the top of that page

About Us FAQ's Contact Us Privacy Policy Links Site Map

Every casino appearing accepts US players

HOME

What does a player known as George do?

	Gives advice without playing
	Is very polite to the Croupier
	Only plays Keno
	Tips well

Click here to Vote

Bid using LudoCoins which you get for free on registering

$25 Cash

Click HERE for full details

Here is a Selection:

	African Palace
	Aztec Casino
	Bet-At.eu
	BetClic Casino
	Betfair Casino
	Casino 770
	Cherry Gold
	Spin Palace
	Vegas Casino21
	Vegas CasinoOL

Click Here For More

Floridita Club Casino

Opened
November 2010

Bonus Offer

No Bonuses Avaliable for this Casino

See Casino Details

Click for more
New Casinos

General
Identify the profitable opportunities in gambling by shopping for the best odds, rules and playing conditions for the casino games you will be playing. Don't waste your time on games in which the casino has more than a 2% house advantage.

Submit a Tip




First Name:
Username:
Email Address:

Gambling CityWinning Starts Here

Gambling Satires by Josh Wilde

Gambling City
Winning Starts Here